Kiwis and Fairy Bread

20 September 2025

Part of the reason we had chosen to stay at the Littletown Farm was because we wanted a great hike at our doorstep. The peak called Catbells fit the bill. It would be about five and half miles in length, with options to make it shorter or longer. It would have a view, and most appealingly, an ice cream stop.

Looking at the weather, we hoped that if we started off by 9am, we would reach the summit before the real rain hit. As soon as we opened the door to the pod I was hit by a blast of cold air and realized my turtleneck, sweatshirt, winter coat, scarf and mittens would not be enough to keep me warm. I added my trusty, and beloved, cloak.

The trail started just behind the farm and we soon found ourselves ascending a rushing riverbed up to a clear waterfall. It paled in comparison to the majestic falls of Yosemite, but cutting through two peaks of heather and fern, it was just as beautiful. Still, memories of our infamous journey on The Mist Trail (see post 25 June, 2025) came to mind and I watched my feet very carefully. Barely on the trail half an hour and my gluts were already complaining. I was already dreaming of the morning of hot mineral pools we had pre-booked at the spa in Bath.

The trail lead us directly across a step of the waterfall. We would have to navigate very carefully, for about four meters, finding rocks not-totally-submerged in the clear, cool, rushing water. I went first. Took a deep breath and concentrated. With relief, I made it unscathed, but Mike was not so lucky. I did not see it, but he did slip and fall, got up quickly and was not hurt. Phew! Again, we did not want another Mist Trail experience.

The rocky slope gave way to a broad trail of grass and we reached our cross roads: go directly to the Catbells peak this way, or head down the other side, stop for ice cream and find our way up via another trail. The weather was good, so to the peak we went.

By the time we summitted there were lots of other hill walkers there. It was quite the festive atmosphere. Everyone happy and willing to chat. We met a group of women from Derbyshire who took our pic with our glamping pod in the distance. In fact, it was so crowded the we could not even get to the peak marker because it was always occupied.

It was, of course, an incredible view. Two lakes, tall mountains in varying shapes, clouds in shades of gray, streams and lots of sheep. Wow.

It started to drizzle (well timed, us!) and we needed to descend. But which path to take? Down the way we came seemed redundant so we took the trail everyone else was coming up.

It was not easy. Steep, rocky, wet, dangerous. It was a naturally formed trail. No one had cut these rocks into slabs and placed them into staircases. One section at a time, and you could really only see on section at a time. There were a least a half a dozen of them and we were the only people descending.

And so a debate. Which is the more difficult way to tackle a steep trail? Ascending or descending? Up or down? Mike, and indeed most people, would say up is the way to go. Down is far more dangerous, takes balance, and can be difficult on the knees. But personally I find ascending to be very difficult on the heart and lungs and muscles. I feel guilty slowing our pace by stopping every few meters to catch my breath and slow my heart. I find that far more uncomfortable than the concentration required to descend. Readers, what do YOU think? We’d really like to know. Please post in the comment section, if you would.

With that concentration, and with a view of Keswick and its lake always in view, we continued on our way. “We can do this. We survived The Mist Trail and Franconia Ridge” (the latter was in New Hampshire, many years ago, before blogs. Oh the pain). A young man heading up asked us what was ahead. “A lot more of what you just climbed” we answered. He didn’t think his dog and apprehensive girl friend would like that. “Take it slow, enjoy the view” we advised. Later, we noticed they had turned around. Probably a good move.

The rocks gave way to switch backs and as we kept our eye out for a spot to have lunch. There were benches at look outs and most hikers didn’t seem to mind eating in the pouring rain. We wanted some sort of shelter and when we made it down the hill to the road, we settled for sitting on a drywall under some trees. Not perfect, but we needed the rest and nourishment, And there was still hope of ice cream ahead.

Alas, no. Continuing around the mountain we found the location but no ice cream truck. Sigh.

Our route took us in a loop. We were now on the other side of the mountain from which we had started. But we had to go up again to return, so ascend we did. We started to recognize people from our descent. The rain was pouring but we still stopped to chat. A ________ fan was walking all around the lake from Keswick because “The Mrs” wasn’t happy. Whether “The Mrs” was his wife or mother I could not discern.

Near the top of Catbells once more with Littletown Farm in sight. But how to get down to it? Neither Mike nor I liked the prospect of crossing that waterfall again so we opted for a longer route which was not quite so steep. Basically, we followed a sheep trail. We know it was as sheep trail because we witnessed a fast little doggie named Fido herding those sheep. His owner was calling him and at first we thought Fido was just having fun and the young man wanted to get on with his hike. But it turns out the man was a shepherd and Fido was doing his job, getting the sheep down off the mountain. I watched, amazed, at how in meer minutes man, dog and sheep literally ran over fern, rock and heather, up and down and across an area it had taken us an hour to walk. Impressive!

At the base of Catbells I stood and looked all around. And, as I often do, take a panorama memory of the site. I have many such views that I revisit in my mind: Tobacco Bay in Bermuda, Mount Cook and Milford Sound in New Zealand, sunset over the Pacific from Casa Ylang Ylang in Costa Rica, Gore Pass in Colorado and now Catbells. What’s particularly nice about this view is that in it is Mike, standing on bridge, looking at me.

What a charmed life we lead.