Lake District [antikvár]

Introduction Any book which calls itself Great Walks of the Lake District is asking for trouble. Inevitably, there will be people who can think of 'greater' walks than the ones I have selected. Where is Aira Force? Where's the Kentmere Horseshoe? Where is the Pillar route (or whatever)? Well, the list had to be limited somehow; there are over 1500 miles (2414 km) of public footpaths in the Lake District National Park. Complete all the walks in this book and you will have covered 174 miles (280 km) of them. Certain routes were clearly mandatory. I had to include the highest point in England (but from which route?). Similarly, Helvellyn, High Street, Fairfield and Skiddaw—all summits famihar to even the most casual fellwalker. They have been covered before and no doubt other writers will cover them again, but I hope I offer a personal perspective on the old favourites, plus an occasional, less-familiar route amongst the remaining walks. The walks are graded for difficulty and a range is offered, beginning with very easy routes which are suitable for families in almost any weather, to more severe routes which require a certain amount of preparation and experience. I have also tried to offer some variety in the high-level walks. Some walkers prefer to gain height as quickly as possible, but my preference is to go up slowly. That way I convince myself that it is less hard work. I don't mind coming down quickly; I've usually got a pub or tea shop in view by then. The low-level walks will inevitably be the more crowded during the summer and at weekends, but there are a few—especially those on the west coast—which can match anything the high fells have to offer in terms of solitude and refreshment. Muncaster Fell is a personal favourite of mine. When I blithely announced to my friends that I was viriting a 'walks' book, their response was unanimous: 'Not another book of Lake District walks'! Once they realized that it meant I could go walking on the fells throughout the week and still call it work, they went very quiet. The summer of 1986 was a good one, for once. Thanks to Ian McCaskill and my trusty barometer, I only got soaked once. The previous year, a similar project had coincided with one of the wettest summers on record. My notes looked as if I had written them underwater. This time, 1 decided, it would be different and 1 bought one of those small Sony cassette recorders. So, I