Buttermere September 2026

20th September: Whiteside – Grasmoor: 17km

It was bright and breezy by Crummock Water but the high fells were shrouded in cloud.  I trusted the forecast and put my boots on.  There was only one other car at Cinderdale Common, though there had been quite a lot of cars parked in the laybys on my way over Whinlatter and past Lorton. As I approached the start of the climb up Whiteside, looking steep and intimidating, I could see a group with a couple of lively dogs ahead of me.  I would gain on them but never catch them, and then they vanished somewhere on the summit.

My approach to long climbs these days is to go, necessarily, slowly, so I plodded carefully upwards. The wind increased as I climbed and at times was strong enough to push me backwards as I tried to step up the rocky path.  There was a brief respite, from both the gradient and the wind, at Whin Ben, before the slog continued.  It got even steeper, almost moving into scrambling territory.  Gasgale Gill looked magnificent but the cloud stubbornly lingered around the tops.

Gasgale Gill

I was pleased to reach the summit of Whiteside, if only because the wind actually eased off there. More so, I felt that I had kept within myself and not gone too hard.  Whiteside was just below the cloud level so the views were mostly downwards.  It felt wonderful to be up in the high fells and I felt the familiar chest-puffing, heart-filling joy of being there.

First thing was to find a sheltered spot to eat.  As I did a couple of chatting Geordie lads passed, then re-passed, having done an out-and-back to the summit.  I followed on over the ridge, choosing the rocky spine where I could.  Hopegill Head soon arrived, in clag so I didn’t hang around.  The descent down Sand Hill was steep and scree-covered as always.  The wind was picking up again and blasted worringly across Coledale Hause.

I could see almost no one around, just the Geordie lads by the beck having something to eat.  I pushed a little higher to nestle in a shaded hollow below Crag Hill.  The lads passed and stopped for a chat.  They had kept failing to follow their own route, first by going up Coledale instead of over Grisedale Pike, then carrying on instead of going up Sail.  They were both quite jolly about it.

Coledale Hause

From there I crossed the rapidly-flowing beck and started the climb up Grasmoor.  The forecast had said the cloud would lift, but the cloud hadn’t had that memo and was still lingering.  The path was close to the edge above the crags over Gasgale Gill but I could see little that way.  The wind blew with renewed vigour, keeping me moving.  Although I had seen shadowy figures moving around in the murk the summit was empty and, for 30 seconds or so, the cloud just lifted enough for me to have a glimpse down to Rannerdale below as well.

Brief view from Grasmoor

With the clag down again I turned tail to start my descent and there were the lads again.  They had meant to use the same path as me but had been too busy chatting.  Again.  I wished them well and happily trotted on towards Whiteless Pike, which came quickly and with little effort.  The ridge to Whiteless Breast, which I had worried over because of the wind, proved no problem and I was soon on the knee-crunching descent towards Buttermere.  Glancing back I saw the cloud had now lifted from the tops.  Typical.  Rays of sunshine cut through the cloud and one shone a beam onto the village. ‘A spotlight pointing to the pub,’ I said to some people as I turned onto Rannerdale Knotts.

A glimpse of Buttermere from Whiteless Pike

Sunlight on Crummock Water

Looking back to Grasmoor and Whiteless Pike

It was windy again here but not so serious at that low altitude.  The descent over the nose was rather unpleasant, being steep and eroded.  On the plus side it was brief and I was just left with a quick visit to the pretty Rannerdale, lit up by the crashing beck and bright red rowan berries, before a short walk to the car.

Crummock Water

In Buttermere I met up with my brother, sister and brother-in-law, who were all staying at the Bridge Hotel, for drinks, a meal and a good chat, all in remembrance of our parents’ shared birthday, which would have been that day.  We especially remembered our mother, who we had only recently lost.

21st September: Buttermere circuit: 6.7km; Mellbreak: 11km

Giving the others a lie-in made for a lazy start.  The forecast was for rain, again (I had only been caught in a very brief shower the previous day), but it felt mild out.  I took all my waterproofs anyway when I went to meet the gang.  We had a leisurely stroll around the lake, picking out the fells we could see beneath the blanket of cloud.  My brother-in-law wasn’t sure if I was making it all up when I said one hill was called High Snock Rigg.  I pointed upwards, ‘That’s Great Flange.’  At the end of the circuit we had lunch at the Syke Farm cafe and then they were all on their way.  It was a shame not to have spent more time in the fells with them but they had other demands on their time.

Buttermere

Haystacks

Buttermere church

As it was still reasonably early, I had plenty of opportunity for another walk, so I set off for Mellbreak.  No rain had arrived and I was just down to a tee shirt by this point.  The village was busy with people waiting for the bus or heading to the lake.  As soon as I turned off for Scale Force, the crowds vanished.  The path became boggier as I ascended towards the waterfall, making for awkward going until I could turn off towards the fell.  The wind made its unwelcome appearance, as did the low cloud which now shrouded the previously clear Mellbreak.  Damn it.  I carried on all the same, plodding up the very steep grassy slopes to the unremarkable summit.  There were no views so I turned about and came straight back down.  My knees twinged but I was soon down, and soon in the Fish Buttermere Coach House for a pint of Tirril.  I’m sorry to say I don’t really like their beers, despite their being local and ubiquitous.  As I emerged from the pub I saw the top of Mellbreak was clear again.  Damn it.

After tidying up at the YHA (no posh hotel for me) I returned to the Bridge for tea before retiring to the chatty lounge of the hostel.  On the way back a tawny owl was calling from the trees, Mars twinkled over the church and a bright moon rose over High Crag.

22nd September: Loweswater Fells: 9km

Again the forecast wasn’t great (hmm) but I was only staying low, so I hoped I would be ok.  It actually felt bright and mild again, although the tops were in clag, so a gilet over my tee shirt was all that was required.  I was the first person to park in my chosen layby, despite a number of the others having quite a few cars in them.  When I passed a bloke on Mosser Road at around 10 he said I was the first walker he had seen that day.

Shortly after I turned up towards Fellbarrow, heading into the cloud.  This might test my navigation, I thought.  It was an easy-enough climb up to the trig point, passing a couple with dogs on their way down.  To the north I could just about make out Cockermouth but not much else.  However as I made my way across the fell the cloud miraculously started to lift.  By the time I was at Smithy Fell I could see where I was.

Away from the summit of Fellbarrow

I was making good time so I wandered around a little before climbing Low Fell, passing another couple on their way in the other direction.  ‘Brilliant views,’ the woman said.  Having been there a number of times before, I knew what she meant and was delighted that the cloud had obliged me by clearing.  I sat for a while on the cairn to the south of the fell to take it all in.  It was glorious, sunlight blazing off Crummock Water, cloud swirling around the high tops, orange-brown fellsides climbing into the dark murk, bright green fields and all the farms and tarns lying in the valley below.

View from Loweswater Fell

The wind was making it chilly so I set off on the steep descent to the beck before the steep ascent of Darling Fell.  It actually looked like there was a bypass path around the fell these days, but I’ve always gone over the top.  The far side took me down through bracken to Mosser Road again where it felt increasingly warm.  As I drove to the Kirkstile Inn for lunch, the car read 19℃ and Grasmoor was almost clear.

Looking over Loweswater

Last time I had been in Cumbria it felt like I could have pushed myself a bit more.  I was pleased to have done that on the first day (1325m of ascent is the most I’ve done for a while) and was delighted with having had a fabulous few days.  It reminded me why, for a long time, I had considered Buttermere my favourite valley in the Lakes.