Relying on a favourable weather forecast, we set off to conquer Helm Crag (that’s the mountain wearing a WWII helmet and the granite Howitzer stabbing the peak). It looked good to begin with. The sun winked from behind the clouds.
But it was too good to be true, so in no time we were faced with a bridge crossing a stream only to lead to another, equally violent stream which used to be a footpath.
We changed course to find ourselves ankle-deep in bogs, sheep droppings and impromptu waterfalls. But we braved the elements, and those included hail, downpour, horizontal lashes of rain, and gales on the ridge hellbent on blowing us off course. We didn’t budge – I mean, we did budge but we kept on the straight and narrow all the way to the top (minus a few mud sliding exercises, a little bit like landing on a snake in the Snakes & Ladders board game). We pressed on, dastardly weather notwithstanding.
A few sunny spells brightened our ascent and our moods. It was as if God intervened in the battle of subterranean monsters, sent them back underground and said, “Let there be light!”. It didn’t last though and the monsters reared their ugly heads again and stoned us with hail. They may have used this dwelling to get out (through the windows):
At last, we were there! Top of the crag – top of the world!
And then we strolled down (partially riding the waves of raging becks and flooded footpaths) for a nice cup of tea and a cheese scone back down on Earth.