FullReads

4 p.m., top of Rosset Ghyl.–Had to pay 1 shilling for that 9 pence lunch after all, as they charged 3 pence for attendance in the bill. Didn’t care to have a row, as the Cambridge fellows turned up just that minute. Beastly the way they always grin when they see me. As if they couldn’t grin at one another. I cleared out as soon as they came, and started up here.

There was a mile or so of pretty level path to the bottom of this ravine, and then it was a tremendous climb up to the top. You have to scramble nearly straight up among the rocks on each side of the waterfall, and if one of my hobnails went off, I’m certain half a dozen did. I’ll tell my father not to pay that cobbler at all. I can’t make out how the sheep manage to go up and down this place as they do. I know I’m glad I’m not coming back this way. I thought I was over once or twice as it was, owing to those wretched boots.

The Cambridge duffers caught me about half-way up, trying to look as if they weren’t fagged. I knew better–never saw fellows so blown. They appeared to be greatly amused because I happened to slip backwards down a grass slope just as they passed, as if there was anything funny in that. One of them called out, “It’s the other way up, youngster,” and the other said, “We’ll tell them you’re on the way at the top.” I was a good mind to shut them up, but I got some earth in my mouth at the moment, and as they didn’t wait, it wasn’t any use going after them. However, I expect I shall find them regularly done up when I get a little higher, and then perhaps they’ll be sorry they cheeked me. All about the view from Rosset Ghyl in page 72 of the guide-book. Awful sell; it’s coming on to rain, and quite misty, too. I’d better go on, or I shan’t get the view from the top.

6 o’clock.–Don’t exactly know where I am. Regular Scotch mist come down over the hills, and I can’t see twenty yards. Only sitting down now because I’m not quite sure whether I’m right or wrong. Been looking it up in the guide-book, but there’s not much to guide you there when you can’t see your way. The only thing is, it says there are little cairns marking the way up to the top, every fifty yards or so. It would be rather a tip to find one of them.

The wind is making a noise, exactly like the sea, against the side of the mountain. I saw the side a little while ago, like a great black cliff, but it’s too misty to see it now. Hope it’ll clear up soon, or I may be late getting down to Wastdale. By the way, I wonder if they call this heap of stones I’m sitting on one of the cairns? Good idea! it must be.

Yes, it’s all right; I left my traps here and went fifty yards further on up the slope, and there’s another cairn there–very lucky! I had a job to find my way back here in the mist, though. However, I’m on the right track now. Wonder what’s become of those Cambridge fellows. They’re sure not to be up to my tips, and most likely they’re wandering about lost. Poor duffers!

7 o’clock.–Hope I’m right, but it’s getting more misty than ever, and I can hardly stand up in the wind. It’s an awful job, too, feeling one’s way along by these cairns; for you can’t see one from the other, and the chances are you may now and then lose sight of both, and then you’re lost. I’ve been lost several times, but luckily I’ve got into the track again. Fancy I must be getting on towards the top, for the rocks are getting bigger and tumbled about in all directions, and the guide-book says that’s what the top of Scafell Pike is like. Shan’t I be glad to get to the top! I’m frightfully cold and wet here, and there’s scarcely a hob left on my wretched boots. I wish I had that cobbler here!