Part I: Seals teeth and whales ears - Scott Polar Research Institute ...

Another day I particularly remember, in December l942 I walked up Birch Hill
and over the top to Lingmoor Fell. The views were glorious - cloud shadows chasing
across the Helvellyn Range and the shafts of light falling on Wetherlam from a
stormy sky - there were storm lights over the fells to the north too. A spider's web at
the top was of pearly beauty, beaded with raindrops; I wondered that it could be so
strong - enough to hold the heavy raindrops in the wind. Then over to Lingmoor
Tarn, Oakhowe and Side Pike and then back.
Another good day that year came at the end of December in Langdale. There
was a glorious sunrise, followed by a bright but very cold day, with a strong wind
and few clouds. I walked to Silver Howe and then along the ridge, where wonderful
views opened out, of Fairfield and Helvellyn with new snow and cloud shadows
chasing across them. Higher up the tarns and pools were iced and the bogs too,
making the ground very crisp underfoot. Once on Silver Howe the wind was terrific
and I put on my balaclava. From a small recess in the crags by Stickle Tarn I watched
a sleek fox, as it loped off - as surprised to see me as I was to see it. The tarn was
lashed into a fury by the wind and clouds of spray rose up to twenty feet; the grass at
the edges of the tarn was frozen in beautiful patterns. I climbed Pavey Ark by Jack's
Rake over crags that were very heavily iced, then along to Harrison Stickle. A
blizzard came and I descended into the valley. When I reached the tarn again the sun
was shining and I was almost tempted to go back up again. Instead I had the rest of
my lunch and found a hard-boiled egg in my pack (they were so rare in wartime). It
started to snow again in the valley and I didn't regret the decision to return to Barn
Howe in time for tea.
The beginning of March, l943 was a day's holiday from school, so some of us
decided to go to Harter fell - an isolated hill above the Duddon Valley. It has a
craggy top and is said to be the only real mountain in England - as it is the only one
that cannot be climbed without using hands as well as feet. The party included Jack
Pearson, Rennie Brown, my brother Michael and myself. We cycled to Little
Langdale, and on the way I saw a stoat - in white winter coat - with the black tip to
its tail. It was chasing a squirrel, which dashed up a tall oak tree and remained about
halfway up, absolutely motionless. The stoat, after nosing around at the foot of the
tree, and attempting to climb it, went off. After a few minutes the squirrel came
down and made off.
We arrived at Little Langdale village and came to Fell Foot Farm, where we left
our bikes in a barn and started up Wrynose Pass. The clouds were very low and it
became increasingly evident that it was to be a day of bad weather. As we reached
the top of the pass and started off down the other side it was simply bucketting.
Reaching the floor of the valley we could see only a few yards around us owing
to the mist. Suddenly there was a roar, we jumped aside and a grinning army
dispatch rider whizzed past at about 60 mph! A few miles further on we were
overtaken by Bruce Thompson, County Commissioner (of Scouts) for Westmorland.
He was on his bicycle and was carrying his pump in his hand; numerous punctures
meant that he had to blow up his tyres every half-mile. A few hundred yards ahead
we came to the small farm at the head of the Duddon.
It was mid-afternoon as we hurried on up the winding road over Hardknott
Pass. The mist, was, if anything, worse and when we reached the top there
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