Words by Tom Gale
- Atom Packs Founder
After leaving the summit of Haystacks, we descended down to Innominate tarn where an impromptu break broke out while we discussed the tarn’s swimming potential (too shallow/muddy/late in the day was the conclusion). I have fond memories of this mountain from numerous groups I have guided past here over the years and know many of its little trods and short cuts by heart - it’s a great place to explore but today we skimmed a few stones and kept moving on. Warwick and Dexter went off in search of a once hidden bothy, its location whispered to me by an old work colleague in the days before social media.
As we hiked past Blea Tarn I scrambled up the stream a little way to enjoy one of my favourite views - Buttermere and Crummock water framed on both sides by steep mountain crags with a stream flowing below. This time I sat there happily watching members of my team rock hopping across the stream, their bright coloured backpacks adding to the scenery.
It’s funny, prior to starting this company I always landmarked my life by my thru hikes - 2009, 2011, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2017, now I do the same with members of staff, backpack features and Atom Packs workshop locations. I sat there and watched most of my team walk by, each representing a different part of the journey we have been on for the last few years.
The difficulties of the climb now behind us, the team now seemed content to descend at their own pace. Fable, Warwicks Vizsla, got bored of waiting for Warwick who was designated photographer for this trip and charged off to the front of the group, Warwick finally caught up to him in the car park, happily tied up at Rowan’s Feet with an improvised lead.
On the descent I enjoyed a rare talk with Rowan, someone normally so quiet and focused on her work that she seems on occasion to come and go from the workshop unnoticed, the only evidence of her presence being the neat completed piles of hipbelts under her desk. She joined us in the spring of 2022, when Motown and I were on the AZT, another person to join our team from the local Theatre (that’s five now… gotta catch em all!). Every team needs a Rowan, a quiet rockstar needing nothing more than a place to work and a steady supply of sugary tea.
Some spectacularly unfortunate timing meant that we arrived at the Honister Cafe just as they had turned the tills off - no ice creams for us today. Typical.
From Honister we had to walk a short way along the road before picking up a bridleway that would take us all the way down to Seatoller, where we would camp for the night. On the descent we realised Laura’s boot was in the process of shedding its sole, making descending the rocky path with tired legs even more of a challenge! Walking together down into the valley in the evening light, motivated by the happy chatter of our friends and colleagues, the road and campsite was quickly gained. Three of our party were not joining us for the camp,, so we exchanged high fives and said our goodbyes.
We were camping at Seatoller Farm Campsite. My searches for food establishments in the area turned up the Yew Tree pub, which, to my knowledge, had been closed for the 13 years that I have lived in Cumbria. We were all excited to see its lights on, with many happy outdoorsy folk dining in its warming glow. I was somewhat surprised to hear my fathers voice coming out of my mouth: “We will not be dining at the pub, you’ve carried your food and stoves this whole way, let's have a camp dinner at the campsite and, if you all behave yourselves, maybe we can have a pint later” Obviously this was met with resounding BOOs and HISSES but I felt quite strongly that the experience of cooking together at camp might be more memorable than the (fantastic looking) burgers that they served at the Yew Tree.
Having never been to the campsite before, we obviously had to check out every single pitch so, some bonus miles were gained as we lapped the entire grounds looking for flat spots for our nine tents before eventually settling on the pitch right by the gate (!). While this was typically pointless exercise, I feel it’s an important part of campsite selection - after all, you wouldn’t hike 10 glorious miles only to then camp in the second best campsite?! Maybe it’s comes from our cavepeople ancestors, the terrain must be explored and understood, the pros and cons weighed and all options considered - otherwise your enjoyment of the night may well be diminished by looking forlornly over at the adjoining campsite with feelings of longing “it looks flatter/softer/less midgy-ey over there”, or in the case of our Great Cave Aunts and Uncles “I’m fairly sure there isn’t a Sabre Tooth tiger about these parts”.
I have lost count of the amount of times Motown and I have finished a 20+ mile day on a long trail somewhere only to find ourselves squabbling over each other’s perception of flat ground, eventually one will wear down the other and, once a decision is made, that moment of taking your pack off is one of my favourite parts of the entire day. My camp routine has never changed in 13,000 miles - get a water filter set up (i ain’t squeezing anything… gravity baby!), pitch tent, inflate pad (“don’t moan, it’s literally just breathing”), unpack entire pack, place everything in its place, lie down on pad, finally taking the weight of joints that have been working hard all day, and fall into a blissful micro snooze for 3-5 minutes. Then if I have time, I read for a bit before getting up and getting busy with the evening's chores.
The life of a thru hiker is one of constant change, not only do you never stop moving, but you are seldom in one place for more than a few hours, for this reason I always favour getting up early and giving yourself as much time to get the mileage done as you need. This means any lakes, streams, vista snoozes or side quests you may wish to go on can be indulged in, along with allowing for any general trail fuckery to happen without forcing you to cut your mileage or get into camp at night. I genuinely believe that, for me at least, the key to multi week/month thru hiking is arriving at camp an hour or two before sunset, otherwise you have no time to decompress and are just in a constant state of chasing your tail. I love to have time to snooze, read, wash, fettle my hobbit feet, repair gear, play cards with Motown. It’s really important to me.
Anyway, sorry - let’s get back to our heroic group:
We set up our camp, admiring the various tents on display. Points were given to our latest recruit Ellie’s homemade tent, and we all agreed that the worst tent was Will’s who had boldly chosen an Atom 40 for this trip and left his bigger tent at home in lieu of a lightweight bivvy tent that promised to be both uncomfortable and also (in UL terms) not that light. Rachel was using my old Dyneema Tent, and was quietly amazed at how light it was for the space it offered.
We settled in, deciding that area next to Sam’s tent was the designated kitchen. I cooked my standard trail meal of Kraft Mac and Cheese with bacon bits, hot sauce and mashed potato, a solid 1000kcal of a meal I find completely inedible at any other time than after a day spent hiking - (also (oversharing slightly) much to the ire for my trail mates, once i’ve eaten this for a week or so in a row it provides the most incredible flatulence 😀)
Tales were told around the camp kitchen as we shared our memories from the day, talked about our kit, wondered if Laura’s shoe would make it back to Keswick, and placed bets on how bad of a night sleep Will was about to have. Eventually the call of the pub became too much and, after packing up, we donned our warmest clothes and our headlamps and set off in search of some refreshment.
The pub, recently re-opened, was everything you could need on a cool late summer night, the staff were friendly, the beer delicious, the table, seemingly carved out of parts of old house beams and bits of industrial mining equipment, provided not only a safe haven for the two knackered dogs, but also set the scene of one of the greatest games of pass the pigs ever played. Laura, new to this game and perhaps overly trusting of Dexter’s enthusiastic advice, racked up over a 80 points in her first glorious rally before crashing out in incredible style, and failing to score even one point for the rest of the game, my luck wasn't much better, Warwick took the win, but a last minute rule change has lead to lasting beef between him and Motown, who in a moment of excitement tipped the remainder of her hot chocolate onto our sleeping dog, Winnie. Like any great sporting moment, friends and enemies were won and lost, and several weeks later the highlights are still being discussed.
Dear reader, as ever, I am struggling to do this concisely. Thank you for indulging me thus far... if you can bear it I believe this may have to be a 3 parter!
