I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, really.
A sunny weekend at last after a miserably damp summer and everyone descended on Lakeland… myself included.
My plan: to park the car overnight in Langdale, climb Jack’s Rake and sleep high in the bivvy bag.
The outcome: every conceivable square inch of car park and roadside verge occupied by automobile. I cursed my stupidity for a, driving, and b, not bringing other maps to salvage something from the trip.
I consoled myself with a trudge off the beaten track, constrained severely by the lack of OS sheets. But even here, it was difficult to escape folk.
It occurred to me that the hills would be alive with wild campers, too, and I didn’t feel like joining them (assuming I could fine somewhere ‘legal’ to park overnight).
I drove home.
Sunday dawned clear and bright and I decided to swap the boots for my cycling shoes. I had the Saddleworth roads to myself (nearly) for two hours while the occupants of its pretty stone cottages slept.
Lesson learned. Escape can, more often than not, be found closer to home.