By edanMorning came early, sunlight streaming through our tent canvas, mingling with the gentle baaing of sheep. I stirred awake around 5 am, only to succumb to another two hours of rest. Eventually, around half-past seven, we rose, moving leisurely about the camp, a bit aimless at first. Breakfast was an unconventional delight—a Bombay Bad Boy pot noodle to start the day.
Plans for Scafell had been dashed by our remote campsite's non-existent data signal, leaving us at a loss. After a spell of pondering, the old All Trails app managed to spring to life. It revealed a hidden gem: a 6-mile trek from Elterwater to Little Langdale, a figure-eight path weaving through an old quarry into expanse.
With Poppy at my side, our pace was easy, soaking in the views of craggy cliffs and verdant valleys. An unexpected companion joined—a lone hound with a penchant for roaming. I crossed paths with a villager who knew the wayward pup, and so it returned homeward bound.
Poppy found bliss in the streams scattered along our route, but I pushed her boundaries for that final stretch. We river-trekked, she and I, through a lively current, hopping stones and wading waist-deep. Unsurprisingly, the promise of the Wainwright Arms at journey's end spurred her on.
We arrived at the pub drenched and famished, crashing onto a table. Poppy, too, enjoyed her fill, coaxing chips and mingling with a fellow thirsty Labrador. The Russian waiter added an odd flavor to our afternoon, his twisted jokes befuddling and amusing.
Supplies replenished post-lunch at the Co-op, we returned to camp. I claimed a quick shower and pilfered a freezer ice pack to keep lamb chops chilled, settling into the tent.
The breezes now were gentle, and there we sat, Poppy nestled close, eyeing the mountains with awe. It was a happy day spent overcoming the countryside's challenges alongside my furry companion.