It was past four in the afternoon. We had been walking for over five hours. Despite our best smiles – and Jon’s chocolate – we were tired, very tired.
We were approaching Calf Crag (see above) and desperately looking for something – a path that should have been climbing up towards us from the steep lower slopes of the glacial corrie below. But paths – this far into a landscape – can be tenuous things, and all we could see, below and west, was the course of a stream, cascading down the valley.
Jon was pointing along the line of our high path, towards what I took to be a tarn, set high against the corrie wall. I had a mental…
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