In cold grey clag we set off up Stickle Beck, intending at the least to visit Stickle Tarn, but both of us, I think – though neither of us said it out loud – intending to try for Jack’s Rake. We arrived at the tarn and had a short snack. Some young people were there; the mist was thick and cold. We walked round the side of Stickle Tarn and addressed ourselves to Jack’s Rake. This would be my fourth ascent of Jack’s Rake. I came up here alone, carrying a big bag, in May 1987. I led a party of four up in September 1989, and I brought my son up here in 2014. That took some coaxing and encouragement. I happened to mention to him the principle in scrambling and rock climbing that “hesitate and you’re lost” and he replied that he’d learned that principle from me, on this route.

I write that deliberately, for today, Jack’s Rake was cold and wet and I found it quite difficult – I was “sketched out” as my son might say; in places it was sketchy. Whilst at least the exposure was limited today because of the mist, my fingers, even in gloves, grew very cold. In several places I was stuck for some minutes, hesitating long before committing to upward moves. In wet and greasy conditions underfoot, one wants good handholds. They are generally there on an easy scramble like Jack’s Rake, but in wet gloves I was starting to loose feeling in my fingertips. Loss of handhold would have been catastrophic, whereas slipping and losing a foothold whilst retaining a good handhold, would merely have made my pulse shoot up. We got to the top in good order without really serious difficulty, me going ahead of Nat for my safe-keeping, he herding me up the route whereas on the previous occasion, our roles were reversed. This was fitting. I am not unhappy to say that I have probably gone up Jack’s Rake for the last time. It would have to be a dry summer before I venture back there.

At the top, a short snack, before continuing by compass bearing  through cold wind over cloud-strewn brown moor, overblown with rotten snow, down to the top of the Stake Pass. Down the Stake Pass into Mickleden, that most favoured of places, and along the valley of Mickleden in the slowly fading light of a winter afternoon. Even in winter I can’t walk through Mickleden without hearing sheep, without feeling the heat of summer sun on my shoulders. Then, tea for two in the bar of the Old Dungeon Ghyll, before a companionable wander through the gloom across the fields to the car park at the New Dungeon Ghyll. For a short day, a towering achievement. A good scramble, easy fellowship and safe transit over the mountains in poor weather.