I had two more walks planned for the week, one of which was an exact replica of a route I followed onto Sca Fell via Piers Gill and Deep Gill back in Summer 2014. Back then, I was on the wrong side of an incorrect forecast and ended up completing the route in fog so low I could barely see the treetops. For me, that walk was the pinnacle route onto Sca Fell, should you have the legs for it, but I was sidetracked after David Rod and I had planned a wild camp for this Friday night where we would hopefully catch the Perseid Meteor shower, but with rain forecast through the night, we had to shelve the wild camp.

The best of the forecast was for Wednesday (today) and Thursday, and initially I turned down the offer to join David and Rod tomorrow to walk a high-level circuit above Troutbeck, a walk that gained over 4,000 feet of ascent over 14 miles. It sounds like a cracker, but with my Sca Fell walk planned the day before, I might be biting off too much. The more I thought about the Troutbeck walk, the more I liked it, and I emailed David and Rod back, explaining I'd love to join them. The trouble was, with the Sca Fell walk shelved I now needed a less demanding walk, and seeing that I hadn't traversed Striding Edge in over four years (I can't believe it's been that long), what better way to spend the day than on one of Lakelands most exhilarating edges.

I locked the car and made my way towards Grisedale Lane, passing Patterdale Church yard and the home of Patterdale Mountain Rescue on the opposite side of the road. From the direction of Glenridding, three walkers checked their maps before turning right onto Grisedale Lane, who I followed until we reached the metal gate where views into valley instantly opened up. The three walkers opened the gate, which left just me turning right over Grisedale Beck before I began the slog up the steep grassy slope, where I was treated to more views of the Grisedale valley. On reaching the next gate, I found that it had been closed using a thick wooden post. I didn't know why, but off to the right, I used a second gate to gain access to the footpath above Grisedale Brow.

Counting two large groups heading towards me, I hung around for a while, taking photos and enjoying the views. When the first group arrived, they de-shouldered and, like me, added extra layers due to the wind chill. The second group was still a distance away, and satisfied with the gaps, I made my way towards Striding Edge.

The Memorial reads - In memory of Robert Dixon of Rooking, Patterdale who was killed on this spot on the 27th day of November 1858 following the Patterdale Foxhounds.

Two walkers were eating lunch below Hole-in-the-Wall, whom I passed before making my way down the stone staircase. As I inch my way back into Grisedale, more walkers are heading towards me, and hi's and hello's are shared as we pass one another. As I continue my descent, each step causes the backs of my toes discomfort, which I later trace to my gel insoles being too bulky for my boots. I perservere. "Excuse me," asked two young girls, "how far to Red Tarn?" They were half the way up the path, and I was half the way down. "See that wall" pointing to the Hole-in-the-Wall. "You just have to climb to that point." "Red Tarn is a ten-minute walk beyond; you can't miss it." The girls thanked me as I continued my descent, pressure still building in both boots. I must have passed another dozen walkers, all friendly, before the silence of the valley is shattered by shouts of yeehaa's from across the way: "Where's all that noise coming from?" as I scour the valley below. As it turns out, the screams are coming from youngsters aided by mountain leaders rock climbing the steep-sided crags below Birks.

Hot and humid with intermittent sunshine. I reach the valley floor, cross Grisedale Beck, and rise back to the metal gate, which I open to allow a Post Office van through, for which I am thanked kindly. Grisedale Lane now canopied by Waterfall Wood, trees, cascading water, and repeat. I love these gorged woods. I left Grisedale Lane and passed Patterdale Mountain Rescue before crossing the road bound for the Primary school just yonder. I spot my car, but it's hemmed in by some thoughtless person who thought it was OK to ignore the 'do not block the gate' sign and shoehorn his or her car so close to mine that their rear bumper is only a few centimetres from my front bumper, but for now all I can think of is removing my boots. Laces untied, I ease both my boots off, and the pressure releases instantly. Has my plantar fasciitis returned? Nope, your bloody insoles are too big. What a great day, though.