The trio were meant to get together on Saturday on an unconfirmed route on Helvellyn, but with a poor forecast, the walk was cancelled, and each of us was left to our own devices for the weekend. I nearly took Rod's advice and enjoyed two consecutive lie-ins, but I was itching to get out, and for an unexplained reason, I couldn't get Black Fell and Holme Fell out of my head.

I'm guilty of neglecting both of these fells. My last visit was a staggering seven years ago when I completed my Wainwrights in 30 Walks project when David and I linked the duo with Loughrigg Fell and Lingmoor Fell on what I recall was a blisteringly humid day.

I won't be stretching out that far today, instead linking the two summits from Yew Tree Tarn, Iron Keld Plantation, and almost as far as Hodge Close before the easy stroll onto Holme Fell. If I knew that during those seven years I'd get a repeat of the conditions that I had today, I would dedicate this whole website to Black Fell and Holme Fell. What a fantastic welcome back.

It was still raining when I arrived at Yew Tree Tarn but at least Dawn had broken revealing mixed patches of cloud that from my current location, appeared well above my surrounding summits. I had backed my car up to a photographer who had trained her tripod and camera towards the tarn while I waited for the rain to ease. After several minutes, I got bored, and so I began my kit up using my tailgate as I sheltered from the rain.

The photographer had left her car running, and her headlamps pointed directly at me like I was on stage, but at least I could see what I was doing. After a quick patdown and sweep of the boot, I closed the tailgate, locked the car, crossed the road, and entered Lane Head Coppice, bound for Tarn Hows.

From the moment I entered Lane End Coppice it dawned on me that I'd forgotten to add my gaitors and bring along my fingerless mitts as today's photos were being taken using my mobile phone. It had rained heavily overnight, and the woodland floor reflected this with pine needles resting on top of sodden tree roots. It was a struggle to stay upright at times until the narrow path plateaued as the lower falls came into view. The falls were surrounded by tree branches, but that didn't stop me from going in for a closer look. Much the same for the grander upper falls, where I stood watching last night's rain cascade into a deep well at the base of the falls. Large droplets of rain peppered my head and jacket, exploding down the back of my neck and forehead. It was unclear while ascending through the plantation whether it was still raining or if the trees were shaking themselves dry like you would after collapsing a wet umbrella. I was soaked.

I'd forgotten how steep the path was, and after dodging more tree roots and wet rock the light above the tree canopy began to increase, and I knew I was close to the tarn now. Even without gravity, the force of the water cascading from the tarn was enough to cancel out any other noise. Not far from the tarn, the outflow flowed alongside large moss-covered boulders. Further downstream, the roots from a fallen tree had dammed a section of the outflow, which under any other circumstances would have been removed, but today the roots did a great job of stemming the flow of water. Turning around, I passed over a wet slab of rock, the light increasing from above before I emerged at Tarn Hows where I was greeted by the most wonderful morning light.

Cloud cover increased, and with the little ascent I made, conditions started to turn misty with clouds clinging to the tops of the trees. I crossed paths with a second herd of Belted Galways, this time three adults and one calf straddling the path ahead. My approach saw the calf and two adults head away, but the remaining adult looked down its nose at me with fixed eyes which was just the warning I needed to head into the bracken until I was well clear.

The path began to rise again, and from a distance, I spotted a spaniel running up and down the hillside. Its owner stood nearby next to a transit van. They were too far away for a hi, and as quickly as they'd appeared, I'd walked them out of view.

I continued through Stang End Moss until I came across a sign post for Yewdale, where I turned left. It had been some years since I last walked this route, part of which had remained lodged in my head, leaving the old boy mumbling "I remember this" often to myself, which is quite odd as most days by lunchtime I'd forgotten what I'd eaten for breakfast.

Although not steep, I did have to take care when ascending towards the summit, where two rock steps had to be negotiated, which had a healthy mix of mud and slime over polished rock. I made a mental note to be careful during my descent later.

The rock gave way for grass and heather, and soon the summit cairn came into view, which I passed heaving slightly, not from exhaustion but from the fact that by now I was overheating in the late morning sunshine. The summit cairn was passed as I made my way towards the southern end of the summit, where I was lured by the views of Coniston Water in the distance.

Two walkers arrived at the top of Uskdale Gap much the same time as I did, one of whom had a map case around their neck. They were both very friendly but I kind of knew what was coming next. "Is Holme Fell around here?" they asked. Head up this grassy bank and bear right; Holme Fell is not to be mistaken by Ivy Crag (with its substantial cairn) over on the left.

They thanked me and as I began my descent, they then shouted, "You came just at the right time" aye I chuckled back.

I continued my descent through Uskdale Gap, which by now getting warmer the further I descend. I pass a young couple, and I share a hi and get an 'arreet' in return. He's definitely from my hometown of Wigan, but I don't question him. Instead, I continue my descent, passing two mates who pull alongside and allow me to pass. They were slightly older than me, but I still thank them with a "thanks, lads" and get a "no worries" in return. Incredibly, the path is loose and dusty underfoot and displayed no signs of this morning's rain. I could hear a group of walkers approaching from the direction of Yew Tree Farm, and judging by the sounds of it, they were a large group.

I reached the base of Uskdale Gap after sighting views of Yew Tree Tarn through the trees minutes earlier and remembering a broken gap in the wall that surrounded the tarn, naively I went for it and got my comeuppance first after tramping through deep bog eyes fixed on the wall, which had been temporally repaired with what looked like a wooden pallet. I tried the pallet for sturdiness; it didn't budge, and I sheepishly committed by throwing my poles over the pallet, followed by my right leg, then left. For a few seconds, I was swarmed with guilt. To save ten minutes of road walking, I had broken the rules, and I urge anyone reading this not to do the same. Yew Tree Tarn now and its mirror finish reflecting white puffy clouds and rough crags. The guilt had left me by now as I am passed by families and their dogs. This reality check was happening too quickly, and I wish I'd stuck to the path and gone the long way around. What a walk, though.