The mist was so thick anyone driving between Patterdale and Glenridding did so using their fog lights which thinned as I gained height on Grisedale Lane. Through the tree canopy I could see the summit of Birkhouse Moor and the further I climbed the clearer the visibility got. I had passed Patterdale Cricket ground which doubles as a carpark where I was surprised to find just three cars parked up, mind you it's still early. Prior to crossing Grisedale Beck I passed a dad and daughter duo the same pair I'd seen leave the George Starkey Hut in Patterdale as I kitted up.

They were at dawdling speed taking in the views which I liked, no rush. After crossing the bridge I passed through the gate before passing through a field bound for the path for Hole-in-the-Wall. It was here I just so happened to glance back to get this superb view of the sun rising over Boredale Hause casting rays of light over Grasswaite How and Patterdale.

I'd had a hankering for Swirral Edge, more so Dollywaggon Pike for a couple of weeks which was so strong it replaced the Coniston walk which I've put on back burner for me to pick up another day. It's been four years since I last stepped foot on Dollywaggon Pike and I'm really looking forward to returning this morning.

The original plan was to ascend by The Tongue which divides Cock Cove over on the left with Ruthwaite Cove in the centre. I've descended The Tongue with David and Rod a few years back but not all the way back into the valley, back then we went onto explore Ruthwaite Cove, Hard Tarn and even ventured into Nethermost Cove.

I won't pretend to admit that that wasn't a steep and sometimes difficult descent not helped by how loose the dirt was at the head of the gully which caused me to lose traction more times than I could count! I swerve to my left and use the grass to aid descent but this is marred by hidden boulders underfoot which shifted under my weight.

Of the many walkers coming and going below, no one could see me during my descent, not until I arrived back at Ruthwaite Lodge, where I de-shouldered to take a Snickers bar from my pack before passing on a 'morning' to the two lads resting there. Kicking the heels into the backs of my boots, I began my descent through the valley remembering last winter when I only made it to the Lodge after being forced back during a snowstorm. Today it felt like a proper summers day, which was bringing out the best in people. Strangers chatting and passing on their mornings is great camaraderie on the fells. With the heat bearing down, I continued my descent, reaching the little wooden footbridge over Grisedale Beck, where I contemplated taking the alternative path back through the valley but changed my mind at the last minute. Two elderly walkers did, but they were stood chatting for so long I soon lost sight of them. I passed dozens of more walkers, mostly heading into the valley, and one large group whose leader was telling a tale quite loudly. One woman at the rear of the group rolled her eyes and smiled as we passed.

I stopped on several occasions to look back on Dollywaggon, sighting walkers as small as ants crossing the top of Ruthwaite Cove. By the time I'd reached the old barn at Elmhow, I could feel myself slowing down. I'd only eaten two bananas and a Snickers bar all morning, and my stomach was growling but I was too close to Patterdale to stop now. Grisedale Lane came; more and more walkers some kitted out for the fell and others who clearly had no intention of walking further than Elmhow Plantation. I began the plod down the lane and couldn't believe my eyes when I saw how busy it was at Patterdale Cricket Club with cars parked not just at the top of the pitch but down one side too. It was a similar story for Patterdale, where it took me a minute to spot a gap in the traffic so I could cross from one path to the other. Volunteers were mowing the lawns at St Patrick's; in fact, the whole church is run by volunteers who I could see took pride in their work. The mist had lifted and the grass had that 'first cut' smell to it. The sound of petrol mowers faded into the distance replaced by traffic, every view was a camera shot and despite how busy Patterdale looked, it still had that picture postcard feel to it.