I left home under the cover of darkness, expecting to arrive in Lakeland to a half-decent sunrise, but it wasn't to be, finding cloud cover over the north, northwestern and central summits with limited sun trying to poke through. It was relatively calm here in the valley, but I see cloud scuttling over the summits which took the wind from my sails, pardon the pun. At 7:20am I managed to grab the last parking spot at the bottom of Newlands Pass not quite believing how early it was and that it was also midweek. I kitted up watching the cloud over The High Stile ridge, the silence broken by dozens of baahing sheep and the distant sound of water cascading down Sour Milk Gill which had a soothing effect on me. Kitted up, I locked the car and went to visit St James Church, unaware it was closed due to a damaged roof.

Buttermere was waking up as I crossed the bridge over Mill Beck its white water drowned out by the sound sheep baahing like they were in competition with one another. Ahead a solo walker wearing shorts and T-shirt opens a gate and takes the lane track towards the lake If he's heading onto the fells, somehow I think he's going to be needing more layers if he's heading onto the fell. By the time I arrived at Buttermere Lake the walker was long gone by the time I arrived at the lake shore which I had to myself with the exception of two people next to the footbridge over Buttermere Dubs. As cloud scuttled across the sky faith was restored when it looked like some brightness was due my way after all.

I left the lakeshore and crossed the field towards the footbridge where I'd seen the couple a few minutes earlier. The young lass was up to her waist in water wearing just a bra while her boyfriend filmed her with his mobile.

None of them flinched as I walked past, but talk about awkward for me. Once over the footbridge, I joined the stone path and began my ascent through Old Burtness Woods.

Another reason for today's visit was to try and locate the tree where Richard Hammond spoke about his experience whilst in a coma following a 310mph jet-powered drag car crash back in September 2006.

Richard is a keen fell walker and regularly visits Buttermere. Whilst in his coma he had recurring dreams that he couldn't make it past this tree around the same time that doctors called Richard's then wife Mindy, who went on to play a crucial role fearing Richard wasn't going to pull through. I'd carried out some research on the whereabouts of the tree.

This is obviously a special place to Richard and I think it's best that the location isn't shared.

Click on the You Tube link to listen to Richard's experience.

The temperatures were now in the late teens; passing many a holidaymaker in shorts and T-shirts, I felt over-dressed and delayered to a T-shirt myself, falling back in with the crowds. I must have passed 50-60 heading up the pass, some passing on their mornings, others oblivious to my 'morning', so in the end I stopped commenting until one couple stopped to ask me of my route, which I explained enthusiastically, commenting on how cold it was – but by now the summits had probably warmed up I added. Peggy's Bridge and Gatescarth Farm came into view, as did a field of cars which the farmer had opened up. I had never seen the area as busy as I jostled down the lane, avoiding folk stopping to take photos or chat – it really did feel like a theme park rather than a national park. Business is good for the park, especially for the locals in this area, but you might hear others speak differently. I arrived at Gatescarth Farm to join the tail end of the queue for the ice cream van. Folk were in every direction trying to avoid one another, and the car park opposite was overflowing. I was eager to get out of dodge as quickly as I could.

I joined the B259 which rose over Gatescarthdale. Beck, my calves feeling the pinch such my eagerness to escape the crowds. The east lake path was just five minutes away, but I found myself jostling again for road space between the passing cars and visitors – Buttermere Lake appeared, and as I rounded its eastern tip I joined the lake path and left the crowds behind. I could feel my heart rate returning to normal. 'It's the school holidays, Paul; it's bound to be busy,' but it was an eye-opener nonetheless. High cloud had replaced the summit cloud, and the temperature, less the wind, was ramping up and it was starting to feel like summer again. Whilst children threw sticks for dogs into the lake watched on by parents I eased myself into the two-mile walk back to Buttermere; half of me pleased at the cloud drama I had witnessed, the other half regretting not including Hay Stacks.