There were no fells for me last weekend due to attending a local music concert which sadly turned out to be a washout followed by a week of unsettled weather and to top that; prolonged heavy rainfall come Saturday. By Friday it was looking like it might be another weekend off the fells that was until Sundays forecast unravelled itself forecasting a bright start before high level cloud moved in around midday. I'm not sure how clear skies and sunshine can follow in the wake of Saturday's deluge but that it did waking to star filled skies on Sunday morning. It had been an uneventful drive north whilst I indulged in my new Audible crime thriller 'Cut Adrift' written by Chris Simms.

The pre-light of dawn was tweaking just around the corner and by the time I'd reached Grasmere at 6:40am there was just enough light to kit up without the use of a head torch. It doesn't seem two minutes ago when the country was enjoying heat wave after heat wave wearing shorts and T-shirts to fell walk just seemed the norm but today, and, after yesterday's heavy rain it's back to long trousers, windproofs, beanie, gloves and even gaiters in anticipation of the boggy ground I was about to encounter. After locking the car I crossed a deserted A591, kicked through the dewy grass verge on the opposite side of the road before making my way towards Greathead Gill via the steep tarmac path flanked by luxury cottages only a lottery win could dream of.

Greathead Gill was in full spate, its white water cascading down the fell side before being funelled into a concrete gorge seperated by cottages on either side. I love the sound of flowing water but this was the opposite and almost over powering to the senses and I wondered if the locals had managed any sleep last night.

Once the footbridge over Greathead Gill was reached I was panting like a labrador on a hot day due to exertion from the steep tarmac incline. I turned left and followed the stone track below a coppice of pine trees before reaching the equally steep stone staircase which rose almost above the treeline before the path swerved right where I stopped to look back on Grasmere where first light was breaching the treetops and surrounding fells.

I was getting hot now so I removed the gloves I'd added back at the car but opted to keep my beanie on due to the fresh breeze. Forecasters had predicted a windchill of -10°C at 950 metres and although I was chuffing like an old steam train I knew that drop in temperature was just around the corner. I'd spotted a chap wearing bright orange trousers on Stone Arthur's south ridge before he disappeared from view before spotting him again standing on the summit - he must have ten to fifteen minutes on me.

Expecting the grassy ridge to be flowing with water I was surprised to find it relatively dry underfoot whilst thinking the fells had escaped the worst of the rain because just twelve hours ago I was in fear the inch of standing water on my patio was about to flood my kitchen. The dawn light was changing every minute and although the sun hadn't climbed high enough to breach High Pike to the east, I knew it was only minutes away.

This was the view I had in my head yesterday when I went out to put fuel in the car, originally I was going to walk Wetherlam via Black Sails but the lure of Fairfield and this view won for no particular reason.

That's Nethermost Pike, High Crag, Nethermost Pike, Striding Edge over on the left and the pointed peak is the summit of Catstye Cam.

I began my descent from Grisedale Hause and passed a middle aged couple with their dog me making sure I take care on the wet rock whilst the couple stepped aside to let me pass which was jolly decent of them. Here the path was either bone dry or flowing with water it just depended which part of the path had caught the sun and which hadn't.

Further down the path steepened and water flowed over its rocks or drained to the side whilst the sound of Tongue Gill falls drowned out the silence but it was also awesome to see such a powerful flow of water once the falls were reached.

I had only seen a dozen walkers all morning and ten of those were during the descent of Tongue Gill four of which were hoisting themselves up the embankment after following the grassy rampart beyond Tonguegill Force. It had been a truly fantastic descent where for an hour or so my ears had been treated to the sound of cascading water while my eyes had the beauty of the Lakeland fells on the cusp of Autumn. I crossed Tongue Gill at the Ford braving the stepping stones rather than the bridge before emerging on the other side my boots had taken a good swill and looked better for it. I joined the track flanked by Tongue Gill this time it was ravined within a tree lined gorge where views of white water appeared between the leaves and branches.

Further down I passed another couple the chap had a phone glued to one ear whilst his wife looked unimpressed at the uneven rocky incline. I reached the familiar gate where I stopped for a few moments. Views opened out towards the old barn while beyond, Steel Fell still wrapped in bracken on the turn and clear blue beyond disturbed only by the sound of a motorbike engine note decelerating as it reached the top of Dunmail Raise.