I began kitting up just as the sunrise was casting its first light over the northern tip of Ullswater, illuminating the fields in a vivid green. Bloody hell, I thow't, I wasn't expecting that. There was a noticeable breeze at valley level but nothing dramatic. The signs were there, though - layers of cloud scuttling across the sky in different shades illuminated by the sunrise I left Roehead hatless and gloveless such the mildness of the morning, and joined the steady track towards Moor Divock and the High Street Roman Road.

It was around here that I first felt the full force of the wind howling across the open moorland. Strangely enough, despite the wind the air was still mild and I even heard a Lapwing over the wind while enjoying the colours of the sunrise while I still could.

The shortcut was wet and boggy, but thankfully I covered it quickly and soon reached the shoulder of the summit, just as my left boot finally gave way to the bog water I'd been wading through for most of the morning. The incline was steady and the snow patch ahead was another matter, deep, thawing, and incapable of bearing my weight. Every step plunged my boots one to two feet down. I don't think a narrow band of snow has ever caused me so much frustration, not to mention the slight drain on my energy.

Once past it, I was looking forward to the summit trig point, which only comes into view in the last hundred yards thanks to the rise of the shoulder. I'd go as far as to say the wind felt stronger back on Bonscale Pike, but even here I was still being buffeted. For whatever reason, I decided to unloop my walking poles and rest them against the trig only for the wind to blow them straight into the puddle below. The handles were soaked through. What else could I do but roll my eyes and let out a sigh. You stupid bugger, I muttered!

I picked up my walking poles, which had somehow looped themselves together, and I had a right job freeing them in the wind. The straps had soaked up the puddle water, and even through my gloves I could feel the damp seeping in. Great, I thow't wet feet and now wet gloves. It was another roll-your-eyes, tongue-in-cheek moment, because despite the damp I was completely in my element. I stood looking south towards Wether Hill and High Raise, the fells merging seamlessly under a mass of grey holding onto their snow appearing like zebra stripes rather than full coverage, and in that howling wind the whole scene looked grim and I loved it. The wind was doing its best to spread the contents of my nose across my face, and I knew it was time to leave. I reluctantly turned my back and, for the first time that morning, felt the wind buffeting my back instead of my face. Life was good. I left the summit smiles all round knowing I had just under five glorious, all beit grim to the eye miles ahead. I'd never felt more in my element.

I dropped off the summit shoulder, trudging back through the snow patch before emerging on the other side and descending the last of the incline, passing the boundary stone Lambert Lad while watching another shower sweep over Ullswater. I escaped that one thanks to the strength of the wind carrying it, but further on I was met with a more prolonged downpour that stuck with me. Ahead, I spotted movement on the path descending towards Swarth Beck, only realising minutes later it wasn't walkers but a farmer on a small four-by-four. Later, he emerged onto the path about fifty feet ahead, gave me a left handed wave, and carried on towards Heltondale on the other side of Loadpot Hill. The rain continued; I was soaked by now, but with every foot of descent the wind eased a little. To the west I caught sight of two walkers on Arthur's Pike - there one minute, gone the next - and lower down two solo walkers were also making their ascent. The rain eased and the murk began to lift as I dropped towards the Cockpit Stone Circle, where a large group and several pairs of walkers were gathering. Above Ullswater, breaks in the cloud started to appear, widening to reveal a blend of blue sky and drifting cloud over the lake. I joined the track towards Roehead, collapsed my walking poles, and felt my stomach flutter at the thought of sliding my feet into a pair of dry socks to drive home in.