It had been a reliable forecast all week promising intermittent sunshine on Saturday so it felt right to return to Haweswater for a circuit of Mardale Head. But by Saturday morning the outlook had shifted after a band of overnight rain had left a ceiling of high grey cloud, its density drifting between shades of dullness what photographers would call flat light. It wouldn't trouble the walk, but it certainly would the camera. With David walking with Kayleigh, Rod asked if I'd mind him joining me, and of course I didn't.

We arranged to meet at Mardale Head car park, which was still in darkness when I rolled up at around 6:25am. I cursed myself for leaving my headtorch at home, especially with sunrise not due until just after seven; I'd underestimated how dark it would be on arrival. After parking beside a 4x4 whose owner had just set off, I laced up at the side of the car, extended my poles and rested them against the side of the car before climbing back into the driver's seat to wait for Rod. Ten minutes later a pair of headlamps appeared on the road, and a few moments after that Rod pulled in beside me. It was around 6:40am, and by 6:50am both cars were locked and we were ready to set off.

After passing two local girls on their way up Mardale Ill Bell, we began our own descent towards the top of Nan Bield Pass, spotting walkers heading up from Small Water in the corrie below and others decending from Harter Fell. If we'd needed any clues about where everyone had been the top of Nan Bield Pass provided the answer.

The shelter was empty when we arrived, and it was good to see the two large rocks still in place with the words Mardale and Kentmere neatly painted and arrowed towards their respective valleys. About half a dozen walkers were now descending Harter Fell, among them a young lass who clearly had her exploration head on. She was descending mostly off-path, zig-zagging across the slopes simply to take in different angles and views, and she kept at it until she finally drifted out of sight

We were soon joined at the summit by a young girl who had come up from the direction of Kentmere Pike. Before we moved on, I asked in passing, "You ok?" She smiled, nodded a polite "yes, thank you," and immediately dropped her eyes back to her phone. Skirting the scattered summit rock we carried on, joking about the last time we were here, when it took both me and Rod to wrestle the gate shut against the force of the wind. We made our way to the viewing platform where the fence swings south-east towards Little Harter Fell and Adam Seat. A chap came towards us carrying a pack with a sapling, plastic netting and a fold-down spade poking out of it. He was clearly heading off to plant the sapling, perhaps in memory of someone, and I liked that thought. More walkers were heading up now; we must have passed half a dozen including a fell runner literally tethered to his dog by the waist, the dog galloping ahead. "Cheating, that, mate!" Rod laughed as they came past. The runner shouted something back, but he was covering ground so quickly we didn't catch it, perhaps just as well, I joked.

At the top of Gatescarth Pass, Rod paused to take a photo of the signpost for Mardale and Longsleddale before we began our descent. Another half-dozen were on their way up, including a woman in shorts and a sports vest who was absolutely hammering her poles relishing the climb. Despite being over half a mile away, Blea Water Beck provided the soundtrack to our descent, acompanied now and then by Gatescarth Beck - out of sight but certainly not out of earshot. We stopped to take in the view towards Harter Fell Gully, where many moons ago I'd been asked by the late author Ron Black to make an ascent. I'd joked, "Are you trying to get me killed, Ron?" The gully, from every angle, looked formidable, greasy, dark, and uninviting. "I wouldn't go up that with a rope and harness," I laughed to Rod. We passed a large group before arriving back at a bustling Mardale Head car park. Rod remarked how far back the cars were parked, and I confirmed it seconds later. "Jesus," I muttered to myself. We hadn't had a hint of sunshine all morning, the cloud was far too dense for any light to break through but the cloud and drifting mist had given the walk an atmosphere I simply wouldn't have got on a blue-sky day.