David had come up with this walk as part of a number of routes he's put together focused on visiting fell tops and valleys in the Far Eastern Fells. This particular route was one of the longer walks, and when he mentioned it to Rod and me we immediately asked if we could join him. The trouble was finding a weekend when we were all available and after a dry spell too, because anyone who's walked through Mosedale will know that despite its solitude, it can be a bog-fest. I'm not quite sure what's happening with the weather at the moment. By now we should be enjoying warm, sunny days, but the temperature is struggling to reach the mid-teens, making May feel like an extension of spring.

The good news was it hadn't been too wet, and by the beginning of the week the trio were swapping emails with this walk in mind. The forecast held, and we planned to meet at a small lay-by just outside the hamlet of Burnbanks at 6:45am for a 7:00am start. I arrived early even by my standards at 6:20am to find Rod already kitting up, shortly followed by David. By 6:30am we were booted up and ready to go. The walk starts on The Concrete Road, which isn't just a nickname it's actually named The Concrete Road. It was constructed in the 1920s to transport materials for the construction of the Haweswater Dam. It's now a private road and still links Burnbanks with Keld and Shap though these days it's more popular with cyclists and hikers than construction wagons.

We passed through Swindale Head, flanked by Dodd Bottom, where we stopped to take in views of Hobgrumble Gill and entertained the idea of an ascent there one day. Ahead lay our first climb of the day, rising out of the Swindale valley over boggy ground underfoot - a sure taster of what might lie ahead.

By the time we'd climbed out of Mosedale it had started to cloud over, leaving the valley looking dark and moody. Still, we stopped to take in the views of High Wether How and Scam Matthew to the east - two summits that David had visited recently as part of his Far Eastern Fells project.

The fence on Selside Brow came into view, along with the solo walker we'd spotted earlier, who appeared to be an old boy taking his time on the steep incline. We left the path just short of the familiar metal gate and began ascending pathless over hummocky grass which had seemed a good idea two minutes earlier but was tough-going underfoot. We soon joined the fence line and watched the old boy disappear from view.

We got stuck into the ascent, one foot in front of the other, with David breaking the silence as the summit came into view joking "Is this Tarn Crag!" We were the furthest from the cars at this point and had only just reached our first summit of the morning after our legs had grown used to the gentle valley gradients, Branstree certainly woke the calf muscles.

We descended High Howes and, to avoid the notorious Captain Whelter Bog we ascended Selside Pike to the right of the fence, managing to keep our boots from taking a soaking. By now we could see traffic on the fells - a trio behind us descending Artle Crag, and the solo walker we'd first seen back on Branstree but we still hadn't actually passed anyone.

Even though it wasn't quite lunchtime, we'd been on our feet for five hours and decided to take on some fuel at Selside Pike summit shelter, each choosing our throne. I tucked into half my lunch, as did David and Rod, and for the best part of thirty seconds before packing up I closed my eyes, felt the warmth on my face whilst listened to two lapwings squabble overhead.

In the warmth of the midday sunshine we followed the track north-east and shouldered Harper Hills, its summit cairn just metres away, though we didn't pay it a visit. We'd been on the go for over six hours by now, and my toes were beginning to pinch inside my right boot no doubt the result of the new pair of work shoes I bought last week which being new, still feel a tad tight. We spotted a herd of Belted Galloway below Wallow Crag, whose summit looked inviting, as did Hugh Laithes Pike further east.

Below us Naddle Farm appeared - our route of descent back to Naddle Bridge but access to the path misleads the walker, and we passed the farm by what felt like a country mile before finally sighting the gate where our descent began proper. It had clouded over, but it was still warm. David and Rod had removed their softshells back at the Chimney, but I stuck with mine until the overheating became too much and I caved in shortly before shouldering Harper Hills.

The track was smooth and grassy before steadily descending towards Naddle Farm through ancient woodland, where we passed a couple sat on a blanket drinking tea from china cups. Their view was a beautiful oak in vibrant green plumage, and David couldn't pass without commenting on how lovely a spot they had; the couple agreed and smiled back kindly. After passing through a gate we crossed an almost-dry Naddle Beck which, further upstream, would once have flowed over what looked like an old concrete weir something Rod went to investigate.

We passed through a second gate which led through what was once the farmyard but is now the brand-new RSPB Wild Haweswater Headquaters and Laboratory, complete with sheep sheds converted into nurseries. It all looked a little spanking new, but I hoped it would weather nicely and settle into the surrounding countryside. We left the farmyard behind and joined a newly laid concrete lane, at the end of which our cars had been left over six hours earlier. We each opened our doors and began our kit-down, easing boots off with groans. I gave my feet a massage through my sweaty socks - which I know sounds disgusting, but trust me, it felt like heaven. I think Rod summed the walk up perfectly when David asked him what he thought. "It felt special" he replied.