On paper this week's forecast looked dreadful, but reading between the lines there were actually some decent mornings and afternoons to take advantage of today being one of them. I took a chance and drove to Grasmere with no real walk in mind, weighing my options the closer I got. I eventually settled on the Greenburn Horseshoe. I did, have other plans, but both the south and north of the district were much cloudier, and what I didn't expect was so much sunshine when I arrived in Grasmere. Blimey, at this rate I wouldn't even need a waterproof jacket but I packed one anyway, just in case.

The lay-by was half full and I managed to park halfway along, tucking my car between two motorhomes before kitting up at the boot. I left quite a bit of extra layers behind that I knew I wouldn't need and did my best to fold my waterproof jacket into a neat package but as always, I failed, both sleeves flapping about and causing further frustration. In the end I just rolled it into a ball-type thingy and called it a day. You can tell I wouldn't last two minutes working on the counter at Next. I took two long swigs from my water bottle before placing it back in the boot, then headed off towards Butharlyp Howe - an area of woodland on the outskirts of Grasmere and my shortcut to Easedale Road.

I left the A591, passing a chap tidying up a patch of grass at the front of his cottage, his spade scraping along the tarmac before he spun around and gave me a "Hi." I nodded one back, then turned onto Pye Lane and Broadgate thereafter passing White Bridge Forge, where I shared a nod with the owner through the entrance to his workshop before heading through a gate into Butharlyp Howe.

The woodland was dense, its canopy hardly penetrable with summer in full swing. During the winter months you can get a good view of Helm Crag over Easedale Beck, but today there was far too much coverage. The path rose around the woodland, where I passed an elderly lady and greeted her with a smile and got one in return before arriving at a second gate opposite the Glenthorne Quaker Guest House.

After passing the Guest House I headed up the walled lane, where a gate was opened for me by a group of teenagers who had come from the direction of Far Easedale which was jolly nice of them.

I turned right towards Lancrigg before arriving at a large stone cairn at the foot of the path bound for Helm Crag. Joining the stone staircase, I began to ascend, noticing how humid it was with little to no breeze. The first real slope of the day sure got the lungs working.

I made the summit of Helm Crag on the hour mark after passing couples and groups of walkers who all seemed to share the same demographic - they looked retired, and good on them for enjoying what they'd so rightly earned. Closer to the summit I passed a lady, and we both commented on how the weather had turned out better than forecast. We looked south towards the Coniston Fells, their summits well below the cloud line. Chose the right area to walk today too I smiled.

That's Pike of Carrs on the right, its rocky crest rising ahead while beyond it lies the summit of Calf Crag

The cloud toyed with the sun, casting shifting shadows across the fellside and causing the temperature to dip or rise with its sporadic appearances. I climbed the final section towards the summit, then had to negotiate a large body of water doubling back slightly to get around it before arriving at the summit cairn perched on its plinth of rock.

The sun had gone in, but the fells to the north and west were blessed with sunshine, where unbeknown to me David was enjoying a walk around Derwent Water at the same time on the far side of the Central Ridge. The sun stayed hidden behind the cloud and I could feel the hairs on my arms standing up again, so I turned my back on the northern fells and pointed myself south towards Cotra Breast.

Besides the girl and her Spaniel, I'd only passed two walkers on the outward leg, the second being a solo walker halfway into his ascent of Cotra Breast. He had ten years on me but made the steep climb look effortless, and I hoped I'd still have that kind of fitness when I reached his age. The sun was back out, and the lower I descended the warmer it became, until my forehead and the backs of my hands were oozing sweat. I'd been wearing a baseball cap all afternoon, the trucker type which let my head breathe, but even so the front of it had gathered a neat rim of sweat across its width.

Continuing down the slope, two raptors circled above Town Head Farm, though they were too far away for me to confirm their breed. I could hear them squawking even over the noise of the A591 below. I reached the end of the slope accompanied by the sound of a cascading Green Burn, took one last look up the Greenburn valley, then opened a gate at Turn Howe Cottage. With a thick canopy of trees overhead, I continued down the tarmac lane with a bit of caution as the surface was covered in pine needles, rarely saw the sun, and the gradient was steep. After crossing two cattle grids the lane levelled at Ghyll Foot, where I passed a row of cottages that haven't changed since the last time I was here. I could hear the A591 now just beyond the fields; it was close to 5pm and folk were finishing work, and the traffic reflected it. Continuing along the lane, I turned left at Low Mill Bridge towards Mill Bridge and crossed the A591, paused to peer back at the white water of Tongue Gill, collapsed my walking poles, and walked the final half-mile back to my car whilst allowing normality to creep back in.