There were no fells for me last weekend, which seemed a good decision at the time as I needed the rest, but as usual, come Sunday evening I was already making plans for the forthcoming weekend. I was meant to walk this particular route when I was on leave at the beginning of June, but it was a mixed week weather-wise and, this walk deserved the better forecast. I'd been keeping my eye on the weather all week, with Sunday looking the clearer, brighter day which, as it turned out, was the first day of a week long heatwave. I'm not a big fan of walking in heat; my body finds it hard to adjust. But with the higher temperatures yet to come, I couldn't miss the opportunity.

I left home at 4am and arrived at a half full Gatescarth car park around 6:30am. It was 8°C and, despite a cloudless blue sky there was the slightest nip in the air, so I added my windproof to take the edge off. Gatescarth Beck gurgled away on the opposite side of the car park where a couple were making a hot drink on a gas stove beside their car which looked like they might have spent the night in it. It was 6:40am by the time I dropped £7.00 into the parking meter for all day parking, and it was useful to know I could have paid by tap-and-pay too. I returned to my car and placed the parking ticket on the dashboard. Eager to get underway, I left the car park and made my way towards Gatescarth Farm.

I took the obvious trod and aimed for the stone wall, the path narrowing at times between the bracken and only just visible. I lost count of the number of times I told myself, give it two more weeks and this path will be lost to the bracken. It was a fair old slog up the fellside, but within half an hour I'd arrived at the stone wall, which I crossed by a slanted stile with two rungs missing on the opposite side.

From the stile, the path became less obvious than the one you see in the photo, so I climbed a crag directly behind for a better look. I had two options: follow the stone wall, which looked "doable" but awkward underfoot, or try to pick out a clearer line through the bracken. As I scanned the swathes of green below, I spotted a faint but definite path a few yards ahead of the crag I was standing on.

I shouldered the summit and, in doing so, passed the solo walker who was heading in the direction of the north-east ridge. It crossed my mind whether he knew where he was going not wanting to judge a book by its cover and all that so I left him to it. After making my way towards the summit cairn, the chap reappeared, now walking in line with me but about fifty yards to my left.

By the time I'd descended to join the ridge over Burtness Comb, our paths crossed again. This time I asked if he was okay and, after removing a set of wireless headphones, he replied, "Yeah… got a bit lost there." Not wanting to embarrass him, I made light of it: "Aye, it's easy to get disorientated up here."

I left High Crag at the same time as the solo walker I'd seen back on High Stile, who I hadn't realised was wearing trainers. I gave him a two minute start and he disappeared from view, so I began my own descent down the notoriously steep Gamlin End, only to find him perched beside the stone finger, off path and about sixty feet below me. I could see how he'd ended up there he'd followed a grassy trod that led straight towards the top of a scree slope (seen left) I caught his eye and nodded, "You okay?" "I lost the path again," he said. "It's over here," I replied, "but it's a tad loose, so just take your time."

I made good progress, first on the loose upper section, then joining the stone steps further down. I kept looking back, expecting to see him, but there was no sign. With most of the descent behind me, the gradient eased and I reached the grassy slopes below. Another look back and I finally spotted him on the stone steps; minutes later I lost sight of him again before he reappeared making his way towards the stone wall seen below left.

I crossed Scarth Gap and began my ascent on Haystacks much the same time as the family seen at the far end of the tarn, along with a Scottish chap who I got talking to about football and fell walking. He explained that, in his senior years, he doesn't bother with the longer walks anymore and instead gets the same enjoyment from the shorter routes like the one he was doing today over Haystacks and Fleetwith Pike.

By now I'd deshouldered to take a buff out of my pack so I could wipe my head down, and he'd joined the rear of the family. By the time I reached the summit, he was nowhere to be seen which I found slightly odd because I was only minutes behind him.

I left Innominate Tarn behind and began the delightful descent towards Blackbeck Tarn, where a young family were paddling in the outflow. Had they not been there, I'd have stuck my head under the water, but I thought better of it and instead crossed the outflow by half a dozen bone dry stepping stones. A short pull then brought me onto the south flank of Green Crag which, at times, can feel desolate but today I was joined by a dozen walkers all heading towards Haystacks. It was feeling uncomfortably hot now. I was then joined by a fell runner who had descended from Great Round How; we met where the paths crossed before he took the left fork and dropped towards Warnscale Bottom.

I made the short descent towards Warnscale Beck and arrived at the same time as a young group of twenty somethings who were struggling to cross. Again, had they not been there, I'd have had my head in the water but thankfully I didn't, after noticing one male member of the group had wandered upstream to take a pee, seemingly unbothered by his female friends or the stranger watching him do it. I shrugged the thought away and sipped freely at my bite valve, the juice wasn't cold, but it was still cool enough to quench the thirst after keeping the bladder in the fridge overnight.

I joined a grassy trod directly behind Dubs Hut, which then linked up with a more prominent path leading to and from Fleetwith Pike's summit. It was around 11:30am and I was really feeling the heat as I made my way upwards disturbing hundreds of horseflies from the undergrowth. They took a liking to my legs and head, and slapping myself silly to shoo them away was never a good idea.

The path runs parallel to the summit for a while before a sudden jolt upwards onto the top, where I spotted a young couple eating lunch. I arrived at the summit at exactly 12pm, found myself the most awkward rock my backside could sit on, deshouldred my pack and tucked into lunch.

There was the slightest breeze during my lunch stop and along with the young couple chatting behind me, the occupants of the two tents below were sat huddled shirtless a short distance away, playing cards. I re-shouldered my pack much lighter now leaving about half a litre for the descent of Fleetwith Edge. As I began descending the upper section, the cloud rolled in as forecast, and for once I was glad of it, with it came a slight breeze and a welcome drop in temperature.

I descended the rock steps, one or two on my backside, which is perfectly acceptable if you're over fifty. Halfway down Fleetwith Edge I spotted a figure also in descent who I don't remember seeing back on the summit. The sun kept coming and going, glinting across the surface of Buttermere not so much over Fleetwith Pike. I continued down countless rock steps, my eye-to-ground coordination on top form but tiring all the same. I reached the last grassy knoll before veering right, where Dale Head and Honister Pass came into view. The cars looked so close I could almost read their number plates.

The young lad descending behind me had gained some ground but couldn't close the gap, and I reached the base of the fell as he began the last hundred yards of his descent. I curled my toes into the soles of my boots as I strode along the smooth grass before joining the tarmac of Honister Pass. Stepping aside to let a car pass, I passed Gatescarth Cottage and was brought back to reality by a crowd queing at an ice-cream van. I'd taken nearly four litres of hydration on board, yet despite that my mouth was dry, my lips had formed an extra layer, and my head pulsed. Still, I told myself … it was hardly Ice Cold in Alex.