I've returned to Eskdale for my final walk of the week after treating myself to a 6am lie-in. It's been an incredible five years since I last visited Harter Fell the first walk I did with David and Rod after the death of my father. I just don't know where the time goes because in reality it feels less than half that. One of my fondest memories from the day was the lovely walk from Jubilee Bridge taking in the views above Eskdale which today are a little restricted due to the shoulder high bracken. The only godsend was that the bracken was dry, although I must admit some sections still carried morning dew but nothing to write home about. I arrived at Jubilee Bridge after driving over the Wrynose and Hardknott passes and dropped into the parking spaces, grabbing the last spot between two cars whose owners were kitting up at the rear.

The first couple left towards Brotherilkeld, which was where I saw the solo walker heading, but minutes later I heard the sound of a gate opening and spotted him disappearing into the bracken. I still hadn't laced my boots, which gave him a good five minute start on me. By the time I was ready to leave, the guy was long gone. I crossed Jubilee Bridge and opened the same gate I'd heard earlier. Straight away I saw how high the bracken was and prayed it wasn't wet. It wasn't, and so I began the half-mile walk as the path climbed steadily above Eskdale the only noise disturbing the silence was the sound of a distant tractor baling hay close to Wha House Farm.

I soon linked up with the narrow trod just below Border End summit and began the short but steep descent, taking in views of the Eskdale Needle, Great Moss, and the magnificent Scafell group. I descended by eye, reading the lay of the steep ground and zigzagging my way down, kicking my feet into the backs of my boots more out of habit, because that little shift inside the boot feels like the first beer on a hot summer's day. Parts of the descent I remembered from an ascent a few years ago, especially the pathless drop directly off the summit, which I find odd because I'm the guy who'd forget your name two minutes after you told me.

I continued down, my back to the Eskdale Needle as I turned south, still zigzagging grassy ledges until I dropped onto level, boggy ground it could have been much worse I suppose. I picked up another grassy trod that led through patches of bracken, the fort's walls getting closer, as did the north entrance where I passed a young lad taking keen interest in the ruins, which was great to see. From the pass, two girls also came through the entrance, by which time I'd positioned myself at the corner of the Commandant's House, from where I took this photo of Border End. I turned heel and left the fort through the south gate, beginning the short descent back to Jubilee Bridge.

On the first steep section of the pass I witnessed a two year old VW camper stall the engine cut out, the driver restarted it, but the slope was steep and the laden van struggled to move forward. He wheel-spun it all the way to the second corner. Poor van, and worth a few quid too. The driver passed me and I gave him a nod; the guy in the Peugeot behind wasn't as pleasant, shaking his head knowing he'd have to follow the camper over both passes. That had been my plan too, but I wasn't going to risk it and told myself I'd head home via the Birker Road instead. The short cuts through the bracken gave way for the final sixty yards of the pass, where my car came into view. The two cars whose owners had kitted up alongside me earlier were gone, replaced by different vehicles. It was exactly four hours since I'd set off, and with no real rush to get home, I finished the remainder of my sandwich on a nearby boulder, watching Hardknott Gill flow below through woodland and patchworks of sunshine.