Friday 18th August

We woke to a cloudy day (though the tops were clear) and after a cooked breakfast we decided to walk over to Eskdale, go on the steam train, and buy food for our last dinner and breakfast (as we'd run out of sausages and bacon). Peter led the way with his trekking pole (also known as 'bog detector') and we passed three men working on the bridge who said it would be raining by lunch. Sure enough, as we walked up to Burnmoor Tarn the rain began, and soon it was coming down heavily.

Peter strode ahead at a very fast pace, and before we knew it we were descending towards Eskdale, soaked, drenched, and any other adjective you'd like to use. Arriving at the strangely-named village of Boot we found a really nice pub, and ate a large hot meal. Our spirits were raised, and things got better when we phoned home from a kiosk and heard that Hannah had done well in her 'A' levels and got her place at Lancaster University.

We walked cheerfully down the lane to Dalegarth Station, where dad bought a pot of tea, and almost missed the train. The little steam train took us down the valley, past the hill we climbed a week ago that had seemed so bog at the time. Finally we reached Ravenglass, which dad had identified as being the most likely place to have good food shops… only to discover on arrival that the village shop had been burnt down in a fire.

However, we found an old-fashioned man in a craft shop who said cheerfully, 'Don't worry, we stock groceries here!' and pointed to about 3 baked bean cans and a single fridge. Peter reminded dad that we had about two minutes to catch the steam train up the valley if we wanted to try one of the other villages. So we ran! (Or as Peter put it at the station, 'I thought you were going to have a heart attack.')

We got off at Eskdale Green station, found exactly what we needed at the village stores, and walked to Forest How where we said hello to the couple who'd put us up on our first night. He'd been involved in laying the aniseed trail for the dogs we'd seen from our cottage on Monday evening. Then dad persuaded Peter to go bilberry picking until the rain became so heavy that we retreated to the shelter at Irton Road station. There we played long and boring games, sang boring songs and attempted aerobics while we waited for a taxi we'd arranged to return us to Wasdale.

By now the mist was way down in the valley, the roads were beginning to flood but… we had fulfilled our mission. We had food, which we started to cook as soon as we got back. We put our wet things in the drying cupboard, Peter switched the fire on, and reminded dad of his famous words 'We don't need to take warm tops today, I don't think we'll need them'. While the roast chicken dinner cooked, we had our last evening of cards. The final score was 84-84. Dad got up and stewed the bilberries, we ate our meal, and then prepared for our final adventure - a midnight walk with head-torches.

We set off in the darkness, past Wasdale Head, over the bridge and the swollen river - only a light drizzle now falling. Then up the path into the Mosedale valley, past the eery eyes of sheep reflected in our torch beams. When we finally stopped, out of sight of all lights, surrounded by mountains, we sat down on a rock and switched off our torches: it was completely dark. Not the darkness of towns. The darkness of the wilderness. On our descent, Peter suddenly called out 'Look at those stars!' as a gap in the clouds revealed hundreds of glittering stars. We walked back to the cottage and took off our head-torches. It was 1.15am on the kitchen clock. And so we went quickly to sleep.