Thursday 17th August

After our long walk the previous day, we slept deep. Well, dad slept deep. Peter woke up at 3am to hear what he described as dad 'snoring and growling'. However, he went back to sleep and no-one stirred again until 10 in the morning (when dad woke up and put the sausages on) and 10.05 (when Peter smelt the sausages). We'd obviously needed a lie-in after our marathon walk along the ridges.

During breakfast it poured with rain for about fifteen minutes, but it didn't matter because today we were going river-walking. So we got kitted out in waterproofs and a rucksack of dry clothes, and headed up Mosedale Beck. Our intention was to do the opposite to usual: instead of crossing rivers and trying to stay dry, today we wanted to walk up the middle of the river and get as wet as we liked.

At first the water seemed really cold (dad felt it more than Pete) but soon it just felt pleasant. The game took the form of challenges. Peter would choose a deep section of river, or awkward boulders, walk through it, then challenge dad to follow him. Then dad would take the lead, choose a route up the next section of river, and challenge Peter. Gradually we made our way up the valley, wading through deep water at times, and trying to avoid falling in deeper.

Along the way we stopped several times: for bracken racing (which became more exciting now we could race into the river and sabotage the opponent's bracken), various games involving stones and boulders, and probably the best fun - attempting to score the perfect 10 for throwing huge rocks into the water to soak the other person.

At the head of the valley we followed the stream up towards Black Sail, and met more and more waterfalls and some very deep pools. The sun was shining (it had been dry all day after the breakfast shower) and the waterfalls were beautiful. Peter made several attempts to dam the course of the river, but his efforts were always doomed to failure.

In the end we decided to turn around and head down. We hadn't really noticed the time, but the light suggested it was late afternoon, and our stomachs felt hungry because we'd left our lunch and dry clothes lower down. We made our way down, skimming stones, relaxing, and looking across the valley to the huge crags of Scafell. We stopped for a while to watch a father and son coming down the Dore Head Screes, then walked to Wasdale Head, trying to guess the time when we got back to the cottage.

Dad said 5.30 and Peter originally guessed 7.00 but tactically changed his prediction to 5.31. As we approached the bridge in the valley we met some walkers who told us it was 5.20. Peter then found every excuse to delay dad, claiming he had a stitch, unable to open gates which mysteriously got jammed, and generally dawdling. The last remaining Club Biscuit was at stake, and when dad couldn't find the keys to the cottage (lost deep in his rucksack) he knew he was doomed. We opened the door, rushed to the kitchen clock, and saw the time: 5.35. Technically Peter had won. Poor dad!

We took off our wet clothes, made some hot chocolate, and recovered. For supper we had chicken dippers and roast potatoes, and while that was cooking we played a few rounds of cards. After supper we went out and had an incredible frisbee session, smashing our previous record with 103 catches without a drop. Back indoors, dad led in the cards until the last minutes of the evening when Peter made a late comeback to finish 80-79 up.