Riggindale

A crunchingly crisp frost this morning - all thoughts of an admin day banished, time to try out the new winter boots (well over a year old, but used just once before the ankle gave up last year) and maybe find enough hard snow to see if my recovery has progressed far enough for me to be able to wear crampons again.

A day Iike this guarantees the hordes would be out - so my normal testing ground of Helvellyn would simply be a test of my patience - instead we headed to Riggindale. When the punters think of the ridges of the Lake District they're drawn to The Band, Striding Edge or maybe one of Blencathra's stunning pair - but these are weekday options if you are seeking solitude or peace (or simply avoiding inevitably helping the unprepared). The connoisseur when faced with the dilemma of a glorious weekend day will head elsewhere, and for us, often as not, that's Riggindale. It simply never fails to be anything other than excellent.
Whilst snow was in relatively scant supply the little narrow path was bullet hard in melt ice, so I made my way along an adjacent line, seeking out the drifts, the little scrambles, the new boots (Scarpa Phantom Guides for those that like that sort of info) were amazingly comfortable and whilst there's enough flex for easy fast walking, they edged superbly on the outcrops. Winter boots that don't leave you hobbled - whatever next.

Of the few others I did see on the hill everyone had a dog off the lead  - chances of seeing the Red Deer who's sleeping bields I found zero! Still I enjoyed following their tracks as far as Caspel Gate, when in that wonderful way deer have, they simply disappeared over the craggy edge.
By now I'd accepted that the hard neve snow I sought wasn't going to be found, so as the sky darkened I opted to drop out of the sharp breeze and contour back across Dudderwick, from where the extra was taken.