Our Highest Wild Camp Yet – A Night on Grey Knotts
There are some walks that are about the summit, some that are about the views, and others that end up meaning considerably more than either.
Our night on Grey Knotts was definitely one of the latter.
At 697 metres, Grey Knotts gave the three of us two new milestones: the highest we’ve been in the Lake District so far, and the highest we’ve ever pitched our little tent for the night.
And considering where I was just a few months ago, that made this one feel particularly special.
Back under the big pack
We started from Honister, and almost immediately I was reminded of one unavoidable fact about wild camping: everything you want for the night has to get up the mountain somehow!
Tent, sleeping kit, food, water, clothes, bits for Teddy and Buddy… it soon adds up. There’s quite a difference between heading onto the fells with a day pack and setting off with your temporary home strapped to your back.
But there was also something incredibly satisfying about carrying it again.
Earlier this year, when I was on crutches following my knee problems, I genuinely didn’t know how much of this I’d be able to get back to. Even when recovery was going well, there was a big difference between walking again and hauling a fully loaded backpack up a Lake District fell.
Yet there I was.
Pack on. Boys with me. Honister disappearing below us.
Heading upwards.
Higher and higher
As we climbed, the landscape opened up beautifully.
This part of the Lakes has a ruggedness I absolutely love. Rock underfoot, huge fells surrounding you and, every time you turn around, another view that makes carrying the ridiculous backpack seem completely worthwhile.
And then you get that first proper look down towards Buttermere.
What a view.
From up high, the lake sits deep between the surrounding mountains, with the fells seemingly stacked one behind another into the distance. Under the changing skies it looked particularly dramatic.
It was one of those occasions when a photograph does a pretty good job but still doesn’t quite capture what it feels like to actually stand there.
Eventually, we reached Grey Knotts.
697 metres.
Not the highest mountain in the Lake District by a long way, but for us it represented a new high point quite literally.
Finding our home for the night
Then came one of my favourite parts of any wild camp: finding somewhere to call home.
You start looking at the landscape differently when you’re carrying a tent. Suddenly every patch of grass gets assessed for slope, lumps, rocks, exposure and whether three occupants admittedly two of them very small and furry can squeeze onto it.
Eventually we found our spot.
Tent up. Backpack off.
And that wonderful moment when you can finally stand back and look at your tiny green home sitting amongst all that enormous scenery.
Behind us were the mountains. Below us, Buttermere. Around us, nothing but open fell.
This was officially our highest wild camp yet.
And I couldn’t stop smiling.
Dinner with a view
Of course, Teddy and Buddy were considerably less interested in our record-breaking altitude than they were in the catering arrangements.
Dinner on a mountain apparently tastes much better than dinner anywhere else.
Watching the pair of them enthusiastically demolishing their food beside the tent, surrounded by some of the finest scenery in the country, was one of those simple little moments I love about doing this with them.
They don’t care which Wainwright we’re on.
They don’t care how high we’ve climbed.
They certainly don’t appreciate the significance of reaching a new personal milestone.
As far as they’re concerned, Dad carries an unnecessarily enormous bag up a hill and eventually produces dinner from it.
It’s a system they’re perfectly happy with. 😂
More than just another wild camp
Sitting outside that tent, though, I did have one of those moments where I thought about the past few months.
Earlier this year I was on crutches.
There were times when walking properly felt like an achievement in itself, never mind climbing back into the Lake District with a camping pack.
Since then there has been recovery, rebuilding my strength, losing weight and gradually testing what my knee can cope with.
I’ve tried not to rush it. There have been easier walks, bigger walks, nervous descents and plenty of moments where I’ve been very conscious of what that knee is doing.
And now we’d carried everything we needed for a night into the mountains and pitched at nearly 700 metres.
That’s why this wasn’t simply another wild camp.
It felt like another little piece of myself coming back.
Perhaps even a stronger version of it.
Waking up in the mountains
There is still nothing quite like waking up in a tent on a mountain.
You unzip the door and for a few seconds have to remember where you are.
Then you look outside.
No roads. No houses. No normal morning routine.
Just mountains.
There is something wonderfully uncomplicated about life up there. Eat, walk, find water, keep warm, look after the boys and decide where your feet are taking you next.
For a little while, that’s it.
And I think that’s a huge part of why I keep coming back to wild camping.
Heading back down
Eventually, of course, everything had to go back into the pack.
The little patch of grass that had been home for the night returned to being just another patch of fell, and we started making our way back down towards Honister.
Descending is still the part where I’m most conscious of my knee, particularly over rough ground, so there was no rush. We simply took our time.
Step by step, we made our way down.
And when I looked back up at where we’d been, I felt immensely proud.
Not because Grey Knotts is the biggest mountain I’ve ever climbed in the Lakes
Not because it was the hardest walk we’ve ever done.
But because a few months ago I genuinely didn’t know whether adventures like this were going to be possible again.
Now Teddy, Buddy and I have stood higher in the Lake District than we’ve ever stood before and slept higher than we’ve ever slept before too.
Grey Knotts – 697 metres.
Our highest Lake District summit so far.
Our highest wild camp so far.
And another reminder that sometimes progress isn’t measured by how quickly you get somewhere.
Sometimes it’s simply being able to look back at where you were, look around at where you are now, and think:
Bloody hell. We made it back up here. ❤️🐩🐩⛰️
Two Poodles, One Man
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