Helvellyn — Attraction in Great Britain

🌄 My Quest Across Helvellyn’s Wild Heart 🌄

From the doorstep of YHA Helvellyn, I forged my path eastward, where the mountain guards its secrets fiercely. The ascent began with Blea Cove—a labyrinth of crumbling crags and shadowed gullies where route-finding became a puzzle of intuition. The slope sharpened, turning loose and scrappy, the earth sliding beneath my boots as I clawed upward toward The Nab, its gnarled shoulders daring me onward. Across Birkhouse Moor, the terrain softened only briefly; here, my trekking poles bit into the peat, steadying me through the mist-cloaked gateway of Hole-in-the-Wall—a portal to the legendary Striding Edge.

Ah, the Edge! That serrated spine of rock, dry and grippy underfoot, beckoned like a dragon’s backbone. I clung to its crest, winds howling, eyes fixed on the abyss yawning below. Each step was a pact with gravity, the world dropping away on both sides until—the plateau! A realm of sky and stone, where a handful of wanderers stood hushed, their gazes lost in the churning sea of peaks and valleys.

But the dance with danger wasn’t done. Swirral Edge called next—a jagged descent where every handhold felt like a dare. Down to Catstye Cam, its slopes a playground of adrenaline, then looping back via Lower Man and Whiteside, where the fells rolled like frozen waves. Over the Raise, the horizon stretched endlessly, and finally, the Pony Track—a gentle giant—guided me home, boots dusty, lungs burning, soul alight.

A Word to the Wise ⚠️ Heed this, fellow adventurers: While my route was a riot of thrills—from Blea Cove’s labyrinth to Striding Edge’s knife-edge—this path is not for the unprepared. The steep scrambles, loose rock, and exposed ridges demand respect. Helvellyn’s eastern flanks are treacherous in their beauty, and navigation skills are non-negotiable. Before setting out, gen up on maps, weather, and your own limits. Sturdy boots, poles, and a head for heights are essentials. This mountain rewards boldness but punishes recklessness. Adventure is earned, not owed—so tread wisely, and let the wildness inspire, not humble you.

Why Helvellyn? Because it thrills and humbles. Because its eastern flanks spit you out raw and grinning, while its western paths cradle you like an old friend. Because even when you think you’ve mastered it—navigating its knife-edge ridges, surviving its scrambles—you’re just another pilgrim in its ancient, wind-scoured saga.

Who could resist such a tempestuous love affair with...

There’s a car park in the village of Glenridding, if you’re hiking Helvellyn you’ll probably need the all day ticket which costs £8 and if you want to use the toilet there’s also a charge of 30p.

The route from the car park isn’t very clear. We wanted to climb via the striding edge but had to guess which route to take due to lack of signage.

The route we took was quite steep from early on, but conditions where good with only a sprinkle of rain. It was however a windy day but the first major ascent was well protected from the wind and was actually so warm I climbed with only 1 layer of clothing, I was regretting bringing so much.

It’s was completely different once we reached the tarn. The wind was bitterly cold and much stronger than below.

Starting on the striding edge, it was quite deceiving, the path was well worn and easy, but once you get to the arête prepare for a challenge. I was hiking with my wife and wasn’t aware of the difficulty before hand. If I’d of known, we’d of taken a different route.

The striding edge if very difficult because 1. Navigation, there are no clear routes, it’s more like a scramble over the rocks. I found myself having to scout back and forth to find the easiest and safest route for us to take. 2. Extreme wind speeds. There were strong gust with the force to push you back which made it considerably more dangerous. This part isn’t hiking, this is mountain climbing. It wasn’t on the day we went, but if it’s very wet or icy do not attempt the striding edge. There are much safer, longer routes to the top, take them instead.

We had planned to rest and eat on the summit but it’s was too cold, windy with even small amounts of snow cover and with dark clouds overhead we didn’t stay for long. Worrying about both descending on slippy rocks and nightfall we made our way back to the car park.

The entire hike took us about 7 hours. With a surprisingly large amount of time spent on the striding edge. But could have been done much faster if your partner/s are confident on the rocks. I wouldn’t suggest attempting this by yourself either with the risk of injury much higher than normal.

Overall it was a great hike with amazing views, It was very quiet, we saw almost nobody all day. I’ve climbed several taller mountains but this is my number 2 best hike so far and I’d like to do it again if I get the chance.

Once again, if you’re anything less than experienced, I’d suggest not going via the...

If I was to have shared images, they would be entirely white. And anyway, this memorable ascent was a long time ago.

It was Christmas Day. We hadn’t intended to walk up Helvellyn, Fairfield was our ambition, a short ascent from Ambleside.

It was snowing heavily as we left the town, and continued as we ascended. The powder snow was knee deep on High Pike. My walking partner had not taken a hat, and started to suffer from the cold, I tied my scarf around his head. The whiteout became complete, my walking partner started to get vertigo from a lack of perspective, we decided that I should walk immediately in front of him to give him something to focus on.

By this time we were approaching the cliff top at Hart Crag, with a big drop invisible in front of us, so my partner rolled and lobbed snowballs over my head into the snow in front of me, to indentify when the precipice approached. We needn’t have worried, sheet ice marked the cliff edge.

We turned left, west, and headed to Fairfield, intending to beat a retreat down into Grasdale House, then to lose altitude as quickly as possible and get home.

But then the miracle occurred. To our right (north) the cloud cleared, Dollywagon came into sight, a pure white ridge, with no other walkers on the hill. We stood by the tarn, and considered our options. It was already afternoon, possibly two and a half hours before sunset. We headed up the ridge.

Dollywaggon came and went, then Nethermost, and finally to Helvellyn summit, we approached at sunset, a temperature inversion meant that only the big peaks rose above the cloud; Scafell, Skiddaw, Bow Fell, all cast in the red glow of the setting sun, and the deep purple shadows of the clouds.

We set a bearing on the compass for north west and headed off down the hill, eventually traipsing through woods onto the main Keswick road at about 5.30pm in complete darkness.

It’s about a seven mile walk back down that A road to Ambleside, we walked every yard, with our thumbs out hoping for a lift, but there was no Christmas cheer to be found.

We pushed the front door open at 7.30pm, Christmas nut roast was just being put on the table, a very welcome sight after a long and rather wonderful day.

In case you are wondering, this was Christmas Day 1982, no mobile phones, or modern tech in those days, but also nobody on...