Scafell Pike

I don’t think this is going to be a very literate or in-depth post.

We just got back to our hostel in Keswick after hiking Scafell Pike–the tallest mountain in England. The climb up was basically non-stop incline and then the climb down was a 1940’s artillery gun on joints and soles of feet. We had to backtrack once or twice and then race down the mountain to catch the last bus going into Keswick. And so, the reason this won’t be literate or in-depth is because I’m so tired, physically and mentally, that I’m only 30% aware of my current surroundings and am mostly auto-blogging at this point.

But I feel very self-satisfied and proud for having done something hard. And, of course, it was beautiful. Everywhere I go is beautiful–or cool or historic or otherwise great. At any point you can ask yourself, “I wonder if McKelle is in someplace scenic and awesome?” and the answer will be “yes.”

Here, for example, is the hostel we left behind in the morning:

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On the way down, not everyone could make the bus (the rest would come in taxis), but a bus was far cheaper, so our professor asked if there was anyone who could book it down as a “fast group” and try and make it. I started the rush with the intent of catching the bus but soon fell behind because it was a steep decline with a lot of big stones to navigate and my knees were hurting to the point of near tears.

But I was no longer with the back group either, with the front group pulling ever ahead. I was the tail end of the fast group–which is a pretty decent metaphor for my life. The tail end of the fast group. Soon, I was walking entirely alone, asking English hikers as I passed if they were similarly passed by a larger group of backpacked look-a-likes to be sure I was going in the right direction.

When I got to flatter ground, I periodically ran, my bag pouncing on my lower back, to catch the bus I knew would be there at six o’clock. I made it with five minutes to spare, good enough to get there, but only with last minute effort and definitely not at the head of the pack.

Here’s some cool pics of Scafell Pike:

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At the top!

At the top!

Cheers! Onto Grasmere, where Wordsworth’s home is . . .

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