Distance : 11.26 Miles / 18.12 Kms
Elevation : 1354 ft / 413 m
Terrain : Trail = 7.22 m / 11.62 km ; Tarmac = 4.04 m / 6.5 km
Bike : MTB
Difficulty : Moderate
https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/69097666
Loughrigg Fell isn’t on an island. It stands as one of the central Lakeland fells, approximately 17 miles from the nearest sea, so why would I call it “the Island Fell”?
A clue may be found in the name “Loughrigg”, meaning lake (“lough”) ridge (“rigg”) in Old English. A quick look at an ordnance survey map shows water surrounds this popular hill on all sides. Windermere lies to the South, Loughrigg Tarn, Elterwater and the River Brathay lie to the West, Grasmere and Rydal Water to the North and the River Rothay to the East. The fell only just manages to attach itself to the High Raise ridge by virtue of a gap at Red Bank, like an arm reaching out, clinging to dry land. It appears to be a solitary hill amongst the surrounding high peaks. In many ways Loughrigg Fell is an island, cut off from its neighbours by lowland and water.
But Loughrigg certainly isn’t a lonely fell. It is one of the most popular climbs in the Lake District, being close to the ever bustling Ambleside, and with good paths, amazing views and set at relatively low level, you will usually see walkers dotted across it’s slopes. Tire tracks are found up here too, as a fantastic rocky bridleway loops around the fell and reveals many of the sights that you would see from the summit, and more besides. Loughrigg Tarn, Rydal Cave and even Rydal Water are sights that you wouldn’t see from the triangulation pillar atop Loughrigg Fell, but show themselves to us in all their splendour on a “Tour of the Island Fell”.
I was over in the Lake District with my family for our summer holidays. Covid 19’ has meant that foreign travel is off the cards for the moment, so we decided to visit this family favourite area instead. I will never complain as I love the Lakes, and I know my girls do too.
It was a bright sunny early evening without a breath of wind when I set off from our base in Ambleside. We were enjoying a bit of a heatwave and it was still in the mid-twenties at 6pm, but I had plenty of fluids for the ride. Following the one-way system through the town, I took a right turn off the Borrans Road, heading towards Coniston, Hawkshead and the Langdales on the A593. Immediately after the narrow humped-back bridge I took a road on the right, sign-posted “Under Loughrigg”, which fantastically sounds like somewhere from Tolkein’s “Lord of the Rings”. After half a mile of quiet lane alongside the River Rothay behind Rothay park, I crossed a cattle grid and took a road off to my left. Now this road just disappears towards the heavens, up through the trees on a tough gradient. Up, up, up on a steep lane winding beneath the trees, until it levels off for a short distance just beyond Brow Head Farm, where it passes from tarmac to trail. This first section of road was only a quarter of a mile, but it was a real baptism of fire for legs that are short on practice. I passed a family with young kids walking up, making it look effortless, so of course, I had to do the same…not walk…but make it look effortless. I don’t know if I succeeded!
I paused on the wide gravel track to take a photo and regain my breath, but I was soon climbing again, between moss covered walls, up to a gate, and beyond, onto the open fell.
The sun was beating down hard and I was beyond the shade of the trees now, so I settled for slow and steady progress, making the most of any gate stops to recover a little. It was possibly only a mile or so from the valley floor to the highest point of the bridleway on Loughrigg Fell, but it was a solid mile of climbing.
Once I was up there, however, the views were amazing. To the South, the ferns and trees tumbled down to meet lake Windermere…it’s bright blue waters toning with the sky above it. The Old Man of Coniston peered over the side of Ivy Crag to the South-West, but to the North all I could see was a bank of ferns across the side of Loughrigg Fell.
I let go of the brakes and let my weight quickly build speed down the track below Ivy Crag and on towards Tarn Foot. I apologised for surprising a couple of young women with my sudden approach. In truth, I think one was looking for a quiet place to “powder her nose”, so I would certainly have been an unwelcome intruder!
I bumped down over bigger rocks and roots at the base of the descent…my shocks absorbing most of the forces, and my body reluctantly accepting the residual. At Tarn Foot I passed through a couple of gates and followed a hairpin right to ride up a beautiful chalky smooth road through the tranquil and scenic Tarn Foot Farm campsite. Old metal fences, uniformly spaced, guided me through the cropped pastureland, where fortunate happy campers had set up for a week of sunshine in idyllic surroundings. Only the hardy lakeland sheep may have been feeling overdressed and unimpressed by the conditions.
As I left the tent erectors under the watchful eye of their other halves, I was suddenly met with a scene as archetypal as you will find in the Lake District. Loughrigg Tarn glistening under a bright sun in the foreground, encircled by lush green meadow and deciduous woodland, whilst mighty crags and fells in their varying shades of grey, looked on from afar, like the taller, elder and wiser figures standing assuredly in the back row of an old photograph. I half expected to see Wordsworth in deep concentration, sitting on a rock by the side of the tarn, notebook in hand and pencil held to his lip. Just as a side-note…”Tarn” comes from the Old Norse word “Tjorn”, meaning a small teardrop lake.
It was hard to drag myself away from this setting. I would have been happy to lie on the grass and doze, but I knew more treats were in store, so I pushed on. Leaving the smooth gravel track behind, I passed onto the pretty lane which winds up across the lower slopes of Loughrigg towards Red Bank.
On reaching the brow of this mini pass to Grasmere, I navigated a gate on my right, which opened onto a stately looking bridleway. Wide, smooth and lined with great beech trees, it would escort me down to the famous Loughrigg Terrace.
As I trundled onto the terrace, the familiar vista of Grasmere lake and village with Dunmail Raise behind, presented itself. Another perfect scene in glorious sunshine. I had forgotten how technical Loughrigg Terrace can be in parts, but it was a superb traverse gently downhill through the ferns towards another well known and popular attraction of these parts.
Rydal Cave is part of the remains of the 19th century Loughrigg slate quarry. Of course, it is impossible to move around the Lake District without seeing walls and roofs built using this material. It is the classic example of using what is close to hand. In days gone by, slate mines were common in the Lake District, but now Honister Slate Mine is the sole remaining working slate mine in these parts.
The cave is easy to find, just beyond a flat slate plateau, which was likely used for processing or storage of this fine-grained rock. It’s gaping entrance is only slightly recessed behind banks of earth, and trees hang across from either side like theatre curtains lining a stage, opening a production of “Voyage into the Abyss”. Actually, although the entrance appears to present a chasmic void, the cave isn’t actually very deep and daylight reaches all the way to the deepest recesses.
A foreign couple watched me bemused, as I carried my bike across the stepping stones into the cave. They were feeding the shoals of tiny fish that have inexplicably found their way here to inhabit the shallow pool of water that has naturally spread across the soft cavern floor. The fish scattered from my shadow as I precariously tottered from one stone to the next to reach the drier ground of the further reaches. Huge slate teeth jut from the ceiling at threatening angles, and are reflected in the grey waters below. The mirroring effect, however, lessens any sense of claustrophobia, as the cave appears almost twice its size and height by the water’s presence. I decided that waterlogged feet was an acceptable price to pay for lasting artistic photography, so I waded up to my ankles to see what I could capture. As I left, I made a passing explanation for my apparent insanity to the quiet couple. I’m not sure they understood, but they nodded and smiled in sympathy.
I left by the old quarry road that transported slate away from the mine when it was operational. It was a downhill run, wide, fast and flowing in parts and steep, rocky and precarious in others. I get off on a couple of occasions to save injury to my body and my pride.
The trail brought me down to the edge of Rydal Water at its Eastern shore, with Nab Scar at one end of the Fairfield Horseshoe standing prominently across on the far bank and harbouring our eventual route home.
A lovely lakeside trail took me along the shores of both Rydal Water and Grasmere, before rising to reach the lane at the bottom of Red Bank. A left turn here would mean a whole world of pain, as the very steep Red Bank is a stiff test of the legs, but luckily I turned right and trundled along flat tarmac into Lakeland’s most popular village of Grasmere.
Grasmere means “Lake in the Pasture” in Old English, and if you look around here, then this really needs no further explanation. Grasmere village obviously takes its name from the lake, and it was equally as quiet and tranquil as its watery neighbour when I roll through on an early evening in late July. In fact, I was surprised by the absence of bustle around the gift shops and cafes, as it was peak tourist season and many people were holidaying within our domestic shores this year due to Covid 19’.
On the outskirts of the village sits the prior home of Grasmere’s most famous resident…William Wordsworth. Dove Cottage and the accompanying visitors centre, which is itself an architectural demonstration on the liberal use of slate, are a huge draw for tourists, eager to learn more about the famous poet. In fact, Wordsworth only lived at Dove Cottage for 9 years, before considering it inadequate. After several moves in the following few years, he eventually settled at Rydal Mount, a rustic and impressive family home near Rydal Hall. Rydal Mount is another popular tourist attraction, and it is no coincidence that my route would take me past the door, a few miles further up the road.
William was buried at St Oswald’s church in the village in 1850, to be joined by his wife 9 years later. Their grave is marked by a simple tombstone, but it has become one of the most visited literary shrines in the world. The land between the church and the River Rothay has been developed as the pretty and peaceful “Wordsworth Daffodil Garden”, where you can buy a stone engraved with your name and hometown set into the path. A small building at the entrance to the churchyard is the home to the famous Sarah Nelson’s Gingerbread Shop, but it was once the village school, where Wordsworth himself taught, along with his wife and sister. Try the gingerbread…it is fantastic fuel for a hungry cyclist!
My route back to Ambleside followed the old Coffin Road across the slopes of Nab Scar, through the Rydal Estate, and alighting at Rydal Mount. Coffins were conveyed on their final journey along this undulating rocky path to the only consecrated ground in the area, at St Oswalds Church. It is possible that Wordsworth himself was carried over the rocks and roots of this scenic road to his final resting place. Much of the route has been upgraded to a wide gravel path, which is not technical, but rolls nicely nonetheless.
My legs were getting quite tired as I tackled the climb up onto the higher aspects of the route, but the pain eased as my mind absorbed the beauty on show. It wasn’t difficult to see where inspiration could bloom, perhaps from a host of golden daffodils on a meadow bank or from a lonely cloud wandering across the fells. I had to remind myself to keep moving. I had to be back soon to head for the cinema with my family. All this inspiration would be for nothing if I was late!
I sped down the steep tarmac past the entrance to Rydal Mount and Rydal Hall, losing all my gained height in 30 seconds of rapidly plummeting human and carbon. I joined the A591 towards Ambleside, but within 100 metres I was leaving this busy thoroughfare, and sailing over the hump-back bridge back onto the lane “Under Loughrigg”, heading back to Ambleside. If you are after a ride with fantastic trails, interesting sights, scenic vistas, sensible distance, and not too far from civilisation, then “A Tour of the Island Fell” is the one for you!
I would make it back in time to see another childrens film on the big screen. Nothing with adult themes unfortunately, but it was an hour and a half of lounging on a comfy chair in a dark room with drinks, handfuls of sugar and distractedly silent kids. The perfect post-ride recovery…happy days!
