Losing Your Way, Part 2

I've never been seriously lost, though on a few occasions I've had difficulty reaching my destination. The most worrying time was in the Lake District, on a walking holiday late one November. Sufficient years have passed so the story can now be told.

There were two of us, and we heeded the warnings about suddenly-changing weather conditions by carrying lots of protective clothing and supplies. So much so that we struggled badly when the sun was shining. As we climbed the Old Man of Coniston, however, it started to rain, and we finally felt smug with our preparation and efforts. The rain never became heavy but it was persistent, and by the time we reached the top we were soaked despite our wet weather gear. What was worse, however, was the fact that low cloud covered the top of the hill, mainly because there was no view as reward for the exertion.

We sat at the top, heating soup, boiling water for a cup of tea and watching the remarkably large number of people who had also climbed the hill in the tail end of the year.

I still don't know how it happened, but as we set off again in the mist, we must have headed in the wrong direction without realising. We just followed the trail worn in the grass in front of us. Visibility was poor, and although the light wasn't yet starting to fade, there weren't many hours of light left.

After a while, as our route twisted and turned and crossed a large area of rough ground, it became obvious that we had come the wrong way, but we had dropped a lot of height and it seemed sensible to carry on at this lower level than head back up. As we finally emerged from the cloud, the sight of a small lake in the middle distance confirmed our wrong choice of route, but from the few landmarks around us we eventually managed to work out where we were and the way we had come. The only problem was the long way back to the youth hostel. We weren't on a 'proper' path, and it involved a couple of hairy moments crossing wide streams, but forwards was the only realistic choice.

I think the worst aspect of the experience was knowing that no-one knew where we were or expected us to arrive at a particular time. There are many signs in Lake District youth hostels warning guests about the changeable weather and recommending that you let someone know your estimated time of arrival, but that was the one precaution we hadn't taken. Of course, this all happened long before mobile phones became commonly available, but we should still have sought out a payphone to contact the youth hostel where we were staying the following night.