Armed with a photocopied Wainwright, a chunky Kit-Kat and two cheese buns, we set off on the long trudge up Birkhouse Moor, the eastern approach to England's third highest mountain. The sun appears briefly at the hole in the wall, but by the time we reach Red Tarn the wind is whipping at my jacket and we're right in the midst of a rain cloud. Striding Edge is black and forbidding, the mountaintop lost entirely. We decide the climb is manageable but no longer fun and head back down with the rain, sometimes ahead, more often behind. At Glenridding the weather clears and Ullswater sparkles. Somehow, it no longer matters that we didn't reach the top.
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