For many, such a round trip seems proposterous, but to me  creates such a feeling of spiritual worth that any notions of fatigue or regret never enters the equation.  In the last four years or so, since the event dove-tailed into the OFC calendar, the friends I have met and experiences we have shared make this one of the most fulfilling and rewarding events in the year.  Despite the underlying reasons for the activities, the weekend re-ignites my inner drive.  We must never forget the reasons why we do it as most, if not all of us, have family who never returned from foreign fields and indeed, still serve in theatres of war.   To me such activities must command the future away from the high places and drive our passion for our beloved mountains, so that the sacrifice of those we commemorate was not made in vain.  The importance lies in the actions the living make today - we continue the legacy.  Our decisions guide the future and whatever our political pursuasions we need to contemplate and make informed contributions.

Travelling north on Friday in the darkening gloom was lightened by the fact we were heading towards a comfy bed and refreshment upon arrival in Bowston at my parents' abode.  It seemed that no sooner had my head hit the pillow than we were awake again.  After deliberations I drove Richard up to the small lay-by beneath Mousthwaite Comb on the road east of Scales.  After a drive north over Kirkstone via Ullswater, Richard seemed keen to get cracking.  In the back of my mind I wanted to share the experience of Sharp Edge  but weather conditions really looked prohibitive.  We still made a bee-line for Scales Tarn where I knew we could traverse onto Scales Fell and leave the edge for another day.  Richard's youth and enthusiastic walk-in convinced me that he was fit and able to tackle the difficult conditions and after serious thought decided that a 'recci' of the edge was feasable and retreat would not be a failing.

I had been on the edge many times, even in winter conditions, but I have to say that Saturday's wind and greasy rocks did make the traverse a serious consideration.  The rules were simple today - keep it safe, slow and if at any point either of us felt insecure we would retreat safely and abandon our assault for another day.  In the event, Richard was a bastion of vigour.  We certainly took it slow; waiting nearly half an hour in the lee of some rocks for a party to negotiate the bad step.  With  warm flasks and deceptively comfy rock to lie on, we patiently waited so that we could carefully and slowly negotiate the crux of the ridge so that Richard felt no pressure.  With low down body profiles as defence against the wind and an 'all points of contact' approach we made it along the edge.  Of course we made the usual recumbant slumbers at the narrow defile but with neither of our egos dented we continued with the final assault onto the plateau south and west of Foule Crag.  Richard was ecstatic, he had made his first Lakeland ascent and to add to it all it included a route that encompasses the most extreme Lakeland has to offer the mortal fellwalker.

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