Wild Boar Fell

With an unexpected free afternoon, I set off towards the Moorcock Inn at the head of Mallerstang. My grandma was always very proud of  my grandad, who was exhibiting his paintings, having met Prince Charles there. My grandad was always much quieter on this, being staunchly left wing and republican, but after he’d died, there was always a picture of that in pride of place in their house.  Rapidly changing light, of showers and bright sun, chased me down the upper Eden Valley. Lulled into optimism by a longer patch of brightness, I set off from Aisgill up Wild Boar Fell. The way was trackless for the most, through Angerholme Pots and up to the Nab of the fell. The weather set in, properly, and at this point I realised I could not get wetter. Briefly on the summit, the sun tried to break through, giving an other worldly brightness to the many cairns there. However, as soon as I’d unzipped my pocket for my waterproof camera, the clouds shut out the sun, leaving me  with an image of pure clag, but no matter, I’d seen the magical brightness. Back at the car, I looked at my route, finding my return had been over Foulmart Hill, which seemed entirely fitting.