The journey down to Scafell was mainly uneventful, we made maximum use of the light to navigate the winding roads past Loch Lomond and pick up the motorway at Glasgow for the south and England. There are several routes up Scafell Pike but the decision had been taken to set off from Seathwaite in Borrowdale, a much shorter journey by road if slightly longer on foot. If anyone has a fear of Rollercoasters they really should let Andy Hunt drive them down a mountain road at night in torrential rain, I guarantee you, you will never be afraid again. It was two a.m. when we set off through the farm at Seathwaite, waterproofs on, hoods battened down against the elements, the light from our torches making very little impression in the gloom but it felt safer than the van. We had just passed Stockley bridge and were heading up Grains Gill when a group were coming down, minus head torches, eyes obviously adjusted to the dark. We said hellos and carried on upwards in the early hours, each of us lost in thought, wondering what time they had set off. Towards the top of Grains Gill, the path became vague and after a short break we decided our route and continued toward Esk Hause and Calf cove. It was with some relief as we topped Calf Cove and the boulder field began that the sky started to lighten with the grey of pre-dawn and the rain and cloud lifted. A few slips on damp boulders, followed by appropriate curses, saw us descend and ascend a few subsidiary tops before we gained the summit of Scaffel Pike, roof of England. We had hoped for about two hours to reach the top but we were nearer three. Nobody was downhearted though, as we greeted a group of young guys we had passed on the Ben the night before. We all decided since dawn was only five minutes away, to see it break on England's highest peak. It was spectacular, the first time I had seen the day break on any hill and I have to confess that this was special moment for me and probably the rest of the group as well. Still, no time to linger, we had 3,000 foot of descent in front of us, another two hundred miles of driving, and Snowdon waiting in North Wales. Time being against us as it was, we pressed on down the corridor route, past Styhead Tarn and back to Stockley bridge to join Andy and the van. Once again, people descended at their own pace once they were sure of the way. I held back with the back markers a short while until confident, that they were ok, and caught up with the others before slumping exhausted in the van. Once all were safely aboard we bade farewell and headed south down the M6, Peak number three waiting.

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