Story Pop - Scafell Pike, Lake District "Middle Earth"

In this episode of Off You Pop, we head into the volcanic heart of the Lake District for one of the most dramatic ways to reach the roof of England — the ascent of Scafell Pike via Mickledore, followed by a quiet, perfect finish on Lingmell. This is the deeper world behind the route: the Borrowdale eruptions that built the massif, the Ice Age that carved the valleys, the Norse names, the war memorial summit, and the climbing epics that shaped British mountaineering.

We explore the raw geology of the Scafell range, the cathedral‑like valley of Wast Water, the unstable Screes that “move in the night,” and the Wasdale legends born in the shadow of the Pike. We dive into the modern history of the mountain — from early climbing pioneers and the Central Buttress controversy to the Three Peaks Challenge, the Bob Graham Round, and the rescue stories that define Wasdale Mountain Rescue today.

If you’ve climbed Scafell Pike, this episode will feel like returning to a place you know.
If you haven’t, consider this your doorway into the stories written into the stone.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:14

This is Off You Pop, the podcast for hikers and adventurers who want to be epic in just one day. Some mountains feel like a climb. Scarfell Pike feels like a confrontation. Today we're heading into the volcanic heart of the Lake District to climb Scarfell Pike, the highest mountain in England at 3,209 feet by one of the most dramatic approaches, the route through Mickledore, the narrow tilted saddle between Scarfell and Scarfell Pike. From there we push on to the summit plateau, cross the shattered boulder fields, and finish by traversing to Ling Mill, the perfect pyramid that watches over Wasdale like a sentinel. This is the story behind the mountain. The fire that built it, the ice that carved it, the Norse names, the war memorial, the climbing epics, the Wasdale legends, and the human stories that make Scarfell Pike feel like a place carved out of memory and stone. Now off you pop. Scarfell Pike is built from volcanic rock over 400 million years old. Part of the Borodale Volcanic Group, one of the most explosive geological episodes in British history. Around 450 million years ago, the Lake District was a volcanic arc similar to modern-day Japan. Massive eruptions produced andesite lava flows, rhyolite domes, pyroclastic deposits, and volcanic ash layers. Scarfell Pike's summit plateau is a jumbled boulder field of shattered andesite, the broken roof of ancient lava flows fractured by freeze-force cycles over millennia. The Ice Age carved the valleys around the Scarfell Massif into deep U-shaped troughs, hanging valleys, sharp ridges, and steep quarries. Mikklore itself is a glacial coal, a narrow breach between two volcanic giants. Lingmel is made of the same volcanic material but stands apart, a clean, elegant pyramid rising above Warsdale. It's technically a separate fell, but geologically part of the same volcanic complex. This is a mountain built by fire, shattered by ice, and left raw and exposed. Before you ever touch the mountain, you meet the valley. Wastwater is the deepest lake in England at 258 feet. A long, narrow glacial trough carved by ice, flowing westward toward the Irish Sea. It sits in a valley that feels like a cathedral of stone, steep walls rising straight from the water, the Scarfell massive looming at the head of the lake. On the south side, the waspwater screes plunge almost vertically into the lake. Unstable slopes of andesite, rhyolite, and volcanic brechia. Locals used to say the screes move in the night, shifting under their own weight. Shepherds claim they could hear the mountain groan. From the lake, three giants dominate the sky: Great Gable, Lingmel, and Scarfell Pike. It's one of the most iconic mountain views in Britain. The Wasdale Head Inn is legendary, a meeting place for the Felham Rock Climbing Club founded in 1906. This valley is where British climbing culture was born. Over pints, climbers argued about ethics, planned first ascents, and told stories that shaped the sport. Scarfell Pike is heavily influenced by the Norse. The names in this region are heavily Norse. Scarfell Pike, the fell with the shilling, Pike means peak, Mikaldor, the Great Door or Big Pass, and Lingmel, the Heather Hill. The Vikings didn't just pass through, they named the land. For centuries, the Scarfell Massif was grazing land, a boundary marker, a navigation point for shepherds, a landmark for travelers crossing the passes. But it wasn't climbed for recreation until the 19th century. Scarfell Pike's summit camp and shelters were built as a memorial to the men of the Lake District who died in World War I. Local people carried stones up the mountain by hand. Every rock you step on at the top is part of a human act of remembrance. Scarfell Pike is the birth of British rock climbing. Scarfell Crag is where British climbers began. In the late 1800s, Walter Perry Haskett Smith, often called the father of British rock climbing, slipped while soloing here. He fell a terrifying distance and survived. Instead of quitting, he returned to establish some of the first technical routes in the UK. His stubbornness set the tone for British climbing. Central buttress was once considered the hardest climb in Britain. In 1904, Siegfried Hereford and George Sanson made the first ascent by throwing a rope over a spike from below, a move that horrified purists and sparked one of the earliest ethical debates in climbing history. The Fell and Rock Climbing Club was founded in Wadtsdale Head. They documented the first routes, published the first guide books, and set the tone for British climbing culture. Their memorial on Great Gable ties the Scarfell region deeply into national memory. Scarfell, 3,162 feet, is technically lower than Scarfell Pike, but separated by broad stand, a steep rock step that is not a walking route. This divide shaped early climbing history, route development, and the Mickoldore approach. Mickledore became the great door between the two giants. Scarfell Pike also became the middle mountain of UK's most famous endurance challenge, the Three Peaks Challenge, that links Ben Nevis, Scarfield Pike, and Snowdon into a 24-hour national rite of passage. The Wasdale Mountain Rescue is one of the busiest teams in the UK. It deals with lost hikers on the summit plateau, accidents on Mickaldor, falls on the corridor route, and weather-related incidents. One rescuer once carried a stranded walker, piggybacked down from Lingmal Coal for over a mile in winter conditions. It became team folklore, a reminder that the mountain demands respect. In the 1990s, a walker became lost in mist and descended into Piers Gill, a deep ravine north of Lingmel. He survived for three days with no food, no shelter, and no way out until Wasdale Mountain Rescue Team found him. The incident changed how the team educates hikers about navigation. The Scarfell Massive is also part of the legendary Bob Graham Round, a 66-mile fell running challenge over 42 peaks that was established in the 1930s. Runners often hit Scarfell Pike and Scarfell in the dead of night, navigating by head torch and instinct. The route I took on this day began at Mickledore. Mickledore is one of the most dramatic features in the Lake District, a steep, narrow shadow between Scarfell and Scarfell Pike. It feels like a gateway, a stone doorway into the upper world. From Wasdale, the approach climbs the brown tongue, the hollow stones, and the steep scree to Mickledore. At the top, the ridge narrows, the walls rise, and the mountain feels close enough to touch. From Mickledore, the route climbs the southeast shoulder, a steep boulder-strewn ascent into the summit plateau. The terrain is broken, angular, volcanic, and chaotic. It's not a path, it's a negotiation. At 3,209 feet, the summit is a shattered volcanic plateau, a war memorial, a trig point, and a 360-degree panorama of the lake district. It feels ancient, exposed, and strangely solemn. From the pike, the traverse to Lingmel is a descent into calm. Lingmel's summit is quieter, cleaner, and more defined, a perfect viewpoint over Wasdale, Great Gable, and the Scarfell Massive. It's the ideal way to finish the day. A lot of mythology and folklore around these mountains. Some tales say that the Scarfell Massive is a broken throne of a giant who once ruled the valleys. The doorway of Mekordor, as the Norse name suggests, is a gateway, a symbolic threshold between worlds, and standing there you feel it. Shepherds used to say they heard footsteps behind them on the ridge of Lingmel, only to turn and find no one there. Some blame the wind, some blame the spirits of lost travellers, some just walked faster. Now let's get on the pop. So to get to Scarfell Pike, you need to drive from Manchester Airport up into the lake district. For your beginning point, you can either stay in the village of Wasdale Head, or as I did, in the small village of Never Wasdale, at the very base of Wastwater. Wasdale Head is at the opposite end, sat beneath the Scarfell Massif. Never Wasdale is at the far end of Wastwater, nestled in a warm valley. I stayed in the Strands Inn, a small pub in a tiny the tiny hamlet of Nether Wasdale. And when I arrived at eight o'clock in the evening after a long drive down from Scotland, I was greeted by a friendly bar staff and shown to my room. I prepared my pack for the next day's hike at Scarfell Pike. I intended to wake up at five and begin shortly around five thirty, six o'clock. After preparing myself for the next day, I went down to the bar and enjoyed a pint of beer, chatting with the barman about my adventures and my intent the next day. I told them I'd be leaving at five, and the barman scurried away, and came back and said they'd be happy to make a pack lunch for me if I wanted it. I declined, I already had food for the day, but what a wonderful gesture. As the evening rolled on and I prepared for bed, I took a stroll around the small hamlet, tiny village with basically two pubs and a war memorial. It was drizzling and foreboding for the next day. But I went to bed and quickly fell asleep. The next day I woke up at 5 a.m. I planned start time, got my stuff in the car, and drove for 30 minutes up to Wasdale Head Trailhead. My drive from Never Wasdale was alongside Wastwater. It was a narrow single track lane that followed the line of the lake, and as I'm driving along the very narrow lane, I come to a group of six or seven sheep who were sleeping in the middle of the road. They had an unusual colour, their bodies were brown and they had white heads, and I slowed and stopped, and they weren't moving. This was their road, and I wasn't to pass. I beat the horn a few times, and slowly, gradually they decided they would wake up and walk along the road with me. And so for about three or four minutes, the sheep walked along the road, minding their own business as I harried them along with my car. Eventually, they diverted off up into the hills, and I was free to go about my drive. It wasn't long before I reached the parking lot of Wasdale Head. This was a parking lot that was well maintained and had a small visitor's center and a bathroom. And when I arrived, there was one other camper van in the parking lot, and I saw a woman who was preparing for the day, and we had a quick chat. She had come with her children, and they were attempting the three pigs challenge, and she had wisely advised them not to try and do it in twenty four hours, but to enjoy the trip, and she was going to be their chauffeur. They had left and she was packing up ready to do a bike ride where they completed their ascent. I went to the bathroom and got my stuff and began the trail. Now the trail begins at the far end of the parking lot, and you follow a short road across a cattle grid before the trail proper begins. The trail proper begins at a gate, and a gate beside a roaring creek that's running down from the Scarfell massive. My legs were feeling tired and beat up after my adventures over the last two days, having climbed the notorious Carantou Hills Devil's Ladder, sleeved an odd in Northern Ireland, and having run down Ben Nevis. The climb began immediately. It was well maintained with laid stone and steps that led up this narrow valley up into the Scarfell Massive. And as I looked up towards the mountains, they were covered in clouds. You couldn't see the top, but you could see this dramatic rushing creek that you would be following along. And so slowly I started making my way up beside the creek, my legs aching, and I soon built up a sweat. And in the distance, I could see a couple way up higher along the creek. This was probably the children of the enthusiastic biker. I was in no mood to try and race today. I just wanted to make it up the mountain. And so slowly I made my way up by the rushing creek. Lo and behold, there are more sheep, not the brown type, but your traditional white sheep. And soon you come across a river crossing. You have to cross the Roaring Creek. At this time of year, in mid-June, the level of the water was above the stepping stones, so there was no doubt I was about to get wet feet. I took a moment, resigned myself to my fate, and made it across the creek, wet feet and all. And the climb continues relentlessly after then, up, up, up into the clouds. And as you gain ground and gain altitude, stop, look around, look back down into the valley, and you see the vastness of wasp water, this long glacial lake stretching out beneath you, and it is a wondrous sight. It's one of the most iconic views in England. I turned back and continued making my way up the stairs slowly and surely, before the path started to crest out into this broad, broad plateau. To the right above you is Scarfell, with these dramatic cliffs shrouded in mist that you can occasionally see through gaps in the clouds. And then to the left is whiteness, whiteness of the hollow stones. And soon I reached a junction, the traditional straight path of the brown tongue that led you straight up to Scarfell Pike, and a less defined turning to the right that led up to Mickledore. A group of hikers was coming back down, and I let them pass and disappear back into the valley before making my decision. I was going to do Mickledore. This was the path less travelled, and quickly turned into single track. But at this point the grade of the climb decreased, but you began entering into the world of mist and fog and hollow standing stones that were randomly scattered around, and you began to feel like you were entering into something mythic, almost like a middle earth of Lord of the Rings. I really felt that epic, dramatic landscape around me. The path begins winding its way through the hollow stones, through patches of green grass and little rock outcroppings. At one point you get very close to a very large standing stone that you squeeze by as you wind your way higher and higher up towards the Scarfell Massif proper. And then the ascent begins up into the mountains. There's a well-defined path with laid stones that I followed, and halfway up there was a young black sheep standing in the middle of the path, staring at me. And so I stopped and I stared at him. And it was a standoff. I didn't know if he was going to charge me through his youthful exuberance or if he was going to run away. I decided to walk towards him, and as I got closer and closer, I saw another black sheep just off the path. At one second, as I got too close, the black sheep did a double take, decided he wasn't going to stand his ground, and ran off into the mist. And so I continued upward, and as you get closer and closer to the steep outcrops that are Mickledore and the Scarfell massive, the clouds get thicker and thicker, and navigation becomes more and more challenging. The laid stone starts to give way to a rich red volcanic scree. And it's at this point I decide to check the map. This is where navigation becomes tricky, and this is where people get into trouble. I'd hoped to do the Lord's Rake and take on Scarfell before Scarfell Pike, but the massive was so shrouded in mist I couldn't see any direction, I couldn't see where the Lord's Rake was, and I decided not to risk it. It was damp and wet, and I'd been warned about shifting stone and the slickness of the Lord's Rake. So I decided to make for Mickledore, and as I got higher up, the path became more and more challenging to follow. And so I found a line of scree that led up into the peaks proper. But it was a slog. Every step you slipped a little backwards, up and back and up and back. But I could start to see the trodden ground of other hikers, and so I knew I was on the right path. And as I got closer to the steep outcrops of the Mickledore saddle, I stopped and stared and looked around at the hollow stones below me, and this mythical, wonderful landscape that was shrouded in mist that enhanced the whole experience. As I looked up at the massive, I knew to the right of me was broadstand, but there were a number of gullies that you could potentially take up to the peak, and I'm pretty sure the only one that was passable would have been Micklewell, so I needed to make sure I was hitting it right on. So I stopped and I stared and I looked, and I checked the map, and I decided on a route. Back up into the scree, I started to climb up into a gully, and a huge crow comes out of the mist, crawling at me before he flew off up into the mountain. And as I'm climbing up into the gully, the wind starts to slowly pick up. The mist starts racing by me. The rock is slick. And I stop and I look up, up through the Mickledore gully, and I see that the scree has ended, and now there are these tilted rock outcrops with no trail. The only way up is to climb up the Mickledore gully. I took a breath, I knew this was the way. I wasn't expecting this, but I still myself and decided it was going to have to be tackled. And so I took on the first outcrop, put my feet and hands on, and began the climb up this slick red volcanic rock. But it was very stable. It was only the rushing, roaring wind that was funneling down the gully that added to the excitement and the danger. But quickly I made short work of the climb. It wasn't that hard, it wasn't that steep, and soon I was at the ridgeline, and there was a cairn, the Mickledale cairn, and I confirmed that I was where I thought I was. Looking to the left were these large silver rescue boxes that even were stamped with Micklewor. This is the Mickledore stretcher, in case you get in trouble. Standing there, the wind was howling, and you could sense it was funneling back down through Mickledore. And I turned around and looked back the way I came, but it was shrouded in mist, and I could only barely make out the way I came. A short descent down below the silver boxes entirely changed the wind flow, and you were soon back in the calm, in the mist. And there was a short ascent up the southwest shoulder, not particularly steep and not particularly challenging, and easy to follow. And within five or ten minutes you've made the ascent and now you're in a different world altogether. This huge boulder field of grass and scree and standing stones and no trail whatsoever. This is the place where people get lost. This is the place where the mist confuses and navigation becomes tricky. So I took my time and pulled out my phone to follow the trail. I had a rough idea of which direction I was following in, but it soon became clear I'd strayed from the path and was having to make microcorrections as I made my way across the grass and the stone. More sheep were grazing in the grassland, looking at me and wondering why I was up here. And I quickly made navigational errors into scree runs and back off onto the main path. And soon I came to A standing cairn, and I knew I was on the right path. The path of the cairns led up into the rock, and there were compacted areas to affirm that I was in the right direction. But again the mist was thick, and you could barely see the next cairn, but following the cairns was the right way to go. I hit a second cairn, and then a third cairn, and then I was on the main path to Scarfell Pike, and through the mist, coming back down off the off the top, a young man and a young woman who had just made the ascent. And I said hello and I let them know I'd come up the Mickledore route and was so relieved to have found the path. And the gentleman turned to me and said, Rather you than me, I didn't think it was that challenging, but it was such an adventurous way to go. There was a short ascent through the boulder field up to the peak, and there I was, staring at the trig point of Scarfell Pike. Now it was chilly and the wind was howling again, and it was shrouded in mist so I didn't get to see the wondrous views. But right there is a large cylindrical shelter that's been filled in with stone, a little short staircase you can climb to get on top. And this is a war memorial erected for the men of the Lake District who fell in the First World War. Because of the wind, I didn't stay long. I got off the shelter and got on the lee side out of the wind, and took a break, took on some fuel, took on some electrolytes, and enjoyed the moment. I had the pig to myself. As I packed back up and made my way back round the shelter, there was another hiker. He had just made it to the trig point. He let me know he was training for the UK three peaks. That's odd I said. You train for the UK three peaks by climbing one of the UK three peaks. He said yes, and I'm going down to Snowdon to do that one later today. I left him with with himself to enjoy the moment and let him know I was doing the UK six peaks and went on my way back down the Scarfell Pike main trail. And as I'm descending back through the mist, a group of four lads comes out of the mist on their UK three peaks challenge, leg number two, full of enthusiasm, looking a bit worse for wear. They relay to me an instant they had on Ben Nevis where their khaki had become too wet to start the car, and so they had to hang around for an hour for it to dry out, which was causing them to feel like they were a little bit behind schedule. I went on my way back down the trail and found the junction with Ling Mel coal. And as soon as you step off of the trail, it becomes an otherworldly different landscape altogether. Soft grass, granite outcrops, and a general descent across through the mist over to Ling Mao. Now you can't see Ling Mao, all you can see is the mist and the fog. And the trail is a little challenging to follow through the grassland. But quickly you make your way through the mist, and you're at the bottom of Ling Meu. Ling Meu is a very different mountain. It's tall and sharp, and the trail up is no longer standing stones. There's a compacted, loose volcanic scree that makes up the path, and so I steady myself for another ascent. This time taking my time, weaving my way up to the top of Ling Mao, up through the mist and up through the cloud. And as you get to the top, it eases off, and there's an outcrop and a small subscree pile that is the top of Ling Mao. And so I stand atop it and look below me, sheer drops off the back of Ling Meo that were not visible from waspwater, and were deceptive. You have to be really careful here that you do not stray off to the back of Ling Mao because you will find yourself in a world of hurt. I checked the map and noticed shortly across the way is another peak called Lingmail's Crag. There's a short little saddle and a short little climb, and you're on Ling Mail's Crag, and looking back down behind the crag, the drops are even more dramatic and even more steep, and even through the mist you can make out just how steep and dramatic they are. I stayed for a minute before deciding I needed to make my way back off the mountain. And here's the secret. This is the secret way off the mountain. If you're climbing Scarfell Pike, I highly recommend that you come over to Lingmel and do this descent, because it's soft grass all the way down. None of that rugged, jarring rock, but soft, pillowy grass underfoot that's such a relief to your feet. The only trouble is, in the mist and the fog, it's difficult to navigate. You follow the trail through the grass, the well-worn path, but sometimes it's broken and you lose it. So it requires constant checking of your navigation. It starts out flat and then starts to become steeper and steeper downward. And as you're descending downward, suddenly start seeing wasp water off in the distance. You're coming out of the mist and out of the clouds. And as I came out of the mist and the clouds, the heavens opened and it started to rain. Not a hard rain, but a rain that soaks you through. And it lasted about five minutes, and I was thoroughly wet. By that time I'd popped out of the clouds, and below me was the glorious valley of wasp water. And you hit a trail that is carved into the mountain that's very steep. This part of Ling Mao coming off the coal after the general descent was kind of jarring into this very steep downhill. And there was a stone trail that had been cut into the soft grass that you can follow downward. And you go down, down, down, ever closer to Waswater, getting warmer and warmer. And on the way down, I met a young woman with a heavy backpack on her way up. And it looked to me like she was on all fours as I saw her in the distance. And as we met, she was stopping for a break. She'd obviously had a hard climb up from the valley, and I didn't envy her the remaining challenge of getting up onto the ridgeline before tackling Ling Mail. So I made my way down to a well-defined trail that was transecting the grassy hill that I was climbing down. And I met an older couple at that point, and I just checked with them and asked them where the Wasdale headhead was, and they pointed back the way they came. This seemed wrong to me, but I couldn't see my trail in the grass from my vantage point. So I started down the way they came. Having this feeling it was wrong, I stopped to check my map. And it was wrong. I was heading straight down the hill back to the parking lot. Their trail took you to the village of Wasdale Head, and if I'd followed it, it would have been an inconvenient detour. So I made my way back to where the path transverses and started going back down the grassy hill. And sure enough there were patches where you could see a well-worn mud trail through the grass. And eventually you connect back at the gate that you started at, and you're back into the trail, into the flat, back next to that roaring creek, and back to the parking lot. When I got back, that empty parking lot was filled with cars and people hustling and bustling, getting themselves ready for their hike. It was overwhelming after being on the mountain for so long, with so few people around, to be injected back into humanity. I quickly packed my stuff up, got in my car, and made my way to the next peak. Now off you pop.