BB2627 : The Tragedy of Hampsfell

Being a Most Wet Account of Three BOOTboys Upon the Fells

Thursday 3rd September, 2026 A.D.

Dramatis Personae

DON —  a man of stout boot and diminishing optimism

STAN — who had clearly offended the weather gods

MOI —  narrator, sufferer and unwilling hydraulic engineer

Scene:   Hampsfell, above Grange-over-Sands. Thursday morning.

MOI

Upon this morn, when all the forecasts swore

That rain would hold its horses, we set forth;

Three BOOTboys, brave Don, stout Stan, and moi,

To tread the noble heights of Hampsfell.

The sky was grey — but grey, we thought, was fine.

The grass was damp — but dampness we could bear.

The clouds looked threatening — but clouds oft lie.

And thus, with foolish confidence, we climbed.

DON

Methinks the weather's turning slightly wet.

STAN

'Tis but a shower.

MOI

A shower?

O blind and witless optimism!

For scarcely had we gained the fell

When Heaven's sluices opened wide,

And all the waters stored since Noah's time

Came roaring down upon our heads.

The rain fell not.

It attacked.

It fell in sheets, in curtains, walls and slabs;

It hammered hat and jacket, boot and face,

And where my spectacles had once been dry

There formed a private Lake District.

My tears — whether from misery or rain

I could no longer tell — ran down my cheeks,

Then gathered underneath my trembling chin,

And plunged from thence upon the fell below.

So great the torrent from my battered face

That streams appeared upon Hampsfell itself.

And down those streams the waters raced,

Through Grange, through Cartmel, onward still,

Until, if local legend may be trusted,

Lancaster itself was placed upon flood alert.

DON

Are we nearly there?

STAN

There is no 'there'.

There is only rain.

MOI

And thus we three continued on,

Three drowned men walking whilst still alive,

Our boots filled up like miniature reservoirs,

Our trousers clinging like the shrouds of corpses,

Our dignity long since washed towards Morecambe.

Never, since the BOOTboys first took to the hills,

Had such rain been witnessed.

Not in winter.

Not in spring.

Not even on that day we all remember

When Tony claimed it was "just a bit misty."

This was biblical.

The sheep looked worried.

The rocks were wet. 

The paths became rivers. 

And somewhere beneath Hampsfell

a trout was almost certainly born.

Yet still we walked.

For what is a BOOTboy?

A sensible man might turn back.

A normal man might seek shelter.

But the BOOTboy possesses something stronger than reason:

bloody-mindedness.

And so Don marched.

And Stan marched.

And moi, drenched beyond all mortal measure,

marched too.

Until at last we looked upon one another

And knew the sacred truth:

We had not conquered Hampsfell.

Hampsfell had conquered us.

And so we descended, three sodden heroes,

Leaving behind us only footprints,

three gallons of water,

and the possibility of a new tributary

running south towards Lancaster.

Let historians record this day.

Let meteorologists study it.

Let the Environment Agency investigate.

For on this third day of September,

in the year of our Lord two thousand and twenty-six,

Don, Stan and Moi walked Hampsfell.

And Heaven wept.

It absolutely pissed down.

Exeunt three BOOTboys, squelching.

Mike, the Bard of Lyth, 3rd September 2026

Comitibus:   

Don,                                   Stan,                                    Mike

More Pictures from the Bard:

Comments:

Don:  I hope you enjoyed the Bard's Tragedy.  My thanks go to him and yours should too as he saved you from what would have been my whinging report about the parking machine that took my money but wouldn't give me a ticket, how even a Swiss Army Knife couldn't extract it, how I got soaked to the skin whilst talking to the man on the phone about the problem then how the zip of my soaking anorak got stuck and would only go up so I had to remove it before it strangled me, how the deluge had left the limestone path so slippery that limbs if not life were at risk and how the map on my drenched phone screen would not respond to the touch plus a poor dog that used wheels rather than back legs.  Fortunately, after our coffee stop inside the Hospice, things, both weather and dispositions, brightened up and by the time we reached the Hare and Hounds, all were distinctly jolly.

Thanks also to Mike for several of the photos. 

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STATISTICS

BB2627 : The Tragedy of Hampsfell

Date:

Thursday 3rd Spetember 2026

Features:

Hampsfell

Distance in miles:

4.8

Height climbed in feet:

840

GPX track:

BB2627.GPX 

Comitibus:

Don, Mike B, Stan

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