The journey begins...

After literally years of gaining the relevant experiences, having foolish adventures and gathering inspiration...coupled with the small fact that my girlfriend has moved away to another country to do her A-levels and that the winter is slowly stealing away my summer evenings; I've finally started putting pen to paper to embark on this literary adventure into a world which is entirely my own, where words will always struggle to capture the magic of the fells and pictures cannot begin to do justice to their majestic beauty.


I have gained fantastic inspiration from fellow Barrovian and mountaineer Arthur Harry Griffin, usually known in print as A. Harry Griffin, who was born in the early part of the 20th century and was one of the original members of 'The Coniston Tigers', as well as being a friend of Alfred Wainwright, though somewhat disapproving of the Wainwright guides. We have walked the same tree lined avenues, watched the same sunset over the shipyard and made similar trips into the Lakeland, though over half a century apart. It is from Griffin that I have learned that even a small boy, growing up in an industrial town down a 35 mile cul-de-sac in Cumbria, can make his name in history by doing something that he's passionate about. I can't tell you anything about A. Harry Griffin that you can't read for yourself and I won't waste time trying because this isn't Griffin's story...this is mine, and though we walk similar paths, we do so very differently.

In the immortal words of Geoffrey Winthrop Young; Only a hill but all of life to me, Up there; between the sunset and the sea.