#scafell pike

[riottwirls]

Took at the bottom of Scafell Pike

[sebastiancroftupdates]

Bash on Scafell Pike in the Lake District region of Cumbria, England (7 June)

📸 alicesatchell

[strawberryjayne]

Scafell Pike is the highest mountain in England, at an elevation of 978 metres above sea level Lake District National Park.

[graaaaceeliz]

Went up Scafell Pike today! We went up the easy route from Wasdale and took several lovely long breaks so it took us between four and five hours to get up to the summit which had incredible views, and then we got caught in the 5pm rain coming down, so that was the end of the rest breaks. My knees are knackered.

[chaoticmusiccollectors]

Scafell pike is England's tallest peak and Wast Water it's deepest lake.

A beautiful location.

One road in and one road out

the lakes

[tim-dennis]

The views from Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon.

All taken within 24 hours.

[one-with-the-goasts]

The magnus archives fan episode, season 1: Frostbite

👁🪽🏔❄️👁🪽🏔❄️👁🪽🏔❄️👁🪽🏔❄️👁🪽

TW: Gore, frostbite, uhhh, its a TMA episode.

Word count: 2,191

Jonathan was working in his office when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” He called out. The door opened and a person with a cast on their shoulder carefully stepped inside.

"Hello! I'm here to.. make a statement? Is- Are you the right person to talk to about that?” Jonathan looked up, clearly less than thrilled to have a guest at this time. He sighed before answering,

“Yes, that'd be me. Take a seat.” The person carefully sat down and dropped their messenger bag next to them. Jonathan folded his arms in front of him before asking,

“To start, can I get your name?”

“I'm Brian… Brian Bentley.”

“And what exactly is this statement going to be about, Brian?”

"Well- Um- I would call it a hypothermia induced hallucination, but my friends call it a very real encounter with a pair of malicious spirits.” Jonathan leaned back in his seat before muttering,

"Of course they did,” He tapped the start button on the tape recorder on his desk, "Statement of Brian Bentley regarding an encounter with 'spirits'. Statement recorded directly from subject on March 5th, 2003. Statement begins.”

"R- right. Um- The encounter happened while I was on a camping trip with my companions, Emma Harker, Lilly Smith, and Sam McGregor. We had all been part of the Scouting Association as kids, so we decided it'd be a good idea to camp up on Mount Scafell Pike, where temperatures get below freezing nightly.”

"Mount Scafell Pike, in Cumbria, I presume?”

"Yes. We started hiking up the mountain at about 10 AM on February 24th, and set up camp at 8 PM. By the time we set up camp, the snow was thick enough to bury you if you took a wrong step and fell into it. We found an area where the snow had partially melted and resolidified into a much denser structure of ice crystals, which we used to construct an igloo. It wasn't very big, but it was surprisingly stable, and we could just barely all fit into it with our gear. Emma even complained about it being cramped, but showed no intention of leaving the warm protection of the space, especially when night quickly cloaked the land in a moonless cover of darkness. We used the tiny portable stove I had brought to melt some snow into tea, and heat up our ramen noodle dinners. The hike up was solemnly quiet since we were all too cold and tired to hold a conversation, but now that we were warmed up by food and drinks, and the snow walls reflecting the heat back at us, we joyously chatted away. After eating, I decided to go out for a short walk, which none of my companions had any interest in... I must admit, the location of the trip wasn't the best decision on my part. I've always had trouble maintaining a healthy body temperature in the cold, and there have been several cases of hikers getting lost atop the mountain and freezing... but I did have a good reason to plan the trip: The night sky. That night was a full moon, and as the weather forecast predicted, the sky was perfectly clear. There in the cold darkness, away from all the headlights and streetlamps, away from all the noise and pollution of the city, you could see everything. Every star, every planet, every comet. That's always been my favorite part of camping, gazing out at the night sky, which is why I failed to notice how far out I had gotten from the igloo until I was already actively shivering.”

“How far from the igloo did you get, exactly?”

"It's hard to say, I had completely lost track of time as I gazed out on the night sky... I panicked for a second when I realized this, before remembering that I had been watching the stars as I walked, and could use them to guide my way back. However, after some time of walking, I realized that I wasn’t passing anything. All I could see in all directions was just snow. No trees, no rocks, not even the side of the mountain. By this point, panic was starting to set in as thoroughly as the cold was. I could almost feel the icy grip of fatigue dragging me back, slowing me down. I could hear its whispers in the wind, begging me to stop and lay down in the pillowy soft snow. I knew that if I did, I would certainly die. That's when my torch illuminated them: the two shadowy figures approaching me. I would have sprinted to them if I could, but all I could do was continue pushing my way through the snow until they reached me. One figure turned out to be a woman with black matted hair, a fox fur on her shoulders, and a stained white dress. She had bits of thorny vines tangled into her hair and dress, and digging into her arms, although she didn’t seem to notice. The other was a small child with a light blue dress and pigtails. The dress had a shining snowflake design on the front, with a fractling pattern expanding from it and covering the dress in a shimmering icy film. She had a puffy jacket and beanie but was so small that the snow nearly buried her. Neither of them were wearing nearly enough layers to possibly survive the cold. The woman spoke in a calm voice that seemed to effortlessly cut through the sound of the wind. 'Hello. I'm Eira. This is Emberly. Are you lost?' I was taken aback by the calmness of the woman, but quickly replied, confirming that I was lost. She simply looked at Emberly and smiled, before turning back to me and saying 'Don't worry. Your journey will soon be at an end.' She was clearly trying to be reassuring when she softened her voice, but the coldness of it made a deep sense of fear settle in my stomach. Emberly picked that moment to smile at me. I couldn't make out anything wrong with her smile in the darkness, other than the fact that it did not look human. I began to back away, but Eria advanced, reaching out a frostbitten hand as I did. 'Don't worry,' She said in that sickeningly sweet tone, 'you'll finally get to rest.'…I don't know why, but that was what made me snap. In a moment of sheer panic, I punched Eria in the face, and she stumbled back into the snow. Then, I started to run. I didn't look back. Not when I heard Eira calling out to me. Not even when I heard a flapping noise behind me. Then, I tripped and fell into the slow, turning over just in time to see a shadowy thing flying towards me. It carried Eria in its owl-like talons, and flew through the air with its feathered wings, but its body looked like that of a malnourished horse, with leathery black skin. Its head was composed of a deer skull, with a soft glow reflecting out of its eye sockets. What caught my attention most of all, however, was the shiny ice crystals covering its leathery skin. They all converged into a single point at its chest, just like Emberly's dress. As it rapidly approached, my hand gripped something long and hard buried in the snow, and without a second thought, I brought it up and pointed the end straight at the thing's chest. I still remember the horrible cracking noise that erupted from its chest as the broken tree branch I had been holding pierced right through the snowflake pattern. It dropped Eria and let out a deafening screech. I had just barely scrambled to my feet when the thing swung its feathered arm down and dug its talons into my shoulder... Have you ever been out in the cold for so long that your hands go numb?” Jonathan thought for a moment, not expecting to be asked a question in the middle of a statement.

“I can't say that I have.”

"Huh, lucky you. That's the closest thing I can think of to describe the pain I felt in my shoulder. Only instead of happening over the course of two hours, it happened over the course of two seconds as the ice crystals dug into my shoulder, reaching through the skin, fat, and muscle all the way to the bone. Then, I couldn't feel anything at all. That was almost worse. The scream that I made was what alerted my friends as to where I was. Thankfully, they had already been out searching for me. I don't remember what happened next, but according to Lilly, she found me unconscious in the snow, my shoulder ripped up like it had been made out of paper mache. Emma ran down the mountain and called an ambulance while Sam and Lilly carried me back to the igloo. Next thing I knew, I was at the hospital. Apparently, I would have certainly bleed to death if it weren't for the fact that the blood froze into my veins, effectively cauterizing the wound." Brian started taking a folder out of their bag, seemingly struggling to get it out without moving their shoulder too much. "..I have photos, although some are a bit gruesome.” Jonathan was clearly uneasy as he leaned back in his seat slightly and hesitantly said,

“Sure.”Brian finally got the folder out and took out a printed photo of a hand with blood dripping from it. The photo was blurry, but clearly of a different person's hand.

“This is a photo of one of my friend's hand after they cut it while cooking. The wound healed quickly and with no issues.” Jonathan looked both confused and irritated.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“To prepare you for the next photos…” Brian then handed Jonathan three printed out photos of a gruesomely torn up shoulder. The skin of the shoulder was blackened by frostbite and covered in a shining layer of ice crystals. The photos were sickeningly clear and detailed.

“These were taken by the paramedics…”Jonathan swallowed hard as he struggled to keep a professional demeanor.

“Bloody hell…”

"Yeah... You should have heard it. Sam says it made cracking noises every time they moved my arm at all.” Jonathan looked at Brian with a mixture of disgust and concern.

“How on earth did you survive this?”

"It was entirely my friends. They were all trained in first aid because of the Scouting Association. They were the ones who took me to the igloo, called an ambulance, patched up the wound, and kept me warm.”

"It's a good thing they did all that then," he said, still a bit shocked at what he'd just been shown.

"It's frankly amazing you're even able to move your arm at all after that.”

"Yeah, physical therapy is a wonderful thing... Look, I don't know exactly what happened up there, but I'm assuming it was some combination of fatigue, hypothermia, and a falling tree branch... I just... I heard y'all look into this sort of stuff and I guess I need some assurance that it wasn't... real.”

“You're trying to tell me that,” Jonathan pointed at the photo, “This was caused by a falling tree branch?”

"Well the alternative is- I'm sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't come here and argue about the probability of it." Brian said before starting to get up. "Is that all you need?”

"For now, yes," Jonathan said. He glanced at the photos a moment before looking back up. "...But I would like to ask you one thing before you leave, if you don't mind.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you go out in the first place? I understand that you wanted to look at the stars, but it hardly seems safe.”

“It wasn't the first time I had gone out alone on trips… At night…” Jonathan looked doubtful and concerned.

"You went out on late night walks while camping, alone, on previous trips? And your friends knew of this, correct?”

“Yeah. I've been camping since I was twelve. I knew what I was doing… to a point…” Jonathan shook his head.

"It sounds like you didn't know what you were doing at all. Going out in the middle of the night, in the winter, while camping alone is foolish and dangerous. You do realize that, right?” Brian looked as though they were going to answer the question, before they changed their mind and sighed heavily.

“I'm sorry, I don't think I ever caught your name.” He took a moment to realize he'd been so wrapped up in this questioning, that he'd neglected to even introduce himself.

"I apologize, I should have introduced myself before..." He stood and held out his hand to Brian. "Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute.” Brian shook his hand before picking up their messenger bag.

"Nice to meet you Jonathan. Have a lovely day.” Brian then left, leaving Jonathan alone in the room, which felt slightly colder than before.

“Bloody hell… end statement.”

[oneminutefiftysixseconds]

🌐 You can add one race to the world tour calendar (promoting an existing race or inventing a new one). What do you do?

for everyone that asked me this question i thank you and i will be answering it all at once here because i put WAY too much thought into this. way too much.

Tour Of Britain But It's (Hopefully) Less Shit

Stage 1A: Richmond Park 10km 50m elev.

we open with a 10k lap of Richmond Park -- it's the cycling hotspot of the capital, time trials are a big part of the UK domestic scene, and i like a prologue TT. and it would really piss off london cyclists when whoever wins sets a record time around the park, taking with them the leaders jersey for the first proper road stage later the same day:

Stage 1B: London -> Brighton, 150km 1,000m elev.

a meandering journey to the seaside taking in the Olympics-famous Box Hill and joining the classic London to Brighton route, the first stage winner will likely need to bide their time and hope an attack on Ditchling Beacon gets them enough of a gap to take them to the finish line.

Stage 2: Oxford -> Cambridge, 190km 700m elev.

between the two ancient university towns lies the flat and beautiful Bedfordshire. the peloton will start among the dreaming spires and the sprinters will tough it out on King's Parade, a stone's throw from the apple tree newton supposedly sat under while working on gravitation!

Stage 3: Telford -> Stoke-on-Trent, 220km 1,500m elev.

we loop into Wales for a long but relatively gentle start to the hills... the Clwydian Range might not be the Pyrenees but there are plenty significant climbs in there that indicate today is likely one for the breakaway -- or an audacious solo -- and the notorious welsh weather could lead to all sorts of surprises

Stage 4: Manchester -> Leeds, 160km, 1,800m elev.

heading first south from Manchester into the Peak District and finishing with a city circuit in Leeds, this should be another chance for a breakaway ahead of tomorrow...

Stage 5, the Queen Stage: York -> Hardknott Pass, 280km, 3,500m (!) elev.

i woke up and chose violence. giro mountain stages eat your heart out, it's time for GC action in the North York Moors, Yorkshire Dales, and the Lake District with a summit finish on Hardknott Pass (the steepest road in england, maxing out at an eye-popping 30%). Rosedale Chimney, Buttertubs Pass, and the aptly named Struggle are the key climbs before Hardknott, and the helicopter shots will be superb as the race passes through some of the UK's most beautiful landscapes, finishing within sight of Scafell Pike.

Stage 6: Carlisle -> Glasgow, 180km, 850m elevation.

a border-crossing run into two laps of the iconic 2023 city circuit, this punchy stage will likely favour whichever classics specialist can recover the best from yesterday's efforts

Stage 7: Edinburgh -> Newcastle, 195km, 1,000m elev.

starting in scotland's capital, today is the final opportunity for any GC changes, mostly rolling terrain but enough to make a difference if it's only a few seconds

Stage 8: Peterborough -> Great Yarmouth, 180km 300m elev.

and so the Tour of Britain But It's (Hopefully) Less Shit concludes with a sprint along Great Yarmouth's seafront Golden Mile, bringing to an end a hopefully exciting one-week race in this country that does actually have decent cycling, contrary to what the actual TOB might lead you to believe

[racingliners]

So last year the Aston Martin mechanics did the Three Peaks Challenge immediately after the Qatar GP (climbing Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike & Yr Wyddfa in 24 hours) for Movember, and this year they're kayaking for 104km.

I'm starting to think everyone at Aston Martin is just insane (affectionate).

[gothycollie]

Trick or Treat!!! :3

You get the top inch from Scafell Pike!

[bonebabbles]

Sharptooth wasn't an escaped cougar

DOTC, in one of the more bizarre retcons, decided that Sharptooth wasn't the sharptooth. He was a sharptooth. There's a whole population of them here.

Are we in England? America? Englerica? Who knows! The writers sure don't! I'm on the Scafell Pike! I'm in the Appalachians! I'm in the combination Scafellpikeappalachians!

Scafellachia.

[blackberrysummerblog]

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Hey all! Thanks so much for tagging me @wellbelesbian, @aristocratic-otter, @valeffelees, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @ivelovedhimthroughworse and @iamamythologicalcreature! You’ve all correctly determined that I am procrastinating writing.

1. 🐬Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

I actually don’t have any that are named at this point. Titles and tags are really difficult for me and I put both off to the last minute and second-guess myself into hell

2. 🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___=___”

Popular movie retelling + flying goats = Baz and Dev have A Spot of Bother

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

Wraaaugugh, see #1 :P. I don’t know, in seriousness, I think the WIP mentioned above will end up getting a tag for sexual harassment or something like that given the nature of one necessary scene in the movie it’s based on. It’s not going to be worse than the source material, which is PG-13

4. 🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

Oh, to have so many ideas for titles that there’s ever an alternative lying around to spare :(

5. ⚠️Which wip your most likely to finish or update next?

I’m pretty likely to finish a sequel to Field Trip of Dreams (SEE WHAT I MEAN about titles?) this week. The eighth years are off on another field trip—this time it’s a weekend training excursion with the Mage. Baz and Simon have been dating for the short time that’s passed since FToD, but they manage to get in a fight on the bus trip to Scafell Pike, and when it turns into a sort-of-tussle the Mage mistakes it for actual animosity and sends them off to a secluded cabin to bang (I mean work🙄) it out. Absolutely everybody but Davy—including the other teachers—knows exactly how much of a “punishment” this is

6. 💾 What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you've saved it as)

Practical magic au

7. 🖍️Post Any sentence from your wip

“Shut up, Gareth!” we shout as one, Snow adding a few brutish threats as Gareth pales and turns back around in his seat.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

I actually can’t remember. I don’t plot my writing out very extensively so in a sense there’s hundreds of little scrapped thoughts rather than anything huge. I’m eliminating a lot of things with my crucible marriage fic, but it’s hard to say right now what’s actually gone or just being moved around. I know a major one I’ve been battling with is that prior to getting dragged off to Pitch Manor by his new husband Baz, I want Simon to have been living with Penny in a flat of their own, but for another aspect of the story I want him to have been living with the Mage in Watford (which is an au mage’s settlement in the fic) as well. There’s ways to work around it for the results I want, I just haven’t written it out yet.

9. 🤔What's a story you'd love to write but haven't even started yet?

I’m pretty sure I have at least a few lines written down for everything I want to write

10. 🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

Oh, man…actively, probably the field trip one and my COBB. Somewhat less actively: a reverse COBB fic, a sequel to Monsters Under the Bed, a sequel to After Hours where Simon makes good on his promise to despoil Baz on his office desk, and my unending crucible marriage fic. Less active than that: a fic response to a prompt for Simon being the one kidnapped and Baz has to rescue him. There’s probably (cough*definitely*cough) some pretty messed-up OOC smut stuff lying around in my docs as well, that I add to when I’m in the mood and have zero plans to ever post

11. 🛠️Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I keep telling myself to just write and stop worrying about this for the moment, but I’m kind of bumming myself out worrying about whether I want to use first or third person, as well as past or present tense, for my COBB. I think the issue is that some scenes are bound to play out better one way while others would be better served differently. This is not usually a thing I struggle with.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

🥰

This was fun! (Once I stopped putting it off, lol). No pressure tagging (and sorry if I get anyone who’s already done it): @cutestkilla, @mooncello, @artsyunderstudy, @prettygoododds, @drowninginships, @hushed-chorus, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @youarenevertooold, @ileadacharmedlife, @facewithoutheart, @imagineacoolusername, @ic3-que3n

[drastrochris]

I have just made the horrifying realization that Britain is a real place.

This all started when Strange Horticulture mentioned that Scafell Pike is the tallest mountain in England. Which immediately made me realize that Strange Horticulture doesn't just take place in Made Up Fantasy England, but in We Just Changed Windermere to Undermere Fantasy England.

WJCWtU Fantasy England:

That led me to looking this up on google, and discovering that this is the Lake District I've heard about before:

But wait, these names seem familiar. Derwentwater? Ambleside? Those are places in Forza!

That lake in the bottom left is Windermere/Undermere. The lake to the northeast from there is Derwentwater, which is visible in the Lake District map, and would fall off the SH map. The city in the top right corner is Edinburgh, as the Forza map is an artistic interpretation of reality.

So yeah. Britain, as seen in such video games as Forza Horizon 4 and Strange Horticulture, is terrifyingly /real/.

[bouncehousedemons]

So, Max and I are quite keen climbers - now, when I say keen I don’t mean skilled, I just mean we enjoy it - we’ve climbed Ben Nevis in Scotland, Scafell Pike in The Lake District, Snowden in Wales, basically every peak in the Peak District and Sulphur Mountain and Tunnel Mountain in Canada, plus a bunch more I’ve likely forgotten.

Our dog, Ylva, is not a keen climber. She is a soft little sofa pudding, whose level of activity doesn’t push beyond chasing a ball for 10 minutes and then needing to lay down because her belly is too hot. We have tried in the past to change her mind - we pushed her to climb Mam Tor. It took two attempts and she was so angered by the wind in her ears by the time we reached the top that she had protest diarrhoea all the way back down. We also got her to climb up a cliff on the Isle of Wight, incensed with rage because of the wind in her ears when we got to the top, she had a go at another dog.

We wanted to go climbing today - the mountain we originally chose we’ve done before, and know we can do it easily, but were unsure of how the dog would cope, so we settled on something else. A smaller, but much steeper mountain ridge, where the way back down is a gentle bridleway. Nice and easy, except it wasn’t because Max and I are stupid and didn’t look at the gradient lines on the OS map.

We start climbing, it’s very, very steep, but manageable. All is well.

It continues to get steeper, Max and I take it in turns to hold the dog while we scramble up near vertical incline, all the while chanting the mantra “if it doesn’t get worse than this we’re fine.”

It got worse. Much worse. It shat it down with rain and the wind was blowing a fucking hooly, all the while Ylva is making noises like she’s auditioning to star in a Blue Cross advert.

About three quarters of the way up, the dog is fucking miserable and keeps trying to yeet herself over the edge, and Max and I have decided that the steepness means our hands and feet are no longer cutting it as makeshift crampons. The wind does not want us on this ridge. We are calling it a day.

I am not as sure footed as Max is when it comes to going downhill. I had to get down this near vertical incline (though I suppose now it’s a decline?) by falling and sliding most of the way. My arse is soaked. My waterproof boots are no longer waterproof. The dog is not speaking to us. Poor me. Poor Ylva.

Today we fucked around and found out.

[bonefall]

Ok I do actually like the idea of the Tribe concept of a burial including the construction of a "pelt." Like a bunch of nice things to be buried in, stones or a blanket maybe. Funeral shroud.

You wear the pelt for a while, just to be modest, until you've totally moved on. That's a cute implication and fits the fact that it would be harder to dig in a frozen mountain environment.

(Though to be fair even Scafell Pike, biggest mountain in England, isn't stony like that. There is plenty of turfgrass to dig in.)

[c-h-pictures]

The "Three Peaks" challenge is relatively well known yet most people can't name the English peak.

Because Ben Nevis (1345m) and Yr Wyddfa (1085m) are infinitely more impressive than Scafell Pike (978m)

All pretty though.