Ode to the Old Man

Mountains are not just things we climb, they are a stage for life, death and love. And there’s none more deserving of appreciation than the Old Man.

Jenna Maryniak, BA(Hons), Prof. Dip Psy C., MNCPS Accred

7 min read

In the ups and downs of life, things happen that pull everything into painfully sharp perspective, and you realise that this short, precious, beautiful time we have is something to grab hold of with both hands and pack full of all the love, adventure and passion that you can possibly muster.

One minute, you’re coasting along stressing about this and that, and then your Mum dies, and you realise that none of that stuff mattered anyway and the only thing that really matters is the people you love. It makes you realise that the people who make life make sense won’t be around forever and you have to think really hard about how you want to spend the rest of your time on this Earth, and who you want to be spending that time with.

It was with that in mind, just less than a year after losing Mum, that I decided it had been far too long since I’d climbed a mountain with my Dad. I didn’t grow up climbing mountains, in fact it was a ski trip for Dad’s 50th when I was 22 where we both discovered a primal love of the mountains.

Dad has been a big sportsman all his life – rugby, running, windsurfing, squash… But the mountains gave us something that we could share together, and a regular Tuesday night at the climbing wall in the flatlands of Peterborough soon turned into trips with the Mountaineering Club to Wales and family holidays to the Lakes. Conquering a shared fear of heights and feeling the achievement and sense of awe that only the mountains can bring gave me memories with my Dad that I’ll never forget.

Seizing the day

Life whizzes on by though, and it occurred to me that it had been 10 years since we last climbed a mountain together. With squash five times a week still and a recently rediscovered passion for downhill mountain biking, Dad is the fittest 72-year-old I know.

His initial reply when I brought it up wasn’t quite the one I was expecting though: “Errr. I think not.” Maybe he was thinking back to the time I dragged him and Mum unsuspectingly over Sharp Edge. “It won’t be anything crazy,” I promised. “AND there’ll be a cosy pub and a pint at the end of it!” “Well, it would be churlish not to then,” he said in reference to one of my Mum’s favourite sayings whenever wine was on offer.

Of all the mountains to climb there was one that kept jostling to the front of my mind – The Old Man of Coniston. It wasn’t just the amusing notion of taking my old man on the Old Man, it was much more than that. I wanted a proper mountain, with an exciting and rocky ridge up, but nothing technical. The Prison Band via Levers Water onto Swirl How offered a terrific way up, delivering just the right amount of mountain magic. A broad ridge would then take us on an easy romp to the summit of the Old Man, with a straightforward descent right back down to The Sun Inn’s log burning stove and fine selection of ales. It was a route that Dad had never done before, but there was also a nod to nostalgia, as many years ago we had climbed the Old Man via the main track as a family.

So, it was with an embrace to carpe diem, and a nod to nostalgia that we set off into the Coppermines Valley to climb the best route up the Old Man of Coniston.

Back to nature

The late November sun was shining. This, I know, is something not to be taken for granted in the Lakes, having spent many a rain-lashed grey day on the fells at this time of year. The warmth of the sun felt sacred. It’s at times like this that I feel closest to whatever being blessed is, by what I don’t know – and more likely it’s just a lucky, insignificant but precious coincidence that I found myself on the side of a mountain, in the November sunshine with my Dad. A simple joy in life that made me already grateful for this day, and we hadn’t even left the valley yet.

Pausing at a gate leaving the wooded streamside, Dad put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze. “It’s a bit strange being here with you Jen,” he said. “I’d usually be doing this sort of thing with your Mum here.” “I know Dad,” I managed to say. “But she’s here with us in our hearts.” There’s something curious about experiencing something so painful that it rips open your heart. Because not only does it fill with loss and sadness, but also, unexpectedly maybe, with a sense of love and joy as well. Almost like you can’t fully experience one without the other. We blinked back the tears though, because today was about quality dad and daughter time, and we had a mountain to climb!

It wasn’t long before we were up and out of the mine-scarred valley, arriving suddenly at Levers Water. A dam held the perfectly still water, creating an infinity pool effect that joined the heavens with the Earth in a surreal 360° reflection that flipped the world upside down. The ridgeline between Swirl How and the Old Man that we would later be standing on lay before us duplicated in the sky and in the water like an optical illusion.

Stairway to heaven

Arriving at the col of Swirl Hawse which separates Swirl How from Wetherlam, the rocky staircase of the Prison Band reached skywards. I looked at Dad to see his reaction. The east ridge that is the Prison Band had been plunged into shadow by the low winter sun and the jumble of rock high above looked as perilous as the name sounded.

I knew Dad’s fear of heights that had plagued him when we were young – so much so that he couldn’t even watch us kids near the walls of Conwy Castle – was long gone. But it had been a while since he’d climbed anything like this. Glad of the fact that one of us had climbed it before, he showed no sign of concern.

The path up became increasingly rocky and for a while the ever-expanding views behind us were forgotten as we weaved and clambered up the rock. The conditions were great, and the route was proving perfect for Dad with just the right amount of rugged terrain to make it feel pretty epic, with a few hands-on moves but nothing too hard.

Soon we were climbing out of the shadows into the warmth of the sun once again. The very tops of the Helvellyn range to the east were snowy and cloud hung stubbornly over them, while we enjoyed blue skies for the final half of the ridge. It’s funny how we all hanker for summer like fools in this country. I was down to my base layer in November. In the Lakes. I’d had worse weather in August! There’s also a magic to the light at this time of year. The air is gin clear and the low sun turns the hills a wonderful gold.

With the ridge done, we arrived at Swirl How’s big summit cairn and immense views north-west to the Scafell range. From this angle England’s highest mountains looked dark and imposing, while the plateau ahead to Brim Fell and the Old Man of Coniston was like a moonscape lit up in a tundra of bronzed turf and rock. We’d done the most challenging part of the walk, and now up high we could relax a little and take it all in.

Rarified air

With plenty of daylight left, we took our time and stopped for tea and cake at the cairn above Brim Fell before the final rise to a triumphant summit of the Old Man of Coniston. It was the high point of our walk, if only by a metre more than Swirl How, but it was the star of the show and I felt the significance of the moment.

They say being on an aeroplane heightens emotions (ever cried at the in-flight movie?), and I wondered if that’s also true of being on a mountain. 803m is not exactly at oxygen-depleted altitude, but something happens up high, with your head in the sky and a bird’s-eye view. Somehow you’re closer to the truth of life and death and beauty and love. And that day there was even more reason for my emotion. I was so proud of my Dad for being capable of climbing mountains in his 70s. I was proud of us for the way we’d faced such sadness and loss together as a family. But I was also a little bit proud of myself if I’m honest. All my life Dad has encouraged me to be bold and go beyond the boundaries of expectation for a girl growing up in the ’80s and ’90s. So I often found myself in a minority of females in male-dominated mountaineering clubs, mountain biking groups and professions – and I’ve loved my life. Now after all these years, I was taking Dad on adventures, and I was glad. Glad of having that moment. Grateful for my life and my family. I hoped he was proud of me too, that for once I was able to give something back. That day on the Old Man with my old man is a day I’ll never forget. It was filled with memories of the past in our hearts, but also a commitment to embracing life and taking new opportunities. A special mountain for a special trip – which I’m determined won’t be the last. So what’s next then Dad?

– Published in the January 2025 issue of TRAIL magazine.

*Photographs by Tom Bailey, courtesy of Trail magazine.