Sounds rather like a joke when you can scarcely see your hand in front of you, to read that behind you stretches the beautiful vista of the Langdale Valley, with Wansfell in the distance, and an exquisite glimpse of the waters of Windermere sparkling in the sun; to your right Helvellyn towers amidst its lesser brethren, while to the left the gloomy dome of Coniston lends a serious grandeur to the scene.
Sounds all very fine, but it's a pity they don't put in the view on a day like this as well.
I quite miss the dashing of the wind against the cliffs.

They're far behind now, and the wind seems to dash against me instead.

Whew! I'd better peg on, or the tea will be cold at Wastdale Head! No sign of the Cambridge fellows.

Wonder where they are.

Half wish I was with them-- idiots as they are.
8:30 o'clock .-- Top at last! I'm black and blue all over, with tumbling among those brutal rocks.