Enjoy the best views in the Lake District without spending a penny

Louise Carey eschews the luxuries of a hotel bed for an overnight stay at a mountain-top bothy

Dubs Hut bothy at Fleetwith Pike (Louise Carey/Bauer Media)

Idly wondering when my precariously balanced rucksack will tip me backwards and send me careening down the mountain isn’t the most relaxing thought to have on a trip.

In the car park at the bottom of the climb, I’d worn my well-prepared backpack with pride, feeling like a mixture between Bear Grylls and a particularly zealous Girl Scout. But by the time we’d finished the hardest part of the ascent, my hair was plastered to my sweaty forehead and my chest was heaving. When we eventually stop to take a breath, I shrug off my pack in relief and listen as it falls to the ground with a solid thud.  

“Maybe you should have packed less,” one of my amused, and far more experienced, companions suggests. I take a moment to consider that perhaps my tendency to chronically over-pack is even less suited to hill-walking than it is to Ryanair flights. Either way, I’m sure the 20-pack of chocolate bars, two separate water bottles and an ample selection of fleeces will come in handy for our overnight stay in the Dubs Hut bothy at Fleetwith Pike.

Staying in a stone hut halfway up a mountain with no kitchen, no beds and no indoor plumbing has never been high up on my bucket list. However, I’ve never been one to turn down an experience – especially when it includes incredible views and good company. And, crucially, when it won’t cost me anything.

When the bothy comes into view, it looks magnificent. Golden light streams over distant mountaintops, kissing the slate tiles in an idyllic moment that I’d previously assumed only belonged in Hollywood movies. We all hold our breath in anticipation as we open the battered wooden door. There’s no formal booking process for bothies, so each trip is a punt to see whether you’ve got there first...  

Luckily, the bothy is empty. But as I gaze around the cold, dark room, reality begins to set in. Somehow, the notion of sleeping on a stone floor halfway up a mountain seems much more fun when you’re pulling up in the car park in a well-heated vehicle. Now, with sunset only minutes away and a strong gale rattling the tiny windows, the whole idea begins to feel a little more foolhardy.  

As I start to wonder whether I would be able to scarper down the mountain back to the car before the light totally disappears, one of my companions starts setting up a camping stove. “Pasta or curry?” he grins, holding up two indistinguishable plastic packets.  

“Surprise me,” I reply, less concerned about dinner, and more worried by the sudden realisation that I don’t know how to brush my teeth without running water.  

Luckily, going on a mountaintop excursion with vastly more experienced campers than yourself pays off. Within minutes, the yawning dark pit of the fireplace has been filled with a happy, crackling fire and dinner is served. Once I’m curled up in my sleeping bag with a warm bowl of food (still unsure whether I’m eating curry or pasta), I begin to feel like I’ve finally embarked on the Enid Blyton-esque adventure I’d imagined.

After dinner, I venture outside to explore the area a little more. The Dubs Hut bothy is a former miner’s shelter, so there’s endless fun to be had exploring the cragged sheets of slate that erupt from the ground. Meanwhile, with the high winds chasing away any remaining wisps of cloud, it’s a stunningly clear night with plenty of stars on show. My eyes adjust to the tiny celestial pinpricks faster than I thought they would and I feel tempted to stay out here gazing for hours.

But, with the prospect of the long hike down in the morning, it’s time to attempt what I’ve been dreading all evening – getting some shut-eye. Even with a cushioned mat and a cosy sleeping bag, lying on the floor of a bothy isn’t exactly comfortable. Yet aside from a few startled awakenings during the night, the experience isn’t quite as bad as I’d expected. I manage to snatch a few precious hours of sleep before dawn creeps up and I lie still, wide awake.  

With my companions still snoozing, I grab my coat and slip outside. Overnight, a cloud bank has crept in, softening the harsh mountainscape around me with a cotton wool veil. I perch on a nearby cluster of slate and drink in the scenery, relishing the sensation of being utterly alone. Aside from my slumbering friends, there’s no one else around for miles – just the tall shoulders of the Lake District mountains to keep me company.  

In fact, these few quiet moments are some of the most transformative I’ve ever experienced. Suddenly, every small struggle becomes worth it. The steep climb, questionable camping food and restless night of sleep were not only justified, but a treasured part of the experience. I honestly can’t remember a time when I’ve felt more at peace, and I’m sure I’ll be chasing that feeling for years to come.  

In fact, these few quiet moments are some of the most transformative I’ve ever experienced

As I sit contentedly, I feel the first pangs of hunger and rifle through my pockets to find a half-crushed chocolate bar. I munch on it thoughtfully as I watch the cloud bank pass through the valley (chocolate for breakfast is completely acceptable when you’re camping) and listen to the sound of muffled voices coming from inside the bothy. Eventually, the door creaks open and one of my friends appears, looking like he’s just spent the night sleeping on a cold stone floor.  

“You got another one of those?” he yawns, eyeing up my snack.

I guess those chocolate bars came in handy after all.  

The Lake District National Park is currently in tier 2. Find out what this means for travel here.