Striding Edge by Torchlight
Into the Black Void | A night of stars, spectacular skies and a slightly excessive number of head torches.
Date: 17 October 2026
📍 Route: Glenridding car park > Birkhouse Moor > Striding Edge > Helvellyn > Swirral Edge > Red Tarn > Glenridding
📏 Distance: 14.8 km
⬆️ Ascent: 906 m
⌛ Time: 6:20 h
Weather: Spectacular sunset, clear skies, no wind, chilly temperatures and a sky full of stars!
Mood: Absolutely buzzing, mesmerised and feeling beyond lucky!
Striding Edge by Torchlight is an annual fundraising event organised by Lakeland Mountain Guides, supporting the Lake District Search and Mountain Rescue Association (LDSAMRA). First held in 2015, the event takes participants across the famous Striding Edge ridge and onto Helvellyn under the cover of darkness, with only head torches illuminating the way. The organisers describe it as their most daring event. Previous scrambling experience is required, and the group is accompanied by qualified mountain guides. Half of the event's profits go towards supporting the volunteer mountain rescue teams across the Lake District, with over £6,000 raised since the event began. A rather exciting way to spend an October Saturday evening, while supporting a very worthy cause!
Nine Months of Expecting the Worst
I booked this adventure NINE MONTHS AGO, in January for a Saturday evening in the Lake District in the middle of October. I had mentally prepared myself for horizontal rain, howling winds, freezing temperatures and the possibility of seeing absolutely nothing beyond the person in front of me. Because, well, October in the Lakes.
On Friday lunchtime, just as I was getting into the car to drive up to the Lakes, an email arrived from Matt at Lakeland Mountain Guides, who organise the event. The forecast wasn't just looking decent. According to Matt, it could be one of the best forecasts he'd seen for this event over the years! That's quite something for mid-October in the Lake District! I'd already checked the forecast myself, of course, probably more times than necessary, but this was an exciting confirmation just as I was setting off. Good mood for the next few hours of driving, guaranteed!
I'd already been on Striding Edge twice, most recently in May earlier this year ([read about that adventure here]). Both times I'd been incredibly lucky with the weather. Sunshine, warmth and barely a breath of wind. I couldn't quite believe my luck was holding out for a third visit to the same mountain range. Familiar terrain, completely different atmosphere. This time I was heading up one of England's most famous ridges in darkness.
Because One Hike Wasn't Enough
Unlike most sensible people, I'd decided that before an evening hike up Helvellyn, I wasn't going to waste such a gorgeous day sitting around. So I went up a few Wainwright fells first.
I'd spent the morning exploring Gowbarrow Fell, Aira Force and a few other summits, enjoying the beautiful autumn sunshine and the glorious Lake District scenery. ([Read about my daytime wanderings here.]) By the time I returned to the Sun Inn at Pooley Bridge, where I was staying, I had just enough time for about an hour's lie-down before getting ready to head out again. I was far too excited to sleep properly anyway. Off I went towards Glenridding car park, which thankfully isn't far from Pooley Bridge.
The Ascent: Familiar Ground, Different Light
There were 16 of us plus three guides, and we set off at 16:30. The route was still quite fresh in my mind, having walked it only four months earlier. We started the ascent via Mires Beck, which certainly gets the legs going straight away. That staircase of a climb doesn't believe in gentle introductions! The difference this time was that the water in my hydration bladder was actually cold, and I wasn't sweating nearly as much as I had on my previous ascent. Small victories.
I found myself walking right behind the guide at the front, and on a couple of occasions I ended up right at the front. Years of solo hiking have clearly left their mark on me. I'm so used to setting my own pace, reading the terrain and deciding where to go that following someone else's footsteps feels slightly unnatural. I suppose I like seeing what's ahead rather than following, experiencing the landscape as it unfolds. There's something about that sense of independence and freedom that I find hard to give up, even when I'm part of a group. Last time I was part of a group was in July 2025 for Welsh 3000s!
It was cooler than my previous visits, but the light was absolutely gorgeous. As we approached the 700-metre mark and reached that more level section where the landscape suddenly opens up, the daylight was beginning to fade. Striding Edge, Swirral Edge, Helvellyn and the surrounding fells were all there in front of us. It was only just after 18:00, and the sky had decided to show off. Big time.
Pinks, oranges, baby blues and colours I genuinely don't know how to describe. Not a breath of wind. The mountains stretching out around us, the last light falling across the fells and the sky changing colour almost by the minute. It was quite chilly, especially once we stopped moving, but I barely noticed because I was too busy staring at everything. We stayed there for around 15 to 20 minutes, allowing the rest of the group to catch up and have a little rest.
I took so many photos and videos, but none of them came close to capturing the true colours. And that's something I find myself saying more and more often about the mountains. Sometimes the camera simply cannot do justice to what your eyes are seeing, never mind how it actually feels to be standing there. That feeling of being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. The mountains, the setting sun and the daylight slowly disappearing over the surrounding fells. I felt incredibly lucky just to be there.
Striding Edge and the Black Void
We reached the start of Striding Edge shortly after 19:00. By then, darkness had swallowed the surrounding hills. Red Tarn had disappeared completely, and there was just a faint glow outlining Helvellyn's distinctive summit. A brief stop, and it was time for the head torches.
Now, I had come prepared. Three head torches and an additional clip-on torch. Yes, FOUR torches. Basically, I was prepared to personally illuminate that part of Cumbria if necessary. I'd already shared my slightly excessive preparations with a couple of the guides and some people around me, who found it rather amusing. I find it funny too, to be fair. Doomsday preparation, mountain edition.
But after the trauma of having two head torches fail on me within a short space of time during my Welsh 15 challenge, I'm afraid the experience has left a permanent mark on my mind and soul. ([Read about that particular adventure here.]) This time I was using a brand-new Petzl head torch that I'd never actually used on a hike before. It has a dual battery system, with a rechargeable lithium battery and the option of three AAA batteries as backup. And then, of course, another three torches in case the universe had other plans.
And while we're on the subject of excessive preparation, I also had THREE pairs of gloves with me. I was only wearing one pair, and I'm still not entirely sure why the other two were in my backpack. I kept that little detail to myself, though. The guides already knew about my four torches, and I didn't want them questioning my sanity any further. I suppose if push came to shove, I'd be lighting up half of Cumbria like a beacon while keeping my hands exceptionally warm. Whatever disaster was coming, at least my fingers would survive it!
Anyway, off we went! I was right behind the guide again, which gave me a slightly different perspective from the rest of the group. It was just our head torches illuminating the rocks immediately ahead of us, and I absolutely loved that feeling.
Whenever we stopped to regroup, I'd look over either side of the ridge and see NOTHING. Just blackness. It was the strangest sensation, almost like looking into a bottomless black void. If I hadn't been on Striding Edge before and known what was on either side, I could genuinely have believed there was nothing there. Just black air, disappearing into some enormous black hole. There was no visible landscape to give the darkness any scale. No valley floor, no Red Tarn, no distant slopes. Not even a proper sense of gradient. Just the edge of the rock and then...nothing.
What surprised me was that I didn't feel afraid. Not at all. I was expecting to feel different in the dark. I found that quite strange, considering where I was and what I knew lay beyond those rocks. Of course, the conditions were absolutely perfect. No wind, no rain, no ice. I certainly wouldn't want to imagine doing this in high winds!
But the whole experience made me wonder about something. A few people in our group had never been on Striding Edge before, and here they were, experiencing it for the very first time in complete darkness! Would crossing Striding Edge in darkness actually be easier for someone who's afraid of heights, especially if they'd never been there before? I genuinely don't know. You can't see how far the drop goes. There's no reference point, nothing to show you the scale of the exposure. The drop simply disappears into darkness. Would that make it less frightening, or would the unknown make it worse? I can't answer that, but it was fascinating to think about.
Of course, concentration was fully switched on. Every step mattered, and I was very aware of where I was putting my feet. But whenever we stopped and I lifted my head away from the rocks, there was another world waiting above us.
A Thousand Stars Above Striding Edge
The night sky was absolutely spectacular. Hundreds of thousands of stars, or at least that's how it felt. So many that it was almost impossible to take them all in. There was even a faint band of the Milky Way stretching across the sky. The half-boob of a Moon was hanging in the distance, and satellites were slowly passing overhead.
So many satellites! Their movement is so distinctive. They almost glide across the sky, silently and steadily. Occasionally we'd see an aeroplane, but there seemed to be more satellites than planes. It felt surreal. Here I was, standing on Striding Edge in the middle of October, surrounded by darkness, with one of the most beautiful night skies I'd ever seen above me. I'd looked forward to this event for nine months, but I hadn't really imagined it being quite like this. It almost felt like a dream.
At one point I said to Matt that I had absolutely no idea how far along the ridge we'd travelled. I couldn't judge whether we were halfway across or nearly at the end. Without the usual landscape around me, I'd completely lost my sense of progress. He told me we were about three-quarters of the way along, and roughly five minutes later, we arrived at the Chimney!
The Chimney and Helvellyn
I'd descended the Chimney before, of course, but doing it at night certainly has one advantage - there is no one else there. This is usually a busy place! Matt went down first and positioned himself where he could spot and help everyone if needed. I went down first after him, then stood watching the others make their way down one by one.
And I couldn't help thinking how much my Saturday evenings have changed over the years. I used to go out partying on Saturday nights. Now I stand on mountain ridges in the dark, scrambling down rocks and stargazing. 🤣 Quite the evolution!
Once everyone was safely down, we continued the final climb towards Helvellyn's summit. We eventually reached the summit shelter, where we sat down for some food and a bit of a rest. We were exactly four hours into the hike at this point. It was getting properly cold now, so I finally put on my second jacket.
The guides kept telling us that these were the best conditions they'd experienced since running the event, which had been going for around eleven years. Eleven years! And luckily I'd managed to book the evening with the best weather. I still couldn't quite believe it. There were also quite a few tents scattered across the summit plateau. People spending the night up there, enjoying what must have been an incredible night for wild camping.
Squirrel Edge and a Shooting Star
After our break, it was time to descend via Swirral Edge. Or, as one of the people in our group thought it was called...Squirrel Edge. 🐿️🤣 I have to say, I prefer the new name.
Swirral Edge seemed to pass incredibly quickly. In fact, the whole ridge experience felt much shorter than it does in daylight. Looking at the actual timings afterwards, it certainly wasn't quicker! I wonder whether that's because, in darkness, your senses aren't constantly being overwhelmed by the surrounding scenery. During daylight, there's so much to look at. The ridges, the drops, the tarn, the distant mountains. Your eyes are constantly wandering. At night, your world shrinks to the small area illuminated by your head torch. You're concentrating on what's immediately ahead, and perhaps that changes your perception of time and distance. I don't know, but it certainly felt different.
Once we'd descended Swirral Edge, we stopped to wait for the rest of the group. Matt suggested that we all switch off our head torches. And we did. What followed was one of my favourite moments of the entire evening. Without the torchlight, the sky seemed to come alive even more. Stars absolutely everywhere. And then I saw a shooting star! Just one, but that was enough. Spectacular.
I can only recognise two or three constellations myself, but one of the ladies in the group pointed towards a flickering object in the distance and asked what it was. I was almost certain it was Mars. I use a stargazing app on my phone quite often when looking at the night sky, so I got my phone out to investigate. And yes, Mars it was! We spent rather a long time standing there looking at the sky. Probably enjoying ourselves far too much.
To the side of us, Red Tarn was completely engulfed in blackness, although we could make out two or three tents near it. I kept thinking how extraordinary the whole evening had been. The sunset, the darkness, the ridge, the stars, the shooting star. And all of this in the middle of October.
The Long Walk Back
Once everyone had regrouped, we began the long descent towards Glenridding. There was plenty of chatting, plenty of walking and, for me at least, plenty more looking up at the night sky. I couldn't stop marvelling at it. We eventually finished just before 23:00.
Back to the car, then the short drive to the Sun Inn at Pooley Bridge, where a hot shower was very much appreciated. I'd started the day wandering around Gowbarrow Fell and the surrounding hills in glorious autumn sunshine, and ended it crossing Striding Edge by torchlight beneath a sky full of stars. Quite a Saturday, even by my standards. I think I dreamt of stars that night.
🔍 Final Thoughts
The hike was over, but I knew immediately that I'd just had one of my favourite experiences in the mountains. And not because it was the hardest, the longest or the highest. It was the atmosphere. The extraordinary weather. The fading light. The strange sensation of looking into complete darkness from a ridge I knew so well. The thousands of stars above us. The conversations, the laughter, and the quiet moments when everyone simply stopped and looked up.
Nine months earlier, I'd booked this expecting the worst of October. Instead, October gave us one of its very best evenings. Funny how sometimes you plan an adventure for months, imagine all the things that might go wrong, prepare for every possible scenario, and then you are surprised in the most wonderful way.
I feel beyond lucky. 🌌
There was nothing to see beyond the edge of the ridge, yet , there was everything to see above it
Peaks
⛰️ Birkhouse Moor (718 m)
⛰️ Striding Edge (863 m)
⛰️ Helvellyn (950 m)
Sunset over Helvellyn Ullswater in the fading daylight Scrambling in the dark Striding Edge Scrambling in the dark Striding Edge skies at early eve The chimney on Striding Edge Scrambling in the dark Striding Edge String of lights on Striding Edge String of lights on Striding Edge Hike stats Scrambling in the dark Striding Edge
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