Story: Hardknott Pass

It was supposed to be an adventure. The Airbnb looked perfect. A tucked away retreat high in the Lake District fells; well-earned rest after months of hard work. It was a converted old Bothy, previously home to gardeners and travellers, and looked like an ideal cosy place to rest after a long journey and to use as a base for exploring the dales, rivers, waterfalls and lakes. They had a long list of places to visit and things to see. The boot was full of layers, hiking boots, enough snacks to feed a small army and the dog’s bed, food and balls. They even got a special waterproof fleece-lined coat to keep the small dog warm. They couldn’t wait to lay eyes on the thick stone walls and open fires, underfloor heating and blankets to cuddle up in with a hot chocolate. Perfect.

Except they never made it that far.

The storm had caused a lot of damage. Tree trunks were cracked through; felled by the high winds and lay scattered in the winding country roads. It was dark by the time they arrived. The national roads had been kind and traffic flowed easily. It took 6 hours from home with a few stops to keep the dog happy, fed and comfy. They left the M6 and wound deeper into Cumbria. It was darker than usual with a scattering of stars peeking over the clouds. Villages and towns passed by the windows, pubs glowing warmly and fairy lights twinkled on early Christmas trees. The wind howled and whipped around the car as they steered into the countryside. They noticed the roads change. White lines, cat’s eyes, kerbs. They all faded and gradually phased out into unmarked roads and tracks. The satnav led the way and sheep gawped at the windows. The dog slept quietly in the back of the car, snoring softly, and killed time with a nap while she waited for her evening walk.

Roads twisted through small, dark, silent villages. No lights in any of the windows. Maybe they were holiday homes. Why else would the lights be off? It wasn’t snowing, but they could feel it in the air and it was bitterly cold. They got closer to the Airbnb. They were looking forward to cracking into some gently car-warmed pasta salads that they had picked up at the last service station, putting the kettle on and catching the end of Strictly Come Dancing, if they got there on time. It was going to be so cosy.

The satnav led them down tightly wall-lined roads and they came to a sign. Wrynose Pass. That sounded familiar. They went past a tractor and carried on into the dark. It was twisty and then they were quite alone. Great puddles flooded the road in places but they drove carefully and carried on. A few turns later and the sign changed. Hardknott Pass. The sign warned of a 30% incline, but according to the satnav they were only 20 minutes away. So close! There was no other direction available, so they trundled the car over the cattle grid and climbed into the dark. Water shone under the headlights and the wind howled.

The little car picked its way up a hill. Darkness ahead and all around them. The water under the headlights started to look different. It glittered. It couldn’t be ice, could it? The car skidded slightly. The driver corrected the wheel and the passenger laughed nervously. She looked out of the window into the night. Nothing there but the occasional rock and verge. On the driver’s side it looked like a mountainside. They pressed on uphill for a few more minutes, but the car skidded again. The driver yanked on the handbrake and the car slid backwards a fraction on the steep hill. The passenger looked over at the driver. “What’s wrong?”
The driver cleared his throat. “I think it’s black ice,” he said, with a tremble in his voice.

“Now what?” the passenger asked.

“I’ll have a look,” the driver said, opening his door and stepping out. He let out his breath in a whoosh. “Fuck!” he almost lost his footing.

“Are you okay?” the passenger said, starting to feel worried.

“I’m okay-” he said, grabbing the door and steadying himself. “This is really bad.” He climbed back into the seat. “The car’s on black ice. Like, a lot of black ice. It’s a whole fucking sheet of ice.”

The passenger carefully opened her door and peered out. “Oh. Oh shit.” She started to step out.

“Wait!” the driver said. “Please be careful.” The passenger nodded and gingerly placed her feet on the slippery ground. There was another 4 feet of verge between her and - nothing. She could hear water rushing somewhere.  She peered down into the dark. The wind pushed her backwards. The driver had got out again and picked his way around the edge of the car, slipping and swearing under his breath. He turned on the torch on his phone and cast the light onto the ground. The ice sparkled for metres in every direction. Above them both, stars. The fucking stars. She’d never seen so many, burning so brightly in the sky. For a split second, the beauty took her breath away. The edge of the milky way glowed faintly and even tiny Ursa Minor was clearer than she’d ever seen before. ‘Not now, nature,’ she thought. ‘Don’t you dare look so beautiful when I’m so scared.’ She stole a glance at the driver and he was doing the same thing.

They slid and got back into the car. They agreed there was a very real possibility that they were completely fucked. It was getting late and no sane people would be driving on this road - is it even a road? - at this time of night. They missed Strictly fucking hours ago. Panicked laughter. The dog woke up briefly - she’d been fast asleep the whole time - and grumbled a little. “Sorry, pal,” the passenger said, “We’re figuring it out.” She passed the dog some biscuits and stroked her velvety ears.

“What are we doing to do?” the passenger said. The driver took a deep breath.
“We can’t go on. We’re going to have to go back.” The passenger pointed out the distinct lack of space to turn around.
“Oh yeah, I know that,” the driver said. “We’re going back. In reverse.” He took off the handbrake and the car slid. He yanked the wheel and corrected it quickly. The passenger trembled. The car crept back a metre and started sliding hopelessly.

“Oh, fuck” the driver pulled on the handbrake again. “I can’t see what I’m doing,” he said, his voice shaking. “I can’t do it. We’re going to get stuck here all night. Where are we going to sleep? What are we going to do?”

“You can do it,” the passenger said in a false, breezy voice. “You’ve been driving for like 20 years, you’ve got this. Let’s do it,” She swallowed hard. She couldn’t panic now. The driver was panicking so she had to at least pretend to be okay. “Let’s just try again and get off this fucking mountain,” she said, “One thing at a time. Let’s just do this and then figure the rest out.”

The driver took a deep breath. “Okay. I need your help. Open your door.”
She did. The wind rushed in and chilled her face. Once more, the driver lifted the handbrake. The passenger kept watch on the road and the verge and the ice. The stars burned, indifferent.

He slowly rolled the car backwards, and then, headlights swung around the bend below. A car was coming. Other people were coming! The driver stopped again and waved to the car. He slid his feet over the ice and picked along the bank, hanging onto the side of the rocks until he reached the driver’s side of the Land Rover. The passenger, now alone with the dog, allowed herself a small panic. She promised herself a full panic attack when they were safe, as a treat. The driver came back. The Land Rover was going to back up until they could pass. He was going to have a go at running the pass in clearly superior tyres. The pair crept their car backwards and around a tight corner that would’ve been frightening in the daylight. The front-wheel drive Honda wasn’t cut out for this kind of shit. Finally, the Land Rover squeezed past them and vanished into the night. The headlights wound up and up and up until they eventually were replaced with the red lights on the back of the car, until they disappeared too. 

They were alone again. There wasn’t enough ice-free surface to turn around, even in the passing place the Land Rover had found. So backwards they went, the passenger door held open, occasionally warning the driver of how much road they had left. ‘Don’t tell him now,’ she thought, peering over the edge. ‘It won’t help.’ There was only one wheel’s width of verge left before a yawning void in the dark.

Finally, after what felt like hours, there was enough room to turn. The ice was patchy and easier to avoid. They turned the car around, kissed the dog and laughed hysterically. The sheer relief to finally be facing downhill. The panic attack bubbled back up when they realised they had nowhere to stay because the Bothy - the long forgotten destination - was back at the top of that fucking hill, over the pass and into the night. They were never going to make it now. Screw it. Back over part of the Wrynose Pass: child’s play compared to its bigger, more terrifying sibling. Past where the tractor had been, past all the flooded sections, past the fallen trees.

Fuck the Bothy. They needed somewhere else to sleep. The passenger tried to contact anyone to let them know, but there was no phone signal. The houses they passed in the dark were silent. No lights on anywhere. It felt unearthly. They joked that perhaps they’d died after all and this was some weird Groundhog Day puzzle to figure out. The choices now were to drive home taking another 6 hours, or sleep in the car. Or maybe there was another way? 

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Confession time: this isn’t fiction. This happened to me and my partner (and our dog Winnie.) She was absolutely fine and slept through almost the whole thing. It really is a dog’s life. We got stuck on black ice on the Hardknott Pass in the aftermath of Storm Arwen in November 2021. My partner successfully reversed down the pass for roughly half a mile, across black ice in the pitch dark. There’s a part 2 to this story, so stay tuned for that.