Innominate Tarn: When Wainwright Chose a Puddle on Haystacks for His Ashes

Alfred Wainwright spent decades tramping about the Lake District, sketching every summit, cataloguing every view, and generally becoming the most famous fellwalker who ever lived. He had the entire region at his disposal for his final resting place. He could have chosen Scafell Pike, the highest point in England. He could have picked Helvellyn, with its dramatic ridges and romantic associations. He could have gone for Blencathra, with its commanding presence over the northern fells.

Instead, he chose a small puddle on a mid-height lump called Haystacks. This tells you rather a lot about what matters in the mountains if you're actually paying attention.

What Actually Is Innominate Tarn?

Innominate Tarn sits at about 550 metres up on Haystacks, which is itself only 597 metres high—positively dinky by Lake District standards. The tarn is small enough that you could walk around it in a couple of minutes if you felt the need, though most people just sit by it and stare at the view instead.

The name "Innominate" means "unnamed," which is delightfully self-defeating as names go. It's rather like calling your dog "Dog" or your child "Baby" and just never getting round to anything more specific. Most maps didn't bother with it at all until Wainwright made it famous, at which point cartographers presumably felt obliged to label it with something, even if that something was essentially "the tarn without a name."

It's not particularly deep, it's not particularly large, and it freezes solid most winters. During dry summers it can shrink to an even more modest size. There are bigger, deeper, more dramatic tarns scattered all over the Lake District. By any objective measure, it's unremarkable.

Except it isn't, obviously, or we wouldn't be talking about it.

Why Haystacks?

Haystacks doesn't appear on many people's tick-lists. It's not a Wainwright (the classification, as opposed to the man), it's not particularly high, and it's overshadowed by proper mountains in every direction. From Buttermere below, it looks like the runt of the litter, squeezed between the bulk of High Crag and the long ridge of Brandreth and Grey Knotr.

But walk up there—properly up there, not just glancing at it from a distance—and something shifts. Haystacks has character in spades. It's a jumbled, rocky, complex little mountain with hidden tarns, scrambling opportunities, and a summit area that's more of a rocky plateau with multiple tops. It's interesting in a way that many higher, more famous peaks simply aren't.

Wainwright described it as his favourite fell. Not the best, not the highest, not the most dramatic—his favourite. There's a difference. The best restaurant in town might serve technically perfect food, but your favourite is the one you actually want to visit. Haystacks was where Wainwright wanted to be.

The Tarn Itself

Innominate Tarn sits in a natural hollow just below the summit of Haystacks, cradled by rocks with the high peaks visible in the distance. On a calm day—rare enough in the Lake District—it reflects Great Gable and the surrounding fells with the sort of mirror-perfect clarity that makes people reach for their cameras and then feel vaguely disappointed with the results because photographs never quite capture it.

The water is that particular shade of brown-tinted clarity you get in mountain tarns, stained with peat but clean enough that you can see the bottom in the shallow bits. Small fish live in it, though quite how they got there or what they find to eat is one of those minor mysteries of upland ecology that nobody seems particularly concerned about solving.

There's usually a small cairn nearby marking the spot where Wainwright's ashes were scattered in 1991. People leave stones, notes, and occasionally small tokens. It's become a sort of informal shrine, though Wainwright himself would probably have been mortified by the fuss. He was a private man who happened to write guidebooks, not someone who sought veneration.

The Walk Up

Most people approach Haystacks from either Gatesgarth at the southern end of Buttermere, or from Honister Pass if they're feeling masochistic. The Gatesgarth route is the standard approach—a steady climb up Scarth Gap with increasingly good views back towards Buttermere and Crummock Water, then a left turn off the path to scramble up the rocky slopes to Haystacks proper.

It's not a long walk—perhaps two hours up from Gatesgarth if you're reasonably fit and not stopping every five minutes for photographs. But it's rough underfoot in places, with plenty of rocks to navigate and the occasional bit where you'll want to use your hands. Nothing technical, but proper mountain terrain rather than a sanitised footpath.

The tarn appears fairly suddenly as you cross the summit plateau. You round a rocky outcrop and there it is, sitting in its hollow like it's been waiting for you. The summit of Haystacks is a few minutes further on, but most people end up at the tarn first, because that's where the path naturally leads.

What You See From There

The view from Innominate Tarn is what the Lake District is actually about, once you get past the postcard clichés. Great Gable dominates the scene to the southeast, its distinctive pyramid shape unmistakable. Pillar is visible beyond, and on clear days you can pick out most of the major peaks in the western and central fells.

But it's not just about the big mountains. From the tarn, you're looking out over Ennerdale to the west, one of the wildest and most remote valleys in the Lakes, with forestry plantations giving way to bare fells beyond. Buttermere and Crummock Water are visible below to the north. The whole landscape spreads out in layers of blue-grey ridges fading into the distance.

It's the sort of view that makes you understand why someone might want their ashes scattered there. Not because it's the highest or the most dramatic, but because it's beautiful in a quiet, understated way that doesn't need to shout about itself.

The Wainwright Connection

Wainwright's choice of Haystacks and Innominate Tarn for his final resting place wasn't a last-minute decision. He'd written about his love for this particular fell decades earlier in his pictorial guides, describing it with unusual warmth and affection even by his standards.

His widow Betty scattered his ashes by the tarn on a March day in 1991, fulfilling his wishes. There's a certain poetry to the fact that he's now part of the landscape he spent so much of his life documenting, though he'd probably tell you to stop being sentimental and just get on with the walk.

The location has become something of a pilgrimage site for fans of his guidebooks, which he'd have found simultaneously touching and embarrassing. But it has introduced thousands of people to a fell and a tarn they might otherwise have overlooked, which seems like a fitting legacy.

Why Tarns Matter

There's something about tarns that summits don't quite manage. Summits are about arrival, achievement, the tick on the list. You get to the top, you've done it, and then you head down again. Tarns are about pause. They're natural stopping points that invite you to sit down, have a sandwich, and just exist in the landscape for a bit rather than marching through it.

Innominate Tarn is particularly good at this. It's positioned just right—high enough to have proper mountain views, but in a sheltered enough spot that you can actually sit comfortably on a decent day. The summit of Haystacks is rockier and more exposed; the tarn is where you actually want to spend time.

Wainwright understood this. His choice wasn't really about picking a specific geographical feature; it was about choosing a place that represented what he loved about the mountains. Not the conquest, not the achievement, but the simply being there.

Practical Stuff

If you're planning to visit Innominate Tarn, you're committing to a proper mountain walk. This isn't a gentle lakeside stroll. You'll need decent boots, waterproofs, and the usual mountain safety equipment. The weather can change rapidly, and what looks like a simple walk in sunshine can become navigationally challenging in mist.

The tarn itself is delicate in its way. Please don't add to the cairns beyond leaving a single stone if you feel moved to. Don't camp right by it—wild camping is tolerated in the Lake District, but not right next to water sources or in heavily visited spots. Take your litter home, obviously, and try not to erode the banks by scrambling around the edges.

Winter visits are perfectly possible if you're competent with winter conditions, but the path up Scarth Gap can be icy and the summit plateau can be confusing in snow. Spring and autumn are often the best times—fewer people, good visibility, and the landscape at its most atmospheric.

There's parking at Gatesgarth, though it fills up quickly on decent weekends. The Honister Hause car park is larger but means a higher starting point and a different route. Neither is free, because this is the Lake District and someone has to maintain the facilities.

The Bigger Picture

Innominate Tarn matters not because it's exceptional in itself, but because it represents something important about how we experience wild places. We're conditioned to chase the biggest, highest, most dramatic—the superlatives and the bragging rights. But the places that actually matter to us, the ones we remember and return to, are often the ones that just feel right in some indefinable way.

Wainwright could have chosen anywhere. He chose a small tarn on a medium-sized fell because it made him happy. That's not a bad criterion for deciding where to spend your time, whether you're planning your final resting place or just next weekend's walk.

So yes, go and visit Haystacks and Innominate Tarn. Climb up from Buttermere, find the tarn, sit by it for a bit. You probably won't have it to yourself—Wainwright's endorsement saw to that—but you'll understand why he loved it. And if you don't, well, at least you'll have had a decent walk and seen some proper mountains.

That'll do, really. That'll do nicely.

More Watery Adventures Await

Beyond Wainwright, if you've enjoyed reading about this particular puddle and its rather famous association, you'll probably want to explore what we've written about the various other lakes, tarns, and bodies of water scattered around the Lake District. Turns out there are quite a few of them — hence the name — and they've all got their own stories and peculiarities worth knowing about.

Blea Water: The Deepest Tarn and the Climb It Demands

Bassenthwaite Lake: The Only Lake in the Lake District

We don't spend all our time writing about water, pleasant though it is. We've assembled a fair collection of guides covering those niggling questions about the outdoors that pop into your head at 2am or halfway up a mountain when it's too late to look them up. The sort of practical, occasionally odd, surprisingly useful information that makes the difference between a good day out and wondering why nobody mentioned that particular thing before you discovered it the hard way.

Is it a hill, is it a fell, is it a mountain?

Corpse Roads and Coffin Paths: When the Dead Had Right of Way

The Drowned Village Myth: Which Reservoirs Actually Have Ruins Under Them

Frequently Asked Questions

How long does it take to walk to Innominate Tarn from the car park?

About two hours up from Gatesgarth car park at the southern end of Buttermere if you're reasonably fit. The route goes up Scarth Gap then scrambles up rocky slopes to Haystacks, and it's rough underfoot in places.

Why did Wainwright choose Haystacks for his ashes instead of a higher mountain?

Because it was his favourite fell, not just the most dramatic one. Haystacks had character—it's jumbled, rocky, and interesting with hidden tarns and scrambling, and Innominate Tarn offered the sort of quiet, understated beauty he loved about the mountains.

Is Innominate Tarn suitable for beginners?

No, it's a proper mountain walk, not a gentle stroll. You'll need decent boots, waterproofs, and mountain safety equipment, and the terrain is rough with rocky sections where you'll sometimes use your hands—though nothing technically difficult.