Scaling the heights

As our holiday progressed, so the weather became unreliable.  We followed Pike o'Blisco with a gentle stroll around Loughrigg Tarn, down the valley and a visit to Grasmere, the village.

The next day, the forecast continuing to be uncertain, we walked over Hunting Stile Crag to Grasmere, the lake, passing these very ancient sheds on the way.

Obviously, one would use a large slate as a wall.

The view looks over to Dunmail Raise, the road over which has just reopened after months of repairs to damage caused by last winter's floods. 

As we came down to the lake, we heard a tremendous honking of geese.  The fields were full of Canada geese grazing with their goslings.

The next day, we decided on a walk up the Langdale valley and set off from the cottage with that intention.  All the tops were still shrouded in mist but, as we walked further, this cleared.

The previous day our friends had climbed the Langdale Pikes, and the weather had brightened for them. We decided to make the ascent ourselves.

The path we took was steep, but had benefitted from extensive work, with imported boulders creating rough steps all the way.  It was like climbing an enormous staircase, with just a little scrambling where the natural rock had to be crossed.

We reached the top and sat down to eat lunch, just under the improbable summit of Pike o'Stickle.

Then the rain started.

We made a quick tour of all but one of the Wainwright tops accessible from the plateau, but then the mist began to filter in and we decided to descend before visibility was threatened.  Rounding the corner of Pavey Ark, we saw a path marked by huge cairns and made our way down to the tarn.

Well, I say "path" - what I mean is a gully filled with enormous boulders, fortunately stable, over which we lowered ourselves, often resorting to that technique favoured by toddlers of sitting down and using the bottom as a fifth point of contact.   The rain got heavier.

By the time we reached Stickle Barn, we were in a condition best described as "drowned rat."  Several times I wrung the water out of my gloves.   We got the bus back to our base.

It was a memorable day.

The Langdales

Our annual walking holiday with friends, this time in Chapel Stile in Great Langdale.  This was once a centre of quarrying operations - and there is still a working quarry - but the big industry now is tourism, with almost every picturesque cottage bearing a sign to say it is for rent.  On Fridays and Saturdays - changeover days - a coach brings in teams of house cleaners and bed-makers to service the cottages.  Close access to major walking country must mean that there are few months in the year of off-season.

We began by taking a gentle stroll down the valley, past Elterwater to Skelwith Bridge.  Everywhere a dusting of bluebells blued the woodlands.  We sat down for a coffee break and spotted a song-thrush sitting bolt upright in the field opposite.  It sat there completely still for some minutes.  Most curiously, about a hundred yards away, another was behaving in like fashion.  What could they have been doing?  Were they watching us and wondering the same thing?

We ate our sandwiches just by a bridge above Skelwith Force. We had already spotted a dipper operating in the stream, but now we saw that there was a pair, and that they were servicing a nest built right under the bridge, apparently undisturbed by the intermittent tramping of feet overhead.

The weather holding fair, we planned a more challenging walk: Pike o'Blisco.  In this area the roads are also a challenge, and we began by driving up Wrynose Bottom to the Three Shires Stone.  (I realise that this sounds like something out of "The Hobbit.")

The stone marks the ancient border between Cumberland, Lancashire and Westmoreland.  It's all Cumbria now.

From here, a path leads out over the fellside to Crinkle Crags and Bowfell, two of the big names in walking terms.  Our objective was more modest; we turned right. 

Which is not to say that the views were not astounding, especially that over to the Langdale Pikes themselves, robbed of their unmistakeable profile from this angle. 

On the way down, rocks showing sedimentary layers.

And this detached needle, like a crazy sculpture.


It was a good first hike.

Drama at the Allotment

Surely not, I hear you say.  Not at that haven of peace, the only sound the gentle drone of the bumble bee..  What could possibly go wrong there, beyond an outbreak of blight, rust, or caterpillars?

But today's events would have provided several episodes of plotlines for "The Archers", at least in its pre soap opera guise.

We went to our plot intending to establish our bean row, bringing with us our newly- purchased batch of bamboo poles.  As we reached our little shed, we noticed that the door was ajar and the pieces of bent wire which we use to secure the hasp were not in place.  But worse was to come: our fork was not in the shed.  Now, we had a spade disappear in similar circumstances some years ago.  On that occasion, the padlock was wrenched off the door, so we did not replace it.

We were annoyed, of course, because some blighter had helped himself to our fork, and we would have to buy another.  However...

When the chap on the next allotment arrived we realised that our fork had been the cause of some mystery to him, because it had appeared in his plot.  He had no idea whose it was, so there it remained.  The plot thickened.

Next to arrive was Peter, the head honcho at the allotments.  Had we had anything go missing, as Dave, another of the regulars had had his rotovator stolen: whoever took it had wrenched the padlock off the door.  Doubtless they "borrowed" our fork to use as a lever.  Mystery solved.

But you can't help feeling sorry for Dave.  Our new rotovator was an expensive item, many times the cost of a fork.  We do not keep it at the plot.

We were very happy to have our fork back.

Bluebell woods

 With the warming of the weather, the local woods are awash with bluebells and birdsong.

Denser where there is a patch of sunlight, but colouring the ground everywhere with drifts of blue.

At Marks Hall, last Monday, we saw many clutches of goslings being fiercely guarded by Mum and Dad.  Note how the little ones are between the two parents.

Greylag geese...

Canada geese...

And greylags on the water.

The start of this year's drive for the General Beadle Elementary in Rapids City, a primary with a high percentage of Lakota students. 

These sets build up quickly if at least one element is sewn or bought rather than knitted.

I can picture five and six year olds wearing these in the snow, even as the sun warms up here.