The Lake District, May 2011
Call this a drop in standards if you like, or maybe even an improvement (people are so inconsistent from one to another, difficult when you find empathy as difficult as I seem to) but i'm posting my holiday snaps. There are lots of pictures of water; the clarity is mesmerising. Water, hills, me wearing a cycling helmet, and the occasional child.
The camera's viewfinder is misaligned so some of the pictures are a bit pissed. It only notices on the ones with strong horizontals.
The first week I spent alone, cycling from Windermere through valleys and over passes, avoiding campsites and sleeping in a fancy dan body bag.
MONDAY: Windermere to Eskdale.
Not having a map for the first few miles, I had to rely on road signs, which was fine as I wanted to put distance between myself Windermere fairly quickly rather than dwell on that area. I think of Windermere as being almost Lakeland, which is self-contradictory. But there's no wildness to it whatsoever, you see. There are glimpses to be had of the big Lakeland landscapes, the Langdale Pikes for instance, but it is as a distance of miles and in past visits i've been left feeling that life is elsewhere. Ambleside is good for shopping and public transport links but that's about it.
Once i'd cycled as far as Elterwater and Little Langdale I felt I was cutting short tourist Lakeland in favour of hardship further along the road. I hesitate to type this as it feels as though done by rote and so I have to qualify it - describing a beautiful, idyllic place, the sun out and the drinkers at the Britannia Inn all smiles. I suppose that having had an aim for the day in mind for weeks rendered all that health and happiness a leisure time trope.
As soon as I turn off for Wrynose Pass i'm faced with a whacking great hill and have to get off my bike and push for the first of several occasions. I pushed the pushbike for virtually the whole ascent, about eight hundred feet. Looked a right oddball. Nice not to care though, and I honestly couldn't give a toss on trips like these. Cycle helmet, silk scarf from Liberty's (kept the sun off my neck), Holy Bible Manics long sleeve t-shirt from Arndale market, bought in XXL (only size they had left in the shop when I bought it fifteen years ago) and full of holes, beige nylon cargo trousers rolled up to three quarter length, with a hole in one knee and spattered with creosote. And leather hiking boots.
I flew down the other side, coasting at I don't know what kind of pace over ground that felt flat but can't have been. Hardknott pass was abrupt and short going up. The brakes gave off a whiff of burning plastic on the way down into Eskdale.
I left the bike by a wall beyond the last farm by the river Esk.
There were some nice views of the Scafell group peeking above the nearer hills, though I can't say I felt like going that far up at the time. I didn't walk to the top of a single hill all week, which is unusual for me.
I swam here, in this pool in the Upper Esk. It's called Tongue Pot. I took goggles with me and was alarmed by the depth of the water seen from underneath the surface. It must have been fifteen feet deep, which is fine, but not when swimming alone gasping for breath because of the shock of the cold water. So I didn't last long in there, but soon warmed up once wrapped up. I can't express how beautiful and tempting I find this stream. Next morning I took lots more photographs, as you see below, though I didn't swim again, only paddled. I'll be back.
The 'campsite', properly ensconced in the landscape. I didn't patronise any campsites. There are waterways and pubs aplenty for washing, drinking water, etc.
Eskdale to Ennerdale Water via Wasdale Head and Calder Bridge (don't ask).
Ennerdale Water to Honister via Scarth Gap and Buttermere:
The next week we stayed at my mum's house, also in Cumbria. These photographs were taken at Holker Hall:
and saving the best until last!
