When Eskdale Held Its Breath

A dreich day in Bransdale, so I am clinging to a favourite photo from yesterday, taken high above the clouds under a blue sky. It does the soul some good to watch mist creep up the dale while back home in the Tees valley was wrapped in damp fog like a forgotten parcel, although I did not know that at the time. Nature’s quietest moments are often the loudest.

This is Eskdale, looking towards the “island” of Heads between the dales of Great and Little Fryup. A fine day for a bit of time travel, picturing the glacial landscape when Eskdale was a broad lake, dammed bybthe North Sea glacier and sending long arms up the Fryups. The cloud ceiling would have been, and this is a best guess, about a hundred feet below the old waterline. Plenty of room for the imagination to stretch its legs.