Category: Lake District
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The Skiddaw Hermit : Eccentricity on a Mountaintop
Many of you have likely heard of Millican Dalton, the so-called hermit and adventurer of Castle Crag in Borrowdale. In the 1920s and 30s, he managed to carve out a reputation by living in a cave and offering guided walks and canoe trips for tourists seeking a bit of excitement. A hermit in name only,…
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The Bleak Back o’ Skiddaw
It‘s been a wet and windy day in the Lakes, so naturally very little was accomplished. Instead, here is a photo from yesterday. The “back o’ Skiddaw” offers little to marvel at—a few sheepfolds dot an otherwise featureless landscape. Any rock that dares to stand out gets christened and turned into a boundary marker. This…
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The Colours of a Rainy Dawn
“Red sky at morning” is not always the “shepherd’s warning” or, for that matter, the “sailor’s warning.” Sometimes, just sometimes, it promises a pleasant day for the shepherd and a dry fleece for his sheep. Naturally, so the shepherds say, this depends entirely on whether the red sky “goes over” or stays sulking in the…
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Storms, Sunlight, and a Trespass to Remember
Given the grim weather forecast of strong winds, we opted for a walk that would not risk life and limb. The summit of Latrigg offered a theatrical view: a single beam of sunlight, no doubt feeling very pleased with itself, pierced through dark clouds to spotlight a few houses near Keswick, with Bleaberry Fell lurking…
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Windermere and its History No One Wants to Discuss
It was a bit wet this morning in the Lakes, so here is a photograph from yesterday’s walk up Wansfell instead. This is, of course, Windermere, England’s largest lake, famed for its picturesque scenery but cursed with a history no postcard could capture. And I don’t mean the recent sewage discharge debacle. A favourite with…
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Wansfell to Kirkstone and Rosa’s Vanishing Echoes
A gentle stroll today, nursing our tired legs from previous heroics. Here is Wansfell, gazing northward at a line-up of Red Screes, Kirkstone Pass, Stony Cove Pike, High Street, and Ill Bell—quite the roll call. Kirkstone Pass, that lofty col between Ambleside and Patterdale, lent its name to an inn that once basked in the…
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Charles Gough’s Fatal Ascent and his Dog’s Vigil
It has been some time since I last dragged myself up Helvellyn via Striding Edge. Definitely before the pandemic chaos. This photograph, taken around midday, gazes slightly east of south. St. Sunday Crag and Fairfield flaunt a dusting of snow. A marvellous day: cloudless peaks, sub-zero temperatures, and a wind that was brisk enough to…
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Pikeawassa
The sun, in one of its rare moments, shines through a gap in the clouds, casting a spotlight upon the charmingly named Pikeawassa, a ridge of modest distinction dividing Martindale and Fusedale—perhaps two of the quietest dales in the Lake District. What history led to this delightful collision of syllables? The etymology of “Pikeawassa” is…
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The Bungalow
Another day, another fell. Today’s offering: Beda Fell overlooking Martindale, a place so tranquil one might almost forget the raucous spectacle of last night, when the local Red Deer stags continued to engage in their all-night rutting contests. Nature, it seems, never takes a night off. Now, let us move on to the red roofed…
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Angle Tarn
I shall be delightfully cut off from the modern world for several days, ensconced in some least known dale of the Lake District, where civilisation has yet to impose its trifles like electricity, mobile reception or wireless internet. A blissful retreat, I assure you. Now, having ascended to Angle Tarn—a really charming spot—I thought I…