Tag Archives: Troutbeck

Goodbye Windermere

by

So that’s chapter one of my trip over. How quickly it goes! I thought I should record a last few snippets before closing the book on Cumbria – for now, anyway.

Auschwitz to Ambleside

While I was walking in Windermere I noticed the library had an exhibition that chronicled the lives of a group of Jewish children who had escaped Nazi Germany but also lost their parents and so were brought to Windermere to be rehabilitated before being sent to live with other families. The photos and videos were poignant and well-done. If you feel like a bit of a cry in a public space I highly recommend going.

All the children who had featured in the display had gone on to do well, one even representing England at the Melbourne Olympics.

Walking St Ravens Crags

My last big day of walking was initially well-planned. I’d decided to catch the bus up to the Kirkstone Pass, thereby cutting out some of the uphill, then walking around via St Ravens crags to the head of the Troutbeck valley then along the ridge that includes High Street and Ill Bell.

There weren’t too many people about and the day was very fair with hardly any wind.

I managed fine up to the descent down towards the pass at the top of Troutbeck. The path pretty much disappeared and I had to put my sticks away to use my hands to help lower myself down the rocks for a short way. The hillside in the photo below is the one I scrambled down.

As I was clambering down (which was actually quite fun) I had a good look at the opposite side, which I was planning to go up. It was another of those steep paths strewn with loose slate. Along the side though, I could see a man coming down the grassy slope, which seemed to be faster and easier. It was perhaps 3-400m of steep climbing to the top. I gave it a go but after 50 metres of climbing and looking back and looking up, I decided to turn back. I don’t know if I’d have done better with someone else there, or whether I’d have given up sooner. I don’t know if I’d pushed myself to get to the top whether I would’ve felt a great sense of accomplishment or just felt sick from vertigo and the adrenaline. I watched other people come down, sliding on the scree so, for better or worse, I decided to climb down the valley.

I passed a big group of men huffing and puffing their way up the slope and cheerfully pointed out that they were doing it the hard way then stopped for a chat for a moment while they caught their breath.

After I left them I didn’t see another person in the valley until I hit the farm at the end. If nothing else, the walk along the valley confirmed that my early exit and climb over the ridge a couple of days earlier had been the right move. The upper end of the valley was even more boggy than the lower end.

I felt a bit disheartened at giving up and having shoes filled with water and so decided to hurry to Troutbeck to catch a bus back to Windermere. Since the buses only ran every two hours, I had five km to go, and wasn’t sure where the bus stop was, I had to hurry. I started walking in straight lines through the sodden ground rather than picking my way around the edges, which eventually led me to putting my foot almost knee deep into actual mud (bogs are annoying but at least the water is clear). I half laughed and cursed. Fortunately it was right next to the river so I waded in and shook my foot around so at least I would be clean. In doing so I leant forward and my phone slipped out of my pocket and into the river.

At this point I hailed Past Me a hero for upgrading to the water resistant iPhone7.

Moments later I looked up to see a huge military plane swoop low over the valley ridges and pass right over my head, almost in slow motion, which really raised my spirits. I picked up speed, determined to make the bus, and emerged into the village with a good 40 minutes up my sleeve. Enough time for a pint and a bowl of chips.

Bless the ubiquity of English pubs.

When I got back to the Rum Doodle (tee hee) I discovered hot spots on my feet from all the sideways slipping and awkward walking I’d been doing for hours. My first foot issues – and on the day when I walked almost the shortest distance yet. Boo. So I had a bath, read The Ascent Of Rum Doodle and decided to spend the following day, my last in Windermere, doing not much at all so my feet could have a break. And why not enjoy my cosy attic room and claw-footed bath tub while I could?

Next: Cambridge!

A few more bluebells to tide you over😁

Town End, Hill Top and Beatrix Potter

by

On a recommendation from Luke’s Aunt Sue, I decided to visit Hill Top, the home of Beatrix Potter.

The day before I’d been to Town End, a farm in Troutbeck, and taken a guided tour. A friend of Ms Potter’s lived at Town End and she apparently visited often, though only stayed one night. Town End has been preserved very well and the tour guide did an excellent job, sharing many interesting facts about the buildings and the family who had lived there from the 15th century to the 20th.

One of the funniest things I learned on that tour was that one of the men of the house, who did a lot of furniture carving, used to carve dates like ‘1684’ into his pieces even though he was producing them in the 19th century. This made dating the furniture quite a challenge for the National Trust staff.

There were also lots of interesting associations with modern phrases. The dining table was a giant board that had a smooth side for eating off and a rough side for doing work on. The master of the house would sit at the top of the table and he was known as the chairman of the board.

Dancing on the table was ‘treading the boards’ and games played at the table were board games. I’m not entirely sure how strong the links between these and our modern expressions are but our guide was convinced.

So then the next day I set off for Hill Top.

First I caught the ferry over from Bowness on Windermere. On the boat I met a woman and her mother from Dubbo and it turned out the woman had gone to the same high school as me.

Everyone else got off the ferry and caught the shuttle bus to Hill Top but I, despite registering the name of the place, didn’t take the obvious hint and decided to walk. Well, it wasn’t the most steep climb I’ve ever made but the walk took me through some muddy paddocks and by the time I got to the right village I was puffed and annoyed with myself.

One of the local houses.

The village that Hill Top is in is quite pretty but the density of tourists was a bit of a shock for me, having spent most of my time in the Lake District by myself. Her house was lovely though and so was the garden.

It was filled with interesting objects. My favourite was her dolls house.

A peek through the window.

There were lots of guides around to answer questions, which was nice. Even a Japanese guide. I had heard someone say that Beatrix Potter was very popular in Japan and that her books were so often used as English starter texts that Japanese people came to her house like pilgrims. Maybe someone who reads this can confirm or deny?

After sneaking aboard the shuttle back to the pier then catching the ferry back over I was left with half a day to fill. I noticed a bit of a hill behind Bowness and wandered up through the back streets until I finally ended up on Brant Fell. The views were lovely (surprise surprise) and I sat there and ate my elegant repast of a piece of pita bread, a tiny piece of cheese, a hard boiled egg and some cherry tomatoes.

Classy!

I had a chat to a guy who jogged to the top but then looked kind of like he was going to die. My conversations with random people have fallen into a pretty standard pattern. First I tell them I’m from Melbourne, they tell me they have relations in Perth. Then we both express amazement at how incredibly good the weather has been for the last fortnight then it diverges into discussions about cultural differences between Australia and the UK.

I don’t think I ever think about my Australianess when I am at home but when I am overseas, particularly in the UK or US, I spend a lot of time either dispelling or reinforcing stereotypes, depending on what mood I’m in.

Anyhoo, I shall leave you with this serendipitous floral/sign arrangement and start a post about today’s walk. Then I shall be all caught up, hooray!

An Unexpectedly Long Hike

by

I set off from the YHA in Troutbeck with a determination to walk at least 15km and picked a trail that headed up the valley then circled around the top and came back. I really need to put more planning and thinking into the walks I improvise because, as I go along, I keep changing my mind about how far I want to go and where. I keep thinking that a highlighter would be useful so I can keep track of which track I meant to stay on. Not that it matters too much, I suppose, as long as I know where I am.

I walked along the valley floor, enjoying the sun and the fact that, despite it being a sunny weekend, I couldn’t see a soul – except high on the ridges of Ill Bell and the other peaks along the Kentmere Horseshoe. I like looking up and seeing the little silhouettes of people trudging along.

I crossed this rather prehistoric looking bridge and wished the water was warmer. It always looks so clear and inviting!

I walked through a farm then the bog began and didn’t really stop for the rest of the walk. I looked at the maps and decided I wanted to climb up and out of the valley. The walls weren’t that steep and I saw that the Kirkstone Inn wasn’t terribly far and I could possibly even make it there for lunch if I was willing to climb a few stone walls and do some navigating. So I did!

As I climbed up the side I saw a herd of wild deer on a spot very appropriately named Hart’s Crag. See if you can spot them in this appallingly zoomed-in photo.

I stopped about ten times on the way up. I don’t think I’ve ever climbed anything so steep! When I got to the top there was a wall to climb, then rocks to negotiate around, then I finally saw another person, walking right where I expected the path to be. He confirmed my location and so I drank the last of my water and headed along the path.

I took my picture at a cairn then headed down to the inn. It was after 3 and I prayed the whole way down that it was still doing food as I hadn’t brought any.

I can’t remember feeling less guilty about eating so many chips.

My adventures weren’t over though. I left the inn, thinking I’d walked the four or five kilometres back to Troutbeck by road so I could put the map away. It didn’t take long for me to get sick of the cars whizzing past to look for an alternative. I struck out across a field to climb over the back of Wansfell but it was less a field and more a thinly-disguised pond. My feet were sinking in up to the ankles. I was unimpressed. Still, I waded up the hill and was rewarded with great views that don’t really look like much on screen. Trust me, it was lovely.

As I neared the hostel I checked my distance walked – 22kms/13 miles. My longest day yet, and most of it up or down. I have no trouble walking much further distances when it’s flat but the hills really kill me. I’m probably getting fitter but it’s such a gradual process that I’ll only really notice when I get home and bound up a walk that is normally challenging. Well, that’s the hope, anyway.

Look at this high-tech masterwork below! The yellow is when I was on a proper path and the red bit is where I scrambled up the hill. It won’t mean much to many people but it was fun tracing my journey.

The thing that really surprised me was how much energy I had on the home stretch and that my feet didn’t hurt at all. In the middle of crowing about it to Luke the next morning I realised I’d cut my foot open and was bleeding on the hostel floor. Murphy’s Law, I suppose.