Reflections on Past, Present and Future

Well, I'm back from my annual spiritual retreat/rejuvenation session in the Lake District.

Do I feel refreshed?  Er, no.  Do I feel rejuvenated?  Absolutely not. 

This is nothing to do with the Lakes. Or with the Lancrigg Vegetarian Country House Hotel, which was its usual self. The food was awesome, the hospitality wonderful, the scenery (when it could actually be seen!) spectacular.

But alas, the nasty, pernicious horrid little bug I went down with last week has lingered, and my style has been well and truly cramped.  I managed to stagger around my usual 10 mile circuit which runs Grasmere-Ambleside-Rydal-Grasmere - you will note, however, that if it hadn't been for the massive brick of Victoria sponge which adorned my plate at the Rattle Gill cafe in Ambleside, I'd have opted for the bus.  Every time the gradient went up, I wheezed and puffed and wound up collapsing into paroxyms of coughing.  So much so, that the Coffin Route shall henceforth be known as the 'Coughin' Route' - though there were times when I wondered if I'd end up in a coffin myself before the end.

And then there was the carol concert at Allan Bank...

The weather was pretty dire, but the rain stopped for one day out of the four, and this morning, we actually saw the sun! 

All things considered, we had a lovely break, and I'd much rather have felt ill in the Lake District than felt ill at home. The only source of major disappointment came in the form of the Grasmere Chocolate Studio.  We visited them on Thursday evening, bought some yummy chocolates, and pledged to return over the weekend to buy new stocks once the next batch of handmade goodies came in. We were assured that they'd be open on Saturday, but to my dismay, the place was locked shut (with the mail waiting there to be picked up) all the way through Saturday and right through into Sunday.  My 'raspberry ripple' and 'very berry' chocolates which I'd requested were there on the shelf, waiting to be purchased (and eaten!) and there they must remain, because I'm home now.

Ah, the perils of frequenting the small business.  What's more perturbing is the possibility that they're closed because of family illness or disaster - fingers crossed that they'll be back to normal in February when we next return, because they're a damned good chocolatiers and they're usually really hard workers staying open all hours. All was not lost - we popped into Rheged on the way home and discovered another chocolatier which provided sufficient decent chocolates to fill the void.  And some fudge for J's Christmas present, too.  So at least that's the last of my Christmas shopping sorted.

Though we still need to get some sprouts from somewhere. And chestnuts. And veggie bacon...

And in case you're wondering what we were doing before we went climbing up to Alcock Tarn, then here's the answer...

Once again, we did the tourist thing, this time visiting a National Trust property.  As you can well imagine, the area around Grasmere is stuffed full of National Trust properties, usually connected in some way with William Wordsworth.  And - I fear to report once more - we never seem to get around to visiting any of them. 

Allanbank is a recent acquisition, and it makes a refreshing change from the day-to-day fare I stumble across in my line of work, providing us with that very rare thing, an architectural story with a happy ending.

Like most of the National Trust properties in the area, Allanbank has Wordsworth connections. William and Dorothea Wordsworth lived here at one point, and I can certainly see why.  I'm sure all my writing friends would agree that if there was ever a place where you're guaranteed to find inspiration in your surroundings, this is it.

Here's a view of Allanbank in its wider landscape context, with Seat Sandal and Stone Arthur in the background. It lies near the path to Silver Howe, and until a few years ago it was in private ownership:-





It's not an easy building to decipher, as the exterior is rendered and there's no clear differentiation of building styles over much of its extent. This part of the building is Georgian  - Wordsworth wasn't too impressed with it at all at first, describing it in words similar to Prince Charles's renowned 'Monstrous Carbuncle' speech.  He must've mellowed as time passed, if eventually he was willing to move in.

Long after Wordsworth's time, the building was extended substantially - as usual, in a building of this quality, a buildings archaeologist has been consulted during the renovation process and they've taken the opportunity to investigate the structure and map its changes as the works have progressed.





Now here's the tragic bit. I mentioned earlier that the building was being renovated and that it was originally in private ownership. It was during this period - in the late 90s, I believe - that a fire broke out in the attic. Thankfully, a member of the family was in residence at the time, and they raised the alarm.

The damage was locally signfiicant ( note the blackened plaster and the charred doors prominently displayed on the landing) but was not sufficient to merit the loss of the building, which is now in the process of being renovated, and - perhaps unusually, the National Trust have opened it to the public at this early stage.  The end result is that the curious visitor can come in and see a house in a dilapidated, run-down state:-





This is, of course, familiar to me.  Most of the places I wind up visiting in the line of duty are in an even worse state that this, but the general impression is pretty much the same. Only this sanitised version is minus the sagging ceilings, broken lath-and-plaster work and the odd big squelchy fruiting body of dry rot. Oh, and the smell.  Let's not forget the smell.  Of dank abandonment and squalor, and the occasional dead pigeon/bat or whatever.

Thankfully, most of the architectural  features survived the blaze (note the soot blackening the walls and ceiling!), and many of them appear to be contemporary with the time of the Wordsworths:-












While most of the house is characterised by typical understated Georgian elegance, here and there you can find traces of over-the-top Victorian extravagence.  This arch is a case in point, which, combined with a florid cornice and elaborate ceiling rose, suggests that a major revamp took place here later in the nineteenth century:-





The building being in a raw, unfinished state, the National Trust have seized the opportunity to use it as a large scale, mass participation art installation. Visitors are invited to share their thoughts by writing on various boards or even on the bare walls in places (sorry, I just couldn't do that.  It just felt wrong, wrong, WRONG!!!).  And more often than not, the responses are along similiar lines. Visitors marvel at seeing a building stripped of its soft furnishings and decor, with some of them even asking that it be left this way permanently.

I disagree, of course. To me, this building cries out for deliverance. It's distressed, forlorn, and anxious to be dragged up from this miserable state of neglect and despair.  I suspect that the National Trust share my sentiments, and that sooner rather than later, this splendid old house will find itself restored to something approaching its former glory.

So... What do you do in the Lake District if it's too wet for walking???

The answer is, of course, to do all the usual tourist things that we always mean to do and never get around to.

Ever since we started visiting the Lakes, J has always said, "We should take a trip on the Ullswater Steamers'. We never have, of course, until last Sunday, when our boots were soaked through from Saturday's walk, and the weather was, um, well, terrible.

So terrible, in fact, that this was the view across Ullswater.  It's meant to be a majestic scene, with the imposing peaks of Helvellyn, Nethermost Pike and Dollywagon Pike in the background.  There's no sign of any of these peaks in this image - the pointy peak at the right-hand side is Catstycam, which sits just in front of Helvellyn, so you can see how lousy the conditions were:-





But the steamer trip was fun.  There are four boats in all, the oldest one built in the 1870s, the youngest in the 1940s.  This is the Motor Yacht Raven, built in the 1890s and the boat we sailed on in a return trip from Pooley Bridge to Glenridding:-

Poor old Nethermost Pike.  It's earned itself the reputation of being the unloved little sibling of its more celebrated neighbour, Helvellyn.  Wainwright sums it up nicely as follows:-

'Thousands of people cross the flat top of Nethermost Pike every year, and thousands more toil up its western slope.  Yet their diaries record "climbed Helvellyn today." For Helvellyn is the great magnet that draws the crowds to Nethermost Pike: the latter is climbed incidentally, almost unknowingly, only because it is an obstacle in the route to its bigger neighbour.  The grassy west slope trodden by the multitudes is of little interest, but the fell should not be judged accordingly: it is made of sterner stuff. From the east, Nethermost Pike is magnificent, hardly less so than Helvellyn and seeming more so because of its impressive surroundings.' (The Central Fells, Nethermost Pike 2)

Last summer, when we scaled Dollywaggon Pike, we struck out for Nethermost Pike and missed it.  We made up for this omission last Saturday.  The summit itself is fascinating: covered with shattered pieces of rock that make it look like it's surmounted by an enormous cairn (it isn't...).

Here are the views that were just reward for our effort. They were spectacular: at 2920', Nethermost Pike is a respectable mountain in its own right.  There's an awful lot of foreground, I'm afraid, because I was too feart to go venturing close to the chasm.  Okay, the wind was blowing away from the long drop, but still....

This is the view towards Helvellyn, showing Striding Edge in its wider context with the beautifully named 'Catstycam' visible beyond:-






The view below is almost a dead ringer for one of Wainwright's illustrations, and according to the Man Himself, we are looking down Grisedale towards Place Fell with Ullswater just visible in the distance:-




Another view of Grisedale now, with St Sunday Crag to the right:-





One last view of the descent now, showing a wider view of the central fells, with Steel Fell, Gibson Knott and Helm Crag in the middle distance, and the outline of Harrison Stickle visible to the right:-

I've been in awe of Helvellyn ever since I started walking in the Lake District.  By Scottish standards, it's not a BIG mountain, though at 3118 feet, it easily falls into our Munro category.  It is, however, the third highest mountain in England, and it's not exactly a pussy-cat.  It claims victims on a semi-frequent basis, and should not be approached lightly, particularly in winter.

I came across one of its more celebrated victims in a fascinating book called The Unfortunate Tourist of Helvellyn.'  I've mentioned him before: Mr Charles Gough, who fell to his death one April day in 1805 and whose shattered corpse was only found a few months later.  His faithful dog was allegedly found by his body, and being an artist, he was carrying his tinted Claude glasses when he plunged to his death, perhaps from the infamous Striding Edge...

As I scaled Helvellyn on Saturday, I thought of Mr Gough, who is commemorated by a monument on the summit.  There were certain parallels between myself and Mr Gough. though instead of a faithful dog, I had a soft tiger in my daysack (he's climbed three Wainwrights now, which is quite impressive, for a cuddly toy!), and I was also carrying a modern equivalent of the Claude glasses, my digital camera. 

It was here, I hoped, that the similarities would end.  Though one of my aims for the day was to visit his monument, so I could pay my respects in person.

This is what Alfred Wainwright had to say about Helvellyn:-

'Legend and poetry, a lovely name and a lofty altitude combine to encompass Helvellyn in an aura of romance; and thousands of pilgrims, aided by its easy accessibility, are attracted to its summit every year....  There is some quality about Helvellyn which endears it in the memory of most people who have stood on its breezy top; although it can be a grim place indeed on a wild night, it is, as a rule, a very friendly giant.  If it did not inspire affection would its devotees return to it so often?' (A Pictorial Guide to the Eastern Fells, Book One: The Central Fells)

I can't really disagree with Wainwright's description, though on the day we climbed it, Helvellyn's summit was not exactly 'breezy'.  J's description - 'tempestuous' - was somewhat closer to the mark, though you'd never believe it from the photographs...

We climbed the mountain from Wythburn, on the western side.  Wainwright describes it as 'one of the most popular ways up Helvellyn', but things have changed since Wainwright's day.  On a marvellous May morning, the route was almost deserted: we met about a dozen folk during our walk.  Striding Edge, by contrast, the 'unusual' and undoubtedly spectacular route recommended by Wainwright himself, was like a conveyor belt, with an endless queue of walkers trailing along it.

And now to the walk...

We began at Wythburn Church, which undoubtedly merits a closer look, so I'll have to try and explore it again at a later date:-

My apologies, because last night I entirely failed to find the photograph which showed the Gateway to Oblivion in all its glory!

So here it is!  Just the place to conveniently 'lose' any unwelcome guests!!




And because I'm too tired to do a real post, I thought I'd include a view of the road to Hardknott.  I'm not sure if this is the infamous Hardknott Pass - it may in fact be Wrynose, but I'd just like to note that certain crazy cyclists actually pass this way on the Sportive From Hell  - the Fred Whitton.  J was meaning to ride it one year, but didn't get around to booking his place (it sells out really quickly) and in the end I think he was quite relieved to escape this licensed masochism.

They say an army marches on its stomach, and the Roman army was no exception.  Trying to garrison an Empire with outposts in weird and wonderful out-of-the-way places like Hardknott fort [or to give it its Latin name, Mediobogdum, which seems like an appropriate name for this miserable dump teetering on the edge of the civilised world. This is, of course, purely from a Roman point of view...] meant that maintaining a reliable supply chain was vital.
 
Grain would have been transported by ship then offloaded at a harbour site on the west coast.  From there, it was moved by road to the fort itself, where it would be stored on-site in granary buildings. 

And this is one of the granaries.  Or so it's believed, and it looks like a reasonable interpretation.  The low wall running down the centre of the building would have supported a raised floor, indication that the structure was built with the intention of allowing air to circulate:-
 



Once again, restoration has been minimal, demonstrating just how well preserved these Roman remains are, given their antiquity...

Up another 900 feet now, to the summit of Great Rigg, which at 2513 feet in height falls into my 'Great Big Bruiser' category of fell - in Scots terms, it's a Corbett!

If someone had told me a year ago that I'd have made the decision to hike up a 2500 foot summit in February, I'd probably have scoffed and said 'don't be daft!'  But this woolly walker seems to be getting a bit more intrepid in her old age, and somehow a six mile round trip to Great Rigg and back seemed quite do-able.

Here's a view of the summit, seen from just beyond the summit of Stone Arthur:-




Like yesterday's peak, Stone Arthur, it's not really a very popular fell for walkers.  Not on its own, anyway.  Instead, it's most often visited as part of the 'Fairfield Horseshoe', a ridge walk which takes in a grand total of eight summits, and which gets its name from Great Rigg's better known neighbour, Fairfield. 

If we hadn't pencilled in Helvellyn and Nethermost Pike for our summer walk, I'd be tempted by the Fairfield Horseshoe, because it looks like a lovely walk.  I'm not sure I'd have wanted to walk the Horseshoe on that particular day, because I'm far too knitted to have contemplated a big long exposed ridge walk when the wind was that strong!  Summer 2013 seems like a much better bet...

Here's a taster, looking down from the summit of Great Rigg along the ridge towards Heron Pike, with Lake Windermere to the left:-




Here's another view from the summit of Great Rigg, looking between the summits of Seat Sandal and Dollywaggon Pike towards the ominous bulk of Helvellyn:-




And another view of the scene I featured yesterday, but this time seen from a higher elevation.  Easdale Tarn can be seen beyond the ridge running between Helm Crag and Gibson Knott, with the summit of Harrison Stickle visible (to the eagle-eyed) above the tarn:-



Ah, yes.  It was a classic fell walk indeed.  And now I have to wait until July until the next one....

Back to reality, I'm afraid.  This morning, I was enjoying watching the antics of red squirrels and nuthatches whilst eating breakfast, and now I've returned!

We got up in the fells on Friday, but even though we succeeded in scaling Great Rigg and Stone Arthur, I managed to get a blister.  So the following day, my antics were somewhat curtailed.  I'm a bit disappointed: my trusty Brashers have served me well over many walks in the five years that I've had them, and this is the first time I've been blighted with a blister.

But there were other things to do.  As a result of my enforced rest I at last managed to get another one of the thousand things I want to accomplish before I die ticked off, by visiting a site that I've been meaning to see ever since I started visiting the Lakes twelve or more years ago.

Photos of the fell walk will of course be forthcoming, but in the mean time, I'm going to set you a little quiz.  I'm going to post you two photos of the monument we visited, and I'm going to pose you four questions:

1) (For two points!): What's the date of the monument?  Just a rough characterisation, nothing more than that...

2) (For two points): What type of monument does it represent?

3) (For three points): What exactly was the purpose of the building in the second photo, bearing in mind it's part of the same site?

4) (For three points)):  What's the name of the site??