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Published: October 11th 2012
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Beautiful, wet and cold. The last of the Great British Summer. At least Graeme has stopped asking, ‘Is this Summer?’ Oh wait, I wrote that too soon. Sitting in the café at the bottom of the Aira Force waterfall Graeme spotted a film showing some of the most exquisite lakeside scenery in the sun.
‘Oh well, of course that’s in summer,’ he said laughing, ‘oh wait it is summer!’
The bank holiday weekend had ended the summer as it began. Wet and windy. Actually as the whole summer has been. Records keep being broken. The wettest summer since records began.
Ullswater is high, trees swim at the edge, streams and puddles flood the lakeside roads.
We hop on a bus, the expense makes us gasp. 5.40 for a 10 minute return ride. What a way to encourage families to leave their car and hop on public transport!
Aira Force was our destination. Fors being Viking for waterfall – now whether the Vikings named these on their travels or whether the word remained in the dialect, who knows.
Fors seems a much more evocative word for a waterfall especially these cascading after the deluge of the
night before.
A soggy walk across the fields brought us to Dockray where the …..pub served up some mediocre prices for maximum price. A captive audience here, tourists and walkers are fodder for the tills.
The next excursion saw us attempting to take the Ullswater steamer to Howtown pier but the lake levels being so high we were taken to Pooley Bridge with double the walk back to Side Farm campsite.
With a hop, skip and a jump (the Olympics were still on after all) we set off up the Roman High Street, across the fell top to a cairn and the Cockpit stone circle.
A sense of mystery and timelessness in the wind looking down at the glassy reflections in Ullswater and the sedate horse-riders criss-crossing the fell below us.
Streams scoured the paths, their depth testament to the fallen rains. We walked downstream chasing the water before the next downpour overtook us.
Our resting spot saw us hunkering down with sandwiches by the edge of Barton Wood. While the view unfurled beneath us, violet fells reflected in the steely blue water of Ullswater, emotion gripped my throat, achingly beautiful, a near equivalent
to the ger experience earlier this year in Mongolia. A visit to theLakes had always been high on my agenda but with the constant wet weather the opportunity had seemed to be slipping through my fingers but here I was,imbibing the spectacular scenery in the drizzle.
Paddling through the path to Howtown pier we joined other walkers hopeful of the smaller ferry arriving as promised. We sheltered under the dripping trees and exchanged walking stories. Soon the ferry did arrive and we sat shivering and shaking on deck in the damp now very cold windy air. Plans to wait for the campsite for a hot drink were aborted and we warmed our hands on hot chocolate at the ferry pier in Glenridding. Once fortified, we walked back to Side Farm forgetting just how cold we had felt some minutes before. Walking in the Lake District is like summer in Britain, unpredictable but always beautiful.
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