Cairn between Maiden Moor and High Spy, 17 September 2015 Cat Bells drew the crowds but we left them behind as we climbed Maiden Moor and reached heather habitat. A day of clarity, with strong light and deep shadow. A few walkers clustered about a cairn along the ridge. ‘I was twenty years younger when I began this walk,’ I heard a someone say. His words resonated and I couldn’t resist telling him he had the makings of a short story. He smiled and lifted his hat in salute, as if to show he’d lost his hair since he set out this morning. It’s more than twenty years since first I saw Borrowdale.
As we came off High Spy, heading down toward Rigghead quarries, a steep slope of heather and scree rose above Tongue Gill. I remember the heather of Robin Fold Edge from eight years ago, seen from a different perspective. I was younger, far younger, when I first saw Cat Bells. And the reprise brings back childhood Borrowdale ventures.
Several years ago, I went to Lingmoor again and again until habitat and flora was etched in my memory. Where there are water-tracks and boggy ground, with September spiders’ webs picked out by early morning mist, I would find bog asphodel, grass of Parnassus and devil’s-bit scabious.
Coming off High Spy, in boggy ground about Tongue Gill we found these flowers growing in profusion. Taking flower photographs I find myself intrigued by reproduction and the changes that appear in a flower once it is fertilised. White petals fall from grass of Parnassus, Parnassia palustris, and the ovary swells red.
Coming off High Spy, in boggy ground about Tongue Gill we found these flowers growing in profusion. Taking flower photographs I find myself intrigued by reproduction and the changes that appear in a flower once it is fertilised. White petals fall from grass of Parnassus, Parnassia palustris, and the ovary swells red.
Reaching Rosthwaite, we sat in a cafe garden amongst September flowers having tea and watching swallows skim the pastures, looking north into Borrowdale. Above rose the heather fell of Joppelty How and hidden beyond is Watendlath where I walked with my parents when I was thirteen and reading The Herries Chronicles and swept up in the romantic tales. Borrowdale, Rosthwaite and Watendlath are at the heart of the saga.
After tea, we caught an open-top bus back to Keswick. We were swept along as if we were up in the canopy, looking down on the River Derwent. A beautiful September late afternoon became colder and colder on the open-top bus as the sun dipped down behind the fells.
After tea, we caught an open-top bus back to Keswick. We were swept along as if we were up in the canopy, looking down on the River Derwent. A beautiful September late afternoon became colder and colder on the open-top bus as the sun dipped down behind the fells.
RSS Feed