Oak along the Coffin Route, Rydal If you want to hear talking trees walk the Coffin Route from Rydal Church. On a sunlit winter's day they cast long and spooky shadows. On this bright March morning they still stop us in our tracks, familiar and puzzling.
Some seem to defy gravity, like this mighty oak which overhangs a bluff, high above Rydal Water. Great branches take surprising twists and turns. It's a host tree with holly leaves at its heart although the oak is still tight in bud. A low branch is hollow and filled with stones, as if ready to arm the sling of young David about to take on Goliath.
Some seem to defy gravity, like this mighty oak which overhangs a bluff, high above Rydal Water. Great branches take surprising twists and turns. It's a host tree with holly leaves at its heart although the oak is still tight in bud. A low branch is hollow and filled with stones, as if ready to arm the sling of young David about to take on Goliath.
We never solve the puzzle. Each time we come here we wonder how stones got into that hollow branch. The talking trees look as if they might have something to say. In high winds they're loud and you catch the drift but never quite work it out.
The wood is strewn with toppled trees. One mighty tree has crashed down right across the path, bringing down part of the wall. Storm Arwen last November, probably. I remember other fallen trees from previous visits.
The wood is strewn with toppled trees. One mighty tree has crashed down right across the path, bringing down part of the wall. Storm Arwen last November, probably. I remember other fallen trees from previous visits.
Dorothy Wordsworth walked this way daily, often with her brother William. She probably knew some of these ancient trees. Her journals tell of an encounter with a sinister ash pollard as the light faded. We sit for lunch on the stone slabs where coffins were set down along the way, to give the bearers a rest. In the late 18th century this was the route from Ambleside to Grasmere. The Toll Road was not built, the route now busy with tourist traffic. The folk Dorothy and WIlliam Wordsworth met were shepherds and often beggars. And soldiers- turned-beggars, home from the war with France.
Time changes who goes here. I haven't walked this way since before Covid, that's well over two years. Signeage beside Rydal Water suggests a significant influx of visitors. ' To the Caves', and signs telling what's not allowed, an indication of all sorts of behaviour that isn't acceptable here. Toward mid-day the Coffin Route is becoming busy. There are families taking the sun, young people. It's not half-term, Easter is a couple of weeks away. Fine weather has brought forth holiday makers, those who are working from home, able to take a holiday at a moment's notice. It's a striking change in social patterns.
The day is sunny and bright, unusually warm. Drive home and cherry and almond trees are in flowers. Not here along the Coffin Route. Spring always comes rather later to the Lake District. There's a fallen cherry tree I know, toppled down onto a wall, and it's showing no sign of blossom. The woods look wintry still. There are celandine in flower, and catkins, but little else.
Time changes who goes here. I haven't walked this way since before Covid, that's well over two years. Signeage beside Rydal Water suggests a significant influx of visitors. ' To the Caves', and signs telling what's not allowed, an indication of all sorts of behaviour that isn't acceptable here. Toward mid-day the Coffin Route is becoming busy. There are families taking the sun, young people. It's not half-term, Easter is a couple of weeks away. Fine weather has brought forth holiday makers, those who are working from home, able to take a holiday at a moment's notice. It's a striking change in social patterns.
The day is sunny and bright, unusually warm. Drive home and cherry and almond trees are in flowers. Not here along the Coffin Route. Spring always comes rather later to the Lake District. There's a fallen cherry tree I know, toppled down onto a wall, and it's showing no sign of blossom. The woods look wintry still. There are celandine in flower, and catkins, but little else.
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