A SUMMER EVENING'S WALK IN CUMBRIA

To help research my book Running Friend P. agreed to walk one of the routes with me.  It's a route I've done before - once - and I remembered the scenery being quite impressive, so although this summer has been mostly wet, I was optimistic that we'd have one of those glorious sunny evenings where everything is bathed in golden light and looks almost autumnal.

My optimism - despite rain in Carlisle on and off earlier in the day - was increased when, despite having to have the car windscreen wipers on en route to the rendezvous up behind Underscar Hotel near Keswick, the weather forecast stated that the north was due to get dry later: confirmed by Running Friend P. (RFP) who had heard the weather forecast in the morning, which had said it was due to clear up just about at the time we met.

Goodness knows why I chose today to believe the weather forecast when I've already commented to several people this summer that it has been wrong every day so far.  Blind optimism I guess.

I met RFP at the car park near Latrigg.  She was dressed in overtrousers, walking boots and a pretty weather-proof-looking jacket.  My waterproof (showerproof?) cycling jacket, semi-walking-boots and lycra leggings were already beginning to look a little inadequate, particularly as I wasn't sure the cycling jacket would actually fit around my expanded middriff, but fortunately RFP said I could borrow her jacket as she had another with her.

We set off across the moorland (I'm not sure if that's the technical expression for it, but there weren't many trees) along a track which went mostly down - never a good sign as it always means you have to go up again, although I already knew there was quite a long climb later.  At least today I was going to be walking it rather than running, or attempting to run, it.  There was lots of water.  Everywhere.  Not only was it still coming down from the sky, with quite low-lying clouds ensheathing the tops of the fells, but there was plenty of water on the ground as well, as was demonstrated early on in the walk when we crossed a stream.  A very attractive stream, but still in full flow today (although I imagine it can, and has previously, got a lot higher).

The walk/run goes past a remote white house and then turns along a track which follows a beck up a valley.  It's glorious, with the comforting maternal curves of green-covered hills on either side and the stream leading the eye far into the distance, higher and higher: on a day like today, up into the clouds.  However follow the stream too far, as we discovered, and the path runs out: the result being a tramp through more water.  Well, over hillside with impromptu streams running across it and marshy tough grass growing.  We met a better-made track (maybe an old road?) and thought perhaps for the purposes of a running trail that might prove better: certainly the Lakeland 100 choses that easier to find route.  Having said that I don't suppose, if you're mad enough to attempt to run 100 miles in one go, that you particularly want to go on any unnecessary detours or explorations.

There were three more bridges to cross: one a wide stone bridge, possibly increasing the likelihood of this being an old road, with a solitary tree growing at the side of the Gill or Beck; and then two more bridges, both narrow and wooden this time and fortunately relatively new: I would not have fancied walking across rotting wooden bridges with the streams running as fast as they were.

Before long we met the Cumbrian Way and headed back in a southerly direction to the cars.  In the distance there were signs of sun: RFP and I meanwhile were enthusing about the heather which was in bloom, and she suggested taking a photo of me with the heather.  As you can see, despite the wetness of everything, I look quite happy!

Finding our way was now easy and the conditions got drier as we got round to the western side of the hill and lower down, apart from a splash through a stream which didn't have a bridge.  In the distance we could see distinctly better weather and Derwentwater, and by the time we got back to the cars it was, as we had predicted, no longer raining and Bassenthwaite was almost sparkling in evening sunlight.

As I drove into Brampton an hour or so later the golden evening sun which I have commented on in earlier blogs was reddening the sandstone buildings and making everywhere look warm and inviting and clean.  Rain: what rain? Huh!