Exmouth 2021 - part 1

Yay, time for a travel post at long last! Two weeks ago I took myself off down to Exmouth for a few days; my first little trip away since late 2019. I'd booked it a couple of months earlier, and was looking forward to getting away and spending some time on the coast.

Monday 5th July

There were delays on my train journey so I arrived in Exmouth about an hour later than expected, around 2:30pm. I bought a coronation chicken sandwich as a late lunch from the M&S next to the station and found my way to the house where I was staying; my Airbnb was a local resident's spare room. (She was a Verified Superhost and had loads of good reviews, so I was pretty confident it would be safe and comfortable.) She was nice and had a gorgeous calm-tempered greyhound, her home was lovely and quirky and very clean, and the room was quiet and cosy. I always tend to linger in my room for an hour or two whenever I arrive somewhere, I guess to sort of work myself up to going out and finding my way around a new place. The weather was miserable and if I'd been in a hotel or B&B I would have stayed in, but as I was in someone's home (and on holiday) I felt like I should spend as much time as possible not there (though I'm sure she wouldn't have minded) - so I went out again around 4:30.

To avoid the heavy grey clouds, rain, and strong and chilly breeze, I decided to go to the cinema; Supernova, a drama starring the greats that are Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci and set in the Lake District, was showing at 5:45. The cinema was an independent one, which is really cool. I had the screen to myself, and want to see all the films they showed trailers for (the Marvel trailer for not just Black Widow but announcing all their films for the next few years was particularly exciting, haha). The film was very good; quiet, modest, understated, with a moving story and brilliant performances. I don't usually get snacks at the cinema but bought a small popcorn, and that along with the other snacks I had with me ended up being my tea, my evening meal, even though I was out again by 7pm and could have found somewhere for dinner. Afterwards I went to the seafront and sat in a shelter on the Esplanade, out of the wind and rain, watching the headlands at Berry Head, Torquay, Teignmouth, and Dawlish slowly disappear in the worsening weather.

Tuesday 6th

My host provided a range of options for breakfast and I opted to try some posh Kelloggs protein cereal that turned out to be cinnamon-y and very yummy. She also had a jar of dried cranberries the likes of which I've never seen before - they were whole, and huge, and gorgeous, and I'm kicking myself that I didn't go to the town's zero-waste shop, where I think she said she got them from, to see if they had any. Being a guest in the home of someone I didn't know and sitting in their kitchen trying to make conversation over breakfast wasn't the most relaxing experience; as always I was very conscious of not having questions to ask her about herself or many comments to make in response to things she was saying, especially because she was an interesting person and we had a lot of interests in common. But I'm always harder on myself than I need to be, there wasn't actually very much awkward silence so it wasn't too bad. I loved her home - an old terraced cottage full of books, houseplants, art, mismatched second-hand everything, and cherished items from near and far. She said it was nice to have someone stay for a few days as it's more relaxing, most of her guests are walkers who stay for just one night.

One of the reasons I chose Exmouth was for the walking - the town lies on the South West Coast Path, and is one end of the 26-mile Exe Estuary Trail that loops around the estuary linking together Exmouth, Exeter, and Dawlish Warren. I decided to spend my first full day doing the coast path to Budleigh Salterton, a route of just over five miles/eight kilometres. The first two miles is just along Exmouth Beach. Towards the far end, where the red sandstone cliffs which mark the western end of the Jurassic Coast start to rise, you have to be careful not to get cut off by the incoming tide, especially if you walk around into Sandy Bay at low tide. The cliffs are amazing to look at, and a little daunting to stand under even if they're not as high as elsewhere along the coast. The Jurassic Coast - the 95 miles between Orcombe Point at Exmouth and Old Harry Rocks at Swanage - is England's only natural UNESCO World Heritage Site. Why is it so special (apart from being stunningly beautiful)? You know what, I cannot possibly come up with a better explanation than the experts at the Jurassic Coast Trust:

Imagine your favourite film trilogy. Now imagine that the first film is only ever shown in Scotland, the second only shown in France and the third only shown in Brazil. Annoying right? Now imagine that you stumble across a little cinema on the south coast of England that shows the entire trilogy, all three films back to back with extra scenes and everything. That’s what the Jurassic Coast is like for three geological time Periods called the Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous.

Those three time periods of Earth history collectively make up the Mesozoic Era, running from around 250 to 65 million years ago. Rocks that offer an almost complete record of that entire time are spread out along the Jurassic Coast, a bit like the pages of a book.

How literally awesome is that?! I've always had an interest in physical Earth sciences like geology and should actually study it a bit at some point. The red rocks in East Devon are Triassic, the oldest, formed from layers of sand in a vast desert 250-200 million years ago - and there were other, older, grey rocks underneath those. The website linked above has more easy-to-understand information if you're interested, including an image showing which areas of the coastline have which rocks.

Anyway, back to the walk. At Orcombe Point you leave the beach and take the steps up the cliff, then a short walk through some National Trust clifftop grasslands brings you to the Geoneedle, an obelisk showing the different rocks along the Jurassic Coast. There's also a large compass thing in the ground pointing towards landmarks along the coast, which makes you realise how much the coastline curves around. Less than a mile further on was the Devon Cliffs Holiday Park - the halfway point of this route - and the South Beach Cafe, where I stopped for lunch. I ordered a raspberry lemonade and the shredded beef mac and cheese, the latter of which was yummy (especially as it came with a caramelised onion chutney) and satisfying, although the tablespoon's worth of beef was disappointingly more of a garnish than an ingredient. There were steps down into Sandy Bay, which I've heard is nice, but I wasn't in a great mood and just wanted to carry on.

It took me just over an hour to cover the remaining two and a half miles to Budleigh Salterton. The weather stayed good, a mix of cloud and sun with a breeze. The rain falling over the land and sea on the horizon didn't come my way, thankfully. The path was unnervingly close to the cliff edge in places, but I loved looking out over the countryside to my left and the sea to my right; the waves rolling in, the white horses, the shifting colours under sunshine and cloud shadow. Once at Budleigh and on the beach, the astonishing rusty red colour of the water, created by runoff from the cliffs after the recent rains, became more obvious and prominent against the pale pebbles of the beach. The beach itself was impressive too, sculpted by the forces of the waves in a way I hadn't seen before, into a pair of waves itself with steep banks and deep troughs. And oh, I loved the pebbles, the pebbles were gorgeous. Huge, round, oval, smooth, a variety of colours - pinks, purples, yellows, oranges, greys, blacks, stripey ones, spotty ones. I was ever so tempted to take one away with me, but I didn't, one single lone pebble would look out of place in my room, I wouldn't know what to do with it, and it's just generally better to not take things, to leave them and let other people enjoy them too. 

I spent about an hour on the beach, trying to be present and improve my low mood by concentrating on watching the waves, but frustration took over as I struggled with indecision over whether to get the bus back or walk, and what to do when I got back. Eventually, at about 5pm, I decided to walk back, via the 'Exmouth to Budleigh Salterton Old Railway Line', a flat paved route through the countryside. You have to walk through the town to reach it, so I took what I thought was a more direct route from my starting point at the beach but it turned out to be an unpleasant footpath-less on-road route, which put me in a bad mood, so I was very glad to finally reach the path after 45 minutes. Being back among woodland and farmland - and other walkers - was soothing and made me feel slightly better, and I stopped at a bench to rest, have a snack, and just look and listen to what was around me. Cows were mooing comfortingly in one of the fields, clustering in one corner where the farmer was probably putting some food out for them, birds were singing and flitting about, including some kind of martins, a kestrel hovered nearby, and once I set off again a black cat crossed the path way ahead and sat in the vegetation to one side, staring at me as I walked past, which made me smile. 

Eventually I got back to Exmouth Beach, after a long day of walking around 15 miles. I bought a pack of bread rolls from the convenience store on the seafront and went back to the same shelter I'd sat in the evening before, to put together a tuna mayo roll with the can of said filling and cutlery from home I'd brought with me. Once again my evening meal was snacks, more of a lunch, but at least I'd had the mac and cheese earlier. Grey clouds and a slightly chilly breeze were still about but several locals were playing volleyball on the beach, and some kitesurfers and sailboaters were out on the water. I looked through my binoculars at the three cruise ships anchored off the distant headlands. What looked to the naked eye to be some sort of cargo ship turned out to be an ugly hulking Virgin Voyages liner, haha. I headed back to the house, located just one street behind the seafront, around 9pm.

-

Thanks for reading all that if you have! I think when I'm writing these things that I often focus on certain aspects I enjoyed or things I noticed, and I sound enthusiastic and maybe it comes across that I had a good time. Which is why I've mentioned my low moods and not actually having a good time. Sometimes solo travel is like that, for a variety of reasons, and I like to be honest and not pretend. This trip could have been improved by better planning, as I hadn't really planned at all. Anyway, part two about the Wednesday and Thursday to follow soon!

130 days of daily walks

Thursday 30th July was the 130th day in a row that I went for my daily walk! Yay!

I started counting on Monday 23rd March - the day when lockdown was announced in the evening. I know that 130 days - 18 and a half weeks, just over four months - is nothing for people who have dogs, or who are already in the habit of going for a walk every single day. But it's something of an achievement for me, and I'm quite proud of myself for keeping at it.

Working office jobs over the last four and a half years got me going out for walks at lunchtime to stretch my legs, get some fresh air, and get my eyes away from walls and a computer screen, but sometimes that was only 20 minutes, and it was very easy to just say "Eh, I won't go out today" because it was too rainy or too cold or too hot or I just didn't feel like it. I love walking, but unless I'm meeting friends it's always been very hard to motivate myself to catch a bus and train to get myself out to the countryside at weekends, so taking long leisurely walks or hikes has generally only been something I've done on a few trips, or the odd occasion with family or friends. But, as we in the UK were allowed to go outside for one form of exercise each day during lockdown, I've had the opportunity over the last four months to intentionally go for a walk every day, and in nature instead of along concrete streets.

Bluebells in the wood

I'm very fortunate that I live on the edge of the city and am a five-minute walk away from a mile-long shingle beach. Despite having lived here since August 2018, until this last February I'd only been there a handful of times and only once or twice gone beyond the far end of the beach, where the coast path continues on towards Royal Victoria Country Park. Behind the promenade is a mown-grass field where people can walk their dogs, kick a ball around, have picnics, sunbathe etc.; a bit further along is another grassy area left to go wilder, trodden paths winding through long grasses; and at the far end of that, behind the road behind the beach, is a 150-acre nature reserve with woodland and grasslands. So, having discovered the latter only a few months ago, I've been able to get out into open spaces with water, birds and other wildlife, grass, trees, flowers, and lots of plants and greenery.

I've really loved being able to get out and spend an hour and a half or more outside in the fresh air every day. Nature has always been one of my greatest loves, and for the first time in my life I've been able to let that come to the surface and be part of my daily life. I go slowly, looking, noticing, observing. I don't take a notebook, but take lots of photos and use those as memory prompts, visual notes rather than written, and occasionally make a note on my phone if a picture won't do. I've taken hundreds of photos, uploading some to Facebook to share with family and friends. (And Instagram - the link to that is on the right-hand side of this page.) I kind of wish, though, that I had created a habit of taking a notebook and making notes every day as well, just a short summary and key points, a daily log; they'd be interesting to look back on.

The beach at low tide

On the beach I watch and listen to the waves, and gaze out at the light glinting on the water, glittery and pretty. I watch the swells and how the surface shifts, smooth and glossy like silk or rippling and shivering, rolling and undulating, the waves meeting the shore gently lapping, or stretching up, or crashing with a rush and roar and a tumble of pebbles as they fall back. When the sun's low and the sky blue, the water looks like satin and the softly-breaking waves like molten silver. I've gone paddling in the water several times, which is good fun and helps me to focus on where I am and tune out my thoughts for a while so I'm in the present moment. The beach is prettier when the tide's in, but when the tide's out there are wading birds on the mud flats; gulls and oyster-catchers mainly, plus the occasional egret and some smallish brown birds that were too far away to identify. There was a great crested grebe or two that liked to hang around sometimes when the tide was in, but I haven't seen them for a couple of months, and the swans which made an appearance every now and then in the first few weeks have now reappeared with six fluffy cygnets in tow!

One of my favourite days was 30th April because it was really stormy, with heavy dark clouds and pelting rain. I ventured out that afternoon during a break in the rain, dressed in wellies and waterproof trousers as well as a raincoat. I just reached the shore when it started raining again and lightning flashed a few miles away on the other side of Southampton Water, so I hid against the wall under a balcony at the sailing clubhouse until I was sure that wasn't heading my way. It moved on quickly and some sunlight broke through to shine on the beach and the water, creating an awesome contrast with the slate-dark clouds. I decided it would be fun to walk in the rain, so carried on, and sure enough ten minutes later the water darkened further and the rain moved towards me in sheets. For a minute I didn't put my hood up, just stood there giggling with joy, letting the raindrops land on me and listening to them hit the water and the pebbles and the tarmac and the trees on the path behind. Everything was quiet except for the rain, the wind, the waves, and the birds. It was awesome, so much fun!

Stormy skies

In the woods, I'll stop and watch a bee buzz around, look up and around at the canopy and how the sunlight plays on everything, the contrast with the shadows, or sit on one of the old building foundations for a while and listen to the birds singing, the squirrels scuttling about, and the wind in the leaves. If I catch a nice scent then I take deep breaths, trying to smell as much of it as I can for as long as I can. I've started to learn to identify birds by sight and sound, and flowers and trees. I've seen song thrushes, nuthatches, tree-creepers, and great spotted woodpeckers all for the first time, and jay fledglings. I often hear small creatures squeak and scurry about unseen in the undergrowth, saw a couple of rats once scampering back into the nettles, and two little mice or voles once crossed the path just a few feet in front of me. I was excited to see a kestrel one day, hovering over the little grassland between the road and the tower blocks, and buzzards gliding over the nature reserve.

One joy has been hearing and seeing a fox. There may be and probably is more than one in those woods, but I have no way of knowing. I've heard it twice - a single bark in the first week, and then a month ago I had the amazing experience of listening to it repeatedly barking like 10 metres away for a full 10 minutes. And I've caught a fleeting glimpse of it twice. One day in May I was just sat in my favoured spot as usual and was still and silent for long enough that it thought nobody was around and went wandering, and I caught the movement just in time to look and see its back and tail slip through a gap in the undergrowth five metres away. Then more recently I was walking along one of the paths and heard a sudden scurrying in the dry leaves of the area of wood to my left, looked and saw it bounding away! Amazing.

Magnificent beech trees

I've been able to see the seasons gradually shift from almost-spring to late summer. Wood anemone and lesser celandine gave way to bluebells and blackthorn blossom and dandelions, then to apple and hawthorn blossoms, buttercups, and the forget-me-nots and other wildflowers planted on the verge by the car park, then elderflower, dog roses, honeysuckle, foxglove, and all the wild carrot family. Now even lady's bedstraw, the pea family, and bright yellow ragwort are fading, and blackberries and hazelnuts are starting to ripen. Fuzzy buds on the trees turned into soft, tender, translucent leaves, which took on a glorious almost neon vibrancy for just a couple of days before maturing into thick, dark, heavy foliage. As the sunlight grew stronger and brighter, the woods darkened as the canopy thickened, providing a cool, shadowy refuge from the hot sun. Birdsong increased, then peaked, then lessened again as they found mates and started nesting, and now most of the birds are very quiet as they hide away for molting. A pair of great spotted woodpeckers made a nest in a dead tree right next to the path, so I got some great views of them and the chick. I've seen butterflies in the wood and in the grasslands - speckled wood, orange tip, small heath, marbled white, small white, red admirals, a comma, a small skipper, a gatekeeper, a white admiral, a pale blue/white one on the beach, and some yellowy ones. I've also seen a couple of damselflies by the stream in the woods, and an enormous beetle flying and land on a tree (likely a stag beetle, that's the largest one we have over here). (Did you know that ladybirds are a type of beetle? It hadn't occurred to me before, but of course they are.) I think my favourite types of tree in this wood are the ash and birch, purely because they make a particularly lovely rustle in the wind.

Germander speedwell

As lockdown restrictions eased and we were allowed to drive to different places and see family and friends again, some walks have been elsewhere. A couple, to be honest, weren't walks, but rather afternoons spent in gardens. I counted them because part of the purpose of going for a walk is to get out into nature, be surrounded by it, look at it, notice and observe, and I did those things on those days. I was surrounded by trees and flowers and birds, watched and listened to them, and went round looking closely at the flowers, and the bees and butterflies feeding on them.

I feel very lucky that over the last four months I've been able to spend more time outdoors in nature, delve into it more, learn a bit more about it, and encounter other people who love it too (albeit online, and being an observer rather than joining in by interacting through the comments etc.). It's spurred me to apply for a full-time college course covering ecology, conservation, habitat management, wildlife surveys, etc., something part of me wishes I'd done years ago, so fingers crossed I get accepted onto that. And so many other people have benefited from this opportunity to notice, experience, and connect to nature more, either in more depth, or in new ways, or even for the first time. Long-time nature lovers have been joined by new enthusiasts.

Great spotted woodpecker

The lessened presence, disturbance, and dominance of humans during full lockdown, before restrictions started to be eased, meant that Nature and wildlife had a chance to breathe and relax. For the first few weeks of lockdown the beach was almost empty, I'd pass only a handful of people there and in the woods. No litter. No dog poo. Roads were empty. The sky was empty of aircraft and their contrails. Air and noise pollution levels went right down. Birdsong was more audible. Ground-nesting birds and mammals in places usually only reachable by car were left undisturbed by dogs and walkers while we weren't allowed to drive to take exercise. Grass verges were left un-mown and roadside trees and shrubs un-strimmed (I hate seeing those splintered remains), providing fantastic habitats for wildlife. The building site opposite my flat was empty, and the harsh white safety lights not turned on at night, which was nice for me in that my room was much darker than usual, but it would have also been good for nocturnal flyers like bats and moths. Animals wandered around more, roamed further, felt safer: mountain goats in the streets of Llandudno, seabirds and dolphins in the Venetian canals, fallow deer grazing on the lawns of a London housing estate. The benefit of human lockdown to the natural environment and wildlife has been so obvious that, wonderfully, Thailand's government announced in May that they will be closing all of their national parks for two months every year from now on.

Fairy door

Of course, people have gradually returned. The beach and promenade are busy, with oyster-diggers, fishermen, kite-surfers, jet-skiers, the ice-cream and burger vans, runners, roller-skaters, dog-walkers, families, friends, and people having a nice time. The sounds and smells are just Summer all over so it's quite nice in a way. But with the positives have also returned the negatives. Cars. Pollution. Roadkill. Dog poo. Litter. Litter. Litter.

Nature has been here for many of us over the last few months. As we start to return to "normal", it is time for us to be there for nature, the natural world, the earth, our planet - to show up for it, fight for it. Create a new normal, a better one, not just in terms of our relationship with the natural world but with each other too.

Person sitting on the beach by an oak tree

I'm finishing this post off a week later. We moved over the weekend, out of the city to our mum and stepdad's place in a town more inland, so I'll be taking walks elsewhere from now on. While I'll miss the beach and the nature reserve, and how quick and easy it is to get to them, I'm looking forward to finding some new places and getting to know the countryside around here a bit.

Selfie in the woods

Cornwall, October 2019 - days 1 to 3

Tuesday 22nd - Southampton to Bodmin

I went down to Cornwall to visit one of my friends, who now lives near Tintagel (of King Arthur legend) on the county's north coast. It took five hours to travel down on the train, with three changes at Westbury, Taunton, and Plymouth, and I spent pretty much the whole time gazing out of the window at the sunlit countryside. There weren't many other passengers so it was nice and quiet for the whole journey, and the trains themselves, Great Western Railway ones, were fairly new so were nice and clean and comfortable. I liked that they had little lights above the seats, lit red or green to show which were reserved or available, which you could see along the whole length of the carriage from the door, so you could see at a glance instead of wandering up and down looking at each individual seat. At GWR stations, they also announce over the tannoys which carriages are the reserved ones. I wish South Western Railway and Cross Country would do both those things, it makes it so much quicker and easier to find somewhere to sit.

...Well that was a boring first paragraph, I'm sure, hahaha!

The stretch between Dawlish and Teignmouth was particularly lovely; the track goes right along the seafront so you're just looking out at the sea, in this case flat calm sea and blue sky :) I arrived at Bodmin Parkway just before five-thirty and my friend's dad picked me up from the station, as she was still at work. The drive through the Cornish countryside to where they live near Camelford was lovely, the setting sun throwing an absolutely stunning and beautiful copper-gold light on everything. Sausage casserole and mash for dinner was very welcome, and my friend got home from work late evening.

Looking out the train window at the Cornish countryside

Wednesday 23rd - The Camel Trail and Padstow

My friend was working on the Wednesday and Thursday so I'd planned some things to do. The Wednesday was forecast to be the nicer day weather-wise, so I decided to do the Camel Trail that day - a 17-mile / 28km recreational path (walking, cycling, horse-riding) on the route of a former railway line between Wenfordbridge, Bodmin, Wadebridge, and Padstow. The name is from the Camel River (kammel is Cornish for "crooked") which it follows, though the Camel Valley between Bodmin and Wadebridge, and then the Camel Estuary between Wadebridge and Padstow. I was dropped off at a point on the trail near Bodmin and spent about an hour and a half walking happily to Wadebridge. It was dry and sunny and the perfect blend of warmth and autumnal coolness. The valley is wooded and of course the leaves were gorgeous colours, and I picked up a handful of fallen sweet chestnuts to take home and roast, using my boots to pry apart the prickly cases. Many of the former station platforms along the route are still there, but the only one still in use is Boscarne Junction, from which runs a small heritage line; there was a lovely old steam train just turning around when I passed it. It was half term week, so although it wasn't super busy and I spent most of my time without anyone else in sight, it was never too long before you'd see someone else briefly.

An old station in the lovely wooded Camel Valley section

The entire length of the path was paved and completely flat, so I decided to hire a bike in Wadebridge. I haven't cycled in years, because going up the slightest incline is really tough when you're not used to it and don't practice. But I enjoy it when it's flat or downhill. It was so lovely! The waters of the estuary reflected the blue of the sky, the fluffy clouds, and the gently rolling low hills and harvested fields stretching either side. And it only took about 40 minutes to reach Padstow, I got there about quarter to three. I left my bike at a special cycle-park area at the end of the trail, and wandered along the waterfront towards the harbour. There were some retail units in a converted warehouse and I had a look in the shoe shop, which was a mistake because I found a really nice (and actually comfortable) pair of navy blue heeled ankle boots which I didn't let myself buy because I don't know how often I'd wear them. Just along from the shoe shop was was Rick Stein's Fish & Chips, from which I got a late lunch of battered cod and chips. I wish I'd got the grilled mackerel instead, though, as you can get battered cod anywhere. There was a deli too but I didn't really have time to go in - plus, I would have been tempted by things in there, too, haha. I got the fish 'n' chips to take away and ate it while walking round the harbour and up through the park overlooking the estuary to the WWI memorial at St Saviours Point. I sat on a bench there to finish eating but it was in the shade and a bit chilly, so I was glad to get back out in the sunshine again.

The Camel Estuary from the Camel Trail

The Camel Estuary from St Saviour's Point in Padstow

I only had time to go a little bit further along the path before having to turn back, as I needed to get the bike back to Wadebridge no later than 5:30pm. I'll have to look up flat cycle routes and bike hire, both locally and on future trips, as I really enjoyed it. While I was disappointed to not be able to stay in Padstow a bit longer - I hadn't been able to look round the little cobbled streets of the town at all, or go further along the coast path - it turned out to be a good thing as the last bus from Wadebridge back was shortly after 5:30, which I hadn't realised. Maybe they go on a bit later during the summer. It was dark by the time the bus reached Camelford, and my friend lives a little way outside the village on a country lane, but thankfully the bus stops there too. Nobody was in but the little annex had been left unlocked for me so I watched telly in there, and flicked through some of my friend's witchy books, while waiting for my hosts to return from their dog walk. We had cheese on toast for dinner, and again my friend got back late evening.

Thursday 24th - Bude

My friend didn't start work till 12, so in the morning she took me and the dogs to Trebarwith Strand, a small beach nestled between steep cliffs at the end of a narrow valley. The tide was in and I'm not confident walking over slippery rocks so I mostly just stood in one spot watching the awesome Atlantic waves, and the few brave people trying to surf, while the dogs got some exercise. We didn't stay too long before heading back to the house to get ready to go back out, she to work and me up to the seaside resort town of Bude. When a bus comes only every two hours and is late, you begin to question whether you might have missed it, even if you were at the bus stop several minutes before it was due. But thankfully it did arrive, and I enjoyed an hour's trip looking out at the windblown and largely treeless coastal countryside. We got stuck for 10 or so minutes coming out of Boscastle, though, the bus coming face-to-face with several cars going the other way on a single-track road with no passing place within easy reach.

The canal at Bude

I went first to Bude's Tourist Information Centre to have a quick look at what I might be able to do with my few hours there, and bought myself a little box of shortbread, then went across the road to get some lunch. The town has a canal going down to the sea, and there were some retail and eatery units in the old wharf buildings; one of the places I'd seen recommended online, The Olive Tree, was one of them, so I went there. It was sunny and warm enough that I sat outside, and ordered their Superfood Buddha Bowl of quinoa, smoky roasted cauliflower, carrot, edamame beans, pickled cabbage, Chinese leaf, toasted almonds, and a lemon and tahini dressing, with some smoked mackerel. Yum! :)

Superfood Buddha Bowl at The Olive Tree in Bude

Bude Canal and Summerleaze Beach

After lunch I followed the canal down to the end, where it met the sea. The beach was on the opposite shore, and I would have needed to go back up to the road by the TIC and back down the other side to reach it. There were quite a few people on it, a few dozen maybe, half of them surfing. The tide was in and it had clouded over more by this point so the water looked dark and cold and uninviting, and the wind was chilly. I put my scarf and beanie on, crossed the canal's sea lock and walked out a little way onto the breakwater, but its gently-sloping sides meant that the breaking surf was easily stretching up to reach the path and, well, I didn't want to get my shoes wet, haha. Being only a few metres away from and on a level with the pounding waves - as opposed to on a clifftop overlooking it from a distance - was a little unnerving, a reminder of how small we humans are in the face of the raw energy and power of the ocean. And this was probably a pretty calm day compared to what it can be like. I'd love to see it in a storm. I do have an admiration (and a little envy) of those who have salt in their veins - the lifeboat crews, fishermen, sailors, surfers: their deep understanding of, connection to, and ability to work with the forces of nature that are the sea and the wind, the tides and the weather.

I went back and turned to go up onto the cliff path, and reached the little tower a few minutes later. Clearly Victorian and made of local sandstone, it was octagonal and had the directions/compass points carved into the top of each side. I've tried to find out what it was, but it seems nobody's completely sure; it's referred to as both Compass Point and the Storm Tower, and some people think it was just an ornamental folly, while others think it was a coastguard watchtower. I'm inclined to go with the former. You could also see lots of big satellite dishes on the clifftops a few miles north. Turns out that's a government satellite ground station and eavesdropping centre, haha...

On the breakwater

I didn't get particularly far in my clifftop walk, maybe only a few hundred metres; I kept stopping and gazing out at the views - the shifting light over land and sea, the steel-blue and slate-grey waters of the Atlantic, the waves rolling in with a roar, the shadowy silhouettes of the cliffs stretching away to the southwest, the sunlit ones to the north, the double rainbow that appeared over the town. I have no interest in people-watching, but nature-watching I can happily do for a long while.

Looking southwest from the clifftop

A rainbow over the view to the north

I could have gone a bit further and possibly reached a point where I could see over Widemouth Bay, the large beach a few miles south of the town, but I wasn't sure how long it would take me to get back to the bus stop, so I turned around a little sooner than I wished. The tide had receded when I got back down to the sea-lock, and the little footbridge that connected it to the beach was no longer underwater. I wandered back up the canal and continued along it past the TIC for a few minutes, before the path branched off in different directions and I turned back to make my way to the bus stop.

I had the song Cousin Jack by Show of Hands in my head on the journey back. It's a beautiful but sad tribute to the Cornish miners who emigrated because there was no more work in their own land, their ways of life and language were disappearing. In many ways, especially away from the tourist hubs, Cornwall is still a very deprived region. Give it a listen: https://youtu.be/wgyRWKLkxvE

...

Days four, five, and six to follow later this week :)

Lake District August 2019 - day 3

For the Thursday I'd booked myself onto an all-day organised group tour with Mountain Goat, which does tours over the north of England - Lake District, Manchester, Yorkshire - and North Wales. I did the High Adventure, covering the western Lake District and taking in the Langdales, Blea Tarn, Hardknott Pass, the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway, and Muncaster Castle, as well as a lot of great scenery.

I was picked up at 9:30am at a bus stop just a five-minute walk from my B&B, and the only other people on the minibus were a middle-aged couple from Texas. As we left the town, heading south towards Grasmere, the driver/guide explained that "Keswick" is a Viking name, coming from the Old Norse for 'place that cheese is made'. Nowadays it's more known for making the famous Derwent Pencils, after graphite was discovered in the 16th century. There's even a pencil museum in the old factory. I made a note of everything the guide said as we made our way through the countryside towards the Langdales:

• The Lake District is England's largest National Park, at 900 square miles. It has a permanent population of 30,000, which increases by 18 million or so every summer. Generally, the first snow falls in November and the last of it melts in April. Keswick's elevation is only 100-120 feet (30-36m) above sea level, though, so other places get more snow.
• Several hundred years ago the whole area was forest. The landscape we see today was created by humans and is very heavily managed. Trees are starting to be replanted, but many worry that it is too late, that the damage to the landscape is done.
• Thirlmere is a reservoir created by the Manchester City Corporation at the end of the 19th century to supply water to the city. It used to be two natural lakes, and the name comes from Old Norse.
• Most of the rock in the area is metamorphic, i.e. slate or granite. Different minerals in the rock result in different colours, so pink slate, seen closer to the coast, comes from the presence of iron oxide, and green slate from chlorite, etc.
• We passed through Dunmail Raise, a low-level pass that joins the northern and southern parts of the Lake District. The name comes from a cairn located in the pass, which, according to folklore, is the burial place of Dunmail, the last king of Cumbria. The guide said after Dunmail's death his land eventually ended up as part of Scotland; indeed, online sources say that the name Dunmail could have come from the real 10th century king of Strathclyde, Dyfnwal ab Owain, and that the cairn could have been a boundary marker between the kingdoms of Westmorland and Cumberland, and/or marked the southern extent of the kingdom of Strathclyde.
• There is a heavy Viking influence in the Lake District, particularly in the language: lakes are meres, mountains are fells, valleys are dales, streams are becks. 'Gras' in Grasmere is from the word for pig or boar, and Windermere used to be known as Winandermere, from 'Winand's lake'.
• When the Vikings arrived they found the native people living mainly by the coast. They were happy to settle more inland, in mountainous landscapes they were more familiar with.
• The Lake District has approximately 5000 miles of drystone walls, and most are at least a couple of hundred years old. They were created following numerous Inclosure Acts, which encouraged landowners to enclose open fields and common land so they could have legal property rights. This meant that many tenant farmers were either offered compensation to leave or were unwillingly forced to, so that landlords could use more efficient and productive methods to farm.
• Drystone walling is very expensive; the guide said he recently paid £1500 for 10 metres. The stones that stick out from the top at an angle are called coins and are integral to the structure; if they get knocked off then the wall crumbles, so most farmers put a wire fence in front of the wall to protect it - so don't go sitting on top of a drystone wall! Not that I'd imagine it would be very comfortable anyway.
• We passed the village of Elter Water, a pretty little place which was bought by a timeshare company - so house prices skyrocketed and young people, the next generation of farmers, were priced out and forced to leave. The same is true of a number of other villages. Ugh.
• Herdwick sheep are born black and gradually become white over the years.
• The National Trust own around 25% of land in the Lake District, much of which they were bequeathed by Beatrix Potter. She was a keen conservationist and sheep farmer, and used the royalties from her books to buy a number of farms because she wanted to protect and preserve the unique landscape, and the not-very-profitable Herdwick sheep which she loved.

In Great Langdale Valley

After driving through the Great Langdale Valley, we moved up into Blea Tarn Pass, a hanging valley which connects the Little and Great Langdale Valleys. (A hanging valley is basically one which drops down into a larger, wider one - think of a mountain valley with a river, leading to a big waterfall where the cliff drops down and there's a huge valley below.) Blea Tarn is a small lake, 'blea' meaning blue and 'tarn' from the Viking word 'tjörn', meaning teardrop. It's actually a SSSI (Site of Special Scientific Interest) so going in the water is prohibited. We stopped for photos at a point from which we could see the Great Langdale Valley and Blea Tarn, and I gazed much more at the valley we'd just come through. A peregrine falcon danced overhead in the wind.

Looking towards Great Langdale Valley from Blea Tarn Pass

Blea Tarn

After getting back in the minibus we continued down to Little Langdale and past Fell Foot Farm, which has been in the same family for several generations. They came there because an ancestor used to make whiskey illegally (moonshine) in nearby caves; he got rich and bought a sheep farm, casting his descendants into poverty - there is little or no profit in sheep farming, so farmers basically live on subsidies and manage the land.

From Little Langdale Valley we went into Wrynose Pass ('pass of stallions'), which has a single-track road and some of the steepest inclines in the country. We stopped at a viewpoint and could just about see the Yorkshire Dales in the far distance. The road continues down to Duddon Valley and then up again into Hardknott Pass, where it becomes the steepest road in England with a gradient of 1 in 3. (I had to look up what that means: for every three units you move horizontally, you move one unit vertically. E.g. move 1m up for every 3m forward.) It's regarded as one of the most challenging roads in the country with some very tight hairpin bends in addition to its steepness; minibuses are only able to go down it from Duddon to Eskdale, not the other way around. There is an old Roman fort in the pass, which I would have really liked to see, but sadly we didn't stop.

View from Wrynose Pass

Included in the tour was a trip on the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway, often known as "La'al Ratty", a heritage narrow-gauge line built on the route of a wider one used to transport iron ore out of Eskdale in the late 19th century. We arrived at Dalegarth station and the guide saw us onto the 11:50 steam train to Ravenglass, the only coastal village in the Lake District National Park. The seven-mile trip would take about 45 minutes and the weather was cloudy but dry so I decided to sit in a carriage with a roof but open sides. It was good! The train was only half full, though we passed one going the other way which could not have fitted another person on it. That one had a beautiful bright blue steam engine and the driver had a gorgeous chocolate spaniel puppy sat next to him, which must be very well trained to not jump out!

At Dalegarth station

On the train to Ravenglass

The downside of sitting in a carriage with open sides was that, as we arrived at the estuary and neared Ravenglass, a gust of wind blew something into my left eye. Whatever it was wouldn't go away, and it felt like I had an eyelash in there that wouldn't shift, and I spent the rest of the day in discomfort and painful irritation every time I blinked. Booooo. Fun fact as we left the station, though: a finger-post pointed towards the towns at either end of Hadrian's Wall (Bowness-on-Solway 55 miles away on the west coast, and Wallsend 139 miles away on the east coast), and Rome, 1127 miles away. Ravenglass, with its estuary and natural harbour, was an important naval base for the Romans; it was the most southerly point of their Cumbrian coastal defence system, and so a sort of extension of Hadrian's Wall and the empire's western and northern frontier.

For lunch we stopped at nearby Muncaster Castle, still home to the Pennington family. It's one of those family attractions with a castle museum, gardens and grounds, a café and gift shop, children's play area, etc. We had two hours there so I mooched around in the gift shop for a little while, then went to get lunch - tomato soup and a bread roll - before going to the 2pm birds of prey flying display. The setting was lovely, in a meadow with woodland behind it, the pretty pink-hued castle to the left, and a view of the fells on the other side of the valley directly in front. I love birds of prey and I think this was the best display I've seen. They brought out a beautiful barn owl, a black-chested buzzard eagle, a Saker falcon (impressively fast! can fly up to 62mph), a Verreaux's eagle-owl (somewhat creepy black eyes), a few African hooded vultures, some yellow-billed kites, and another golden-coloured kite I didn't catch the proper name of. A wild peregrine appeared at one point, too. I like that these places make an effort to educate people about vultures, which are often misunderstood and disliked. They're great, and needed; they clear up things that would otherwise spread disease. A sad, infuriating fact they told us was that many poachers in Africa poison elephant carcasses after removing the ivory tusks, in order to kill vultures, because they think that the circling groups of birds give away their position to the authorities - in June 2019 alone 537 vultures in just one small area died from this poisoning.

Birds of prey display at Muncaster

Part of Muncaster Castle

"Tom Fool's Tree", the ancient sweet chestnut

After the flying display I headed round the side of the castle, where I was happy to find an enormous, magnificent, ancient sweet chestnut tree, on the edge of the grounds where there's a great view of the valley below and fells beyond. We left Muncaster at 3:15pm and headed north along the coast. Catching a shimmering glimpse of the Irish Sea (and the Isle of Man can be seen on clear days), we passed Sellafield. It used to be a nuclear power station but is now a reprocessing plant for used nuclear fuel rods from all over the world, and an authority on nuclear power station decommissioning. The site directly employs 10,000 local people. There's a big area of sand dunes near Ravenglass, which gradually turn to low plains, rising to fells covered in darkening clouds and softly obscured with rain. Moving inland the landscape becomes gentle rolling farmland, then low, broad, grazed, treeless fells which reminded me of Dartmoor. Due to their proximity to Sellafield, the local villages like Ennerdale Bridge are quite well off, unlike the old mining villages elsewhere which are quite deprived. The guide didn't say anything about Ennerdale valley itself but I know that it's somewhere I'd like to visit one day, because the place is basically undergoing rewilding - they're leaving nature mostly to its own devices and letting it return to wilderness. Vehicular access is prohibited, the nearest road being a couple of miles away, so you can only reach it on foot, possibly bicycle. I'd love to see it way in the future, when it's had a lot of time to recover and flourish; it's only been 10 years so far. The project's vision about it being "for the benefit of people" is a minor irritation, though, as it'd be great if there were some places just for the benefit of nature and wildlife rather than humans, but it's still an exciting project that needs to be done in many more places across the country and world.

We passed a village with a Scottish name, Kirkland, and you can see Scotland from the area on a clear day. Before the 16th century this part of what is now northern England considered itself neither English or Scottish. Border Reivers were notorious, clans raiding all over the Border country regardless of victims' nationality, those struggling to survive robbing and killing those who were also struggling to survive. They left their mark on the English language - bereavement, blackmail, etc.

Moving down into the Vale of Lorton the land becomes more fertile, with hedges instead of drystone walls, and cows instead of (or as well as) sheep. It leads to the Whinlatter Pass, where the Whinlatter Forest is owned by the Forestry Commission, which was set up in 1919 to replenish the UK's timber supply after World War I. Scots Pine is the UK's only native pine and one of only three native conifers; others were introduced by the Forestry Commission to be harvested.

Bassenthwaite Lake

The lake to the north of Keswick, which I'd seen after coming out of the Whinlatter Pass on the public bus route the day before, is Bassenthwaite Lake, the only 'lake' among the 16 bodies of water that make up the English Lakes. The others are either 'meres', named by the Vikings, or 'waters', named by the Victorians. Being on a flood plain between Bassenthwaite and Derwentwater, Keswick can get flooded easily, and of course suffered heavily in the 2009 and 2015 Cumbrian floods. The water level of the River Greta, one of two which flow through the town, was several metres below the tops of the flood barriers when I was there, but during the floods had broken over the top of them.

We got back to Keswick shortly after 5pm. The twice-weekly market had almost finished packing up, but the shops were still open so I went into Ye Olde Friars, the chocolate shop established in 1927 and still run by the same family. It was surprisingly big in there, spread over what would have once been two separate premises. After wandering around the whole place, I bought a dark-chocolate marzipan log and a selection of their individual handmade chocolates: spiced cranberry truffle, rose cream, dark choc ginger, dark choc marzipan, praline shell, and an almond truffle. Yum!

Ye Olde Friars of Keswick

Ye Olde Friars of Keswick

I went back to the B&B to change into my walking boots and waterproofs, and have a snack of gingerbread and a bite of Kendal Mint Cake for energy, as I wanted to walk up to Castlerigg Stone Circle, just outside town. It was a 30-40 minute uphill walk to get there, but definitely worth it; I broke into a big grin and an "Oh wow!" the moment I got clear of the roadside trees and saw it. With its hilltop position providing an amazing 360-degree view of the surrounding fells and valleys, it is undoubtedly one of the most dramatically and atmospherically situated stone circles in the whole country, and the low clouds and rain which had arrived during my walk made it even more so. I loved it!

Castlerigg Stone Circle

View when walking back down towards town

River Greta in Keswick

Apart from the grazing sheep, I had the place entirely to myself for about 15 minutes until a family arrived. I could have stayed there gazing around for longer but there aren't any benches and I wanted to get to another viewpoint on the lakeshore. So I left and made my way back down the hill, through the town, down past the theatre and the boat landings, and along the shore to Friar's Crag, a popular viewpoint just a ten-minute walk from the boat landings. It gives a great prospect down the length of Derwentwater to the "jaws of Borrowdale".

Keswick boat landings on Derwentwater

Friar's Crag viewpoint

Very hungry by now, I went for dinner at a trendy little independent place called Fellpack. There were no tables free inside but thankfully the weather was dry and it was mild enough to sit outside. Their food is seasonal and I ordered their Italian Tuscan bean braise with kale, sundried tomatoes, and Mediterranean squid. It was delicious, as well as healthy, hearty, and wholesome :) Part of me wanted dessert, their amazing-sounding rice pudding with sour cherries and toasted almonds, but it was pricey and I was tired and my eye was bothering me, so I went back to the B&B, had a couple of chocolates, and went to bed. Maybe I should make that pudding myself at home one day soon.

Fellpack in Keswick

Tasty dinner - Tuscan bean braise with squid

Lake District August 2019 - day 2

A much cloudier day, was the Wednesday, and showers were forecast, but one cannot visit the Lake District and not go walking! I was booked onto an all-day minibus tour on the Thursday and would be leaving Friday afternoon, so my main walking day had to be Wednesday. My plan was to go walking in the morning, then rest in the afternoon by doing some sightseeing on the two-hour circular public bus route out west from town.

When planning the trip I'd found a walk to do, but after talking to B&B owner Graham the evening before I now couldn't decide if I wanted to still do that one, or go up Lattrigg, "Keswick's own fell", a small but steep one of 367m literally just behind the town. I looked through a little walking route booklet over my filling breakfast of cereal, porridge, yoghurt mixed with fruit and nuts, and buttered toast, and in the end decided to do the one which was very similar to that which I'd been planning on anyway. Instead of a circular route, it was a seven-mile, four-hour linear walk to the village of Rosthwaite, via Walla Crag, Ashness Bridge, and the hamlet of Watendlath, and I'd be able to return to town on the bus.

I left about 10am and took about an hour to get to Walla Crag. Early on I passed a seventy-something woman coming the other way, outfitted in proper walking gear; I'd like to be like her when I'm older, still going out hiking. Most of the way it was fairly easy, but the last stretch was a steep hill to get up to the crag's summit. A little herd of sheep were sheltering from the wind and incoming rain against a drystone wall. The view from the heather-strewn summit was amazing. It didn't cross my mind at the time but looking back at the photos I can see that the viewpoint I'd been to the evening before, Castlehead (162m), looked from Walla Crag (376m) like just another part of the fields below, it didn't stand out at all. Of course the rain really set in when I reached the top, and my onward route meant I was walking into it so had to keep my eyes half-closed in a squint. I was in a light mood, though, and was somewhat surprised to find that I didn't main getting pelted with rain too much. I was wearing full waterproofs so only my face was getting wet, as well as my hands when I took my phone out to have a look at the route instructions. I wonder if you can operate touchscreen phones through the plastic of waterproof pouches; if not, I may have to learn to read maps. Maybe that would be a good idea anyway if I want to get out walking more.

Panorama from Walla Crag

From Walla Crag, I walked along the ridge for another mile and a quarter, about an hour or so, parallel to the lake shore. I loved the view from above its narrowing southern end, of the jaws of glacier-carved Borrowdale and the imposing fells above it. Eventually heading downhill I was glad to find a finger-post that confirmed I was in the right place, and followed the short path it pointed out to Ashness Bridge.

Derwentwater and Borrowdale

Ashness Bridge, looking towards Skiddaw

The bridge is an old packhorse bridge on the single-track road to Watendlath, and is a popular photo spot because of its fine view looking down across the lake to Skiddaw in the distance. The rain had stopped, and I was ever so happy to catch the smell of woodsmoke - one of my favourite smells - coming from a little bothy just behind the bridge. A bothy is a basic mountain refuge used for shelter. They're free of charge to use, and more remote ones are kept unmanned and unlocked, but this one - the Bark House Mountain Base - is on a road going to a hamlet and isn't too far from other peopled places so National Trust volunteers just open it up during the day. The A-board outside said "Muddy boots welcome. Information point, open fire, and comfy chairs here." Yay!

The Bark House Mountain Base

Inside the bothy

The crackling fire was lovely. Tea and coffee were available for a small donation and you could refill your water bottle for free. The hut has no running water so volunteers bring it in portable containers. It was a National Trust information point as well as a shelter, so it wasn't as basic and empty as I expect some bothies are, it was cosy. There were a couple of volunteers there, at that point keeping an eye out for a Duke of Edinburgh group whose arrival was expected soon. Maps on the walls showed the paths and walking routes in the area, and one of the info boards explained that the name of the hut came from its original use as a storage place for tree bark that would be sent off to tanneries. After a sit-down, a snack, and a little bit of a warm-up, I started to head up the road to another viewpoint half a mile away, called Surprise View. Although I'd known that the whole walk should take about four hours, and was only about two hours in, I was a little dismayed when another finger-post informed me that Watendlath was another two and three-quarter miles, or approximately two hours and twenty minutes, away - and that wasn't even the finish line.

Surprise View

It only took me 15 minutes walking on the side of the road to reach Surprise View, instead of the 35 minutes the finger-post suggested. But it didn't really occur to me that it therefore might take me much less time than another two hours to get to Watendlath, and another finger-post pointed out a path to Lodore, so I decided to try and find the much closer Lodore Falls. But somehow that didn't go exactly to plan - I found a nice waterfall, but it wasn't Lodore Falls, and was bemused to arrive at the main road not by the Lodore Hotel but by the Borrowdale Hotel. I was only half a mile off, though, and knew where I was, the bus stop was directly opposite, and happily there was a little café in the big old farmhouse next door where I had some nice spiced carrot and lentil soup with a bread roll for lunch, perfect after a few hours outdoors in weather like that. They'd decorated a couple of the otherwise plain, whitewashed stone walls inside with a couple of murals, one being a simple map of Derwentwater and the land around it - so I learned that I'd crossed Shepherd's Crag and was in Shepherd's Café. I was the only customer at that point and sat there for about 45 minutes, sheltered from the elements at a table just inside the open doorway, looking out at Borrowdale and watching the heavy clouds and light rain sweeping across, until 3pm when I crossed the road to catch the #78 bus back to Keswick.

Notes taken on phone in stretch between Surprise View and reaching the end: Breathing in earthy smell of the damp mossy woods makes me grin. Listening to wind in trees, running becks, birds, otherwise wonderful quiet. -- Sound of soft raindrops standing under the trees in an oak woodland carpeted with heather and sphagnum moss. -- Smell of bracken. -- Hate the loud full clunky sound of my walking boots on the ground, especially rock. Walking is a light, natural way to travel but I don't feel like I'm treading lightly and respectfully. Barefoot has more grip, too. -- At the waterfall, noticed how the bark of the young oak trees on the cliff next to the falls blended in with the heather behind.

A pretty place

Waterfall selfie

At Shepherd's Café

At the bus station in town I switched to bus 77A, the public service going once every two hours clockwise around the circular route which takes in three lakes, a few mountain passes, a slate mine, and a forest. It first headed south along the slopes of Cat Bells on the western shore of Derwentwater... Notes taken during the journey:

Great views over lake, hotels on opposite shore dwarfed by hills. Winding lanes precarious, steep sides and few passing places. Hundreds of pheasants around on patches of land along the road; a little disappointed to realise they weren't free-range chickens. Grange Bridge looked lovely, a swimming spot on the river, cute pretty cottages, a café. Seatoller is a cute hamlet too. Into Honister Pass, so steep that bus slows almost to a crawl at points. A hostel next to the slate mine. At the mine, the hill drops steeply and the valley widens spectacularly. Pass ends at Buttermere lake, the fells on the opposite shore rising too steeply for a road there. Mid-point tiny Buttermere village. After Crummock Water fells become further away and less steep, the land around more rolling with more trees and farmland. Round to Low Lorton then to Whinlatter Pass. Whinlatter Forest has Go-Ape and adventure stuff and bike paths. Start going downhill and I see the valley open up wide below and see Bassenthwaite Lake to the north of Keswick and the town a few miles away. Pass through Braithwaite and back to main road. Back ten minutes later.

I didn't even try to take any photos through the half-steamed-up windows of the moving bus, but nor did I really want to. I managed a few poor ones at the impressive Honister Pass, but the rest of the time I was happy just gazing out and taking it in, being in the present. I'd like to go back to that pass one day, have a look properly and maybe go for a tour of the mine. There's an age-10+ Via Ferrata climbing route there, too, which a teeny tiny part of me likes the idea of, but I know my limbs would turn to jelly doing that.

Summit of the Honister Pass, and by the slate mine

Coming out of the bus station towards the high street, I noticed an independent bookshop called Bookends. Anyone looking at me would have seen my eyes go wide, my mouth go Oooh and break into a big smile, and me making a beeline for the shop like a child to a coveted toy. Haha. I spent about half an hour in there, and was unable to resist buying an absolute gem of a book called Jacob's Room is Full of Books: A Year of Reading, by Susan Hill - a sort of diary, with several entries for each of the twelve months, reflecting on what she has read, or done regarding books, what else that throws up in her thoughts, and other little unrelated observations of things in her daily life. I've read the first two months/chapters already, and love it, I can imagine myself writing something similar, and it conjures up a picture in my mind of being curled up in an armchair with a blanket and a book, in a cosy home full of books and lit warmly with lamps, like the house we stayed in last summer in Sydney. An absolute dream! After leaving the bookshop I spotted a café, closed by this time, called Laura In The Lakes! I can also so imagine myself running a little place like that.

"A town isn't a town without a bookstore" - completely agree!

I went back to the B&B and got changed, rested for an hour, then headed back out to have dinner at the Royal Oak pub, which I'd chosen to go to after looking online at the menus of a few different places. It was busy but they managed to find a table for me. While I'm happy in my own company, there's something comforting, after spending the day alone with few or no other people around, about just being in a busy place, and being surrounded by chatter and civilisation and people going about their lives. That applies to walking through town on the way home after a day by myself in the office as much as it does to having dinner in a pub after a day of solo hiking. Anyway, I ordered a glass of their homemade lemon, ginger, and elderflower cordial, and Cumberland sausage with champ, onion gravy, and cider and apple chutney. Both were yummy. The sausage came in the traditional coil shape so was longer than normal, but it was very good quality and somehow I managed to eat all of it and the substantial pile of mash. Some veg would have been welcome, but a side of wilted greens was an extra £3.50, more than my fishcake and chips the night before had cost. Did you know that sticky toffee pudding is from the Lake District? (A pair of chefs started serving it in their hotel the 1970s, from a recipe they'd got from a hotel owner in Lancashire, who'd got it from two Canadian air force officers who lodged at her hotel in WW2.) So of course, for dessert I had sticky toffee pudding with toffee sauce and custard =] After that I went back to the B&B and collapsed into bed, reading for a while. A very enjoyable day!

A Cumberland sausage coil with mash and onion gravy

Sticky toffee pudding and custard - yum