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It was bitterly cold on top of the hill today. Across Morecambe Bay the Coniston Fells were visible, pale grey, with snow on their summits. This stream was fierce, filled with extra water from the heavy rains a few days ago but is probably back to its normal meek dimensions by this time. I wonder whether it is now partly frozen, or fringed by large icicles, and does ice drape the bare rocks like some bleak kind of Christmas decorations?
A little drizzle today, but nothing like Saturday’s torrential rains Where did all that water come from? The sky obviously, then gathered on the mountain tops and poured down, first in streams, joining one another to form rivers. Here is the process in its early stages, pouring down Coppermines Valley to fill the already swollen lake and flood surrounding fields. Somewhere up there is a hydro-electric arrangement, making electricity from the rushing waters for the people of Coniston.
Brought to you by the intrepid Mossy Gnome, after a perilous journey over many enormous puddles on the road, here is a picture of - a lot of water in the Lake District.
Coniston Water was very low during the summer, but now the lake is lapping at the feet of customers at the Bluebird Café.
On a more serious note, spare a thought for the runners caught in the atrocious conditions on the mountains last night, and the Rescue Teams who have gone to their assistance.
Sometimes, when it's dark and the wind and rain are battering against the window, winter hibernation begins to seem quite appealing. The clocks change to winter time this coming weekend, starting a period of ever-shortening days and worsening weather. By now, on a gloomy, wet day, the levels of light are already low. This woodland on the slopes of Holme Fell glowed with autumn colour, but it was muted by the heavy cloud and rain. We were taught at school that squirrels hibernate in winter, which is not true - they have to eat frequently or they would starve. Dormice and hedgehogs can snooze their way through the cold season, but squirrels have to keep moving about and eating. And so do fell-walkers, or at least this one does.
It rained and it rained in the Lake District on Saturday. The rain continued while I had coffee in Yew Tree Farm, near Coniston, watching out of the window for signs of blue sky. The showers still came and went, so there was nothing for it but to climb Holme Fell, hood up, and hope that they might die away. It is still a beautiful area, even in the rain, and the autumn colours are starting to glow. The wind blew patterns across the surface of Yew Tree Tarn.
Christmas decorations have already appeared in the garden centres, but this is better than any plastic decoration - a thorny tree covered in red berries, each with its own light-catching water droplet.
It was quiet on the high hillside of Rosthwaite Fell. Lines of walkers could be seen in the distance, ascending Glaramara, but only a few climb here. It seems a fairly bare landscape, with little in it but rough grass and rock. There is more life here than appears at first glance, though. Small plants, mosses and lichens, if you look more closely, and some life you probably won't see because it is hiding from you or too small for you to notice - small mammals, birds and insects. If you sit still for long enough, sometimes some of these creatures will emerge, or risk a quick scurry across the path or across a gap between the rocks. There are larger creatures there, too, quietly watching. Is there something watching me here? I can hear a faint munching sound. What can it be?
Ah, the rewards of following the proper public footpath, as set out on the map, instead of doing as I usually do when climbing Rosthwaite Fell. Previously I’ve set off along the path for Glaramara and then crossed the river. This time I went the long way round - out of the carpark at Seatoller, a detour into the Yew Tree café for a cup of coffee, back to the carpark, through some woods, over a bridge, along the road, then up a hill, round a corner - and this was the reward. A beautiful waterfall among the autumn trees.
Rosthwaite Fell is Glaramara’s Siamese twin, the two fells being joined together at the head, near the top of Borrowdale. It attracts far fewer visitors, though, and you may enjoy the mysteriously named Tarn at Leaves in solitude, or with just a few companions. Bessyboot is the lump of ground immediately above it, offering a fine view over Borrowdale. Rosthwaite Fell may be less famous than Glaramara, but the map shows that various parts of it seems to have attracted a stranger and more interesting collection of names: Bessyboot; Tarn at Leaves; Hanging Haystacks; Dovenest Crag; Bull Crag; Belt Knott; Johnny House; Alisongrass Crag, below which lies Alisongrass Hoghouse. Did Alison know Johnny, I wonder?
On the ascent of Glaramara from Seatoller, you know you’re getting higher when Honister Crag suddenly rears up above the horizon. Believe it or not, a railway line was once built up that almost vertical crag face. Green slate has been mined there for many years and Victorian engineers were asked to provide a means of transporting it down from the mine. Not much stood in the way of a determined Victorian engineer! They went where other engineers would fear to tread. Read more about it here.
The days are growing shorter and the arc followed by the sun is lower in the sky. It was late morning as I started to climb Glaramara on Sunday, and the sun had only climbed a short distance above Rosthwaite Fell. The weather was deceptively warm and sunny, but it is autumn now. The long summer days are over, and the walker has to watch the time more carefully to ensure a return before dark.
