Remarkable Days
30th September 2015
30th Sept
Four remarkable days in the hills
The end of September has been accompanied by truly stunning weather. As high pressure sits across the UK, the Lake District mountains have been set against a background of azure blue skies and bathed in glorious sunlight. The bracken covered hillsides are ablaze in a golden glow.
Therefore I planned to exploit this weather to the full by visiting favourite places in the Lakes and Dales. I would head over the flanks of Black Combe to visit a Neolithic stone circle, stride high across the ridge between Wasdale and Eskdale, stand on the ramparts of an ancient fort in the Dales and scramble among the old mines and broad ridges of the Coniston Fells.
Sunkenkirk Stone Circle
This 6000 year old stone circle sits on the eastern flanks of Black Combe. It is every bit as stunning as the more famous Castlerigg found 30miles to the north near Keswick, but far less visited. I wandered around Sunkenkirk for over an hour, taking in the peace and tranquility of the setting. I was reflecting on the why and how of their construction and even though I was over an hour investigating this great megalithic monument, I saw no other person. My reverie was only interrupted by the munching sheep and the plaintive cry of a Buzzard flying high overhead.
The hills, lanes and valleys around Black Combe are overlooked as most visitors head towards the better known places in central lakes, but this area is no less beautiful. In fact the solitude of Black Combe, it's unadulterated character (being a off the tourist trail) is what makes it so attractive. A piece of the lakes that is genuinely wild and feels 'real'.
I could spend a lot more time investigating the nooks and crannies of these hills, especially as there is a number of these ancient stone antiquities set in such wild locations. Why 'they' made them will always be debated, but I can understand how the locations were chosen. These places seem, due to their setting, have a visceral connection to the past and emanate a feeling of deep rooted power and sanctity. Locations chosen not by accident but by a strong sense of understanding the landscape and how to best connect to it. The very locations I also attempt to immerse myself in.
Geology and man unite
On another stunning day, with blue, sun filled skies (though accompanied by a chilling wind - a portent of winter) I set off to traverse the hills of Eskdale.
Eskdale is more humble than many of the other Lakeland valleys due to its lack of steep, rocky mountain wall at its valley head. Unlike the impenetrable walls found at both Wasdale and Langdale, Eskdale has an obvious (and popular) escape route in the form of the high, winding route over Hardknot Pass.
However, the rocky architecture of mountains is not the only beauty to found in wild places. Sometimes we miss the real beauty, like sugar filled food, that hides the true character and flavour. If we look beyond the obvious honey pots, ignore the highly eroded 'highways' that lead to only popular landmarks, rather than more honest and substantial parts of a landscape, we gain a better 'flavour' of our location. In this situation 'place' is not just valued for height, the arduousness and effort to reach the arbitrary, human conceived landmark, but because it is what is. A place that exists beyond our own saccharine values, free from our own constructs and is less able to define and understand because of this. A place that is truer, more subtle and undefinable and, because of this over looked by humans. There are places in Eskdale like this.
These places include the collection of Neolithic stone rings and circles found on the moors, high above both Eskdale and Wasdale. These ancient stones, their location set against bleak moorland, set in amongst the bog and grassy stubble, reflect the wildness of the location and indicates how our ancestors too recognised the power of place. No rocky pinnacle to ascend, just the pure power of the land that inspires people to erect a temple that captures the human understanding of place and tries to capture the energy and wildness found in these locations in the form of a human construction. Here, in this unnoticed place, man, geology and the spirit of place are at once united. Today, modern travellers cycle and walk over this place, ignoring and unrecognising the great power of the area, and the antiquity of these stones. They head on to summits, or follow blindly guide book routes to some commodified location, drawn by the magnetic need to conform and to follow and consume.
The fort of Ancient Britons
Another amazing day as the sun blazed onto an autumnal Dales landscape. The huge, lumbering outline of Ingleborough stands like an extinct dinosaur, that is slowly crossing the broad, limestone pocked plains of White Scar.
The wind was cold and despite the sun there was a hint of localised rain as a thin layer of cloud, like a jaunty angled hat, had started to form over the summit plateau of Ingleborough. I rarely have cloud free views from the top, so my expectations were not affected. The views in every other direction were clear and long, plus things may change once I reached the top.
As it happened, things were in constant flux with sun and mist duelling to see who would overcome. On reaching the summit, a broad, flat plateau that is big enough to easily contain a cricket pitch, I wandered around the summit rim. The view from the edges is over a wild landscape that falls steeply away over the plains of Ribble, Greta and Twistleton Scar. It is easy to imagine that the outer perimeter of the summit was the ramparts of this ancient fort. A feeling amplified when walking over its millstone laid parapet as you feel as if a guard, peering out across the wild plains far below, searching for any signs of marauders. It was cold up here, the mist blew around me, gossamer like, as shadow of the ancient inhabitants were still wandering the fortifications - and I stepped amongst them.
Ridges
Amazingly the weather was still holding. The wind had dropped and the temperature in the sun was equivalent to good summers day.
However, the good weather does mean that others, with the same thoughts as me, will be out enjoying it and as I was not keen to share my experience, sI decided to use routes that are rarely walked. This beautiful area is rightfully popular, but on days like this it can be overrun with folk, which dilutes the reason to be there.
Therefore, I headed up the steep and over looked Steel Edge ridge. This rocky finger extends from the top of the stunningly beautiful Tillberthwaite Valley, sat in its sylvan majesty, to reach the main crest of the mountain Wetherlam. The ascent is easy, but steep but and has two sections where care is required as they are both vertiginous and slippery. Once negotiated the final push to the summit is easy.
Even though this route is in the Wainwright Pictorial Guides (beautiful books, but so often criticised for attracting too many people to the Fells) I never meet anyone. I recognise that there is now a faint path on the ridge, which was not evident 30 years ago, but it's indistinct quality proved how few come this way. An argument I make in support of AW's guides many times over.
On reaching the summit I was met with broad and stunning views that covered a great deal of Lakeland and the western Dales. Also, I had the summit completely to myself! I found myself a spot amongst the summit boulders out of the wind, but collecting the brilliant sun and slept. A luxury I seem to enjoy more and more. For me there is nothing better than finding a comfortable, tranquil spot that is far from others and the life they inevitably inhabit, where I can rest and think.
On waking I headed to the subsidiary top of Blacks Sails and then followed the ridge down to Levers Water. The hills were empty and the sun was now setting behind the rocky wall of Brim Fell. The tarn of Levers Water, sat like a jewel, was a perfect mirror, reflecting the darkening crags and buttresses that cupped and contained these mountain waters. The peace and pure mountain architecture was a spiritual end to 4 days ramblings.
Reflections
The Coniston Fells are pitted with the old mine workings and, as you ascend the many ridges that divide these mountains, you come across the associated, but abandoned holes and spoil heaps. Compared to the Neolithic stone circles I visited, these workings are new, but to me these weathered, lichen covered stones feel ancient. The piles of rock represent a power of the land that is both long forgotten and shifted. The stone circles, the ramparts of an ancient Hill fort and the rubble of mining all reflect how the land held power. However, this power has been relocated. Today it is the summits that the tourist, with their disposable income, flock to. The ambition to ascend these airy, though arbitrary points, has become culturalised. A new tradition refocuses the power of the land. These geographical 'terminations' are human constructs that not only become the aim of pilgrimage, but also command an array of commodities to be purchased in homage their ascent. Meanwhile, the self willed, overlooked - wild and untamed, is just a moment away. Hidden in full view.
Four remarkable days in the hills
The end of September has been accompanied by truly stunning weather. As high pressure sits across the UK, the Lake District mountains have been set against a background of azure blue skies and bathed in glorious sunlight. The bracken covered hillsides are ablaze in a golden glow.
Therefore I planned to exploit this weather to the full by visiting favourite places in the Lakes and Dales. I would head over the flanks of Black Combe to visit a Neolithic stone circle, stride high across the ridge between Wasdale and Eskdale, stand on the ramparts of an ancient fort in the Dales and scramble among the old mines and broad ridges of the Coniston Fells.
Sunkenkirk Stone Circle
This 6000 year old stone circle sits on the eastern flanks of Black Combe. It is every bit as stunning as the more famous Castlerigg found 30miles to the north near Keswick, but far less visited. I wandered around Sunkenkirk for over an hour, taking in the peace and tranquility of the setting. I was reflecting on the why and how of their construction and even though I was over an hour investigating this great megalithic monument, I saw no other person. My reverie was only interrupted by the munching sheep and the plaintive cry of a Buzzard flying high overhead.
The hills, lanes and valleys around Black Combe are overlooked as most visitors head towards the better known places in central lakes, but this area is no less beautiful. In fact the solitude of Black Combe, it's unadulterated character (being a off the tourist trail) is what makes it so attractive. A piece of the lakes that is genuinely wild and feels 'real'.
I could spend a lot more time investigating the nooks and crannies of these hills, especially as there is a number of these ancient stone antiquities set in such wild locations. Why 'they' made them will always be debated, but I can understand how the locations were chosen. These places seem, due to their setting, have a visceral connection to the past and emanate a feeling of deep rooted power and sanctity. Locations chosen not by accident but by a strong sense of understanding the landscape and how to best connect to it. The very locations I also attempt to immerse myself in.
Geology and man unite
On another stunning day, with blue, sun filled skies (though accompanied by a chilling wind - a portent of winter) I set off to traverse the hills of Eskdale.
Eskdale is more humble than many of the other Lakeland valleys due to its lack of steep, rocky mountain wall at its valley head. Unlike the impenetrable walls found at both Wasdale and Langdale, Eskdale has an obvious (and popular) escape route in the form of the high, winding route over Hardknot Pass.
However, the rocky architecture of mountains is not the only beauty to found in wild places. Sometimes we miss the real beauty, like sugar filled food, that hides the true character and flavour. If we look beyond the obvious honey pots, ignore the highly eroded 'highways' that lead to only popular landmarks, rather than more honest and substantial parts of a landscape, we gain a better 'flavour' of our location. In this situation 'place' is not just valued for height, the arduousness and effort to reach the arbitrary, human conceived landmark, but because it is what is. A place that exists beyond our own saccharine values, free from our own constructs and is less able to define and understand because of this. A place that is truer, more subtle and undefinable and, because of this over looked by humans. There are places in Eskdale like this.
These places include the collection of Neolithic stone rings and circles found on the moors, high above both Eskdale and Wasdale. These ancient stones, their location set against bleak moorland, set in amongst the bog and grassy stubble, reflect the wildness of the location and indicates how our ancestors too recognised the power of place. No rocky pinnacle to ascend, just the pure power of the land that inspires people to erect a temple that captures the human understanding of place and tries to capture the energy and wildness found in these locations in the form of a human construction. Here, in this unnoticed place, man, geology and the spirit of place are at once united. Today, modern travellers cycle and walk over this place, ignoring and unrecognising the great power of the area, and the antiquity of these stones. They head on to summits, or follow blindly guide book routes to some commodified location, drawn by the magnetic need to conform and to follow and consume.
The fort of Ancient Britons
Another amazing day as the sun blazed onto an autumnal Dales landscape. The huge, lumbering outline of Ingleborough stands like an extinct dinosaur, that is slowly crossing the broad, limestone pocked plains of White Scar.
The wind was cold and despite the sun there was a hint of localised rain as a thin layer of cloud, like a jaunty angled hat, had started to form over the summit plateau of Ingleborough. I rarely have cloud free views from the top, so my expectations were not affected. The views in every other direction were clear and long, plus things may change once I reached the top.
As it happened, things were in constant flux with sun and mist duelling to see who would overcome. On reaching the summit, a broad, flat plateau that is big enough to easily contain a cricket pitch, I wandered around the summit rim. The view from the edges is over a wild landscape that falls steeply away over the plains of Ribble, Greta and Twistleton Scar. It is easy to imagine that the outer perimeter of the summit was the ramparts of this ancient fort. A feeling amplified when walking over its millstone laid parapet as you feel as if a guard, peering out across the wild plains far below, searching for any signs of marauders. It was cold up here, the mist blew around me, gossamer like, as shadow of the ancient inhabitants were still wandering the fortifications - and I stepped amongst them.
Ridges
Amazingly the weather was still holding. The wind had dropped and the temperature in the sun was equivalent to good summers day.
However, the good weather does mean that others, with the same thoughts as me, will be out enjoying it and as I was not keen to share my experience, sI decided to use routes that are rarely walked. This beautiful area is rightfully popular, but on days like this it can be overrun with folk, which dilutes the reason to be there.
Therefore, I headed up the steep and over looked Steel Edge ridge. This rocky finger extends from the top of the stunningly beautiful Tillberthwaite Valley, sat in its sylvan majesty, to reach the main crest of the mountain Wetherlam. The ascent is easy, but steep but and has two sections where care is required as they are both vertiginous and slippery. Once negotiated the final push to the summit is easy.
Even though this route is in the Wainwright Pictorial Guides (beautiful books, but so often criticised for attracting too many people to the Fells) I never meet anyone. I recognise that there is now a faint path on the ridge, which was not evident 30 years ago, but it's indistinct quality proved how few come this way. An argument I make in support of AW's guides many times over.
On reaching the summit I was met with broad and stunning views that covered a great deal of Lakeland and the western Dales. Also, I had the summit completely to myself! I found myself a spot amongst the summit boulders out of the wind, but collecting the brilliant sun and slept. A luxury I seem to enjoy more and more. For me there is nothing better than finding a comfortable, tranquil spot that is far from others and the life they inevitably inhabit, where I can rest and think.
On waking I headed to the subsidiary top of Blacks Sails and then followed the ridge down to Levers Water. The hills were empty and the sun was now setting behind the rocky wall of Brim Fell. The tarn of Levers Water, sat like a jewel, was a perfect mirror, reflecting the darkening crags and buttresses that cupped and contained these mountain waters. The peace and pure mountain architecture was a spiritual end to 4 days ramblings.
Reflections
The Coniston Fells are pitted with the old mine workings and, as you ascend the many ridges that divide these mountains, you come across the associated, but abandoned holes and spoil heaps. Compared to the Neolithic stone circles I visited, these workings are new, but to me these weathered, lichen covered stones feel ancient. The piles of rock represent a power of the land that is both long forgotten and shifted. The stone circles, the ramparts of an ancient Hill fort and the rubble of mining all reflect how the land held power. However, this power has been relocated. Today it is the summits that the tourist, with their disposable income, flock to. The ambition to ascend these airy, though arbitrary points, has become culturalised. A new tradition refocuses the power of the land. These geographical 'terminations' are human constructs that not only become the aim of pilgrimage, but also command an array of commodities to be purchased in homage their ascent. Meanwhile, the self willed, overlooked - wild and untamed, is just a moment away. Hidden in full view.