Where am I?
24th January 2014
The weather was atrocious. Wind, rain, sleet and snow. This would be a short trip in a very quiet part of the lakes. no one comes here and certainly not in these conditions.
At first all was relatively calm, as I headed up into the shallow valley of the River Lickle. This section of the walk used be enclosed in forestry pine trees, but after recent works the area is open. In my mind this is a better situation as the views are now extensive, plus, due to the compact planting of the trees, there used be a very claustrophobic feeling generated by the enclosed pines that ascended the valley.
However, the new, open slopes have the appearance of a war zone, or suffered major environmental incident. The ground where once stood trees is now a broken landscape of up rooted tree stumps, turned over boulders, exposed fell side, as if bleeding. The craft of the Forest worker is now far from that romantic view of the tartan shirt wearing lumberjack. Now it is bulldozers and machines that literally rip the trees apart. If this is what happens in the amazon forests I can understand why people worry. It is brutal and has no obvious sympathy to the environment.
The land does regenerate, but it takes time and there is no clear process of nature taking the dominant hold on this landscape yet. This is despite the few small pines resurfacing, the grass and heather growing in patches, or even the beautiful, chestnut Buzzard that flew across my path to perch on the exposed rock outcrop above me. The land has the look of a turned over mine field and few flowers grow here.
Once I reached the Hause the weather turned nasty. Nevertheless I headed on up, but with head down against the sleet. There was little if nothing to see as the mist descended in thick clumps, making the landscape unrecognisable and indistinct. I used instinct, not following any particular path, or line, to eventually reach the summit. The wind blew so hard I had to hug the summit Trig Point to stay on my feet.
I quickly descend, and not necessarily by free will, but the route needed care as the southern slopes of Caw has a series of rocky buttresses that fall long and steep.
Safely returned to the valley floor, I was wet to the skin and cold from the wind. Why do you do this? I had thoroughly enjoyed myself as this was my personal challenge. This time I won through and I was able to better understand the mountain by seeing it in these conditions. Plus, when the mist closes in this close and the weather completely takes over, bearing down, the mind also looks inwards, allowing time for introspection.
At first all was relatively calm, as I headed up into the shallow valley of the River Lickle. This section of the walk used be enclosed in forestry pine trees, but after recent works the area is open. In my mind this is a better situation as the views are now extensive, plus, due to the compact planting of the trees, there used be a very claustrophobic feeling generated by the enclosed pines that ascended the valley.
However, the new, open slopes have the appearance of a war zone, or suffered major environmental incident. The ground where once stood trees is now a broken landscape of up rooted tree stumps, turned over boulders, exposed fell side, as if bleeding. The craft of the Forest worker is now far from that romantic view of the tartan shirt wearing lumberjack. Now it is bulldozers and machines that literally rip the trees apart. If this is what happens in the amazon forests I can understand why people worry. It is brutal and has no obvious sympathy to the environment.
The land does regenerate, but it takes time and there is no clear process of nature taking the dominant hold on this landscape yet. This is despite the few small pines resurfacing, the grass and heather growing in patches, or even the beautiful, chestnut Buzzard that flew across my path to perch on the exposed rock outcrop above me. The land has the look of a turned over mine field and few flowers grow here.
Once I reached the Hause the weather turned nasty. Nevertheless I headed on up, but with head down against the sleet. There was little if nothing to see as the mist descended in thick clumps, making the landscape unrecognisable and indistinct. I used instinct, not following any particular path, or line, to eventually reach the summit. The wind blew so hard I had to hug the summit Trig Point to stay on my feet.
I quickly descend, and not necessarily by free will, but the route needed care as the southern slopes of Caw has a series of rocky buttresses that fall long and steep.
Safely returned to the valley floor, I was wet to the skin and cold from the wind. Why do you do this? I had thoroughly enjoyed myself as this was my personal challenge. This time I won through and I was able to better understand the mountain by seeing it in these conditions. Plus, when the mist closes in this close and the weather completely takes over, bearing down, the mind also looks inwards, allowing time for introspection.