1 April 2015 Stybeck Farm, Stirlmere, Keswick, Wales

Today is the first day of the financial year in New Zealand and as such, I should be doing more  than I am, instead of sitting here without internet and access to our financial arrangements. It is also the birthday of our third grandchild, or was last night when the 1^st  fell twelve hours or so earlier than us here on the other side of the world. Just as we missed our youngest grandchild’s birthday because of time differences and more importantly the inability to text or email supplementary greetings, additional to the cards we hoped would arrive in time, we missed Charlie’s as well. There was, however, a little consolation to this; his mother sent through a picture of Charlie holding his birthday cake, complete with an enormous grin minus one tooth. I was delighted by the gesture and replied at once as soon as we arrived at a spot with internet, more specifically Ambleside.

Our night was spent huddled beneath the winter bedcovers so kindly lent to us by Chris’s sister, and we were so grateful for those and our pyjamas. I heard the farm dogs up and the tractor start early; the dairy herd were probably being moved gradually to daylight saving hours. Later when I sought the rubbish disposal area, I discovered the herd tucked away in their indoor barn, happily dining on their feed, no doubt manufactured for optimum production. Alas, coming from a New Zealand agricultural background, the idea of cattle being cooped up for most of the year in an artificial environment, such as we humans have chosen for ourselves, almost seems cruel. However I say this from the comfy confines of our motorhome, protected from the snow upon the hillside and the sleet and snowfalls that continue even into April. 

We emerged from our cosy cocoon, into the relative warmth generated by the efficient diesel heater, identical to that we have in New Zealand, breakfasted and then headed away for the day. On stepping out of the van to deal with the camp-breaking-tasks, I discovered a young rabbit near our door. I suspect the canny farm cat had brought it to us as an offering, perhaps to make some cock-eyed joke about this area being the Mecca for Beatrix Potter, the creator of Peter Rabbit, or perhaps, and more likely, as a peace offering. Chris nudged the carcass to one side with his foot, and when we returned this afternoon it had gone, most likely a bonus treat for one of the many working dogs here, who left his faeces in its stead. Such are the joys of a farmyard.  

The other discovery of the morning was an added layer of snow to the mountains around us, and further intermittent showers and snow flurries that did nothing to change the general climatic conditions.

Today we headed south back down the shores of Thirlmere, and on toward the well-known  tourist attractions of Windermere and beyond. I would have liked to pull into a car park at Rydal Water and walked either north or south to Grasmere or Rydal Water where I had spotted the most delightful walking paths, but the rain was falling and it was cold, and quite frankly, life is too short for exposing oneself to such inclement conditions.

So we proceeded to Ambleside, the village full of grey-green stone that had so caught our fancy as we travelled through yesterday. We found a park easily and begrudgingly paid the 1.50 GBP for one hour; I had given a lecture over breakfast that we were to accept that parking would be ridiculously expensive and that we should simply accept this bureaucratic rip off because we were here to see the sites, not take some political stance.

We paid up, found that we had cellphone contact so made a call through to our next camp, whereupon we were told they would phone back regarding the suitably of the site given the weather considerations. We told them that was probably impossible given the erratic cellphone reception; we would phone them, after 11 am.

So we set off on foot all about the charming and beautiful village of Ambleside, delighting in every street, every corner, and most of the buildings. We were well wrapped up in our jackets and hats and withstood the rain without complaint; this should be well noted!

Ambleside is the heart of the central and southern Lakes region. The thriving centre, most obvious for its many outdoor apparel retail shops than anything else, also consists of hotels, cafes and B&B;s, although we did manage to find a Tesco Express and SPAR supermarket to fulfil our needs. 

From here we proceeded to The Lake District Visitor Centre, drove around the car park from which we could see a plethora of wonderful attractions for families, and walks, and a small information centre which might or might not have offered us more than our guide books could do. Should we pay parking fees for this? Deciding in the negative, we moved on down to Windermere. By now the rain was falling heavily. We found a park, again in a parking machine area and proceeded into the centre of town on foot, walking up one quarter and down the other, not half as enthralled as we had been by Ambleside.

Windermere was all but non-existent until 1847 when a railway terminal was built here, making England’s longest lake an easily accessible resort. The lakeside settlement, about a mile downhill from Windermere proper is actually Bowness (Bowness-on-Windermere) and it is from here at Bowness that the ferries ply their trade across the lake to Far Sawry, close to the pilgrimage for Beatrix Potter fans, and for the steamers that take tourists out on to the lake to fill their otherwise idle hours.   As we drove by, apart from pulling in to a car park to make a telephone call before we disappeared into the communication-free-zone-wilderness again, we thought Bowness by far the more attractive place, although neither place was a patch on lovely Ambleside up the road.

It was from here we re-contacted the CL to arrange accommodation for tomorrow night, a lengthy process given the simplicity of our requirements, whereupon we learned that the tariff would be somewhat heftier than that noted in the manual; 15 GBP thank you very much. This we found astounding, given that this will be on site at a Hotel / Pub where they might have otherwise made a killing on food and beverages had we been inclined to patronise them further. In fact I know that in New Zealand my parents frequently park up in a pub or restaurant car park on the understanding they will dine at the establishment, spend up large and receive the benefit of a safe place for their wheels overnight at no extra charge. This is fair and reasonable; UK CL’s could learn much from this. Needless to say we shall fully self-cater tomorrow night having no qualms about not patronising the host establishment. Of course you may well say that we do not have to stay here and you would indeed be correct. However this seems to be a sensible stopover for our planned route and so we must take the responsibility for our decision and should after all not waste our time, or yours, in complaining.

But back to The Lakes, after our daily grizzle about the unfairness of life, we proceeded down the eastern shore of the lake, dodging the unpruned hedges on one side and the traffic on the other. This made for stressful travelling and while I was able to partly enjoy the wonderful views of the lake and the establishments along the lake shore, Chris’s attention was solely tuned to the challenges of driving a motorhome on narrow English roads.

Soon we reached the A590 that crosses the country in a gentle zigzag, then turned off again on to a road with no fancy label, north up the western shores of the same lake, Windermere, sometimes turning a little to the west through the Grizedale Forest Park and sometimes nearer the edge, passing the Stott Park Bobbin Mill and Graywaite Hall, and an amazing number of cars who seemed to be engaged in transporting holidaying school children hither and thither; the frantic entertainment of idle children that seems to be such a preoccupation with parents these days, not so much in ours.

It was midday and our routine decreed that we should find somewhere to stop and lunch. Car parks in spots along the route, some so wonderful and some very ordinary, all sported parking machines, and we were not prepared to pay for a parking spot so that we could simply make and eat our sandwiches in-house.


Following the map, I spotted the National Trust property at Hill Top, just two miles from Hawkeshead. This is the property that Beatrix Potter purchased with the proceeds from her first big seller, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, where she lived for about eight years until she married. She retained the property, and the immediate area served as inspiration for the “home” for all the characters she created. It was left to the National Trust, on the condition that the furnishings and contents be kept as they were during her tenure. The property and countryside about is incredibly picturesque, the house incredibly popular during the summer, and surprisingly (according to the National Trust worker) today. We were directed into a space next to the hotel,  adjacent to which we lunched discreetly in-house then set off to the museum section of the property. As members of the National Trust, price was not a consideration, in fact we have well and truly made our membership economical even in the short time of our membership. It was the queues of families that put us off today, so instead we wandered up through the garden and back along through the village delighting in the charm of the place. The rain had relented briefly, at least long enough for us to walk leisurely back to the camper.

And so we pressed on yet again, from Hawke Head to Coniston, on the shores of Coniston Waters where in January 1967, Donald Campbell pushed his jet-powered boat, Bluebird, to an estimated 320 mph before a patch of turbulence sent it into a somersault and killed himself. Amazingly his body and craft were not recovered from the bottom  of the lake until 2001.

But Coniston is more than that; the village is absolutely charming and would make for an excellent holiday spot, even on such a day as this.

Again we pressed on, now heading back toward Ambleside at the northern end of Windermere, through lovely Clappersgate. Snow still covered the peaks about and the days seemed no warmer than it had been when we rose out of our cosy bed. We decided there was still time to explore further so headed up the A592 to the east of Thirlmere and the mountains to the east, after taking a shortcut up from Ambleside. This particular road is very steep, very narrow and fortunately for us, not busy. Having said that, I was glad when we reached the more major road at the southern end of the Kirkstone Pass, an elevation of 454 metres ASL. From here the road continues directly north, descending at an incline of 20% then levelling out to a more manageable 13%. We were up above the snow level and cognoscente that the road could be slippery and dangerous. Here there were no hedges and so the road was easier, visibility easier and passing spots slightly more numerous.  Even up here in the snow, we spotted sheep grazing on the high slopes, the same silky long woolled creatures we had seen in Wales. At the base of the Pass we passed lovely Brothers Waters, then on to Patterdale and Glenridding at the southern reaches of Ullsmere. We were surprised to see so many walkers about; in this part of the country they seem not to mind the inclement conditions.

We pulled into the steamer wharf area of Glenridding, desiring a closer look at the lake, but even here, the parking machines rule and make for irritated travellers.

Ullswater is the second largest lake in the national park, at almost eight miles long. At Glenridding, there is a year-round steamer cruise service that runs from Pooley Bridge just out of Penrith at the northern end of the lake down to the southern village. The A592 continues up the western side of the lake to Penrith, and if it is as lovely as that small section we travelled today, it must indeed be one of the prettiest in the area.

We travelled only as far Aira Force, just beyond the intersection of that road and one that heads directly north to Troutbeck. These impressive falls, or “force” are on the Aira Beck (river) and are managed  by the National Trust. In none of the literature or any signs at the car park is the distance to the falls mentioned, so we set off along the wet muddy path totally ignorant of how far we would have to go to see this wonder, but followed the medley of tourists, young and old, on, up and along the side of the “beck” through lovely woodland, with our raincoat hoods clutched about our faces, our cap peaks tipped well forward to keep our glasses dry, and then came upon the falls, forcing their way through a narrow gap in the rocks, charming stone footbridges both below and above, making photos all the more wonderful. After taking the obligatory dozen or so photos, we set off down the other bank of the river, now able to enjoy views down the lake, albeit screened by rain mist. Even as wet as we were when we re-entered our temporary home on wheels, we were glad to have made the effort.

Here in the park area, apart from  a network of walking tracks further afield, are two families of red squirrel, being watched carefully, because although they are native to the area, they have been evicted by the more aggressive grey squirrel, and, if that were not enough, contracted  pox virus carried by the larger species. I learned all this, and the fact that baby squirrels are called kittens, from the little signs along the walkway and from the lovely National Trust employee, jangling with facial ironmongery.

From here it was not far back to our camp, up to Troutbeck (surely a river of trout?), westward along the A66, following a lovely wide valley, the snowy peaks far enough away to provide a frame rather than menace, then down the minor road B5322 to Stybeck Farm at the intersection above Thirlmere.

Tonight the rain is still falling; the girl at Aira Force suggested the weather tomorrow should be improved. Hopefully she is right; we have no television or internet to check the veracity of her claim. But in the end, we must accept what we get, and even though the weather has frequently been poor since we set off in this campervan we have been having a great time and seeing some wonderful sights.