What a delight to open the curtains this morning on blue
sky, albeit pale blue British sky, but still harbinger of a fine day. The
dusting of snow on the immediate heights had disappeared and we looked forward
to an entirely different day to those before. We had slept late but made up for
lost time, dumping and refilling with water before leaving Stybeck Farm,
heading the thirteen short miles north west to Keswick, a small market town,
more significant than the other picture postcard tourist villages of the area.
We did find it quite charming and had intended to park and wander about, but yet
again parking proved to be a problem, expensive and irritating, particularly to
the chauffeur, so our exploration and intended shopping in Keswick was
abandoned and we continued on our planned route.
This took us south down the eastern shore of lovely Derwent
Water, a road bordered by hedges and un-pruned trees that were an absolute
nightmare to our progress whenever we met oncoming traffic. We found a spot
along the lakeside, complete with parking meter, but with concession for
National Trust members; I took the opportunity to take several photos and
engage in conversation with a couple from York, a spot we intended at that
point, to head toward later in the day.
We continued down the Borrowdale Valley, along the Derwent
River, then turned at Seatoller up over the Honister Pass at an elevation of
358 metres ASL, accessed by an incredibly steep road “not suitable for
caravans” with inclines of 25% that seemed so much more. Chris reckoned he had
never driven such a steep road in his life, and I know from previous travelling
accounts, I have written these words before; today, this one took the cake.
At the top of the Pass, thankfully after having met no
oncoming vehicles, we arrived at the Slate Mine, a tourist attraction for those willing
to pay the required fee. Tight-wads that we are, we made do with the stunning
scenery, great slides of slate all about, sculptures created from the same, and
the incredibly steep decline below us. Again, we were pleased to meet no-one on
the descent, although traffic became much heavier within the next twenty
minutes. I was glad that we had missed Keswick, or we would have been amidst
all this road chaos, and as it was, we met more than a few motorists who
mouthed exclamations that seemed to suggest that they were disapproving of
motorhomes being on the narrow roads about The Lakes.
We pressed on delighting in the scenery about Buttermere and
Crummock Water, then north to Cockermouth, a small town full of very ordinary
people and several tourist attractions including Wordsworth House, that which
William and his sister, Dorothy, were born and brought up as children before they and
their siblings were split up after their parents died. William Wordsworth’s
father had an elevated position as an estate agent for a large landowner and
Member of Parliament, and with that position came this fine eighteenth century
house, today owned by the National Trust. We spent just over an hour wandering
about the town and the esteemed poet’s childhood residence, shopping and enjoying
walking in the dry weather.
I was interested to hear one of the volunteers in the centre
speak of the 2009 floods in Cockermouth, the photos of the devastation wrecked
upon the House and garden and other parts of the town, drawing attention
particularly to that suffered by her friends in the town. She, fortunately,
lives toward the west coast, and was not personally affected, apart from being
part of the clean up here at Wordsworth House.
From here we headed back toward Keswick, this time on the
busy A66 along the western shores of Bassenthwaite Lake and remained on this
all the way east to Penrith where we found a park in the Morrison’s superstore
car park, shopped again to justify doing so, then wandered down into this
thriving market town with its labyrinth of little streets, squares and quaint
shops. Here too the people were ordinary folk, and in saying that, I mean they
were not obvious tourists, or climbers and hikers clad in smart and trendy hiking
and mountain clothing.
I was absolutely delighted to see the snow clad Pennines
beyond Penrith; in the sunshine snow scenes have a much more pleasing aspect.
Today Penrith has a population of just over 15,000 and sits at an elevation of 132
metres ASL. For centuries Penrith has served as a market town for farms and
villages in the area. The Agricultural Hotel was built in 1807 and cattle
auctions were held there every week. There were numerous warehouses and
agricultural shops; the town was a practical place to serve the region. And yet
it was also a place that housed and inspired the famous Lakeland Poets and they
are remembered in the Poets Walk we wandered down through today.
The elegant Georgian houses that overlook St Andrew’s Church
reveal how prosperous Penrith was two hundred and fifty years ago. Its markets
were thriving and business was good for the town’s tanners, dyers and weavers.
Wealthy local families built grand houses that reflected their success and
status. We wandered through the Devonshire Arcade still busy today with little
shops and stalls selling fresh produce. The former Market Arcade was built by
the Local Board of Health in the 1860s to access the Market Hall. Stallholders
sold fresh fruit and vegetables, dairy produce and poultry here. Penrith is not
a place that features on the tourist routes and pales beside the picture
postcard scenery and landscapes of The Lake District immediately to the west,
but it is still well worth a look-see.
We continued on eastwards along the A66, the traffic
becoming heavier; we thought much of it could be attributed to those making an
early start to their Easter Weekend. We left the busy road at Brough and headed
south west on the A685 to Kirkby Stephen, yet another attractive village, then
turned south on to the A683 across wonderful rural landscape to Sedburgh, an
even lovelier village. We changed direction once more, this time eastward onto
the A684, climbing up to even higher elevations now on the Yorkshire Dales. We
pulled into a car park with interpretative panels and admired the views back
over Sedburgh and about, of the rounded hills that are the Howgill Fells, and
the huge fault in the earth’s crust where the ancient rocks of the Howgills
have been forced up high above the younger limestone of the Dales. This
geological phenomenon was first identified by locally born Adam Sedgwick, a
teacher at Cambridge University, known as the father of British Geology.
Aside from learning about the geological wonders of the
area, we suddenly noticed we had company; a couple of wild Yorkshire ponies,
although to call them “wild” is surely a misnomer. While their coats were un-groomed,
they were in good condition and happy to make our acquaintance. This was indeed
a bonus to our trip!
We continued on across the limestone hills and valleys of
the Dales, through lovely rural countryside, far more populous and fertile than
I had believed the Yorkshire Dales to be. We passed through Hawes, the chief
town of the local area of Wesleydale, a main hiking centre, which also draws
tourists for its cheese and rope making industries. It also claims to be
Yorkshire’s highest market town, and at an elevation of 270 metres ASL, it
probably is. Still host to weekly farmers markets, the town received its market
charter in 1699. Today the town was very busy, parking would have been
impossible had we wished to hang about, and we were surprised that so many folk
had already arrived for the weekend.
Further east is the lovely small village of Bainbridge where
the river we had been following for some time, cascades down through the town
and under a charming stone bridge. I joined a chap on the bridge to take the
obligatory photos, while Chris stayed in the camper up the road, parked tight
against a stone wall, the engine still running, ready to move if anything bigger
than a small sedan came by.
On again, and we came to the turn off to Askrigg, six miles
to the north still visible from the road but far enough away for film crews to
not bother with extraneous and unwanted voyeurs. It was here that the TV series
All Creatures Great and Small was
filmed in and around.
And then we arrived in Aysgarth, this yet another bonus. We
had booked our CL camp simply by finding the number on the map and figuring it
looked like it might be well located for our trip ahead. Imagine our delight to
find that here is a wonderful waterfall, a three stage spectacular cascade,
walking distance from our camp.
We walked down to the river and along the banks to take this
all in after we settled into camp, easier said than done. The camping area down
behind the hotel is a little steep, very wet and muddy and I did wonder how
were would manage to find a suitable spot. However the “caretaker” guy who is
in charge of the camping area was most helpful and eventually had us set up in
a corner well removed from the other three here, and hitched up with four power
cords all strung together across the paddock.
Because of the mucking about, and our late walk down to the
river, dinner was late and we spent nearly an hour chasing a camping spot for
the next few nights. We had intended to head to York, perhaps to spend two
nights nearby, however all Caravan Club sites and CLs are booked out. Chris was
most annoyed at this, and suggested we should simply just go on in and if
necessary camp beside the road. This of course would not be acceptable for us or
the authorities, but there was no moving his resolve until much later when I
suggested we re-plan our route and head in an entirely different direction. Much
discussion followed and we have now agreed that we will head south tomorrow
rather than the easterly direction previously intended, down to the Peak District.
We have managed to book a CL for tomorrow and will take it from there. This
might not have happened if we had been able to telephone from our camp last night,
although I suspect that the travellers who are about to inundate York tomorrow
will have had their bookings organised for weeks and weeks.
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