We spent another night rocking and rolling to the gale force
winds; I sometimes woke to wonder whether we would be on our side by morning.
Morning came and at that particular moment in time when I drew the blind, it
was not raining; evidence of blue sky presented itself and in typical Pollyanna
style, I hoped for a much better day.
Stan had phoned back during the course of the previous
evening after absorbing the news we were in town, with suggestions that we meet
earlier than the prearranged time of 1.30 pm. We were more than happy to oblige
because we had committed ourselves to arriving at our next camp site during the
afternoon. 
We found our way to Ashton-on-Ribble, a remarkably short
distance from our rural camp, across the rail and Lancaster canal before
arriving at the Preston docks, between the Ribble River and the Ribble Link
Canal, multi-storied brick structures built in the early 1990s that appealed in
the way that multi-storeyed residential flats in industrial areas usually do not. Perhaps this is because within these precincts, each dwelling is privately
owned and there are a variety of interior sizes. For us anyway, we agreed that
these were charming and would be a desirable spot to live if one were to choose
to settle in Preston.
It had been our intention to spend the morning checking out
the limited charms of Preston before fulfilling our social obligations, however
with the earlier rendez-vous arranged, it was enough for us to replenish our
stocks at the local Morrison superstore and then spend time researching the
area ahead; the Lakes District.
Minutes after 11 am, we were ushered into Stan’s one bedroom
apartment, two stories up with charming views back down to the river and
walkways on one side and to the car park on the other. I suspected he had
watched with amusement our manoeuvring into the visitors’ park; Chris had
failed to note the bollard on one side and it was only because I hammered on
the side of the vehicle that he stopped in time to save us from yet another
almost-losing-our-deposit moment.
An hour was spent over coffee and reminiscences between my
husband and our host, and then we relocated to a bar across the canal, and
continued the discourse over pizzas and shandies, and a couple of unaccustomed
G&Ts for myself. (Alas these were not the first of this tour; they seem to
be a practical solution to lunchtime drinks and a good alternative to midday
wine which acts as a sedative to those of certain years.)
Soon after 2 pm, we parted company, but not before promising
more frequent reunions, as one does in these situations, firmly believing they
are offered with total sincerity, but understanding also that life has a way of making
falsehoods of such vows, even if we hoped that this time it will not be so.
And so we set off, the occasional showers falling during our
prolonged lunch turning to sleet as we left Preston and headed north on the M6
once more. Our plans had changed several times during the day, all depending
how we felt after consuming whatever would come our way and however long we
spent doing so. Even as we sped north, the terrible blasts of wind pushing us
this way and that across our motorway lane, we were of two minds. In the end,
even though I had assured Chris that as driver he should make the final decision,
I decided that we should turn north west off the motorway at the exit beyond
Carnforth, and take the A590 up through the Lakes District to our designated
campsite.
And so we found ourselves travelling many of the roads we
will travel again tomorrow, up and down dale, up into the Cumbrian Mountains,
through charming villages with literary and tourist fame, through narrow
valleys, and beneath snow topped mountains. We passed to the west of
Kendal, through Windermere on the side
of the lake by the same name, through Ambleside at the northern tip of the
same, on up past Rydal Water, Grasmere
and finally up the eastern side of Thirlmere.
Thirlmere is one of the many lakes of this region, but
unlike the others is a manmade reservoir constructed in the 1890s. The growth
of industry in and around Manchester increased the demand for water and by the
early 1890s, Manchester Corporation had identified Thirlmere as a potential
source of additional water and erected a dam at the northern end of the lake.
The valley was flooded and two small existing lakes were amalgamated. With
the increased volume, the water was then supplied to the city via the 100 mile
long Thirlmire Aquaduct which we have yet to discover and with our limited
time, are unlikely to do so.
Our camp is on a farm at the north end of the lake, below
snow topped mountains and lying at an altitude of 196 metres ASL. Great Dodd
and Stybarrow Dodd immediately above us rise to 856 and 840 metres ASL
respectively; it is no wonder that we are cold tonight and that snow still swirls
about the farmyard.
We have learned our hosts, who seem to be made up of Mr and
Mrs Farmer and their late teenage industrious (and rather cute looking) son and
a daughter who is currently away attending to lambing, own seventy acres here
on the steep slopes of the lake, milk the same number of dairy cows, but have a
three hundred acre run-off not too far away and a further eighty acres to the
west for dry stock. And they still manage to find time to keep the rudimentary
needs of CL customers met!
Our camp site is alas not as flat as we would like, although
this would not be a problem if we carried the levelling blocks we do in New
Zealand, the peaks around preclude any television reception, which again would
not be any problem if we had the satellite disc we have on our motorhome in New
Zealand, and we have no cellphone or internet, the first a problem as far as
pre-booking our next camp site, the second because … because I like to have
internet. However, it is elevated and affords a delightful view down the lake
and up into the heights of the mountains around us, is surrounded in daffodils
so appropriate for this Land of William Wordsworth who made that flower one of
The Icons of the area, and is sure to have on-site roosters to make sure we do
not oversleep in the morning.
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