29 August 2016 - Bleatarn Farm, Irthington, near Brampton, Cumbria

 We were tardy again in setting off for the day, but serendipitous because by the time we headed for the hills, any reported morning mist had long disappeared. 

Our first stop was the Talkin Tarn Country Park, the plan to drive in, take a quick look and then decide whether we wanted to hang about longer. The park is not too far away, a mere two miles south of Brampton, a sixty five acre lake set amid one hundred and twenty acres of farmland and woodland. The tarn, or lake, is glacial in origin, formed about 10,000 years ago. It is in other words, a “kettle hole” like similar lakes just out of Atherton in Queensland, Australia.

We chose to stop a while and undertake the 1.3 mile circular walk about the lake, to take in the fresh air and the wildlife apparently so abundant. Certainly there were ducks and swans about the lake, and “flying birds” brilliantly identified thus by my companion when I asked his opinion, but the red squirrels and birds of other varieties had all gone to ground. At one point we thought there might be a couple of Loch-ness type monsters in the lake, however it turned out that these were springs feeding the lake with fresh water.

Talkin Tarn

The park was busy with families and dog walkers galore which are enough to send anything to ground. As we proceeded around the pathway, we came upon a rather distressed woman, clutching her little dog to her chest, possibly a terrier, while a little bichon-frise sort of dog clung to her leg, excitedly aroused and more interested in humping than assisting her progress. Remember what it is like when your toddler stands upon your shoes, holds your leg and insists on taking a ride as you attempt to walk forward. Such was the picture here before our eyes, although the little dog was more vigorous. It took some time to sift through the Geordie accent to understand what was going on beyond the obvious. Her dog, probably coming on heat, had been “attacked” by this cute little bundle of hotly sexed canine attention. Where was the owner? Was it ours?

We assured her we knew nothing but agreed that it was probably a good idea to return to the café beside the lake in an attempt to trace the owner. Further along the path we came upon another group of people looking for a little white dog. Had we seen it? We were delighted to act as messengers of such happy news and directed these folk toward the distressed “rape-victim”. Dogs everywhere! Why the Country Park bothers to have a couple of bird hides, I do not know; this seems to be principally a dog walking place.

Lake End Hotel

 Actually I am not being entirely truthful; there is a small boating club and boat sheds near the café. By the time we completed the circuit there were a couple of kayaks out on the water. However the notices all around insist that only authorised craft venture out onto the lake. 

Halfway around the lake, we could not help but notice the dilapidated building up a short pathway. We checked it out and found that it had once been the Lake End Hotel, but today is a dilapidated shell. Later research revealed that in 2009 developers wanted to build several houses there in return for a smart new rowing club house. The application was turned down by the council.

The hotel was apparently closed down in 2005 and has changed hands several times since, the last transaction for  £850,000 before it fell into the state it is today. Some information suggests that demolition might be the best option, but I wonder if this is allowed if it has any heritage status listing. It does seem such a waste and looks like it would be a good project for Grand Designs.

Downtown Alston

Back on the road, we drove through a series of little lanes, crossing the east-west rail line about four times until we joined the A689 which climbs slowly up into the North Pennines, crossing the county border from Cumbria into Northumberland before the road turns directly south following the South Tyne river valley. The road was shown on the map as being particularly scenic, and so it was. The moors stretched out either side, purple heather again abundant on the hills. Cold Fell at 621 metres ASL rose up on our right, followed by the slightly lower Glendue Fell at 522 metres ASL. Dry rock walls bounded verdant green fields in neat symmetrical shapes below the wilder barren heights. Black faced sheep, mostly horned and all unconcerned with our presence grazed far and near from the road.

Near Alston we crossed the river and pulled into the town, which is laid out on the steep slope falling down toward the river. The main road is cobbled with stones so old and decaying, one’s heels disappear into the cracks if you were so foolish to wear such shoes when walking about the town. We parked at the far end of the town, where the slopes were a little more gentle, and walked down into the town. We bought ice-creams at the Co-op and sat beneath the market cross in the sunshine watching the traffic and pedestrians struggle with the terrain. 

Out over Alston Moor

My many times great grandfather Burne was married in Alston in 1727, and his son was born there a couple of years later. I was curious as to what they were doing here, and although I did not discover that today, I did learn that it and the surrounding areas, were until recently mined for silver, zinc, coal and fluorospar. Today we fell into conversation with a woman at the Information Centre and asked if there was still mining going on now. These days the only mines are open to tourists however there is further exploration going on about the area, and if this is developed further, will provide well needed employment. In 1841 the town had a population of about 6,800; today it is nearer 1,100.

The moors and valley all about are part of the Pennine Way, and during the season, tourism supports the economy, and there is of course, much farming about, all of which requires an urban service industry.

Toward Carlisle from Hartside Summitt

After a strenuous ascent back to the car, we continued on across the Alston Moors, on past snow poles, passing over the Hartside Summit at 580 metres ASL, still below the Fell of the same name that rises a further 44 metres. Here we stopped to enjoy the views back over the moors, and then down to the west, taking in the relative lowlands about Penrith and Carlisle, and the peaks of the Lake District beyond. With such a splendid day, the views were quite wonderful.

The descent was winding and steep, and busy with hundreds of motorcycle riders who were also taking advantage of the holiday and excellent weather. Later we learned that one of these adventurers had met with a nasty accident at the foot of the hills.

We crossed over the M6 near Hutton-in-the-Forest, a rather strange name for a grand estate which was open to the public today, and probably many other days as well, and swept in a wide semi-circle north to Carlisle where we refuelled and re-provisioned before travelling the short distance home.

Cumbria, and the little we have seen of Northumberland, is indeed a very picturesque place.