24-29 March 2005
Castlerigg Stone Circle
When I first started reading about England and her countryside following my decision to move out of Singapore one of the first things that captivated me was the simple and mysterious remains of our prehistoric ancestors, the Castlerigg Stone Circle, near Keswick in Cumbria. Stonehenge, of course, is well-known the world over and is no doubt impressive given the size of the Saracenic stones and the sheer engineering skills involved in moving them from their distant sources in the mountains. But Castlerigg Stone Circle is far more alluring, more mysterious and more striking in its isolated setting. A small circle of stones far smaller than those of the Stonehenge proves to us that size is not everything. Stones arranged in an almost circular formation mimic the landscape in which they stand. Stones in their natural shapes, curves and edges are as much a reflection of the surrounding hills and mountains which must have no doubt inspired such a creation.
Their purpose to us is a mystery but so are the mountains. For that matter, all of nature comes to us without irony. We never consider her purpose. She is just there from the beginning of time to the end of time, if there is one.
I stop at this monument for a quick snack. I walk around the circle counting the stones as I pass. That something about 3000 years old should still be standing amazes me. If the circle had been of finely carved images or precious stones valued highly within our world they would have been pilfered by now. These stones, however, are unworked. They are in essence nature’s creation in a raw form. Man ignores nature but only nature survives when man is gone from the face of this earth.
Thus I leave the stone circle with a heightened sense of mankind’s origins in both awe and admiration.
Possession
Possession and ownership are the first things that strike a visitor to the Cumbrian Mountains. It is not the beauty of the mountains and the lakes. As a matter of fact, that is expected.
Dry-stone walls are ubiquitous even in the most remote of places and on higher slopes of nothing more than rocks. Each wall announces ownership whether private or belonging to the National Trust. While the mountains are united in their bold stand, division is the signature of human habitation. If one has to experience these mountains in their wildest forms only the peaks remain.
Nonetheless, dry-stone walls are by far preferred to the fences of wooden poles joined by wire meshes. They fit more naturally in the landscape. Their distinct tracks make a patchwork that adds greater interest to barren slopes. None of them use mortar, just a skilful placement of right stones in the right places. They also appear to provide warmth to the sheep that are sometimes seen to huddle by the walls.
The only other interesting human creation are the houses and cottages in Keswick whose walls are made from slate stone slabs, quite different from the stone cottages found in southern England.
To High Seat
The path from Ashness Bridge to the peak of High Seat skirts some crags marked on the map as “Dodd”. With brimming enthusiasm and little attention to the marked trail on the map I headed straight for the crags along what looked a definite path. Soon it was apparent that it was a path used only by sheep, sure-footed and nimble to reach the most unreachable places. What started as an easy walk turned out to be quite a challenge. I finally got to the peak with the only regret that I had trampled on so many plants and mossy undergrowth growing in profusion in the wet conditions that prevailed. They were all green, pretty and full of life. It was a shame to step on them.
The lesson for the day is that one should adhere to designated paths to minimise the impact on nature.
The Sparkling Streams
There’s something about a stream. It never stops flowing, never still. This ceaseless urge to flow keeps it clear and pure. It is this that makes a stream refreshing. After all, it constantly refreshes itself.
But from where does such energy arise? Some streams as we see them have their origin deep within the bosom of the earth. Others are simply a cumulative flow of rain water rushing down sloping terrains. These build themselves from their various tributaries into phenomenal force and dissipate themselves quickly, cascading down rocks and stones, hills and valleys, cliffs and crags, sometimes manifesting their energy as spectacular waterfalls. Their force is such that dead tree trunks, soil debris and even small boulders are washed downstream. They also weaken to a trickle and often dry when the rains have stopped.
The former group springing from underground sources is of a greater interest to us. Their flow is perennial. Their flow is subtle and sublime. They smooth out the rocks and stones not by a hurried force but by a patient strength. They are waters seeped and filtered through multiple layers of soil, each belonging to a different century, of a different age. They are the collected truths held deep within the earth, sometimes making their presence so that those with keen eyes may know them from the ordinary streams. Their sparkle is like the wisdom of enlightened men.
The Lodore Falls
Today I had some difficulty getting to the Lodore Falls from Ashness Bridge. I was directed by a fellow-walker. I came across a waterfall which I mistook to be the Lodore Falls. Later I met the same woman. Inferring that I had missed the falls she directed me once more to it by an easier route. “It’s something different”, she said. Being a resident of Keswick she is naturally proud of the assets of that part of the county. A visitor who leaves impressed is a tribute to the Lodore Falls.
She need not have had any doubts about the future popularity of the falls. Southey has done such a good job in his poem that it has already been immortalised. I found it to be more than as described in Southey’s poetic lines. It has everything that one could imagine. It has the character that would fit in a fairy tale set in some enchanting woods. It has the flow that any romantic painting would portray. It has a balance that every photographer would attempt in a composition. It has a sweet sound that only nature could produce. It is not the force of Niagara Falls. It is not the grandeur of Victoria Falls. It owes its charm not to force or fury but to gentle pace and grace.
Men can describe it in many adjectives and verbs but can never describe it well enough.
On Guide Books
Earlier this morning I picked up a Stagecoach bus guide of Cumbria from the Tourist Information Centre. The guide mentions a new series of guided walks, all reachable by public transport. These have been put together by Mark Richards, an avid walker and writer.
What a coincidence that I should meet him this evening on the way back from the Lodore Falls to Keswick along the shores of Derwent Water! When two walkers meet the conversation naturally turns to walking. The long return walk to Keswick was much relieved and made more enjoyable in his lively company.
Guide books are a good thing for introducing possible routes and highlights of the region. They are not to be religiously followed to the sacrifice of adventure. A good map and a good compass are all that one needs.
Skiddaw
I am staying at a backpacker’s lodge in a room that is coincidentally named “Skiddaw”. Today I have climbed this ancient peak of Skiddaw. This rises strikingly, north of Derwent Water. Its reflection in the placid waters of the lake adds to its majestic appearance.
The climb up to the peak is long though easy. The views are breathtaking along the way. The prominent peaks of Cat Bells, Causey Pike and Grisdale Pike are ever present within one’s view. The lakes of Derwent Water and Bassenthwaite glisten under the afternoon sun. Derwent Water in particular is a beauty with its winding curves and little islands of lush growth.
The peak itself was a disappointment, shrouded in heavy fog with no views at all. The foggy clouds cleared much later in the day when I had already finished my hike. Such is life – one is not in the right place at the right time, at least most of the time.
At Friar’s Crag
Today I witnessed sunset from a piece of land jutting into the lake of Derwent Water. This is called “Friar’s Crag”. With the full moon rising behind the pinnacles of Walla Crag in the east and the clouds wearing her silver livery it was a moment to enjoy.
I met a couple from Lincolnshire who were there to enjoy the same. Their every visit to the lakes commences with a quiet moment at Friar’s Crag and ends too in this pleasant spot overlooking the lake, its little islands and the mountains all around. Earlier today I had met a couple from Ireland who travel to the Lake District at least once a year. Such is the alluring beauty of this land, it needs no special advertisement. Such is its magnetic charm that people young and old travel great distances to breathe its serenity. Such is its enduring presence that the people of Keswick never tire of it. With time their admiration grows into friendship and love, in a lifetime filled with intimate moments.
On Beauty
“Without contraries is no progression” wrote William Blake, an English painter-poet. Beauty too needs such contrariety. The sun sets in the west while the moon rises in the east. One is of passionate heat while the other is of silent romance. Mountains owe their striking forms to the valleys. There are no passes if there are no peaks. The impact of spring resides in the fact that it follows the months of winter. Men are attracted to women. Women are attracted to men. This is more than just hormones. This is how the world works. This is the essence of existence with beauty in its every aspect. Some things are beautiful; others may be considered ugly. This contrast too is beauty.
But there is that beauty that needs no comparison. It stands alone. It is intrinsic. It is not a beauty that is in the eye of the beholder. It is a beauty that cannot be described, discerned by human senses or even recalled in the labyrinth of memories. It is likely that such beauty exists in everything. When the soul is in touch with beauty of such singular nature we need neither mountains not valleys nor all things perceived as beautiful.
On Walkers
There are two types of walkers in this world: those who walk with untiring energy and steadfast perseverance to conquer the tallest peaks and those who enjoy the experience as a whole while not forgetting the end goal; those who walk in the darkness of pre-dawn hours to catch sunrise from the summit and those who take a more leisurely approach so as to enjoy the little pleasures along the way to the summit; those whose focus is on achievement through which there is enormous satisfaction and those who realise that satisfaction already exists so that one needs to only stop and look.
The eternal question remains: which of these two has a better approach to walking, and to life?
On Concentration
When Arjuna gave us a lesson on concentration it did little more than introduce a much appreciated story. While walking on the mountains, steep slopes strewn with loose rocks and slippery moss, concentration comes naturally. After all, every step is a matter of life and death.
Concentration here is not just a word but an active state of mind. It is the act of mind that thinks nothing of yesterday or of tomorrow. It considers not the path ahead or the path already taken. It considers at the most and only the next step that is to be taken – on this rock or that stone, to the left or to the right, one step above or one step below. With concentration the mind does this step after step with remarkable consistency and accuracy. There is no room for extraneous thoughts. With every step, the destination is nearer. The route takes care of itself when the steps are correct.
Concentration in this form is the essence of relaxation whereby spring the spiritual joys of walking.
Borrowdale Rambler
Bus route number 79 from Keswick to Seatoller passing through the valley of Borrowdale is often said to be the most scenic bus ride in the country. “Borrowdale Rambler”, as it is called, is as good as it sounds.
Those who are unable to conquer the peaks and higher slopes on foot and are limited to public transport will find in the Borrowdale Rambler a rewarding alternative. In fine weather one can go up to the second deck with its open top for uninterrupted views and the rush of refreshing air that is the breath of Borrowdale.
The View of Borrowdale
The views from Castle Crag are stunning. To the north is the expanse of Derwent Water with Skiddaw and Blencathra in the background. To the south is the beautiful valley of Borrowdale in all perfection. The beauty of Borrowdale lies in its union with the mountains that surround it. The mountains do not seem to delineate the boundaries of Borrowdale but rather belong to it. It is as if they do not want to stray too far from the familiar ease and comfort that is Borrowdale. In one gaze of human vision the valley, the peaks, the clouds, the River Derwent, the woods, the green farms, the grazing sheep, the hills and the villages are all captured.
For some moments everything is still. The clouds have stopped in their tracks. The little white specks that are the sheep remain in stillness. The trees and their leaves sway not for there is no breeze. The sunlight peeking out from behind some clouds throws divine streams on to the valley floor. Time is trapped all of a sudden in Borrowdale. The scene leaves no room for an artist’s imagination. It is like a painting of Rubens.
The Chaos of Nature
Nature is chaotic. The mountains are in no ordered formation. They stand with their unassailable might but not as the serried ranks of soldiers on the march or the castle battlements with their structured crenellations. The rivers flow to the oceans but not within concrete paths or well-laid out canals. The clouds pass by but not along chartered routes or predetermined altitudes. The plants and trees take their stand where the ground yields to the magic of creation and they in no way follow the lines and groves of orchards enclosed within wired fences. Flowers bloom in the wildest of places, not confined to the garden beds where seeds are sown and compost added.
Yet there is such perfection in this chaos – from the mightiest mountain to the tiniest flower. Nothing is out of place. Everything has a purpose and fits beautifully within the framework of creative as well as destructive energies.
Top Management
Top management. These are like the mountain peaks, standing apart, high above the low-lying plains and much sought after. However, the peaks are often enclosed in clouds, with almost no visibility. They are harsh and inhospitable. Only wild tussock grass, moss and lichens survive here, species small but tough.
The valleys on the other hand are full of life and growth. Be it the forests or the cultivated fields of farmland, this is the place much favoured by most.
But men will always be tempted to reach for the highest peaks. In this pursuit lies his adventurous spirit.
Conversations
At Sty Head, one is in the heart of mountain country. Great Gable and Green Gable are to one side. Hiding behind them is the immense Kirk Fell. On the other side are the stupendous rocky ranges enclosing behind them the well-known Scafell Pike. The view of the sloping terrain in between leads to the lush green valley of Wasdale in the distance.
The peaks here are shrouded in foggy clouds. All one sees are steep rocky faces disappearing into the clouds in utmost secrecy. Here at Sty Head, the mountains are to be studied in close proximity and intimacy. Such a study is not limited to the geologists. However, what one studies depends largely on the conversations of silent words that one has with these gigantic forms of nature, conversations that could yield the ultimate secrets of man and nature.
Not Wild Enough
I came to the Lake District with good preparation. I could have done with greater fitness but in terms of equipment and supplies there was nothing lacking. I had prepared for the worst weather, in particular a wet one. Fortunately and thankfully all six days of my stay have been splendid. The network of paths well-trodden by countless walkers makes it difficult to get lost. I have had little need to use the compass or even the maps. Often I met fellow walkers along the way which adds to the reassurance that I am along the right path. Truly, my one-day hike at Dartmoor last autumn is still the wildest one I have experienced in England.
New Neighbours
Last night I stayed at a farm campsite at Seatoller. It was a night of heavy rain during which five little lambs were born in an enclosure opposite the campsite. The ewes normally don’t bother with walkers and keep to their strict silent monotony of grazing. But today they regard every visitor with a cautious eye, bleat loud to the little ones and will not let their guard down until one has crossed to the path away from the fence. It has been a fine day for walking and a beautiful beginning for the newborns. This is the magic of early spring.
Tent Ventilation
Last night was a cold night. It must have been not more than 5 degree C. Although it had rained heavily the previous night I had stayed dry inside the tent. However, this morning I found droplets of water inside the tent. Such condensation is common during a humid and still night. To prevent this some part of the tent has to be opened for ventilation.
Country Dinners
Every evening, after a long day’s walk, I have been having excellent dinners at English country pubs. Although vegetarian options are limited they are by no means mean or unappetising. In fact, I have had the best of countryside food these few days in the Lake District. It is not common at many pubs to be served a dinner that is straight out of a freezer and microwaved. No doubt pubs have their focus on drinks and not food. Yet there are those that pay equal importance to both as I have discovered in the Lake District.
Jacket potatoes filled with baked beans brings out the best of this vegetable. Fusilli with broccoli in a rich creamy sauce with a touch of white wine goes all too well with fries, peas and salad. How about dinner at “The Riverside Pub” at Rosthwaite? It was a vegetable stew of cauliflower, carrot, courgette, onion, pepper, beans and button mushrooms in a sweet and sour sauce with an accompaniment of garlic bread and coleslaw.
These may not be typically English but I have enjoyed them all the same. Food, in a greater measure, is an important aspect of experiencing another culture or enjoying a holiday.
Holidaying in the Lake District
The Lake District is a place of such charm and beauty that it’s worth making a visit across oceans and continents for a few days of unhurried quietness. The time spent will yield moments of haunting beauty and grandeur that can only be offered by nature in her own creative playground. These will forever change one’s perception of life. Appreciation and happiness are the end results.
On Confidence
It is not uncommon to meet children as young as eight walking the fells around Keswick – on their way to Skiddaw, to Sty Head or even to the Great Gable. The paths are easy enough for adults but quite a challenge to children who lack that necessary mental and physical stamina. But with constant encouragement from parents and siblings such seemingly impossible tasks are made possible.
In contrast to the Asian masses, here in England, and perhaps too in much of the Western world, an appreciation of nature starts early. Parents themselves need to be adventurous to afford such opportunities to their children. More importantly, the confidence reposed on children is far greater here than in Asia. I have seen many ten-year olds walking up steep rocky terrain with all energy and enthusiasm while their parents trail behind. Handholding is unseen in fell-walking.
Besides the obvious physical benefits, confidence is gained early in life. Whereas confidence can be gained by other means they could easily degenerate into overconfidence and arrogance. However, confidence gained in the presence of mountains is always tempered with humility and respect.
Who needs pictures?
It is just as well that I have not brought my camera on this trip. With so many beautiful views around, it would have been difficult to pick and choose. Only a panoramic or wide-angle lens will do sufficient justice. I have neither of these.
The magic of each moment will outlive all memorable pictures.
The Champions of Cumbria
If any visitor returns from the Lake District without having heard of Alfred Wainwright he or she is probably not a walker. Single-handedly Wainwright has produced numerous guidebooks, maps and drawings guiding generations of walkers across the fells. His books contain numerous quotes that speak of his deep love for these mountains and these lakes. How good would it be to have someone like him for India?
The general love towards these lakes and mountains has developed thanks to many literary figures of the 19th century. Wordsworth, Southey and Coleridge have been key poets in this exposure. Coleridge in particular has himself undertaken fascinating walks on the mountains in a time when there were no defined paths. The poem titled “Daffodils”, written by Wordsworth in this part of the country, is well-known the world over.
Keswick today is no doubt touristy and crowded during holiday periods. Yet it is fairly easy to get to places of quiet seclusion and relive those moments so highly praised by Wainwright and the Lake Poets.
This Work of Nature
Some 500 million years ago when the continents of Europe and America collided (although the Atlantic Ocean separates the two I suppose they are still joined at or beneath the ocean floor) the mountains and the lakes of Cumbria were formed. Wild and unrestrained forces have been at play in their creation. Even nature has to work hard to create a thing of beauty. Then why not we?
Honister Crag
Wainwright in one of his books describes Honister Crag in words I find apt and accurate: “Honister Crag has had the heart torn out of it but has not been tamed”. The quarries at Honister have been mined for slate for decades. Mining is no longer carried out but the landscape has forever the footprints left by man. However, there is no blame on man. If man has to survive he has only nature to supply the resources. Nothing can be build out of nothing.
Blame comes only if something is pursued to exploitation, extinction or a breaking point beyond which replenishment or regeneration is no longer possible. When that happens man will meet his natural death for man cannot survive without nature.
Heavenly Buttermere
If there should be a place called heaven that is better than this earth it surely cannot be of the five material elements – earth, water, fire, air, ether. It has to be something else, something intangible, beyond the limits of our senses. If such a claim is untrue then heaven is already a place on earth, in this valley of Buttermere and its pretty lake.
Between Fleetwith Pike and Hay Stacks there is a path that leads to what must be the most beautiful panoramic vista of the Lake District. The lakes of Buttermere and Crummock Water are neatly hemmed in by slopes clothed in colours of brown, red, green and yellow. From here the eye is lead on to the higher black rocky peaks that reach up to the floating clouds. These clouds reveal in their journeys a spread of bright blue skies. A waterfall descends from the slopes of this vantage point, glides by the valley along a pleasant course to join the lake. Such a clear day it is that the sea towards the west, some 15 miles away, is visible at the horizon. In the valley below the green farmland add interest to a scene that is dominated by the lake of Buttermere. Its placid waters reflect all the glories described above.
The silence here is deep and penetrating. The wing flaps of even sparrows are heard. The wind is so still that only one’s breath is felt. The wild grass that grow by the rock that is my seat do not move. Minutes pass in a moment.
Fresh Innocence
There is an unspeakable joy in seeing little lambs frolicking up and down the green hills with nothing on their minds and only innocence in their hearts. Every little thing in this new world of theirs must excite their curiosity. Soon they will learn to nibble on grass and forget to drink milk. Soon the necessary process of transformation will begin. Soon they will forget their innocent beginnings. Thankfully their lives will remain simple enough to retain some of that innocence.
