Lake District | Unpack an Adventure
Unpack an Adventure | Lake District
The Lake District was where I did a lot of my growing up. In typical Lakeland fashion, I spent it running down scree slopes, swimming in cold water tarns, damming streams, skimming pebbles and conquering pikes and fells.
Nowadays, home is a long way south. But as we drove north and west under early morning skies – passing the Morecombe Bay shrimp fisherman and the tourist hotspots of Windermere and Keswick – the roads grew steeper, the landscape wilder, and the views unfolding before us more familiar.
The misty moors of Ulpha was our first destination. One of England's last true wildernesses and the gateway to the Wild Western Lakes, we'd packed all manner of Fortnum's provisions for the adventure ahead. Our wickers and cool bags and lunchboxes groaned under the weight of Scotch Eggs, biscuits, cheese, and bottles of Fortnum's Rosé Prosecco and Rosé Sparkling Tea. The sweeping, near-endless views were worth the trip alone.
We packed plenty of protection against the predictably unpredictable British summertime weather, too – sun lotion, thick socks, swimmers, sun hats, rain macs, a Fortnum's umbrella, and a Fortnum's picnic blanket all made the journey to Lakeland with us. Digby, our pet pooch, was along for the ride too.
We began with a gentle wander over the bridge to the tiny Eskdale Green Station, where the elegantly mustachioed station master was flagging down the next train arriving on the single narrow gauge track.
Affectionately nicknamed 'the Ratty', we boarded the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway, a delightful chuff-chuffing steam train, en route to our next stop at Boot, once the official titleholder as England's prettiest village.
We strolled the short distance to the rocky surrounds of Dalegarth Bridge, and dived into the first picnic of the day; a celebratory brunch of pink fizz, shrimp and pickle toasts, while Digby nosed at the deep, dark and toe-curlingly cold waters of the River Esk, as it wound its way through the rocks of Low Wood.
Hunger sated, at least temporarily, we took ourselves along a tangle of Tolkeinesque pathways to the fairytale waterfall of Stanley Gill, traversing the river's stepping stones with all the balance of a tightrope walker. Safe and dry, we began a steeply steep hike to our journey's end at Mitredale and one of my favourite spots in the world, Burnmoor Tarn.
I'm biased, of course, but nowhere compares to right here.
The views are breathtaking. The chance to slip and slide down the scree side to Wastwater is as impossible to resist in adulthood as it was in our younger days. It's the perfect place for a picnic of dreams and ours was exactly that – and as the food and fizz was devoured, we stretched out on the blanket and fell into a happy snooze beneath the Lakeland sunshine.
