I have
several reasons to use the term Annus Horribilis regarding 2019 and whilst as
the Queen has intimated that it has been a bumpy ride this past year, I can
only say I’ve met with deep ditches at times. I’ll refrain from expressing self-pity and
going into detail here, as the year has not been without its brighter moments, most
of which I owe to good friends and family (they know who they are).
Buttermere in changing light.
Buttermere
in Lakeland is one of those special places in my life, I’m sure we all have
such feelings about places in our lives, so after a space of some years it was
a joy to visit again. That joy was
tinged with some sadness as the reason for the visit was so that we could lay
our parent’s ashes in a much-loved area.
It was November and cold, and let me tell you that such a time of year
is not a bad time for a visit as it avoids the crowds of tourists that
Wordsworth so frowned upon. I can’t help
feeling some sympathy with his views on that one, and heaven only knows what he
would think of Lakeland in summer now! I
have also found that I have shared something else in common with Wordsworth
that that is, as a child, his awe, verging at times on fear, and wonder at the
crags and fells that hovered above him.
I was either nine or ten years old when I first visited Buttermere,
electricity was not to arrive in the area until two or three years later. I well remember my imagination going into
overdrive as I looked up to the fells that surrounded me. It was some years later that I walked atop of
many of them.
Cottage (with many tales to tell)
Haystacks
Today the
area was seen at its best and as we approached via the Carlisle to Cockermouth
Road the grey northern fells were in places lit by shafts of sunlight which
showed that even in this dark month there was still plenty of colour and even
more, atmosphere. We were soon at
Buttermere and the cottage at the foot of Honister Pass where I celebrated my
twenty-first birthday. Here we met an
old friend that I had not seen for over thirty years and as we walked into
Wanscale Bottom below Fleetwith Pike and the Haystack range many shared
memories were spoken of as to when we used to walk here with my parents on
their favourite walk. It was as if only
hours had passed since our last meeting.
My parents ashes now lie in this area and I know that they would have
been pleased about that. Above, on the
top of Haystacks were laid the ashes of Alfred Wainwright the well-known
compiler of books on Lakeland. I’m sure
many other families have laid ashes of loved ones in this area and in fact
there were signs today that that this had occurred recently. Nature is a great consoler and healer, so I’m
pleased to say that we were accompanied by at least three Common Buzzards
as they flew overhead throughout our walk.
Their calls sounding haunting in such a vast area. This area was once frequented by Peregrine
Falcons, perhaps still is, and I often regret not taking such an interest in
nature when as a young backpacker I trekked these areas. I didn’t know then that Fleetwith Pike held a
colony of Mountain Ringlet Butterflies. It was in Wanscale Bottom many years ago that I first took an interest in watching Grey Herons. My brother had told me of them and I seem to remember borrowing binoculars from the farm and spending hours in fascination. I am still fascinated by Grey Herons, and why not?
Wanscale and the path we took.
Peter, my brother, places tribute.
There was a
very light covering of snow on the tops of some fells and as we walked back to
the cottage the light began to fade a little but shafts of sunlight still lit
the fells at the far end of Buttermere Lake.
We noticed that the Buttermere Pines are looking far from healthy, they stand
at the edge of the top of the lake and are often seen in images of the area. Otherwise, apart from minor changes to gates,
fences and paths, the area is much as I remember it from childhood. A Kestrel hovered at the foot of
Fleetwith underneath the white cross to which I first climbed as a
nine-year-old boy. The cross is a
reminder that the fells can be deadly as well as beautiful. There
are other reminders of dangers such as piles of stones and carved name of a
German girl who lost her life near here in the 1960s, an event I well
remember. My brother went to hospital in
the ambulance with her friend who had also been hurt. We remembered the two Mountain Rescue
volunteers who we all knew who were also killed when part of a crag broke lose,
again in the 1960s.
Peter used to work on the dry stone walls below the crags.
I have eventually purchased a copy of John Buxton's classic monograph on the Redstart and it is to be my end of year read. Hoping to have it completed by 2020.
Wishing you all peace and good health in the new year and beyond.
