Buttermere

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.

Then it was back for a late lunch and more memories at the cottage before we said our farewells and made for home in darkness.  I must return soon.

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.