In front of the Penrith station we caught a local bus and got on with a young Danish couple to whom I felt a bond. After all, I'd spent at least 20 minutes in the Copenhagen airport just the day before! We discussed the Viking origins of place names in this corner of England and whether they resemble modern Danish. As we rolled through the hamlet of Threlkeld, he postulated that the name had something to do with slaves. (Wikipedia translates it as " the serf's well".) So we arrived in Keswick with the return of the Vikings .
Keswick is a town of slate houses and slate shops and slate hotels at one end of Derwentwater. which anywhere else in the English speaking world would be known as a lake. (Keswick is pronounced "Kessick", by the way. The "w" must have dissolved in the rain.)
Yesterday we walked around the lake, probably because it's the simplest sort of walk to do and hard to lose your way. If you keep the lake to one side, 11 miles later you're going to find yourself back where you started. It is magnificent, the great crags looming over the cold, clear water, but all in a most civilized, English way, the groomed trail, the perfectly placed bench. The thick moss, ferns, rhododendrons, and sweet, ripe blackberries along the trail are reminiscent of the rainy valley where I grew up. So was the rain. It rained all day and people put on their raincoats and went on with what they were doing, because that's how you live in Rain Country.
One difference though is that at home the mountains are carpeted with forests of Doug Fir and their friends while the Lake District fells are pretty much treeless. In the last few days I've heard Neolithic settlers and the local Herdwick sheep blamed for the presumed deforestation. Which doesn't seem quite fair, since neither of the accused parties can defend themselves. ( Anyway, if the US Forest Service auctions off the logging rights pell-mell, the distinction will be moot.)
After the circumambulation of Derwent, we stopped by our B&B where the wonderful landlady had stocked our room with cookies and tea-makings and then we headed right back out in a steady downpour to see my personal reason for coming to Keswick: the Castlerigg Stone Circle. It is perhaps a five mile walk there and back, partly on a country road sunk deep between the hedgerows and so narrow that two cars could not possibly pass each other.
It did not disappoint. The circle sits in the middle of a meadow with a 360 degree view of the fell peaks around it, half hidden in cloud. Various websites date it randomly between 1500 and 4000 BCE. It is much smaller than Stonehenge, but you can walk among the rocks, watched only by the caretenders, sheep who work diligently keeping the grass around the ancient stones trimmed.
I wish I could post pictures, but I can't download from the camera and IPhone pictures are not that great. Besides, I know from sad experience that the brilliant engineering in the IPhone can be defeated by a single drop of water, so I didn't dare take it out of its plastic bag.
A bit sodden, we walked straight back to town and into the slate and timbers pub on the square called (I am not making this up) The Dog and Gun. It was absolutely mobbed with local people speaking their marvelous Viking flavored English, but not a wisp of tobacco smoke which just goes to show that there is positive change happening in the world. There were dogs in the pub, but frankly, I don't think they were enjoying the experience. They seemed cowed by the din and the boots and hid under the tables and in the corners. Everyone who was eating had the same dinner: a big, hot bowl of goulash with garlic bread.
It was a wet day, but it was a great day.
After the circumambulation of Derwent, we stopped by our B&B where the wonderful landlady had stocked our room with cookies and tea-makings and then we headed right back out in a steady downpour to see my personal reason for coming to Keswick: the Castlerigg Stone Circle. It is perhaps a five mile walk there and back, partly on a country road sunk deep between the hedgerows and so narrow that two cars could not possibly pass each other.
It did not disappoint. The circle sits in the middle of a meadow with a 360 degree view of the fell peaks around it, half hidden in cloud. Various websites date it randomly between 1500 and 4000 BCE. It is much smaller than Stonehenge, but you can walk among the rocks, watched only by the caretenders, sheep who work diligently keeping the grass around the ancient stones trimmed.
I wish I could post pictures, but I can't download from the camera and IPhone pictures are not that great. Besides, I know from sad experience that the brilliant engineering in the IPhone can be defeated by a single drop of water, so I didn't dare take it out of its plastic bag.
A bit sodden, we walked straight back to town and into the slate and timbers pub on the square called (I am not making this up) The Dog and Gun. It was absolutely mobbed with local people speaking their marvelous Viking flavored English, but not a wisp of tobacco smoke which just goes to show that there is positive change happening in the world. There were dogs in the pub, but frankly, I don't think they were enjoying the experience. They seemed cowed by the din and the boots and hid under the tables and in the corners. Everyone who was eating had the same dinner: a big, hot bowl of goulash with garlic bread.
It was a wet day, but it was a great day.
No comments:
Post a Comment