After last I wrote, we sat up late again to watch for the badgers, and this time were rewarded by two who came over the rocks, and a third who seemed to be the intruder we had seen on Sunday night, who came from the direction of the new Kelbarrow sett. We hoped, rather wickedly, to see some sort of set-to, but other than one badger giving the others a wide berth, it was remarkably uneventful. Yesterday morning Aunt S woke us as usual and we took breakfast in the drawing room window, where we could watch the birds and gaze upon the view of the lake, which I love. I am determined not to leave it another four years before I return here. Aunt S sat with us for a few moments, before going to meet the milkman, with whom she wished to speak. As soon as he opened the door of his van, his two beastly terrier pups burst out and bounded across the lawn and down the slope. He called them back, and one ran, barking, right into the house to disturb our breakfast. I ordered it out quite sternly, but it made us chase it round the kitchen before it could be retrieved.
We carried out many last minute chores for Aunt S, and finally got away, and just in time, for we passed the florist�s van on our way through the village.
We took the northern road out of Grasmere past the Travellers Rest and over the crest of the valley, beneath the Lion and the Lamb. Thirlmere stretched green and silver alongside our road, and we were obliged to pause at one of the many lay-bys to take photographs of a pretty waterfall across the lake.
We parked in Keswick and took our lunch down to the shores of Derwentwater, where we sat on our coats upon the grass with the lowering might of Skiddaw behind us. Foolishly we had left our cameras in the car, for the view of the lake and its islands was exceptionally pretty. As we watched, a group of girls rowed backwards away from the jetty, chanting Rooney, Rooney, as though this might make it easier to plough the stern of the boat into the currents.
We took a pretty, shady road around the very back of the Lake District and down into the village of Loweswater, where it was easy to find the Kirkstile Inn, as there is little else there. We were shown to our room and delighted to find not only a four poster bed but also a low wooden beam across the room, not set against the ceiling, but sunk solidly into both walls.
After showering, we decided to walk around the lake, but took several wrong paths before finding ourselves in the right direction. This was from not checking the map or trusting our own sense of internal north. We saw a rare red squirrel scampering down the road ahead of us.
Near the lake, we detoured up to look at Holme Force, a small uninteresting waterfall surrounded by much foliage. The path then led us through some ugly aforestated woodland quite some distance from the lakeshore. This held little interest for me, and I was glad when we reached Waterend and turned towards home. Loweswater itself is somewhat unspectacular, but grants the occasional superb view. At this point we were caught in an almighty downpour and trudged along the lakeside become increasingly soaked, but not unhappy.
We changed out of our wetted garments and repaired to the bar for a warming drink. The wine and the rib-eye steaks proved most acceptable, and we read our books together in the warmth for some time.
We watched the final episodes of Frasier, and they were neither thrilling nor disappointing.
This morning we woke to a hazy view of Mellbreak�s single peak, rising into heavy rainclouds. We breakfasted well and packed up our effects. I have not packed as lightly as I might have, for I was obliged to bring such clothes as would be suitable for warm weather as well as wet. It has been mostly wet.
We took a route past pretty Crummock Water and Buttermere, and up Honister Pass. This treacherous way afforded many sights of waterfalls and streams, and we stopped to inspect these, but the elements were wild around us, and we returned hastily, shivering, to the car.
At the top of the pass we made a more determined effort, parking the car and walking around some of the mining museum. The wind whipped around us and chased us once more back to the car. Driving down the pass towards Derwentwater gave us more splendid views, but behind us Great Gable and Scafell were shrouded in stormy cloud.
We crossed the county to Penrith and took a cup of tea in a small insalubrious caf�. There was little in the town to entertain us in the rain, and we did not need lunch, so we soon came on to the farm where we are staying. I think perhaps P questioned my wisdom in billeting us somewhere so remote; but the farmhouse was welcoming and pleasant, in the heart of the Dalemain estate.
We ate some biscuits which the young farmer�s wife kindly provided us, and then walked over to Dacre, perhaps a mile away by the farm track. The pub there was quiet, and the wine came from a tap on the bar. They closed at three, so we walked another couple of miles in the rain to Pooley Bridge. It is not cold, but the drizzle is persistent, and I am glad of my little peaked cap, to keep the raindrops from my glasses. We walked a little way along the eastern shore of Ullswater, but spotted no Orcs.