Grasmere, Rydal, and Ambleside...and there-abouts

OK, so apparently Eliza did a crappy job on the photography. We don't have much in the way of photos from Days 4 and 5 (we're really not sure what happened there, because we remember taking lots of photos...). On Day 4, we took the bus up from Windermere to Dove Cottage (Wordsworth's former home) outside of Grasmere, and hiked up to the Alcock Tarn, which was a relatively short, somewhat steep climb up to a lovely view west over Grasmere, south across Rydal and down towards Windermere. (Not that you'd know it due to the darth of photos...) We had grand ambitions of climbing back up and continuing on to Great Rigg, further north, but our legs didn't cooperate (literally--right leg kept collapsing). So we opted for a stroll around Grasmere village, and then continued on around Grasmere and down around Rydal Water.



So the next day we took the bus up to Ambleside and trekked up to Trout Beck. The cows were a bonus:


To our great disappointment, we didn't see a single one. (where were they?!)

But it was a pretty hike up:



And a nice view down to the valley:





We walked through some lovely farms on the way down, passing a couple of wells like this:



Here's our hotel in Windermere, the very lovely (inside and out) Applegarth Hotel (we recommend it):

Day 3, going to Windermere

On day 3, we were tired. A couple from the hotel (Eliza stupidly didn't get photos...) graciously dropped us in Windermere where we were to stay for the next 3 nights. We opted for a lake cruise and lazy day. It was overcast and threatening but never rained.



We sailed to the north end of the lake and had lunch at a lakeside pub before catching the boat back. We enjoyed the scenery. A swan:



Ah yes, such graceful creatures.

And a cowboy family:



Pink cowboy hats and butterfly nets? Must be an English thing.

Walking through Windermere, we passed the local Italian restaurant. Too bad we were going to miss Frank Sinatra night, I was really disappointed:



Windermere boasts its own cross stitch and Christmas shop (ye old shoppe, I should say).



We walked out of the hotel to find dinner on the first night and stumbled upon a spectacle in the square. We had to run back to the hotel for the camera but managed to capture the last few minutes of what, it turns out, was a group of Morris (sp?)dancers. With pipe and squeeze organ and fiddle and...lots of bells...





But the juxtaposition of the Morris dancers with the Disaffected Youth was priceless:

1994

Eliza's pictures from Scotland in the Black Cuillins post reminds me of a trip we took together back in 1994. Do you remember, Eliza?

Eliza and I took two weeks to camp and hike in Oregon. We visited Crater Lake, my personal favorite, but we also traveled to the Three Sisters area. This used to be the site of an active volcano, and the evidence of eruptions can still be seen.



I was so struck by the contrast between the green of the pine trees and the black of the volcanic rock. This trip was the last camping trip I made before I got sick. We traveled at the end of July 1994, and I fell ill in October. It is so weird to think that this was the last time Eliza and I slept in a tent, made a fire, and hiked in a forest. At the time, I expected we would make a trip like that every year.

The Black Cuillins

For our second hike in Skye, we ventured into the black Cuillins, a rugged range on the north side of Skye.









We picnicked in the shadows of the mountains, squinting to see climbers on the rocky peaks around us.



On the way back, we came across a true Highlands celebrity:

Benn Eighe

En route from Gairloch to Skye, we hiked at Benn Eighe. It was a very very steep, rocky climb up to lovely views--west to even greater, rockier heights, east to a beautiful blue lake and more peaks to climb. Here I am at the summit:



After all Eliza and I had imagined about the Highlands, we still just didn't appreciate how High and Rugged they really are:





Here's the group, before we head back down:



Shortly after this photo, Eliza took a spectacular fall on the trail--tripped and flew and rolled in the heather. On flat ground. Classic.

Sweeping up

A fellow hiker from the Scotland trip shared some photos with me that relate to some earlier posts. With many thanks to our group's Uber Photographer, I share them with you:

From day 1, the hike in the rain (reminder: the only rainy day we had in Scotland!), here's the group outside the bothy to which we retreated for lunch:



The lovely inn at Gairloch had a wee, wicked guard dog named Bos. You'll see how vicious he could be:



And here's a great photo of Stuart in action with his dogs, and the group thoroughly enthralled by the spectacle:

The weather in Scotland defied reason and explanation--after the one misty day, we had nothing but sunshine. It brought out the colors of the sea, the sky, the heather, the grasses, the rocks. In short: just beautiful.

We found the bothy in the previous post on a trek across a headland near Gairloch.



The peat is a veritable sponge:



We hiked off-trail across the peat...





...to get to this reward:



The hike back from the beach was pretty scary, actually, so we don't have photos of that bit--we were focused on staying on the cliff...

Near Gairloch, we stayed in an old lodge in Shieldaig, built as a hunting and fishing destination in the late 1800s. The only thing it lacked was a murder--it felt like an English movie. With a fantastic view:



Here's the view from my room:



The lodge had two grand sitting rooms for guests, one of which had a "boom box" and a collection of CDs (mostly classical with some other random bits here and there). I found the following:



...(with apologies for the poor resolution). It says, "Whip my Towdies." We of course asked Angela, our Scottish authority, what that meant, assuming it was some Scottish folk CD or something. She didn't even recognize the word. We're somewhat alarmed...

Hiking on the peat

Our first proper hiking day in Scotland was gray and misty--extremely appropriate as we walked off-trail across the peat.





The peat, the geology, the flora--incredible. While the heather unfortunately was not in bloom (we walked amidst 3 varieties that bloom progressively throughout the summer, but were too early for any of them), we walked amidst it constantly. And gingerly amongst the gorse (I now know why it features prominently in so many English novels--those lovely yellow flowers mask some wicked wicked thorns). The peat is a virtual sponge, absorbing and holding onto water. Walking off-trail, we became skilled at reading the plants in the effort to preserve some degree of dry socks--step on that kind of green moss and you'll sink in 6" of water; step on that reddish moss and you'll have time enough to get to the next foothold before you sink; step on that tussock of grass and you'll be ok...





The highlands apparently have a longstanding tradition of bothies (plural of bothy?), little huts/shelters scattered here and there for the use of hikers/backpackers. We took shelter from the rain for our lunch. Here we've been joined by another hiker (center) who was out walking the dogs while her husband fishes.



A room with a view...



We encountered the bothy below on another day. This was designed and constructed by a very resourceful and hearty man (because it is NOT easy to get to, particularly schlepping building materials...). Here, the entrance...





Here the fireplace and mantle, complete with photos and icons:



Here the sitting area:



And here, the kitchen:



featuring rice, courtesy of...Glenmorangie? Well-aged, no doubt.