Orrest Head, Allen Knot, and a Rowboat

We decided today we needed a mellow walk. The one we picked from the Crimson Short Walks, Lakes District: Great Short Walks For All The Family was "Orrest Head and Allan Knot." In brief, one goes to the nearby town of Windermere, which is in the gently rolling countryside south of the main mountain zone, and ascend to Orrest Head, a viewpoint above town. Then you walk through a patchwork of farms to Allen Knott, a hill that once had a hill fort on it. Then you walk back. Four and a half miles: two hours. Says the guide. Really, our first experience with actually using a guide.

Orrest Head was interesting: it did have great views. We get up there on a well-worn and well-marked path, and then set off down the other side into sheep fields. The only other people on Orrest Head was a Japanese tour group that had walked up from their bus, and I realized that Orrest Head itself (which did have great views) was probably as close as the tour was going to let them get to actual walking. I felt privileged.

We followed our directions and map to this ladder stile and that kissing gate; "ascend through field to through-stile then cross small enclosure noting nicely pollarded ash tree to left;" and so on. It got hot. Really hot. 25 or so. The sun baked us. Cows tried to refuse us access to their field by blocking the stile.

I have to say that the sheep dung and cow poop are really beginning to get to me. The only parts of this walk where we weren't weaving between piles of poo were when we were walking on the road. It's a complete contradiction to the National Park thing. Here you have these idyllic cottages, these scenic stone walls, these pastoral trees and streams, and throughout, even, yea, unto the highest fell, sheep and sheep dung. I thought the golfers in Westward Ho! who were playing through the obstacle course of sheep dung were tolerant, but how can outdoor enthusiasts accept the sheep droppings all over their beloved fells?

Eventually after lunch at Allen Knott, we became weary of this trek through Other People's Farms, and decided we liked the high fells better. Upon return to Windermere the boys were rewarded for their patience with ice creams, and Kate scored some good curriculum books in the WH Smiths bookstore. Then we headed back to Ambleside and our rendezvous with a rowboat. It was so hot we had to head for the lake.

At the head of Windermere, as I think I described before, there's a large marina, which is more or less in the town of Ambleside. Lots of sailboats are parked here, the streamboat calls from Bowness-on-Windermere, and you can rent rowboats. The rowboats are lined up on the shore, and they are all identical, beautiful, wooden rowboats, with four oars each, a back seat wher eyou can serendae your lover, and a name. We took Spray out for an hour.

Galen or Will would row on the aft set of oars, and Kate or I would row on the fore set, trying to match the kid in front of us. Galen had a slow steady stroke, but Will was a madman, a real turbine to keep up with. Nonetheless we did a good job of rowing all over the head of Windermere, avoided the steamer, and explored up the mouth of the River Rothay. Those not rowing got to trail their hands in the water and cool off. A little sign in the boat said "Do not stand up to change places." But we figure that could not have been intended to apply to Canadians. These rowboats were massive, far harder to tip over than a canoe. And we stand up in our canoe to change places all the time.

A military helicopter flew by, low over the water. Kate was grinning.

Home for dinner, and "In The Night Garden." Even I am beginning to be able to tell the Ninky-Nonk from the Pinky-Ponk at this point.