Walk over fells to Lang How

This was the walk that wasn't supposed to be: for the want of £3, we discovered it.

This morning we left Ambleside, in Eddie, with lunch, water and windbreakers, headed for the White Moss Common parking lot. It was only a five minute drive, and we were going to walk around Rydal Lake. After two days in Ambleside and seeing all the walkers, we were going to see what all the fuss was about. This three and a half mile hike was recommended in a guide as a family hike, and we figured it would be a sort of easy, friendly introduction for the boys to walking, a practice we didn't want to turn them off of.

But when we got to the parking lot we found it was Pay-and-Display, and we didn't have the three £1 coins we needed. We decided to go to the nearby village of Grasmere to see if we could get change. On the way, Kate saw the fells, the upland areas above treeline, and said, "Wow, why don't we go up there?"

Easy to get to Grasmere, not easy to get change: one thing led to another. We dropped Kate off on the main street, which was lined with stores and cafes (gosh, pretty upscale for a small village; what's going on here?), and had, of course, no parking. After we turned around in the cramped parking lot of a posh hotel, and I bumped my head on the car door trying to wave to Kate--we're over here!) she said all stores had refused to give her change. We decided to buy a coffee to get change, and while she was off doing this (we are in Eddie, wedged in an alley illegally), I perused the map for possibilities around here. Actually, Grasmere looked like a pretty good starting place to walk up on a nice fell to its southwest. There might be a nice view down into the valley called Langdale from there.

All around us, was a constant stream of hikers moving through Grasmere from the pay-&-display lot on the edge of town. Ah: clarity dawned. The first, and perhaps hardest thing about hiking in the Lakes is finding parking. Nothing else happens--no nice walk, no fell views, no wicked weather--until you find parking. You could be all set to go, in your Patagonia coat with your Karrimor pack and your twin nordic walking poles, and be in tears, dead in the water, because you can't find parking.

So, £1 coins in hand we parked in Grasmere's large pay-&-display, and set out through the town (running to stay just ahead of a large Japanese tour headed for the churchyard and the Wordsworth graves). We ran the gamut of shops (organic skin care, woolen sweaters, garden supplies, hotel, restaurant, gingerbread factory), and found our way onto a little road out of town, a stone wall on either side and naturally (are you joking?) no sidewalks. The surprisingly large number of posh hotels (what is this place?) began to gave way to fields, and then IT happened. A fighter jet came screaming in overhead from the east at an impossibly low altitude and banked hard over Grasmere to negotiate the valley as it turned away to the north. Another one was hard on his tail. "Wow!" said Kate and spun around with light in her eyes. You see, Kate LOVES fighter planes, so this was not like something ruining our Nice Little Lakes Experience: this is actually making it better.

Now we left the road onto a public footpath, and climbed up through lovely fields and trees, by moss-covered stone walls, the whole thing looking like a picture on a calendar ("England Through The Seasons"). We ascended up out beyond trees, where it's just endless grass and ferns, and began to encounter sheep. Another fighter jet roared over head. Kate was in heaven: sheep, fighter planes, and partial cloud.

The boys did great, as they tend to on these kind of hikes. Will was into music, composing pieces on his new harmonica as he ascended. In fact we were treated to harmonica music all day, all over the fells. I suspect some of the hikers we passed had never heard a little boy playing the harmonica above treeline before. Galen was somewhere else, listening to his mp3 player, practising to one day become a teenager; but no slowpoke.

At some point we left the track to attempt some cross-country navigation, since I naturally can't stay on a trail. Had lunch on a point of rock. The boys eagerly pulled out their latest find: "Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding" flavoured potato chips. (They were nasty. Yesterday they had "Dutch Edam Cheese" flavoured, which were pretty good. If you're guessing that this little potato chip campaign has something to do with the World Cup, you're probably right.)

Discovered a compelling, craggy hill on top of the fells called Lang How; climbed it. Fantastic views in all directions. Found some marshes and pools. Sheep everywhere. It reminded Kate and me of hiking on tundra in Alaska, the way the green turf is draped over the bones of the rocks; except for the sheep, and the fact that down off the fells we could see fields and small civilized towns. And so I began to relate hiking in the Lakes to my experience of hiking on Hudson Bay Mountain in Smithers. You can imagine it's wilderness until you look over the edge and there's a town down there. Kind of spoils it. But here I think that's very much what people expect and want. They want to be in sturdy hiking boots approaching the summit cairn in the morning, and taking tea in the garden of the Hotel a few hours later. That may in fact be the pattern for a lot of European hiking, and that might explain why it's so popular.

Found another footpath running across the fells and followed it back towards Grasmere. We descended through fern forests which smelled wonderful. We returned to the world of trees, and rock fences, and left the sheep behind. In Grasmere we bought some of "Sarah Nelson's Original Celebrated Grasmere Gingerbread" from a tiny shop in the church, as another fighter plane roared overhead. "Does that go on every day?" I asked the lady. "Pretty much," she said, and the baker behind her added, "Except when it's wet--then you don't hear 'em." I could just imagine when the cloud was low: these valleys as cul-de-sacs.

Kate liked the gingerbread so much she went back in and bought more. On the way back to the car she got sidetracked into organic skin care and bought some body balm. Truly a red letter day for her. (We got lots of ideas for her birthday, which is Wednesday.)

Drove home, dropped our packs, and walked down through Ambleside to the Galava Roman Fort, which is a ruin at the north end of [lake] Windermere. Poked around there, and then walked over to the Ambleside Dock, where a steamer calls every hour or so to take you down-lake to Bowness-on-Windermere, the only big town actually on Windermere. There was an office renting beautiful wooden rowboats, and we dearly wanted to hire one, but they were closed for want of staff.

Walked home. Kate got dinner ready, Will polished his harmonica, and the boys turned on the telly to catch their favourite CBBC show: "Night Garden." Which I can only describe as a tele-tubbies-like fantasy about tiny creatures. It's gentle and fantastical.

I went to the Queens Hotel to check the email and learned the sad news that Fletcher, our cat, had had to be put down over the weekend. (He had been dying of kidney failure for over a year.) I phoned the vet and got the details. There were lots of long faces around our dinner table.