The Lazy Cherub Enigma: Wordsworth's Wonderland

After the Honister Hell experience we were in desperate need of some “leisurely walking". The next few days were deemed relatively easy at around 15 km each. We had now officially entered the Lake District and things went from hell to heaven in quickstep.

Day 3 – Borrowdale to Grasmere – 15.5 km.

We bade our farewells to Mrs. Jackson and headed out for Grasmere. I had been looking forward to this day since as it meant arriving in the land of Wordsworth’s inspiration and the real possibility of a good latte. This area consists of tiny hamlets and endless waterfalls – no doubt due to the prodigious rainfall. It is picturesque and completely beguiling. So much so that you forget that this is, after all, the “Fells” and before you know it you guessed it – you’re climbing. It was a gradual ascent until we hit Greenup Edge. As you might expect it lives up to its name – it’s green, it’s up and there are a lot of edges. This is another one of those rock climbing hill walks no one in England admits is boulder scrambling for two hours. Half way up we get shoved aside by a distinguished older gentlemen wearing an MEC pack. This man is on Seal Team mode. Ken calls out: “Hey! MEC! You must be Canadian!” He replies, “Yes. Vancouver!” and then promptly burns past us. Not far behind is a young boy and his mother. Up ahead is a couple that has been doing the Coast to Coast with their dogs – wiemaraner/greyhound crosses. At one point, it appears the husband is going to have to fireman carry each dog up over the ridge. Keep in mind; the Coast to Coast is billed as “completely dog friendly.” Eventually, bruised knees and all, we reach the top and so begin the descent or, as we have come to call it – “bogging.” Gorgeous scenery, amazing waterfalls, wet, soggy grass and mud plus or minus a treacherous rock path or two. We see distinguished Seal Team Vancouver guy lounging like “The Most Interesting Man in the Word” on a scenic outcrop taking in the valley below. Dog couple are regrouping because wife has blown our her ACL. Young boy and mother approach Ken and she says, “You look strangely familiar to me….” Turns out, she is an anesthesiologist at the Royal Columbian Hospital (Vancouver, BC). Ken does locums there every summer. Distinguished Seal Team (DST) Man is her father and the three of them are doing the Coast-to-Coast and then onto the Pennine Way. We commiserate together on how we all seriously underestimated the weather and terrain while DST Man forges his own path (literally) into the valley. As we approach Grasmere we see a sign pointing to “Poet’s Walk – Cream Tea and Cakes.” You had me at Poet’s Walk and you had the young boy at cakes. So of course we take the diversion. Walk starts out not so good. It’s a giant clear cut filled with machinery and marred with the scars of previous slash and burn removal. We promptly dub this the “Poet’s Walk of Despair” and determine this must be the place all poets go to when gripped with depression and addiction issues. Suddenly, we come upon an opening into a wooded glen and bam! – MAGICAL WONDERLAND!! It was like the Garden of Eden. Flowers. Trees. Ponds. Small deer running past. Owls staring down at you. A plethora of songbirds serenading you. Every woodland creature congregates here. I am sure if we waited long enough we would see wood nymphs and centaurs. We did stop for tea and cake (well, coffee and chocolate brownies) at the Lancrigg Hotel where I find sitting on the shelf of the “leave one take one” book exchange a first edition copy of Alfred Wainwright’s “Coast To Coast Walk.” I was, after all meant to find this place. Lancrigg was the summer lakes home of a certain Lady Elizabeth, esteemed friend of Wordsworth, married to a doctor (who was the surgeon on the Franklin expedition and besties with Charles Darwin and Charles Dickens). She entertained every summer the likes of Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, Mary Shelly, Robert Burns, Wordsworth (of course!) and was an avid supporter of women’s rights, anti-slavery and putting an end to child poverty. So really, I was just coming home.

Day 4 – Grasmere to Patterdale – 15 km.

Grasmere ah Grasmere. The place oozes poetic inspiration. Wordsworth said “It is the prettiest place on earth” and he has no argument from me. When one conjures up images of the Lake District this is the place that comes to mind. Wordsworth was only here for 9 yrs. but during this time he proved to be at his most productive. But enough about Wordsworth. Let’s talk about why you really come to Grasmere – GINGERBREAD. Beside St. Oswald’s church where Wordsworth is buried is a tiny shop selling gingerbread. You want to buy ALL the gingerbread. There was a line up to get into the store and since it is so small we didn’t have time to look. We panicked and only bought a small package of this magical stuff. Ken and I had only ever had gingerbread in the form of those desiccated gingerbread men of Shrek fame so we had made this purchase merely on speck and extreme tourist pressure. Then as we strolled through the churchyard looking for Wordsworth grave we ate ALL the gingerbread. This gingerbread is crack. Wait - it’s better than crack because crack isn’t gingery and gooey and has buttery crumbles all over it. Basically, if you go to Grasmere you want to buy gingerbread – A LOT of gingerbread. The other big plus of this place was trekking supply shops. Grasmere has pretty much figured out exactly what a walker will desperately need and graciously supplies it at reasonable prices. For me it was trekking poles because by now my knees were very unhappy. For Ken it was a waterproof map pouch because getting on the wrong path is far easier than staying on the right one. Then it was off to Patterdale! The walk begins with a forgiving ascent to Grisedale Tarn where once reached, you can look back onto a Beatrix Potter wonderland of foliage and sheep. We did not opt for going any higher (been there done that) and instead opted for the Grisedale Valley route. Other than wind it was great weather yet brisk enough to have us appreciate how much it would suck if the weather turned (which it does at the flip of a switch in these parts.) Had a Whitnail and I moment with a massive bull who was sleeping right on the path. He wasn’t about to move and we were afraid to. After about 15 minutes I figured if he wasn’t bothering to get up then how much of a threat could he be. Well – once we started walking past him we found out. Arrived ungored in the village of Patterdale, which consists of the Patterdale General Store on one side of the street and the White Lion Pub on the other. We were staying at the White Lion and this was our first ever stay at a public house experience. It was kind of stereotypical in a way. Pub is run by a big-breasted “mature” woman. Room was very small, clean and basic. Place was empty when we got there. We showered and came down an hour later. Suddenly the place is PACKED with people. Kids, dogs, hikers, biker, farmers. I mean it was loaded to the rafters with people. There were a bunch of military guys who where doing some machismo weekend hike marathon going on about how the “sausage bags” in their kit were useless. It would have been interesting to eavesdrop more on their debate but we needed to get to bed early. We had another long day ahead of us and Ken needs his beauty sleep before he tackles another Wainwright fell – or a randy bull.