Entertaining Mister B

After my turn around Myer’s Allotment and Leighton Moss I came home in time for a quick bite of lunch (homemade burger and coleslaw which the Dangerous Brothers and I had knocked-up for tea the previous evening, very nice too) and then collected the chefs from school (TBH and A were away visiting friends).

The sun was shining and B was anxious to drag me to the park to throw a ball around. Before we could do that, however, he needed to pack for his first Scout camp. This was a protracted and painfully slow process. I gave him the packing list, he went off to pack. When I subsequently went through the list with him it transpired that he had omitted more items than he had packed. He went away and tried again, with similar results. Eventually, I stood over him and watched him put all of the things he needed into my voluminous, and venerable, Karrimor Jaguar 6 (which dwarfed him when packed).


B, living up to his billing as a Dangerous Brother, was still recovering from a sprained ankle and whilst he was keen not to miss out, was not fit to join the rest of the Scouts on a scheduled long walk. So an early start for me – I picked him up from Sykeside Campsite by Brother’s Water at 9am. Well, I was there to pick him up, but he was still eating his breakfast. It had been wet in the night, and also very, very cold, but now the weather was apparently set fair and the views were rather splendid.

The rest of the Scouts would be returning to camp at around five in the afternoon. So; how does one entertain a boy who can’t walk too far on a sunny day in April in the North-Eastern Lakes?


First-off: a short walk along a delectable bit of path along the western shore of Brother’s Water.



…is typical of the kind of the remnants of the winter flooding which A and I noticed on our walk through the Lakes the week before. It’s hard to see it here, but a tiny dribble of water was flowing down this small bed, but as you can see, a layer of topsoil has been scoured away for a few yards either side of the rivulet. Where it met the right-of-way, a large mound of boulders was humped across the path.


It was a slow meander, with lots of pauses to try to take photos of small birds. B was a patient companion, actually a willing accomplice: we watched a pair of nuthatches seemingly taking it in turns to fly back and forth between the trunk of a tall tree and the base of small sapling nearby. As I tried to keep up with their antics through the lens of my camera, B kept up a running commentary in an attempt to help me find them as they moved.


We had arranged to meet the rest of the family at Aira Force at 11. We were a little early, and we knew that the others would almost certainly be late (they were), so decided to wait for them outside the little cafe there, at a table from which we could watch the road and wave at the others to join us when they arrived.

B and I had been listening to Chaffinches and Robins as we walked beside Brother’s Water. We’d seen a few of the songsters but always at quite a distance. Now, as we sat outside, tamer cousins came looking for crumbs on the wall by our table…


Or even onto the table itself…




Naturally, we were then duty bound to have a wander up to view Aira Force itself.



There’s a bridge at the top, from which you can stare into the chasm…


And another at the bottom…


Which is a great vantage point to view the falls…


Last time I was here there was a lot more water coming over the falls. I was quite surprised, when I checked, to discover that it was more than 5 years ago.

Less surprising to find that it is also almost 5 years since we previously visited Brougham Hall…


…and Brougham Castle…


…because I remember how much smaller the kids were at the time.

Both are well worth a visit. The castle is built on the remains of a Roman Fort. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say: built with the remains of a Roman Fort. Inside the keep, one ceiling was clearly made using a Roman headstone…


The River Eamont runs past the castle, and the town of Penrith is nearby.


One of the surprising things about the castle is that, on both of our visits, there were hardly any other visitors.


And we even found a bench that was out of the wind and so pleasantly warm to sit on as the children played hide and seek in the ruins.


They may be much bigger than they were, but happily, they still enjoy simple pleasures.

There are lots more pictures here, from our last visit, including some of swash being buckled.

Not far from the castle, a bridge over the Eamont, currently closed, showed more evidence of the winter flooding…


Entertaining Mister B

Camping in Wasdale


Shortly after our return from Norfolk, the kids and I joined a friend from the village and his gaggle of children and spent a couple of nights camping at Church Stile in Nether Wasdale.

On the way over we stopped for lunch (pies) in the charming square in Broughton in Furness.


Inevitably, the boys wanted to try out the stocks.


I didn’t take all that many photos whilst we were away. We had some mixed weather. Were eaten alive on the campsite by midges. Had nightly campfires in a brazier we rented from the campsite and which was fashioned from an old washing machine drum.

We also had a wander up to Ritson’s Force in Mosedale Beck – we’d been told it was a good place for a swim. In honesty, the water wasn’t deep enough, but we had a bit of an explore and managed to get fully immersed, one way or another, so it was worth a look.


Camping in Wasdale

Levens Park and Force Falls


Another weekend afternoon jaunt, this time with the whole family, on an old favourite walk through Levens Deer Park. The park is a proper deer park, attached to Levens Hall, and has its own herd of domesticated fallow deer, of a breed particular to the park, and likewise it’s own breed of goats, although we didn’t see those on this occasion.


It’s spread out either side of the River Kent…


…and this walk follows the western bank for a while, leaves the park briefly, crosses a road bridge and then returns via the eastern bank.


We met the deer pretty much as we entered the park.


A nice opportunity to try out my new favourite toy’s zoom facility.

Another chance cropped up after we’d left the park, when we spotted a grey heron sat on the verge of the minor lane ahead of us. It was really very gloomy at this point, both because it was late in the afternoon and also because it was overcast, so I’m quite chuffed with the result…


The minor lane is extremely quiet since it’s a dead-end, having been chopped off when the A590 dual-carriageway was built. A path continues however, under the main-road’s bridge over the Kent….


….to Force Falls.


We stopped here for a while to watch some canoeists shooting the falls.


I did take some photos, but they were taken through a tall hedge, before a resident of one of the cottages by the falls invited us to watch from their car-parking area.


There’s a sign at the other end of the park which says ‘No Swimming’. We never ignore that. Not at all.

It looked exhilarating. One canoeist did capsize as he went over, but they’d obviously got a good safety routine organised and he was soon rescued.


Most of the return leg follows this avenue of magnificent oaks, dating back to 1690 when the park was first laid out.


Some of the oaks are hollow, and there’s little that’s more enticing to a small boy than climbing inside a hollow tree.


I was more absorbed by the sun setting ahead of us.


I’ve taken photos of the boys inside this tree before, when they were tiny-tots…


….but the opening used to be much smaller and for a time they weren’t able to get inside.


On the wooded banks of the Kent, snowdrops were flowering. Spring is on its way!

Levens Park and Force Falls

Black Fell


Castor and Pollux, Leiber and Stoller, eggs and bacon, Weller and Worthington*, cheese and pickle, Cooke and Moore, Boswell and Johnson – some things are destined to always be associated in our minds, and whatever individual merit each half of the partnership has, we none the less feel that the whole is somehow greater than the sum of the parts. I have a feeling that, to a certain extent at least, walkers who know them feel much the same way about Holme Fell and Black Fell. Guide books certainly often pair them together. The chap I met one wintery morning above the Wrynose Pass, who was close to finishing bagging the Birketts, had them both pencilled in for an afternoon walk later that day, once he’d polished off some Coniston Fells. But here’s the curious thing – I’d never been up Black Fell, even though I’ve climbed Holme Fell a few times over the years, including once since I started recording my walks here.

So, with a forecast for some half decent weather (but with strong winds and some wintery showers predicted too) and  wanting to get the kids out for a wander, something in the vicinity of Loughrigg, the same sort of low fell walk, with good views, relatively easily earned, but easy retreats available too, was deemed appropriate, and Black Fell seemed to fit the bill perfectly.


We parked in a National Trust car park, just off the A593 Ambleside to Coniston road, which gave us instant access to the delightful cascades of Tom Gill, which is the stream which flows out of Tarn Hows.


These were worthy of the admission price alone – I’ve been to Tarn Hows before, but I don’t think I can have been this way – what a treat!



Now, I have to confess, I’ve never truly understood the fuss that’s made over Tarn Hows. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, obviously, and a lot of people hold views diametrically opposite to my own, but a lot of people are simply wrong: it’s a reservoir surrounded by conifer plantations. Nothing wrong with that particularly, but….I’m not sure that it can carry the weight of the hyperbole that’s heaped on it. Tom Gill is much more entertaining.


Now that we’d gained a little height, it was already proving to be a very, very windy day. Some members of the party were agitating for their lunch. It’s a perennial problem on family outings. And it’s not principally the kids who chafe. TBH still hasn’t let me forget that we missed the lunchtime serving at the pub when we last climbed Holme Fell, and that despite the fact that we were still well looked after when we did arrive. We spent a while, therefore, searching for a suitable, sheltered picnic spot.


This was it. Not really very sheltered, just less not sheltered than anywhere else we tried.


Then we were climbing towards the summit of Black Fell. The wind was making it quite hard work, especially for walkers carrying a little less ballast than yours truly, i.e. all the rest of the family. The reward was the expanding views on all sides. Little S was particularly keen to have a view of ‘Coniston’. He didn’t seem very sure whether it was the lake, the village or the mountain of that name which interested him. The Houses at the village primary school are Coniston, Scafell and Kent, so that was partly what had sparked his interest. And it transpired that one of his class mates has climbed Coniston Old Man and has been regaling her peers with tales of her derring-do. In the long term, I’m obviously keen to exploit the competitive spirit this seems to have kindled in S, but in the short term I told him that Crinkle Crags, which we climbed together in the summer, is higher, and he was immensely satisfied by that. From that point on, it was important for us to identify Crinkle Crags from the surrounding hills.


“It’s over there!”


Tarn Hows, Coniston Water and Coniston Old Man from Black Fell.


Windermere from Black Fell.


As if the wind wasn’t enough to contend with, the top of Black Fell brought the additional delight of a fierce hail shower. Fortunately, this rocky outcrop provided a pretty fair measure of protection and we hunkered down for hot blackcurrant and snacks.


Another view towards the Langdale Fells.

It had originally been my intention to incorporate Holme Fell into the walk as well, but time was marching on a good deal faster than we were, and the kids were finding the wind trying – trying to bowl them off their feet for the most part. So we picked up the path which shadows the road through the valley between Black Fell and Holme Fell. If you are thinking of following this route, be warned that the path opposite Yew Tree Tarn is very sketchy and I suspect little used. We did bump into a roe deer using it however.


* Weller and Worthington – I realise that I might have undermined my argument somewhat by posting a link of Frank Worthington’s amazing goal for Bolton against Ipswich, when he was no-longer playing alongside the wizardry of Keith Weller, but I’ll always think of them together. Here they are crafting a goal in tandem. Great team that, Lenny Glover, on the other wing, sticks in my mind too. I also realise that, as a Leicester fan, it’s probably significant that I’m clutching at crumbs of comfort from the early 1970’s.

This was fun though.

Black Fell

Ease Gill, Great Coum and Crag Hill

Bullpot Farm

This is Bullpot Farm, actually no longer a farm, but now the headquarters of The Red Rose Cave and Pothole Club. It’s the perfect spot for the club because it’s right by…

Bull Pot 

Bull Pot, which is one of the many entrances, and exits I suppose, to and from the Three Counties System, Britain’s longest and arguably most complex cave system. There are several more potholes dotted around this area.

This was the last of my post-work evening strolls this summer – and from my point of view the best. The sun was shining again – it was hot in fact.


My plan is simply described – drop down to Ease Gill, follow the stream bed up, climb to the summits of Great Coum and Crag Hill and then take a more direct route back down to the Farm and my car.

A week before I’d abandoned my plan to climb remote, untrammelled Baugh Fell on a pathless 10 mile route, following a stream almost to the top and returning over rough moorland, because I’d decided that it was too ambitious for an evening walk. This time I planned to climb remote, untrammelled Great Coum on a pathless 10 mile route, following a stream almost to the top and returning over rough moorland. What changed in that week? I don’t know – the sun was shining and continued to shine, this was a walk I’d done many times before and maybe that familiarity gave me confidence, and then I’m almost always ready to overestimate my meagre fitness.

At Bullpot farm I helloed a lady walking her dog. She was the last person I saw until I got back to my car around 5 hours later.

At 306m Bullpot farm gives a nice headstart to the climbing for a lazy hiker like me. Sadly, from there I had to head down to reach Ease Gill.

I’m not sure whether this…

The dry waterfall 

…is the feature named on the map as Ease Gill Kirk, or whether that’s a little further downstream. (I’ll take a look down that way next time!) You can see here an important feature of Ease Gill – it has no water in it, not in this section at least. There’s a small pile of boulders at the bottom of the fall facilitating it’s ascent by the bold and agile. I have climbed it in the past, but I seem to remember that I then couldn’t get up the next, higher section. This time I just went around.

It wasn’t just me that was enjoying the sunshine – this was to be a walk packed with wildlife encounters and in particular the butterflies were everywhere. I can’t think when I’ve seen such a diversity, there were whites and fritillaries on the wing, I saw skippers and one very dark butterfly which I couldn’t begin to identify. On several occasions I spent quite some time trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to photograph them.

Female common blue 

I think that this is a female common blue, but if she is, she must be very faded since both sexes generally have orange markings on the undersides of their wings.

A bird of prey hurtled past, swinging between the low trees above my on my right. I don’t know what it was, but thinking back, it had a pale, barred chest and was moving very fast, so it may have been a peregrine. Two buzzards, circling and calling ahead made me cringe a little. Even though they are so much more common than they once were I’m still always thrilled to see them, but I’m a bit more circumspect about their presence these days, after what happened a few summers ago.

In the lower reaches, Ease Gil is generally dry, although every now and again there were puddles and pools to catch and throw back the blue of the sky.

Ease Gill 

Somewhere near here I passed what I presumed to be a dig. A small drystone enclosure had been built around a hole covered by a battered pallet. The wall presumably to prevent the pothole flooding if and when the streambed has water in it. Further upstream I would see numerous small caves and resurgences, all part of the Three Counties System I imagine.


Ringlet (I think)

Common Blue 

Common blue. Probably.

The dry streambed led me to a small limestone bluff, within which…

An actual waterfall 

…a very enclosed passage with water in it! And an actual waterfall!

From this point on, the stream alternated between wet and dry.


I saw several small frogs during the walk.

Small frog

I had just snapped a couple of photos of this little fellow, on whom I had almost stood, I turned and almost stood on…

Juvenile grey wagtail 

…a juvenile grey wagtail. A week before I’d spent maybe 15 minutes trying to photograph a pair of grey wagtails, but they were constantly on the move, too far away and in too much shade. This bird couldn’t have been more obliging. It sat in the sun practically between my feet. Hopped a few yards away…

Juvenile grey wagtail II 

…and then led me up the limestone gorge…

Limestone gorge 

…hopping and fluttering, never too far away. A very trusting little chap. I took loads of photos. Meanwhile his/her parents were doing their collective nuts. Flying overhead and then veering away – showing their innocent offspring how to escape. Eventually, the youngster cottoned on and left me to the gorge and my walk.

Ease gill again 

Frankly, it was delightful. Once upon a time this was something of a favourite route and I can’t believe I’ve neglected it for so long. Back before the the Access Laws were passed, this walk always had the added frisson of a possible meeting with an irate landowner, although it never actually happened to me, and it’s quite possible, probable even, that the shotgun wielding loon only existed in my imagination.

Ease gill again II 

More gorge.

Limestone gorge II 

Even more gorge.

Another dry waterfall 

Another dry waterfall.

Eventually, the gorge comes to an end and the valley opens out.

The slopes open out 

The stream still alternates, wet and dry.

Water again! 

Where the valley narrows again, there are several small falls.


Once again, I initiated a wildlife encounter by almost standing on an unfortunate creature…

Huge frog 

…an impressively huge and strongly marked frog. S/he was down amongst tall sedges and so difficult to photograph.

Waterfall with Lady's Mantel 

I was impressed by the lady’s mantle growing beside this fall. I expect to see the alpine version in the hills, and often do, but apparently the larger leaved version is also endemic in British uplands.

Because I was following the stream or the streambed, I hadn’t had to give much thought to navigation. As luck would have it, I stopped for a drink and decided to take a peek at the map just, I realised, by Long Gill Foot, which was exactly where I had intended to leave the stream.

Upper ease gill 

In the past I’ve turned left hereabouts, heading up onto Crag Hill so that I could follow the watershed round to Gragareth, but I knew that I didn’t have the time for that on this occasion. I turned the other way, following Long Gill. A large bird perched on a fence post lifted lazily and in a couple of wing-beats was far across the valley – another buzzard, and a close encounter which was so brief that I didn’t even have my camera in hand before it was over. The climb was long and gentle, but I was beginning to feel a little weary. A host of LBJs entertained me – I think meadow pipits, and a wren emerged from a cavity in a drystone wall to berate me as only wrens can.

Much as I’d enjoyed the confines of Ease Gill, it was pleasant to finally have some more expansive views. It had been one of those warm, still midsummer evenings and looking back towards home (I think that’s Warton Crag on the left below) I wasn’t too surprised to see…

Balloon ride over Morecambe Bay 

…a hot-air balloon, which are pretty ubiquitous in this area when the weather is like this.

The ridge on to Gragareth looked inviting….


Whernside is a neighbour, but Ingleborough is always more photogenic…


The Dentdale side of Great Coum is relatively steep, and I suppose I should have wandered over to take a glimpse, but time was marching on, so I continued round to Crag Hill, which, although a little lower than Great Coum, has a trig pillar and so feels a bit more like a  summit.

Trig pillar Crag Hill 

It was nine o’clock. I’d almost stopped for a bite of tea on several occasions, but somehow nowhere had quite seemed right. Maybe a meal on the top would be ideal? But now the light was running out, so I pressed on and ate a few tomatoes and some blueberries whilst I walked.

Descent route 

The descent route offered easy going at first, but the vegetation got taller, and therefore more obstructive the further downhill I walked. I was accompanied by clouds of small moths, or seemed to be. I couldn’t decide whether they were following me, which seemed unlikely, or if every square yard of the hillside had it’s own population which were taking flight as I disturbed the peace.

I’ve often enjoyed interesting encounters with wildlife here. On one particularly memorable winter walk, a sharp, clear day, I was down by Ease Gill Kirk when I saw a large pale bird behaving in a very peculiar way. I thought at first that it might be some sort of gull, but – no, where was it’s head and neck? The body seemed to thicken and get broader then stop abruptly. It was an owl! A short-eared owl I realised later:

In late winter and spring the short-eared owl may fly high up in display, calling with hollow, booming notes and clapping its wings rapidly beneath its body.

Quite extraordinary, it’s stayed with me, though it must be at least 15 years ago. What the description doesn’t say, is that whilst the bird is clapping its wings, those wings are no-longer performing their primary function and so it hurtles towards the ground.

The only other time I can recall seeing a short-eared owl was on a very cold day on the hills around Wet Sleddale. Haven’t been back since…now there’s a plan in the offing….

Last rays of the sun on Gragareth 

The alpenglow on the slopes of Gragareth alerted me to the imminent disappearance of the sun…

Final view of the sun

But that wasn’t a problem – at this latitude, at that time of year, there’s still plenty of light for quite some time after the sun has dipped below the horizon.

I came down Aygill, where I noticed another cave entrance amongst a jumble of boulders – what I now know to be Aygill Caverns – a cave system not yet linked up to the Three Counties System, although it’s known that the water from Aygill does flow through that way.

I arrived back at the car with a little light to spare, a bit tired, a bit muddied (I managed to fall over in Aygill) but extremely satisfied.


You can pick out my route here, I think. Long Gill is the one which has the dotted and dashed black line alongside it (I think the County Boundary). You’ll have to allow me some poetic licence for the 10 miles I quoted near the top of the post. It probably isn’t much short of that – I don’t know, I don’t really care either.

Some links.

If you want to read about the Three Counties System:


(Sorry that it’s from Mail Online. My Granddad would be fuming, were he still around to fume.)

If you fancy spending a night at Bullpot Farm for the princely sum of £5:


If you want to hear the (slightly nerve-wracking) cry of a buzzard:


Ease Gill, Great Coum and Crag Hill

River Rawthey and Uldale Force


Perhaps I should say something about the meticulous planning which goes into my post-work, evening walks; indeed into all of my walks. Since it was almost two months ago, I can’t recall this in exact detail but it goes a little something like this:

Me: “Oh, none of the kids need ferrying around tomorrow do they, I could go for a walk after work.”

TBH: “You could.”

Since we will have been either already in bed at this point, or on the way there, I won’t have done anything about this nascent plan. The following morning, on my way out of the door, possibly even on time for once, I remembered the projected walk and hastily grabbed a few bits and pieces – a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, some shoes, my rucksack which hopefully would have my waterproofs in it, my camera, a water bottle, maybe a packet of nuts and a collection of maps. The maps are a constant – OL7, OL2, OL19 and OL41 – my way of keeping my options open, or, to put it another way, of putting off making a decision.

On this particular occasion, I still hadn’t made up my mind when work finished. I asked a colleague in the staffroom, who I know to be a keen walker herself:

“Where should I go for a walk this evening: Lakes, Dales, Howgills or Bowland?”


So it was that I found myself pulling into the the little car-park near Rawthey Bridge on the eastern side of the Howgills, with the intention of having a walk up to Cautley Spout, but when it dawned on me that the east facing slopes of the Howgills had already seen the last of the sun for the day, I decided to head the other way instead.

I took the old road (seen above), above the River Rawthey, across the slopes of Bluecaster and into Uldale.


I had the idea that I would follow the river all the way up onto Baugh Fell, which I’ve never climbed before. But my plans are always fluid – I’d also wondered whether it might be possible to divert into Whin Stone Gill and follow that up towards Swarth Fell.


These waterfalls put me off that plan however. That second fall could probably be scrambled, but it looked wet and vegetated and not the least bit inviting.

So: carry on up the Rawthey. This little fall….


…looks like it might be a bit off an impasse, but in fact there’s a well used path which goes around to the right here, just above the rocks on the edge of the photo.


Just above there is Uldale Force, which deserves to be better known than I suspect it is. It’s a fair sized waterfall, and the cliff curves around to either side for quite a way. I’m not sure that my photos really do it justice. I used to come this way up onto Wild Boar Fell quite often and I always wondered whether this was a collapsed cave.


Again, this can be circumvented on the right, although the ground is very steep, and if I had the kids with me I would go back first and then up, if that makes sense.

I followed the Rawthey a little further but the sky had clouded over and my enthusiasm was waning: perhaps a 10 mile round trip on Baugh Fell was a bit ambitious for an evening? Besides – Holland were playing Argentina in the semi-final. I climbed up to the path which would take me down past Uldale House and to the minor road which I don’t seem to have entirely squeezed into the map below.


I was home in time for the second half, despite dithering for a good 15 minutes on the way down, trying fruitlessly in the poor light to photograph a pair of grey wagtails.

River Rawthey and Uldale Force

Kentmere: Force Jump and Almost the Ullstone

River Kent 

Another post-work walk from back in June. I didn’t quite get away when I intended to, but arrived in Kentmere at around six and was delighted to find that there were parking spaces by the church. I’ve been thwarted on several recent occasions, when all of the limited spaces here have been full.

It was a gorgeous evening, they were ten-a-penny this June: it must be the best month of the year for weather and therefore for walking.

If recent posts about walks have been a little Wainwright dominated here’s some relief, although I was still guidebook inspired – my original intent was to follow ‘Walk 44: Upper Kentmere and the Ullstone’ from Aileen and Brian Evans ‘Short Walk In Lakeland Book 1: South Lakeland’. However, I parked in the village, rather than at Green Quarter as suggested, so as to take in Force Jump, a waterfall in the River Kent. Again, a guidebook was at least partially to blame: Mary Welsh’s ‘A Third Naturalist’s Guide to Lakeland Waterfalls throughout the the year’.

Force Jump 

Strictly speaking, there’s no access to Force Jump, but a there is a bit of a path down through trees to the river from where the fall above is visible. Is that it? I’m not sure. It doesn’t look particularly like the drawing in the book. Not to worry – a tree by the river was festooned with….


…liverworts? Worth the detour on their own I thought.

With regard to the guide books – I’ve had all three of the Evans’ series of books (as well as their definitive scramble guides) for many years and they are superb, and have been very well used. They are ideal for when time is short, or the weather is unpleasant, or when you fancy something a little off the beaten track.

Mary Welsh’s books are a more recent acquisition. I have two of them them, but will pick up the others when I see them second-hand. I like their quirkiness – whilst they do give ‘turn right at the gate’ type instructions, they also describe a particular walk, and it’s weather, flowers and wildlife, at a particular season. Each book, in common with the Evans’ books, claims to cover a section of Lakeland, but unlike the Evans’ books the regional aspect is extremely loose and there is considerable overlap between the two books I own.


Two paths skirt the Eastern edge of the Kentmere valley, for some time they are only yards apart. I took the slightly higher one. The views were great, but what I really remember was the teeming bird life in the hedgerow trees here. In particular, I came through one gate and turned to see the bright breast of a redstart in the top of a nearby sapling. I was thrilled – what a stunning bird –  but sadly not quick enough with my camera. One day.

River Kent 

Eventually the higher path climbs away from the valley, heading ultimately for the Nan Bield.

Looking back down Kentmere 

I was entertained by meadow pipits in the bracken and by the expanding view behind.

Looking back down Kentmere II 

Also by the substantial looking quarry workings on the slopes of ridge above….

Kentmere Ridge 

Quarry (disused) 

When I reached the shoulder below Smallthwaite Knott I stopped to ponder my options. The Evans’ route leaves the path to visit a huge boulder called the Ullstone…..

The Ullstone

…but that wasn’t in the sun. Then it drops down into the valley to pick up the other of the two paths – but by now that also wouldn’t be in the sun.

I chose instead to sit for a while and admire the edge on Rainsborrow Crag which I climbed in the fog a while ago, and when the midges had begun to drive me to distraction I headed back the way I came, figuring that it would keep me in the sunlight that bit longer than a more direct descent.

So: no summits ticked-off, didn’t quite make it to the Ullstone, not sure whether I found Force Jump, failed to photograph the elusive redstart. Bit of a let-down all-round?

Didn’t feel like it.

Kentmere Map

Kentmere: Force Jump and Almost the Ullstone