Cross Lakes Shuttle (September 16th 2006)

Hairy found this interesting service which involved him taking a boat from Bowness and a coach from the landing stage on the otherside to where ever he wanted to go.
He decided to give it a try and go to Hawkshead then stroll back via the Claife Crier to the car ferry. We got to Bowness at about 9.00 and there was no-one about. Well, apart from a few outdoory types. The boat was just like those on Derwentwater, which was nice.

We pulled out dead on time and even had a running commentary from the driver explaining all the sights. Including stuff even Hairy didn't know. We landed just past the point where the car ferry lands and waiting right next to the landing point was the Mountain Goat bus for the next stage of the journey. About five other people got on the bus, most of them looking as though they were just going shopping, rather than serious strolling betwen pubs!

After a few stops only Hairy, Io and I were left on the bus. He got chatting to the driver who was quite surprised that we had got on the bus to go for a walk! Apparently most people who used it were tourists visiting the Beatrix Potter stuff and then retailing out in Hawkshead. We didn't retail at all in Hawkshead we simply zoomed off for the first fell top on the Claife Heights ridge: Latterbarrow.

It was a great climb, nice and steady and had this weird looking column on top. You can see it for miles around. There wasn't too many hewmings about but when we went to the western summit this party of girlies came along and started going on about how gorgeous we were. One of them was pretty gorgeous herself. Hairy's jaw started dribbling at her prospect. I could just tell he was going to do or say something stupid, so when this hewming vision bent down to stroke my head I gave her the head butt treatment. She was bowled over by it and H was so annoyed that I'd head butted her he forgot to gawp and started to be sensible again!

The rest of the girlies crowded round, it turned out to be a family outing - daughter, mother, aunt and gran. They all thought I was great, and of course I didn't argue. Hairy found his voice again and explained how he'd taught me that trick. Huh! Taught me! I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to! Luckily for them, they were off in the opposite direction, to Wreay, so H would get over his silliness pretty quick.

From Latterbarrow we headed due south to the tarns we visited in August. Still no sign of Beatrix Potter for Io and, yes, we still managed a bite and a pint at the Claife Crier. He really is getting predictable.

When we got back to Bowness it was worse the how's the tarn? It was like Blackpool in the Lakes. Hairy was the only one anywhere in walking gear. And I do mean anywhere. There was totty and bimbo staggering about on high heels. Chavs and dimbos in T shirts, trying to ripple their muscles and look hard. It was absolutely CACK. I had never really twigged why hairy likes back of Skiddaw so much, but seeing this hewming dross lolling about everywhere made me realise - he's not so stupid really, after all. (And he bought us an Ice Cream each - which was much appreciated.)

I thought it was interesting that none of this hewming flotsam had even managed to make it over Windermere to look for Beatrix Potter. At least at how's the tarn, the hoorahs had made the effort. I'm glad I'm not a hewming.