Showing Kat Derwentwater (April 15th 2007)

Uncle Tony's got a girlfriend.

She's Polish. Katarjena (I think that's how it's spelled!) She's nice.

He brought her to the Lakes for a holiday.

We showed her Derwentwater, a pub, Swinside, a pub, Loweswater, a pub, Gilcrux, a pub, West Newton, a pub, Allonby, a pub.

I think she may have the impression that Hairy is a dypsomaniac.

We didn't actually get a picture of her or U.T. this time but we will, we will...

The Derwentwater stroll was the one Hairy did, in a previous entry, and had the mountain of cake and ice cream at the Shepherd's Crag cafe. You guessed, we did exactly the same, although Kat eats like a bird and we had to finish her cake!! Yahoo.


Snappers on the shore.
On the way there were a huge number of snappers waiting to photograph the ferry, so Io and I went for a splash putting ripples in the nice smooth lake surface. Tut, tut, naughty, naughty. It was funny though.


It's a song by the Drifters (almost) 'cept we're not under it!
We caught the ferry back from Brandelhow (as usual) and got splashed ourselves as the ferry was going into the wind and we had chosen to sit in the open front.



And yes, before you ask we did call at the tram man in Keswick first, and he gave us some bacon bits. He's a very nice man.

No heart problems at all (April 13th 2007)

Blencathra.

From Mungrisdale! There's nothing wrong with Hairy's heart, if he can do this. In under two hours from the start! It's about four miles of ascent this way!

It was great. I love the back of Skiddaw fells, they're so kind to my aged paws, as they're mainly grass. This route up Blencathra isn't one of the more touristy and therefore it is usually deserted - today was no exception. We met nary a soul until Foule Crag, but that is just a spit from the fell top.

We parked along from the pub in Mungrisdale and headed out along the beck that leads to The Tongue. We were at the top of Bannerdale Crags in under an hour. He must've known about our planned revolt and decided to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. It is grassy and fairly gentle, so you can yomp on. (I bet even the bof brother in law would have managed it, too - well, maybe not!).

Me in front of Foule Crag.

We met fell runners at Glenderamakin Col. Ancient ones! Must've both been in retirement time, easily. They'd just swarmed down the route we were heading up. (Foule Crag.) Not to be outdone, we swarmed up. The height just flew past and before you knew it we were on top, looking down at the loonies clinging to Sharp Edge, with their teeth, and cacking their pants. H. had a chat with a bloke sat at the path top. He was a teacher from Manchester who, judging by the whiff, had just climbed S.E. too! I don't think Hairy guessed.

Luckily there was loads of water in the tarn just past the quartz cross, so we could have a big, big drink. Then at the top of Hall's Fell ridge we had our snap.

Really hazy background, isn't it?

It was a great day. Hot, sunny and really warm. It would've been even better if there'd been anything like decent visibility - but you can't have everything. We pottered about on the summit for about half an hour, visiting each of the separate tops. H. was really, really happy. I don't know why. I guess it was the climbing that does it. The whiff was just whistling off him like steam, for ages.

The summit was busier than Whitehaven's market on a Thursday morning. (Less chavs though!) There were wrinklies who obviously weren't past it yet; there were little sprogs who must've been dragged up by their boot laces and loads of fit looking outdoory types!

There were even one or two of those dozy buggers who carry a baby up in a rucksack, as though the baby appreciates it at all! I think it's just a kind of showing off - "Look at me.. I'm a virile bloke who can still carry a heavy weight up a mountain." What total prats they are. More bloody fool you for bringing it up to show off, when the chabe would be happier at a child minder, it wouldn't even know the difference! That's what I think, anyway. Hewmings do the most moronic things.

Even Hairy has his moments. Luckily, going down S.E. didn't figure in his plans. That would have been a moronic moment worse than rucksacking a baby. His moronic moment was deciding to go up Souther Fell after strolling down Scales Fell.

It's us with Blencathra right at the back and Bannerdale Crags immediately behind us. It's a good job you can't read the caption on Hairy's Reduced Shakespeare Company T shirt, it says: "I love my Willy!" That's why his hand is over the writing in this photo, but the truth will out, as they say!

Why Souther? We didn't need to. But he did it anyway. I guess it sort of completed a logical circuit and it meant we kept height until the very last minute instead of wandering down a valley bottom for two miles back to the pub.

We encountered more moronic actions at the bottom, some total arsehole had blocked off the path down to the pub and put up signs saying it wasn't a right of way. It damn well used to be! People who block paths like that deserve to have their throats ripped out on sacrificial rocks like Long Meg and her Daughters!! We'd both do it for free. Hairy was so pissed, he didn't even bother to go for a swift drinkie at the pub.

(Well, to be fair he was going to see the Halle Orchestra at the Sands in the evening, and probably didn't want to end up snoozing through Carmen!)

Wasdale's Nether Regions (April 11th 2007)

Yet another wrinkly stroll (probably for the Screature) which took us to a pub for lunch. How unusual is that?

We parked up by Wastwater and strolled away from utopia, I told Io there was probably going to be a pub involved but she was sure we'd be going up a giant by a sneaky route. She's a half full sort of puppy. (That's half-full of brain not a half full glass, optimistic type!)

Io trying to catch her lunch!! You should see the on that got away.

There were lots of interesting whiffs to be found and sure enough we ended up in Nether Wasdale, home of two pubs, one of which has a micro brewery. Sadly for the H.ster the Strands hotel, home of the Strands Micro, wasn't open! So we had to decamp to the Screes Inn instead (a difficult trek - just across the road!).



We had lunch (or they did, and we got titbits again) and they had some second choice beer. Yates once again!

Io and The Screature contemplate the wisdom of dropping their pooh-sticks on the downstream side of the bridge!

The stroll back was much better. We had the giants in sight all the way back and we found the outfall of Wastwater which was dead picturesque. There were lots of seats along the path, designed for wrinklies, no doubt, but even we sat and watched the clouds roll across Yewbarrow and Great Gable for ages. (Well, it seemed like ages to us!)

Eat your heart out Heaton Cooper.

Wastwater was pretty cold, but great for a quick splash about. There were even some hewming sprogs having a paddle and swim - sometimes they do the silliest things. (It was a very warm day for April, really.)

Yet again it was another wrinkly doddly stroll. Has the H.ster's heart condition finally caught up with him? There may be a revolt on the cards...

Mean, moody and magnificent and that's not the scenery I'm talking about.

Meg and Lacy (April 10th 2007)

A three expedition day today.


The S. went to do retail crafting therapy in Penrith, so H. took us up the Beacon, he often does this while The S. is busy spending money in town.

Then... something new for us, but obviously not for Hairy as he knew where he was going, we went to a stone circle (the first of three over Easter) Long Meg and her Daughters at Salkeld, near the river Eden. It was really good and we nearly got to sacrifice H on a slab, but the spoilsport wouldn't let us rip his throat out and offer his body up to the gods. I think Io would've liked to have done it, too!
Here. I'm singing "Papa was a rolling stone". Io thought it was funny!


There were lots of weird smells all over. Strange hewming ones, when they have funny chemicals going off in their heads, type of smells. Weirdo whiffs, Io calls 'em. It was pretty strange as none of the hewmings that were there looked like their heads were doing unusual things to them but you never can tell with hewmings. There were some right old smells too. Stuff that could have been dinosaur related, according to Io, but I think she was just getting overexcited about nearly chomping Hairy's neck open.

2 cute Weimaraners prepare to do a quick trachaeotomy on collapsed owner!

After this we went to another strange spot, actually on the banks of the Eden. Lacy's Caves. They were dug out of the cliffside by a bored chap in the eighteenth century, apparently. Although, I bet he got some of his blokes to do it, not him wielding a shovel at all! They were all these room type things, a bit like the Druid's Caves at Birchover, in Derbyshire, near Hairy's Mum's house. These were all red cos of the rock colour, the Druid ones are millstone grit and a greyish brown colour. Not as pretty.


Lacy's caves have their own open air pool - it's called the River Eden.
The smells here were the usual hewming stuff: wee, pooh, bonking etc. They tell us off for doing it all over the place and they're just as bad themselves. It int reight!



It's strange but we were more tired having done three titchy things than if we'd been up a giant! We pushed the zeds all the way home and well into the evening. Perhaps it was all them smells from long ago that tired out our olefactories.

More Tea, Less Beer! (April 7th 2007)

Oh no, what a Great Cockup! The Snooty Fox at Uldale doesn't do lunchtime fud anymore (except for Sunday!).



Hairy had planned a walk past Chapel House reservoir to Uldale to have a snack with the Screature, which came unstuck as he was living in the past. [He used to live in Torpenhow, years ago, and the Fox did light lunchtime snacks then- of which he often partook!] The sands of time have marched on and now either less tourists or lethargy on the part of the publican means there's no grub at the Fox - except in the evenings.


H. wearing posh wellies at Chapel House. He didn't need 'em!
Hairy's ears got a bashing as they arrived famished. (The S had been "de-badgered" at Will's hairdresser's in Cockermouth and was ready for a good nosh. Hairy gets scalped there too but he doesn't need his roots doing!)



Luckily for the H.ster, the craft shop has a tea-room which does rather tasty fud so his ears weren't too bashed. Plus, we were able to sit with them at a very convenient outside table and snaffle tit-bits they passed down to us. Yummy! According to them both, this is the best tea room for views in the whole Lakes as it takes in the complete panorama from Carrock Fell in the east to Skiddaw and beyond in the west. Naturally H. could name them all - show off. (We could've too, as he's taken us up all of 'em in the last few years.)


It looks so inviting, doesn't it? I didn't go in though - as if...
The stroll was easy peasy, so it doesn't rate a mention really. It's a good wrinkly doddle stroll.