As it stands at the beginning of this post, I've cut 89 photos down to 36 for you, because I know you don't want to read all about trees I don't know the names of and the paths I decided not to take in favour of the paths I did decide to take.
On one of those last warm and sunny days we had, I went to a very special place, and I'm going to share it with you now. It's not a secret place or anywhere that's difficult to get to. But it is one of those places that makes me emotional, and I didn't know this until I went here today. We've taken you to the Crook o' Lune lots of times now, but we've never gone off to the left (which I suppose is west, but, honestly, in this area, my sense of direction is a bit confused and I don't want to spend ages Googling everything today). I say we've never gone to the left, but actually I have. Matthew hasn't ... and he still hasn't, because I was alone on today's walk.
As soon as you step away from the road and the cycle track, this is what you see.
Oooh, eh? Bit special already, isn't it? That's the River Lune, of course. It was moderately busy today, lots of people kayaking. But I was going sort of off the beaten track, but not quite, because I would be following a clear path – but you know what I mean! Away from other people. (Are you keeping up today? I'm tying myself in knots over words – so sorry!)
Wherever I was going, I knew straight away that I'd picked a good place for my walk and that it was going to be a lovely one. If you know anything about Middle-earth, you'll know it's got beautiful places like this, especially near the Shire.
Today's free gift for you is an interactive map of Middle-earth. I was thinking of imagining where each photo might be on the map, but really, that would take me hours of faffing, and also I think it would be really boring to read for those of you who are not Lord of the Rings fans. So let's not bother with that. It's plenty for me to tell you that there were probably orcs in this wood.
This wood has been here a lot longer than the Hundred Acre Wood – as you see here, by this sycamore, which is huge and wide and very climable near the top. I hesitated when I typed 'sycamore' because I'm not really confident about any trees at all. But I'm looking at these maple-shaped leaves, and I believe sycamores and maples are related, so I think that's what we're dealing with here. Whatever it is, I'd love to climb it, but I can't because, like all the big trees I've seen in the last six months, it hasn't got any reachable branches.
It does have a wonderful canopy that can shelter a person from the blazing sun though. I've made a mental note of this tree, as a gorgeous place to come on a very hot day for a picnic – that will be next year now. This spot is perfect, with the river just a few yards away for a paddle as well.
After I'd finished admiring the effect of the sun shining through the leaves, revealing their veins, I tramped off into the woods proper, and soon came to what I can only describe as a troll bridge. A troll bridge is different from a toll bridge, in that it has trolls beneath it and you don't have to pay to cross. Except with your life, possibly, which is still different from a toll bridge, where you only have to pay with money.
Imagine my absolute shock and delight when I came to the magical clearing that I wrote about in the first novel I ever tried to write. There's a faerie portal here, but you have to come at the right time to see it, and you have to have some magical objects with you. Oh, and you also have to know the right magical words to say. I didn't write specifically about this place, you understand; but when I saw it today, it was exactly as I'd imagined in my book, and I did feel a little jolt down my spine, a thrill of something quite wonderful.
I think it's called coincidence; get a grip – magic's not real!
But if it was real, there'd definitely be some kind of gate to another world right here. In my book, you get whisked away from this quiet place and find yourself in the midst of a raging battle, with a sword slashing inches from your face and very tall people screaming terrifying battle cries. It's pretty cool. I should try to finish it one day.
I was quite keen to explore now. I remembered that this had been quite a short walk when we'd brought Thomas here when he was about two. I remember him skipping along, holding my hand, perfectly happy to be outside, exploring and climbing and just generally being joyously alive. It was never difficult to convince Thomas to go for a walk. Matthew, meh, he was never keen. James was easy either way, stay in or go out, whatever.
I came over a little rise, and there he was – Thomas, aged two, right in front of me on the path. Of course, I did a little cry. It's alright – you know by now that I love a good cry. It was actually quite a long cry this time, and I stumbled along, tripping over my own feet, sniffing and wondering where to wipe my snotty nose. Then I had a chuckled and pulled myself together. I find a good cry to be like an ice bath – refreshing and energising. Of course, I've never had an ice bath, but I'm told they're very good for the circulation and what 'ave you.
Ah, my old enemy – stairs.
Even though I haven't been very good at getting out for my walks over the past couple of months, I found that I was not as wheezy as I might have expected. These steps posed no problem at all. Must have been that cry that gave me energy. Why do steps look steeper from the top?
Have you ever heard of a rhododendron hell? I read about one in an Outlander book earlier this year, and I've wondered since then if they were a real thing. I'm not saying this is one, but I did cry out, 'ooh, a rhododendron hell' when I saw it. A rhododendron hell is just a very dense area of rhododendron that's impenetrable. Clearly this is not one of those, but I'm just showing off that I've heard of something to do with plants.
Just after the rhododendron hell, the perfume from my walks to work hit me in the face again, very strong. I took a photo for Auntie Trish and my dad so they can tell me what these are. I've had a clumsy look around the interweb, and I'm going to hazard a guess that this is called the common hempnettle. Let's see what Trish and Pete think. Whatever it is, I really like it, mostly for its sentimental value. I can understand why some people might think it smells like dog wee though.
I reached a fork in the road. The left led to Gray's Seat – which used to have a stunning view but doesn't now because, well, roads and progress – and the right led back down to the river. I chose the river.
There was soooooooo much to see on this walk. I tripped over roots lots of times because I was looking up into the canopy. It's all just trees, but my goodness, they're awesome, aren't they? Trees and water. Brilliant. Look at this one, all hollowed out but still alive. Amazing.
Around here, I enjoyed another memory that made me chuckle. I heard my ex mother-in-law shouting in a slightly panicked voice, 'Has Linda got hold of Thomas?! Make sure he doesn't fall!' The path falls away here, and there's a steep drop to the river, so I can understand why Jackie might worry that Thomas would get away from me and plunge to his possible death – or at least get his feet wet. Funny how the passing of time can mellow a person. On this walk fifteen years ago, I was fuming and muttering under my breath, 'of course I've got hold of Thomas, I'm his effing mother!!!'
I found the other bridge. So what I'd done was come all the way round the crook of the Crook o' Lune. It's not a big crook, just a little bend really, but it's pretty and I'll visit again. With Matthew next time. And possibly James.
This is what the bridge looks like underneath. I was shocked – shocked, I tell you. You can't tell from above that it's just made of some bits of wood. I think it's pretty though. I know it's odd, but I thought this was another nice picnic spot.
I think this is where I diverged from the walk with Thomas because I didn't recognise this area at all. Rooty paths are wonderful, aren't they? The path that goes up and around Ingleton Falls is very rooty – we'll go there next spring, so you'll see it then if you've never been. The roots across the path there are very useful because they give you something to grip on the very steep bits.
Around the bend I stepped out into glorious sunshine in a big and open field. I've been selective here with the photos. I could've shown you the field, but you've seen fields before. Instead, I'm showing you this beautiful oak tree that's trying to pluck up the courage to tiptoe into the river. It's dying to go for a paddle, but it's a bit nervous because the current's quite strong.
Further along, there was a break in the bank and I was able to walk down to the water. And this was when I found my new Favourite Place. I actually gasped, a genuine involuntary intake of breath, astonished as I was by the beauty and peace of this new place. I snapped this picture quickly and then carried on walking, right into the river. I didn't bother stopping to take off my shoes because it was another hot day and they'd soon dry. And then I cried again. Haha! What a wally.
If you've never stood in a river fully clothed and shoed, I recommend it. It's so good. I was going to say that you probably don't want to do it in the winter, but why not? People do wild swimming at all times of year. I'd like to say that I'll come back in December and paddle, but I'm fairly certain I'm not that brave. I do know that submersion in cold water is good for all sorts of things because it gets the blood flowing, but I'm not going to promise to submerge any part of my body in the middle of winter. Mind you, I never thought I'd set foot in the park at night, and I did that a few months ago.
I got out and sat on the bank for about twenty minutes and gazed at the trees on the other side. I'd like to live here. I'd like to own the field and have a wonderful house built in it, and be able to step out of my front door and see this view every day. I wouldn't mind that people could walk through my field – that would be a nice thing.
But I couldn't actually sit here all day, much as I wanted to. I was supposed to be getting some exercise. Look at this beautiful avenue of oak trees. Just too beautiful – my goodness, I was emotional today! Crying at trees every five minutes. Is it the menopause, do you think?
I knew that I was on the Lune somewhere between Caton and Halton, but what I didn't know was whether there was a way to get across the river so that I could walk back on the other side. The reason I was looking for a bridge was that I prefer not to go back the way I came, if I can help it. It's always nicer to do a loop. But as I reached this weir, I began to suspect that there probably wasn't a bridge before Halton – I didn't know how far exactly that was, but it would be a few miles. For roughly fifteen seconds, I contemplated climbing down onto the weir itself and crossing over that way. As we established many posts ago, I don't fall, so I was fairly confident I'd be able to get across without getting soaked. What stopped me was that fact that I didn't know if my phone was waterproof, so I decided not to risk it.
I walked quite a bit further, just in case there was a bridge I didn't know about. I passed two Australian ladies out for a walk with their dog. There's no story there – I just thought it was interesting to hear Australian accents in these parts.
Eventually, when I started to get the achey feeling in the hips, I thought I'd better give up on the search for a bridge and find a way back to my car. A bit of a clearing and some steps looked promising, and I hoped I had stumbled across the cycle track.
I had! It was with a slight sense of relief that I set off down here – I knew where I was exactly and I'd be back at the car soon enough.
But aaaah, actually, I hadn't gone very far when I decided it would be a shame to spoil this beautiful walk by walking on concrete for the last couple of miles. I slowed down and looked at that concrete. And I looked up at it stretching out ahead of me, all grey and flat, and then I changed my mind. Nope, back into the wilderness. I'd go back to the way I came, and maybe even have another little sit at my new Favourite Place. So I turned off here, hoping it would take me back into the wild.
It did! Ignoring the ache, I skipped along, happy as anything, and very pleased with my decision to choose grass, dust and mud over concrete. If you can ever choose grass, dust and mud over concrete, you always should. Quite soon, I reached my new Favourite Place and had another sit. Have you noticed how the riot of green has started to fade? There are lots of glints of orange, red, yellow and brown appearing.
I sat as long as I possibly could, trying to soak it all in, the tranquility, the splendour, the perfectness of the day. But eventually, hunger always cuts things short, and I headed back. I found the path back to the cycle track that we must have taken when Thomas was two. If I'd taken this path today instead of following the river, I never would have seen my new Favourite Place. So there you go – if you can choose to follow the river, you always should!
Up on the bridge, I paused again, hungry as I was, to snap this. It doesn't much look like England to me – there's a bit of an American feel about this view. But I suppose, if this was America, the trees would be twice as tall. Oooh, I've just noticed Clougha past the tree line – can you see it? Wicked.
Just a little bit further down the cycle track and I was on the second bridge and could see my car. You might not be able to, but I know she's there. I love my car. Did I ever tell you that? She's called Victoria Underwood so that I can remember her registration. I can only remember car registrations if I use a mnemonic, otherwise they just don't stick in my brain. She's the most grown-up car I've ever had.
And just for a bit of context for those of you who don't live here, on the other side of the river is where we saw the geese and lambs. I'm going to call this the Shire. Another pause here while I watched two ladies pick totally the wrong spot to struggle out of the river from their paddle boards. I have no right to laugh at all, since I doubt I could get very far on a paddle board, but it was very funny watching them stumble about on the steep bank, dropping their paddles in the water and having to go back in.
I ran out of steam writing this post, as I'm sure you could tell about halfway through! But this was a cracking walk, nonetheless – possibly my favourite so far. I would find it very difficult to choose a favourite though, so many of them have been wonderful and have surprised me or caused me to catch my breath and have a little cry. No crying on the next two walks though ...
Until later, little shirelings.
WQ
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