5:30 AM: alarm, alarm!

Just when you’re deep in the land of nod, the comfort and serenity of Guillaume is shattered by the true landscapers blight on the world, an early morning wake-up call. Odonata are so much more civilized, not stirring until the day is well and truly underway (though I have seen them at 6:00 AM in Cambodia after another early morning photographic stint). If the weather is inclement, they don’t bother stirring at all. I can see why I’m attracted to them. 😉 Actually, landscape photography and Odos go well together – landscapes at dawn and dusk, Odos in the middle of the day.

Francine seemed to need encouraging to leave the sack so I duly encouraged her. After all, there’s no point having ones slumber disturbed for no good reason. Get out there, woman! There was, indeed, a sunrise and, since this was to be the only sunrise or sunset of the week, she really shouldn’t miss it.

Eventually I arose, made a cup of Booths coffee, then set off to find her. My leisurely start had meant that by now Francine was on her way back complaining that her views had been facing in the wrong direction. Hey ho.

As forecast, our only sunrise of the week soon collapsed into another morning of rain so we had another saunter out of the campsite to Booths. I am used to wanting to carry home food from foreign places but wanting to take stuff away with me from the north-west of England is a new experience. My main requirement was, it has to be admitted, the best Spanish chorizo I’ve tastes outside of Spain, possibly even inside of Spain. Other interests were a little more local, being some local cheeses and some rose veal sirloin for a home-coming dinner.

After a little debate as to how best to use the cloudy afternoon, we set off down Borrowdale for Honister Pass, once again. The attraction here was a collection of ice age boulders/rocks strewn beside the road.  The rock in this picture looked about the size of a small tank. I’m not sure if this is a correct differentiation but I can’t quite refer to such angular rocks as boulders; somehow boulder sounds a more rounded object. Is that just me?

Anyway, the rocks and tumbling water of a roadside stream amused Francine for an hour or so, while I was more taken by a couple of uncooperative small birds and this rather amusingly coloured sheep, which reminded me, to quote an old I’m sorry I’ll read that again radio programme from yesteryear, of “Jacob’s goat of many colours”. Should make an interesting jumper when it’s knitted up. 😀

When our rocking came to an end, we rolled off to Surprise View just beyond Ashness Bridge. Surprise View sounds as though it was named by a 9-year-old in the tourist office and looks out over Derwent Water with Bassenthwaite Lake visible in the far distance. The light was, of course, its usual pants self so a regular tourist snap is about all that was possible.

Less than gobsmacked, we headed on up the single track road for a reprise of Watendlath, which Francine found much more appealing, where we waited patiently for some beneficial light to put in an appearance. It’s at least a very tranquil place to wait; at least, it was tranquil once the Mercedes people carrier departed complete with its radio and three of Satan’s Little Disciples. The beneficial light is on the right, aided by the Big Stopper treatment; predating the beneficial light, most of the hamlet is on the left. 🙂

That’s it, then. After some debate and mind-changing, we head home tomorrow morning on what is probably going to be the driest day we’d have had, complete with a few spells of sunshine. Oh well!

With togrey’s forecast being a morning of rain followed by an afternoon of grey skies, and tomorrow’s forecast being for a mixture of light and heavy rain until about 4:00 PM, friend Keith has decided to cut his losses and head for home. I can’t blame him, it’s no fun sitting alone in a B&B watching rain run down the windows. We have the advantage of Guillaume being our own space, our home away from home, complete with all the comforts of home.

The morning was, indeed, mainly wet but it didn’t seem quite as wet as the forecast. A morning for chores such as shopping at one of our new favourite stores: Booths. I would categorize Booths as the Waitrose of the north-west, a store that concentrates on quality rather than price, and the store in Keswick, the largest Booths, is just a few yards outside the campsite approach road. It’s an easy walk from Guillaume. Booths even roasts its own coffee and to my unending surprise, they actually produce a drinkable decaffeinated coffee. Booths decaf is only the second drinkable decaf I’ve ever come across, the first being the excellent Starbucks decaffeinated espresso roast. Well done Booths. With an almost constantly full 250+ pitch campsite on their doorstep, this is an extremely well situated store with almost guaranteed passing trade. Canny Mr. Booth.

After the morning rain stopped, we drove over to Ullswater and one of the Lake District’s more imposing waterfalls, Aira Force. Force appears to be a term used for many falls in these parts. This one was certainly very forceful after all the rain we’ve had.

Above and below the fall itself is a mountain stream tumbling through National trust woodland. To be honest, I found the upper reaches of the mountain stream more appealing than the waterfall itself, perhaps because the waterfall was just too powerful today to be particularly attractive. Being situated in woodland, the scenery actually benefited from the lack of sun, whereas huge vistas rather need the sun’s illumination. The stream provided us with lots of amusement and was well worth the visit.

We climbed up to view point over Ullswater which, in the right conditions, would be up there in the stunning category. Today, though, the water vapour in the air made anything other than short range views very murky indeed. Not even worth wasting the pixels – quelle domage.

Tomorrow morning is forecast to have sunny spells so there may be a sunrise involved. Francine is setting the alarm clock for 5:30 AM. Arghhh!

I’ve taken the unilateral decision to rename the days of the week. Henceforth, Lake District days will be known as greys. Thus, the week will commence with Mongrey, then move on to Tuesgrey, Wednesgrey, … etc. Togrey, Tuesgrey, was at least forecast to be a dry grey; not a sunny grey, as such, but dry. [Note to self: this still leaves me a problem at weekends in that I may have to rename Sungrey completely.]

The combined landscape interests of Keith and Francine fancied beginning the grey, in relatively leisurely fashion, i.e. with a 10:00 AM after breakfast meeting, at Crummock Water. Now, had there been a sunrise in the offing, they may well have behaved like professional landscape photographers and been up before dawn, in order to make the 20-minute journey to their chosen destination in time for sunrise. Mercifully, for me, that is, the sun was not going to rise so everyone behaved sensibly.

Crummock Water was “interesting”. There was a weir at our end which could have provided photographic interest were it not utterly ruined by surrounding ugly, black metalwork. A boathouse sat on the far side of the lake which, in sunlight, might have proved a suitable subject but here we were with no sunlight. Frankly, I was having a hard time working out what one was supposed to point ones camera at. Every now and then, a passing break in the grey illuminated some tree trunks on one side of the lake and we amused ourselves with these.

On to Buttermere, one of the tourist honey pots of The Lakes. We headed for the free (for members) NT car park which was, unhappily and possibly predictably, full to overflowing. There being no room at the inn, we were forced to cough up £3 each to park for two hours in Buttermere itself.

Buttermere has an iconic lone tree. This is, I suspect, one of the most photographed trees in the country. It stands with its feet in the lake itself. Despite the grey sky, it had to be done.

Most interesting, IMHO, were a series of trees on the lake shore with their roots exposed. With the water being given Francine’s Big Stopper treatment, I thought they produced an interesting image.

Our two hours being almost up, we repaired to the Fish Inn for a pint of Jenning’s Sneck Lifter. While we were supping, the sun put in an unexpected guest appearance. Having swallowed our remaining bevvies, Keith seemed keen to show Francine Blae Tarn. (He’s been here before, BTW.)  There are several Blae Tarns in The Lake District but he knew where this particular Blae Tarn was. Where it was was about 75 minutes away. We now spent the next 75 minutes driving to Blae Tarn. The sun’s guest appearance lasted a little less than 60 minutes. Arriving at Blae Tarn, the scenery greeting us was once again grey and frankly rather dull. The road up to Blae Tarn was far from dull, being steep, narrow and very twisting; quite an exciting drive.

(Obvious) Lesson: if you are waiting for the light, when it appears, don’t waste it by driving miles in a car. Use it where you are before it disappears.

… another morning and afternoon, the great majority of which was spent listening to and watching the rain come down from within Guillaume. Thank Darwin for books of Sudoku puzzles. A second surprise is that I’ve been getting into Killer Sudoku, of late. I don’t normally like it when a perfectly good design gets bent into all sorts of derivatives. In this case, though, I quite enjoy the chance to use some different logic.  But I digress – back on track.

Friend Keith spent his first full and wet day in much the same fashion as did we,  he drove around in the murk scouting locations.

The main surprise occurred in the early evening when the rain ceased. A few patches of blue even drifted past. Our merry band of three grabbed the opportunity to head for one of the nearer iconic photographic locations, Ashness Bridge, approached by a steep-ish, narrow-ish road just south of Keswick and east of Derwent Water. We tried shooting the charming stone bridge first from downstream, which makes the sky encroach, then from upstream, which I’d say is the better composition, especially as a naff sky can be more readily cut out. A bit of sun would certainly improve the bracken and grass, though. 😉

Beyond Ashness Bridge, the road continues in an even narrower fashion to climb further up to the tiny hamlet of Watendlath, the hamlet consisting essentially of one farm and one tarn. The area is now National Trust, Darwin bless them. They need blessing ‘cos in these parts, NT car parks are the only places where members don’t get ripped off for parking. Just after we arrived, the sun briefly bathed one of the hillsides overlooking the tarn in golden evening light.

Naturally, with a tarn about 1000ft/300m up in the English mountains, there is a stream flowing out of it which rapidly turns into a tumbling torrent descending the valley up which we had driven.

Dinner was a slightly rushed affair ‘cos we didn’t get back to Guillaume until 8:00 PM. At least the evening provided some relief from an otherwise dismal day.

… rain and more rain. It rained over night and it continued to rain all day.

A landscape photographer friend, Keith, was intending to drive up to join us today. He’s booked in to a guest house nearby for the week. Given the weather today and the very similar forecast for tomorrow, we half expected him to cancel. We would not have blamed him. But no, he went for it. He even managed to locate us taking shelter in Guillaume before going to check in to his guest house. [The guest house, incidentally, is up for sale – £845K, if you’re interested.]

In between today’s rain and tomorrow’s rain, the weather forecast was suggesting an hour or two of sunny spells around 6:00-8:00 PM. Sure enough, as we were introducing Keith to Guillaume over a cup of tea, the clouds did appear to begin lifting. Francine set off for the top of Derwent Water (again) while Keith set off to check in. He and I joined Francine a little later.

The sun did put in a guest appearance, as did all the stir-crazy people in the vicinity, both tourists and locals alike, I suspect. I’m not sure whether the most staggering aspect of the scene that greeted us was the fact that the sun was, indeed, present or the fact that the water level in Derwent Water had increased so dramatically in two days. Here’s a before and after pair of pictures, admittedly from slightly different angles but you’ll see what I’m getting at.

Concentrate on the end of the boat dock with its supporting wooden posts. Look at the full sized version of the first image and you should be able to make out a Greylag Goose (Anser anser) calmly swimming, very considerately, just beyond the end of the dock and showing up against the hull of the boat just beyond. The Greylag’s head appears to be a tad below the level of the dock. Now look at the second picture; the end of the boat doc is at best level with the surface of the water – actually I think it’s very slightly submerged.

OK, so how tall is a swimming Greylag Goose? I’d say somewhere between 1 and 2 feet, roughly 18 in/0.5 m. A swift web search during one of those odd occasions when 3G has been working, told me that Derwent Water covers an area of 5.18 km² or 5,180,000 m². If that lot is now ~0.5 m deeper, we’re looking at an extra 2,590,000 m³ of water that has flowed or fallen into Derwent Water over the last 48 hours. A cubic metre is 220 gallons. That’s over half a billion gallons of water extra. Yikes!

For a more photogenic illustration of the increase in water level, this gate was clear of the water when we arrived.

We had a few hours of dry but cloudy weather before the late morning/afternoon rain began. Francine wanted to go back to part of Derwent Water to “correct” one of her initial shots. Landscape photographers, being fond of a bit of foreground interest, are drawn to partially submerged boulders, wooden piers/jetties, or wooden posts remaining from piers/jetties long since gone, reeds, and the like. Indeed, one of our better known landscape photographers, Joe Cornish, has led to boulders in water being referred to as JCBs [Joe Cornish Boulders] – by other photographers, of course. How’s that for fame? Francine had tried a couple of these but her wooden posts (remaining from piers/jetties long since gone) had some boulders interfering them. When in doubt, adjust your line up and simplify.

Better! The second is another example of Francine’s Big Stopper, hence the smoothed water. [For those wondering, the Lee Big Stopper is a 10-stop neutral density filter which turns, say, a 1/125th second exposure into an 8 second exposure.]

The day was deteriorating fast so we used the time for an exploratory drive. We headed off down Borrowdale, headed up a 1 in 4 (25%) ascent to cross over Honister Pass with its slate mine, thence down to Buttermere and Crummock Water, before wending our way back over Whinlatter Pass to Bassenthwaite Lake. Completing our circuit, we called in to a photographers’ attraction just outside Keswick: the 4500-year-old Castlerigg Stone Circle. Despite the pants conditions with the wind driving moisture at us, Francine once again extracted her camera, back to the wind, for a test shot, albeit a line-up enforced by the weather conditions.

In La Belle France, to be precise, in the Marais Poitevin, a drained marsh area criss-crossed by drainage canals, I have previously made mention of the French having no fewer than five words for canal, depending upon its size. This seemed a bit like overkill at the time. However, from our brief drive past a few of the larger bodies of water here, we appear to be doing very nearly as well in the Lake District with said larger bodies of water being variously tagged water (e.g. Derwent Water), lake (e.g. Bassenthwaite Lake) or mere (e.g. Buttermere). Smaller water bodies tend to be tarns.

Isn’t richness of language wonderful? What a pity that modern trends tend to be simplifying too much of it.

There is something vaguely comforting and cosy about being in a caravan when it’s raining. This is just as well because it rained pretty much all night. We slept reasonably well, waking just occasionally to check that there was no danger of the beloved English Lakes drying out. By the time Francine made our breakfast of eggs, black pudding and mushrooms, the rain had ceased. The black pudding was excellent.

Our campsite is on the edge of Keswick and abuts the northern tip of Derwent Water. The weather forecast has been changing frequently. We’d originally been expecting some more rain but now plain overcast was the order of the day. Bouyed up by the promise of an unexpectedly dry day, we thought we donned walking boots for the muddy ground and popped out for a first orientation wander around some of Derwent Water.

Flat, grey skies are generally a photographic disaster; the usual approach is to cut such a sky out – whatever you photograph, do not include any sky. However, with the still water and the mountains on either side of the lake being cloaked in cloud/mist, I couldn’t really tell you which it was, the view was peaceful, serene,  and took on an ethereal quality.

Realizing my limitations, I left Francine to try capturing the serenity of the somewhat murky vista on pixels – no straightforward task – and tried to capture some of the indigenous wildlife. The ethereal quality of the light seemed to be enhancing the birds, too, with a good clear background, and at least I could cut out the sky. Here comes Air Canada. 🙂

Meanwhile, back at Francine, the lake was being done some favours. We’d worked our way down part of the eastern shore snapping foregrounds of various stakes and boulders, when we happened upon Friar’s Crag, a promontory with a little elevation looking out over a pair of islands in the middle distance. Here’s what Francine and a Big Stopper made of it. [Editorial note: Francine actually prefers the straight view with a few ripples left on the water but I wanted a Big Stopper shot.]

Beside Friar’s crag is the curiously named Strandshag Bay. The mind can only guess at what might have happened here to merit such a handle. Overlooking the scene of what sounds like someone or something’s misfortune is this charmingly situated dwelling – charming except for the fact that it’s in one of the wettest parts of the country, that is.

The weekend forecast is depressingly wet. I know I really wanted to get away from home but a weekend full of rain is less than appealing. My fingers are still firmly crossed.