Ah, the Lake District. Just hearing those words evokes visions of a rural idyll – gentle waves lapping at the shore, lambs gambolling over hill and dale, picturesque villages and historic pubs, seemingly frozen in time. Then again, having checked the (surprisingly kind) weather forecast , practised my virtual sheepherding and downloaded a few guided walks as MP3 files , I set off for one of the timeless jewels of England’s countryside equipped with all the mod-cons required to make the most of my trip. And I didn’t even have to spend three days in a horse-drawn cart to get there.
Having armed myself with a hefty stash of Kendal’s world-famous mint cake and a back copy of Mountain Accidents 2004 for those quiet moments on the hillside, I headed for Windermere, the largest lake in the park. It’s certainly a favourite with tourists, but if you like your track a little less well-beaten, jump on the ferry from Bowness in the direction of Coniston and Hawkshead.
Perhaps I was drunk on fresh air and the abundance of leafy canopies, but a signpost for the Go Ape! experience in nearby Grizedale Forest awakened the primate in me. If swinging about in harnesses sixty feet above the ground isn’t your thing, it might be a good idea to retire to the spectators’ area. If it is, you’ll only need a short session learning the ropes (literally) at the first station, before taking the rest of the course at your own pace. The kids in my group flung themselves down the opening zip slide with simian abandon, and I soon embraced my own inner Tarzan, finishing the morning with a particularly energetic dismount onto a suspended net which might have won me a gold medal at the Olympics had I not used the majority of my face to land.
Next stop was the nearby Grizedale Mountain Bikes centre, where my smiley assistant Larissa dished out a list of local must-see spots before pointing me in the direction of the aptly-named green route. I set off into the wilderness, and an hour or so of frantic pedalling was rewarded with a spectacular outlook over the Langdales and the Old Man of Coniston – an impressive mount, complete with balding undulations and a wispy covering of cloud which made it look like a bearded and grumpy grandfather.
By the time I’d returned my bike, the prospect of climbing the surrounding hills on foot was infinitely less alluring than looking at them from a comfy restaurant table. With this in mind I headed for Ambleside, a nearby village with a growing reputation for quality local cuisine. I began by popping my head around the door of Lucy’s of Ambleside, an eatery with such a faithful following that it was already turning customers away at 6pm. Still, the restaurant’s adjacent delicatessen was doing a roaring trade in the raw ingredients, and I was soon nose-deep in a cheese-tasting session. The locally-produced Kelthwaite Gold was a particularly corking soft white cheese, knocking most bries I’ve known into a cocked hat.
After the sort of night’s sleep you only get after a day spent breathing in country air, my body creakily informed me that today was going to be a gentler one. Taking its advice, I made my way towards Grasmere, the idyllic village which William Wordsworth once called home. Dove Cottage houses a beautifully preserved collection of Wordsworth exhibits, including what must be the smallest suitcase in history (he obviously liked to travel light) the poet’s minimalist ice skates (for the winter months when the lake was frozen), and visiting writer Thomas De Quincy’s opium scales. The views from the garden are heavenly, and as I looked out over the surrounding roofs, I could make out plenty of potential winners for the Lake District National Park Authority’s Slate Idol competition (no, seriously – check it out for details).
At this stage in the day the view I most wanted to see was of my hand holding an ice cream, so I dipped into Cumbria Foods for a quick cone. The little shop, run by Mike, Lisa and Graham, is stacked with a dizzying array of chutneys and other irresistible local produce. When asked to recommend a flavour of ice cream, Mike pulled a tub of homemade rum and raisin from under the counter. His confession that ‘there might be slightly more rum than raisin in this batch’ probably explained the gaggle of hikers swaying happily around in the streets outside, and it went down a treat with a slice of Graham’s mum’s bread pudding.
Having pretty much spent my entire day eating and drinking, I guiltily contemplated the surrounding hills and decided to give Tarn Hows – another of Larissa’s recommendations – a look. This hill range is ideal for beginners, offering plenty of short family walks around Little Langdale and more challenging hikes towards Great Langdale. Given the tricky terrain, it was also great to see the disabled parking area so well used for access to a lovely hilltop picnic spot overlooking the tarn.
After a stout attempt at conquering the great outdoors, I didn’t see any point in fighting the inevitable any longer, and headed back into Grasmere for a final dinner at The Jumble Room. Any restaurant whose motto states that we ‘are here to love each other and to eat each others’ cooking and say it was good’ seems to have its head screwed on. I may not quite love owners Andy and Chrissy Hill (yet), but their team’s cooking certainly got my pulse racing. The largely organic menu is exquisitely done, and the staff couldn’t be more welcoming. Throw in a toilet decorated entirely with LP covers – not to mention salt and pepper shakers with more character than most chat show hosts – and you’ve got the perfect place to unwind at the end of a long weekend away.
Despite all my adventures in the Lake District, I stood at Oxenholme station having barely scratched the surface of a remarkable destination. I hadn’t yet tackled the highest mountain in England (Scafell Pike), the ingenious Maize Maze (a labyrinth in Sedgwick made entirely of corn) or clapped eyes on Eskdale, the village which hosts the annual World’s Biggest Liar Competition (or so they claim). With so much else on offer, I could happily have let my weekend break extend into weeks; still, at least I had the journey home to plan my return visit…