I have arrived back in Cambridge (and unlimited internet access) from the beautiful, indescribable Lake District. We spent four days in a hostel located literally on the edge of a pristine lake. This is the district where they joke that there are more sheep than people. Everywhere are rolling hills with stone walled pastures. I did not realize until I got there, but the Lake District is more mountainous than hilly. Amber, a girl from Colorado, said that it reminds her of home. Even in winter, the place was breathtaking with morning mists on the lake, colorful sunsets over the mountains followed by bright starry nights.
I was glad to get out of the city and start roughing it again. I joked to one of the guys that I want to climb one of the giant snow peaked mountains before we go. Little did I know. The second day there, we went for a kayaking trip on the lake and rock climbing in the mountains. I forgot how much I missed rock climbing until I was dangling off the side of a sheer rock wall high up the side of a mountain. The rush and determination to make it to the top was so rejuvenating. At one point I slipped off the wall and spun around at the same time so that for a split second as I was falling in midair, all I could see was massive mountains and open air.
The people from the Lake District are very interesting. One of our climbing instructors said that, now nearing forty, he still does not have a steady income. This long haired, lanky, English hippy worked only long enough to get enough money to pay for his adventures. On the off seasons he said he would build houses. At a quiet pub on the lake, next to the warm fireplace, you will hear all kinds of British mountain men with grizzle white bears and chunky boots.
Dr. Hogg, our tour guide and professor, is the best representation of the local country men. Clad in his usual tie up boots, tweed pants, striped scarf and hat, he out paced everyone in our group. The third day there, expecting a leisurely walk along the mountain hills, as we did the day before, Dr. Hogg took us for an authentic “fells walk.” This was anything but leisurely. Before I realized where we were headed, we were on the side of a mountain. Crawling up the icy trail, we were soon overtaken by a growing cloud of snow. It was pitiful watching our group of underdressed Americans blindly following our chipper guide three times our age.
For all the arduous climbing and slipping, the views were more than worth it. For a moment, arriving at the top of this snowy mountain, the whole world melted beneath me. I was eye level with the noble peaks.
The trek down the other side was like stepping away from civilization into the wild lands of “fell walking.” And walk we did, and sliding, down into a quite valley inhabited by a few houses and one pub. After a quaint lunch, we headed on and up another path winding through sheep pastures along stone walls. Everywhere, even over the peaks, is the checkered outline of stone walls created by the herdsmen at one time.
After our insane 1,600 ft mountain hike, we descended into the village in need of some warmth and shelter from the sudden rain. To my relief, we found ourselves at a quaint coffee shop. I ordered a latte with heart shaped chocolate dust on top and a piece of dark chocolate on the side. This life wasn’t so bad.
I was glad to get out of the city and start roughing it again. I joked to one of the guys that I want to climb one of the giant snow peaked mountains before we go. Little did I know. The second day there, we went for a kayaking trip on the lake and rock climbing in the mountains. I forgot how much I missed rock climbing until I was dangling off the side of a sheer rock wall high up the side of a mountain. The rush and determination to make it to the top was so rejuvenating. At one point I slipped off the wall and spun around at the same time so that for a split second as I was falling in midair, all I could see was massive mountains and open air.
The people from the Lake District are very interesting. One of our climbing instructors said that, now nearing forty, he still does not have a steady income. This long haired, lanky, English hippy worked only long enough to get enough money to pay for his adventures. On the off seasons he said he would build houses. At a quiet pub on the lake, next to the warm fireplace, you will hear all kinds of British mountain men with grizzle white bears and chunky boots.
Dr. Hogg, our tour guide and professor, is the best representation of the local country men. Clad in his usual tie up boots, tweed pants, striped scarf and hat, he out paced everyone in our group. The third day there, expecting a leisurely walk along the mountain hills, as we did the day before, Dr. Hogg took us for an authentic “fells walk.” This was anything but leisurely. Before I realized where we were headed, we were on the side of a mountain. Crawling up the icy trail, we were soon overtaken by a growing cloud of snow. It was pitiful watching our group of underdressed Americans blindly following our chipper guide three times our age.For all the arduous climbing and slipping, the views were more than worth it. For a moment, arriving at the top of this snowy mountain, the whole world melted beneath me. I was eye level with the noble peaks.
The trek down the other side was like stepping away from civilization into the wild lands of “fell walking.” And walk we did, and sliding, down into a quite valley inhabited by a few houses and one pub. After a quaint lunch, we headed on and up another path winding through sheep pastures along stone walls. Everywhere, even over the peaks, is the checkered outline of stone walls created by the herdsmen at one time.After our insane 1,600 ft mountain hike, we descended into the village in need of some warmth and shelter from the sudden rain. To my relief, we found ourselves at a quaint coffee shop. I ordered a latte with heart shaped chocolate dust on top and a piece of dark chocolate on the side. This life wasn’t so bad.
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