There's money in them there hills!!

If you take the walk from Grasmere village to Alcock Tarn, via Brackenfell Woods, you will notice old metal water pipes laid into the ground.  Likewise, the route from Bowness to Post Knott via Helm Road has seats built into the wall at intervals (see piccy below). And at the far end of the walk around Stock Ghyll Park in Ambleside, there is an old turnstile leading from the park, back on to the road.

Like the old milestones that can still be seen on country roads or the ornate water fountains that decorate the kerb sides of some of the region's older villages, these relics are symbols of a bygone age. Placed there for a long forgotten purpose, they lie unused. Put simply, once they had outgrown their purpose, no one bothered to take them away again.

In the case of milestones and water fountains their original use is obvious. But why water pipes in Brackenfell Woods? There are no houses up there, nothing needing to be plumbed in. And what of the turnstiles at Stock Ghyll Park? Or the seats on the path to Post Knott? And why is there an old abandoned station, in the woods close to Windermere ferry? The answer has much to do with the entrepreneurial spirit of the Victorians, and their ingenuity in stage managing nature in order to turn a profit.

In the mid 19th Century the railways came to the Lake District. The region already had a fledgling tourism industry, but with the new transport link came  mass tourism, and at first the sudden influx of  visitors took the locals by surprise. For the best part of fifty years the tourism industry had evolved slowly. Fishermen had become pleasure boat operators, albeit on a one to one basis. Before the arrival of the railway it was possible to hire a rowing boat and guide for the day. The guide was a local man, and he did all the rowing whilst imparting a certain amount of folk lore to his charges, who were no doubt as entertained by his stories as they were with the scenery. That was fine when the flow of tourists was but a trickle, but when the railway arrived and the region suddenly became flooded with day trippers the locals realised that to cash in they needed to think big.

The problem was that tourist attractions as we know them today simply didn't exist. Apart from the ale houses and coffee shops of the towns, the only real attraction for people to see was the scenery, and that was free. This situation did not last for long. The entrepreneurial spirit of the local population rose to the surface, and they began to think of new ways of showing visitors the scenery, and making a lot of money in the process.

In Windermere, or rather on Windermere, pleasure boats were built and launched, and there was plenty of skulduggery afoot as rival operators fought to entice visitors onto their new paddle steamers for the cruise down the lake. Consequently, it was not long before Bowness had a new, unplanned, attraction on it's shore line - the burned out hull of one of the boats.

Meanwhile, over at Grasmere, a different and considerably less cut-throat approach was being taken. Rather than finding a way of charging people to merely look at the scenery, the idea was to create a whole new scenic wonderland, complete with streams, waterfalls, and a small tarn. There was a pathway around the site, with viewpoints at intervals so that paying customers would feel that they were getting value for money by being able to see Grasmere neatly framed between the trees. That scenic wonderland was Brackenfell Woods, and if you walk up through the woods today you'll notice how nice and wide the path is. Wide enough for a horse and carriage, in fact.

The thing about the Victorians was that they were not content with just charging a flat entrance fee. As with other Victorian institutions, such as the railways and the theatre, you could pay the standard fare, or you could enjoy a bit of luxury by paying a premium. This was not simply a way for the attraction operator to make a bit of extra money. It reflected the class laden attitudes of Victorian society. Social status determined whether you travelled first class, in the warm and dry, or third class, outside in all weathers. So whilst the working classes paid sixpence to walk around the woods, the wealthy paid twice that and enjoyed a carriage ride up to the small, artificial tarn that not only provided a pleasing view of Loughrigg, all neatly framed between well positioned trees, but also doubled as a header tank for the system of artificial streams that ran through the woods.

The path up to Post Knott in Bowness was also built with the carriage rider in mind, as were the seats set into the walls. The modern visitor may be forgiven for thinking that these seats were provided for those walking up the slope to stop and rest before they got to the top, which just shows how wrong modern visitors can be. The seats were for those riding in the carriages. They were positioned at intervals and the carriage would stop on the ascent for the passengers to get out so that they could sit on the seats to enjoy the views. Clearly they were not expected to do anything so common as turn their heads to look out of the window!

Throughout the region there are relics of Victorian ingenuity. Claife Station, on the shores of Windermere, has never seen a train. It commanded fine views over Windermere, and still does, as the above  picture of the Windermere Lake Cruises "steamer" shows. That picture was taken from one of windows, not in Victorian times, but in 2005.  Claife Station was built by the owners of the Ferry Hotel as a luxury viewing station. It had coloured windows to reflect the seasons of the year, and even had a kitchen and dining room. It was possibly one of the region's first wedding venues, and certainly a profitable venture for it's owners.

Stock Ghyll Park in Ambleside had turnstiles for those entering the park to pay at, and also turnstiles at the exit. Since the exit was closer to the waterfalls, which was the park's star attraction, those turnstiles were designed to stop people entering. They only turned one way, in order to let people out. Once out they had to pay to get back in again.

These are just a few of the relics of the Victorian tourism industry that can be seen around the region. Each has a tale to tell of the inventiveness and ingenuity of the pioneers of the Lake District tourism industry.

What a load of nuts!!!!

Since the weather here has been considerably better than that in other parts of the country, I thought it would be a good idea last weekend to tidy my garden. Last Thursday we had quite a bit of wind and rain, and in the evening a thunderstorm, with hail thrown in for good measure. Consequently there were bits of tree lying on the lawn, the lid off the compost bin was stuck in the hedge after it blew off, and felt from the shed roof was flapping in the wind.

This latter problem was the first to be fixed, since there are few things worse than standing in the shed and feeling a drip. As I propped the ladder against the side of the shed ready to climb up to asses the damage, I noticed a walnut lying on the ground. Since we don't have a walnut tree, nor do any of our neighbours, I was a little puzzled by this.

An hour later, having reattached the felt to the shed roof and had a break for a cup of tea and to assess the damage to my thumb caused by one too many hammer blows missing the head of the nail, I ventured out to pick the debris off the lawn and came across another walnut. It wasn't just lying there, it was well and truly embedded. A third walnut was found in the bird bath. This whole situation was starting to cause me a certain amount of anguish. It was quite clear that someone has been throwing walnuts at my garden? But who? And why?

First on  the suspect list were the local youths (aren't they always?) My sometimes over active imagination developed the idea of a gang of young men prowling the district, their heads covered by the obligatory hoodies, throwing whole, unshelled walnuts into the gardens of unsuspecting residents.

It wasn't until I moved on to the front garden to clear some leaves that I noticed, nestling contentedly under the lilac, two more walnuts. And there was another one in a plant pot, firmly embedded between a rotting dahlia and the remains of a couple of trailing lobelias. (You will gather by now that gardening is not my strong point.)..

The biggest clue to where these walnuts had come from came when I was raking leaves off the lawn. I found yet another, and this one was well and truly embedded into the front lawn, just as the one in the back lawn had been. However, it got there, it was obvious that it had come down with considerable force.

Theory number one, the anti social local hoodies, was quickly dismissed. After all, throwing them is one thing, but would they really bother to come into the garden and tread them in?

No. Remembering my geography lessons at school, I quickly formulated the theory that the said walnuts had actually fallen from the sky, probably in the hail storm.

Anyway, I collected them up and took them into the house. Within minutes I had cracked one open and eaten it. And very nice it was too, so nice in fact that I had another, and another.

Now, I  don't know whether you are into science fiction films or not, but I do vaguely remember a film called "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". It is about an alien race whose own planet is dying, and they come to earth and take over human bodies in order to try to set up a new, tightly organised society where everyone conforms. They do this by the means of spreading seed pods which have pink flowers on them. People take them into their homes, and then the aliens take over.

I only say this because my walnuts, although very nice, did not really taste like walnuts, and now my wife says that I am behaving strangely. Evidently I'm being really really nice to her for a change, although I have to say that I haven't noticed any difference.

I've also got a rumbling in my stomach, as though there is something in there wanting to get out. A few nights ago I watched the film "Alien", and now I'm wondering whether or not I should really have eaten the walnuts at all. But they tasted so nice, so good, and there are still three left and I was going to leave then for Christmas, but I don't know whether or not I can resist them.

Of course, none of the above has got anything to do with the Lake District tourism industry. This post is well and truly off subject, but since it is my blog I don't really care. It's just that it seemed to be such a strange weekend that I thought I'd share it with you. And now I'm off for a walk, to get some fresh Lake District air, and see if I can find any more walnuts.

Things you can't do in the Lake District before Christmas

If you are wondering whether or not to succumb to the idea that you can save a pot load of money on hotel accommodation by taking a break in the Lake District between now and Christmas, allow me to sway your thinking. Basically, before you book that bargain basement priced hotel break, I think you ought to know about all the stuff that you can't do in the Lake District at this time of year.

First of all, you definitely won't be able to sit in a traffic jam, on the motorway, in the dark, tired after a hard days work, with some interminably cheery radio host playing songs that you don't want to hear, while the windscreen wipers make that incessant squeaking noise as they clear the screen so that you can get a clear view of the red lights on the car 3 feet in front of you. I don't care how much you like doing that, you can't do it here, because we don't have any motorways to get stuck in traffic on.

If you are one of those people who love waiting for the next commuter train, hoping that it is at least as full as the one before because you just love standing whilst you career through the suburbs at 20 mph, and getting up close and personal with people you don't even know, then under no circumstances should you come to the Lakes this winter. Although we do have some commuters, we only have one train for them to ride on, and there are not enough of them to fill it, despite it having a whole 3 carriages. Crowded escalators, queues at the barriers and automatic ticket machines that swallow your money and don't give you anything back are also in short supply as well. In fact, there aren't any.

Maybe you are one of those people that loves battling the crowds to do your Christmas shopping. All that bumping and pushing and shoving fills you with glee, and you just cannot wait to get in the queue at the supermarket check out. Self service tills are not for you, not with this trolley load! Well it's like this. If you come to the Lakes you may well be lulled into a false sense of security. After all, we have a supermarket. And there is a massive Lakeland Limited superstore just waiting for you to turn up. But something will be sorely missing. There just won't be any heaving crowds of shoppers. We've tried, we really have, but somehow we just don't seem able to muster enough people to make even a small crowd worth the name.

OK, so our transport arrangements aren't too good. No traffic jams or crowded trains, and our shops are half empty, with lots of bargains to be had and no one to buy them, and things don't get any better if you like to indulge in one of the great pleasures of winter by missing all the daylight hours. After all, going out in the morning while it is still dark, spending all day indoors in an office or a shop or a factory or wherever you work, and not returning until well after the sun has gone down in the evening, is one of the highlights of the season. In reality, there is nothing to stop you doing that in the Lake District, but if you do you are likely to miss your breakfast, and we don't like the idea of people going off out at 7 am with an empty stomach. By the time you have had your first meal of the day the sun will be well and truly up, so I'm afraid that if you want to miss all the daylight hours then the Lake District is the last place you should venture into.

If all of the above has not already put you off, maybe you might like to consider the ramifications of the total lack of air, noise and light pollution that we have in the Lakes at this time of year. The air is fresh and clean and can actually make you feel incredibly good, so much so that you'll think you are on a high, which means that it must be bad for you.

Sometimes, when you go for a walk on the fells, or just around a lake, all you can actually hear is the wildlife, and there is only so much gentle lapping of the waves; coupled with the odd chirrup of birdsong mingling with the cry of a kestrel; that any person can take without it driving you into a state of total relaxation. Before you know it you'll be addicted. And there are no clinics that offer a cure! If you want proof, check out this video of a winter walk around Grasmere.

As if all that is not bad enough, if you look up into the sky on a clear night you can actually see the stars. Which is kind of spooky, since if we can see them, the chances are that they can see us. That's right. It could well be that little green men and women from outer space are watching the Lake District and trying to work out why so many people spend their evenings sitting beside roaring log fires. Have these people never heard of central heating?!

So, I hope you will take heed. Life in the Lake District is not like it is in the rest of the country. Our public transport systems are limited and our shops are half empty. People that do take the plunge and spend a few days here tend to get addicted to it. They go home in a relaxed state of mind, with an almost insatiable yearning to come back again. When here they spend their days browsing around as though time does not matter, going for gentle strolls, or searching the empty aisles of gift shops taking advantage of the winter sales to bag half price gifts that no one else would ever have thought of buying. And they do all this without so much as a care in the world to spoil their enjoyment.

It's not right. It shouldn't be allowed. People battle through each day with the worries of the world on their shoulders but when they come to the Lake District they leave them behind. How crazy is that?! Someone has to worry about things, but oh no, these winter tourists don't seem to care a jot. So reader, beware. Joining them will lead you down the rocky path of being stress free.

Of course, if you quite fancy the idea of being stress free for a few days, going for walks amid fine scenery, Christmas shopping without the crowds and generally leaving the hustle and bustle of everyday life far behind, then ignore everything I've said and go ahead and book your winter break. - But remember. You have been warned.

Wake up guys, it's nearly next year!!

OK. As I write this it is the middle of November and the year has but six more weeks to run. And then it is next year. We shall say goodbye to this year. It will be consigned to the history books. We will no longer be able to look forward to it, it is now in the past. Gone, but not necessarily forgotten. Next year, on the other hand, is just around the corner. It is, even as I write, getting closer by the minute.There is not long to wait, and I am looking forward to it. I want to plan ahead.

As I have pointed out before, the Lake District tourism industry is now a 12 month operation. Gone are the days when the cruise boats stopped running in October. Now they are on the go 12 months in the year. Once upon a time, the furniture in the region's Historic Houses disappeared under dust sheets at the start of November. Nowadays those same dust sheets remain folded in the linen cupboard, released only when the decorators call round every few years.

In the 21st century the Lake District has become an all year round tourism destination, and in recognition of this fact I decided that the Lakes-breaks.com web site should have an article entitled simply "Open all year", highlighting those attractions that never close.

Time for a little research, I thought. Isn't the internet wonderful? Years ago I would have got on the telephone and rang round, but nowadays I can look online, find out when an attraction is open and add it to my article. Easy peasy. Except that ....

Some attractions have web sites that show their visiting times in terms of the calendar. So instead of breaking things down in Winter and Summer opening, they state which months they are open. And quite a lot of them say that they are open in January- this year. But, even though it is only six weeks away, they do not mention next year at all.

Of course, I could assume that they are open at the same time next year, but that may cause a problem. What if they are not? It is not my place to simply assume that an attraction will be open. I need to know. As do all the people that are planning on visiting the Lake District this winter.

So, if you run an attraction and your web site says that you are open from January - December this year, but you have not got around to putting up next years opening times, please do not be surprised if those visitors that arrive for a winter break pass you by. Alternatively, you could update your web site.

Anyway, not all attraction web sites are out of date. Some are very much up to date, so to find out where you can go in the Lake District this winter, check out our Open all Year article here ...

It's amazing what you find in the country

Those that read my last post will be pleased to know that I have already been putting my new found photographic skills to good use.

On Sunday I was enjoying an afternoon stroll, and walked past a field that has the Langdale Pikes as a backdrop. Last week I would have taken a photograph of the field with the pikes in the background, as in real life they look really good. But, as has been pointed out me, photographs are not real life, they are 2 dimensional images, and you have to look a bit closer at the view to get the best out of it.

So instead of taking a picture of the Langdale Pikes, I took a picture of this tree stump being attacked by a giant stick insect. The Langdale Pikes just happen to be in the background, but that is not really relevant.

The thing is that we used to keep Stick Insects. Someone gave us 2 of them, and assured us that there was no way on this earth that they would mate. About six weeks later I noticed that not only were there two very large stick insects in the tank, but several very small ones. It seemed that the stick insects had already mated.

Of course, the golden rule here is never to take on a pet that you know nothing about. By the end of the week we had about a thousand stick insects, and it was not until a plumber called at our house the following week to service the boiler that I found out why.

The plumber was only a plumber during working hours. At other times he was a nailed on, grade A stick insect enthusiast. And was more than happy to leave our house carrying not only his tools, but a box containing about 500 baby stick insects. But more importantly he spent about an hour with us telling us how to get the most out of our new charges, as well as pointing out the reason for our insect population explosion.

That was several years ago. We no longer have stick insects because we have given them all away, but one of them seems to have really thrived, as the picture below, taken in the aforementioned field, clearly shows.

How not to be an ace photographer!!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well as a writer who is, and always has been, totally useless with a camera, I have to disagree. But only because I am one of those people who, despite trying very hard, have never got the hang of photography. I've tried, I really have. I've read books and been on courses, but somehow I never seem to get it quite right.

So when my nephew, a photographer by profession, offered to give me some tips yesterday, I was happy to receive them. Before we started I did point out to him that turning me into an ace photographer would be something of a challenge, but he just shrugged his shoulders and told me that anyone can do it, you just have to follow a few basic rules.

He started by telling me that the number one golden rule is that photography is all about using the available light, and then manipulating it to best effect. For autumn landscape photography that means being up and about at the Golden Hour. Apparently, despite being in the singular, the golden hour is actually two hours. The one just after the sun has come up, and the one just before the sun goes down. Evidently, the light at this time of year takes on a golden hue at these times. 

This seemed quite logical to me. So far, so good.

Then he told me that I can add to this effect by changing the camera's white balance setting to give the pictures a warmer feel. And having confidently offered this nugget of information, he then asked if I knew how to change the white balance setting. And that was when my eyes glazed over. The thing is, I haven't got the foggiest idea of what a white balance setting is.

“Give me your camera,” he said, “and I'll show you.”

So I gave him my camera, and all he did was say “Ahh”. It was not so much what he said, as how he said it. His voice carried a tone of heavy disappointment. He kind of weighed my camera in his hand for a second or two, and then asked “Why didn't you say that you only had a compact?”

“It wasn't cheap,” I replied defensively, “it cost over fifty quid, and it fits really well into my bag.”

My defensive utterings fell on deaf ears. “You can't change the white balance on this” he told me.

“Right, so what you are telling me is that my camera is no good and I need a better one,” I replied.

“Not at all,” he said, “it's not worse, just different. You need a slightly different technique, that's all.”

Ah bless, he was trying not to upset me, but I could tell from the disappointment in his voice that he really was not too impressed with my choice of camera. He thought for a moment and then said, “Right, well, golden rule number one still applies, so don't rub that out.”

“OK”

“But forget what I said about white balance.” He looked at my camera again and asked “how old is this?”

“Not very old,” I replied, “I got it in 2001.”

There was a heavy sigh, followed by an embarrassed silence, before he started on the revised version of golden rule number 2.

“Right, well,” he started, “since there is not a lot you can do with the camera, it's really all about composition.”

I'll not re-tell the whole conversation here. It lasted about an hour. Suffice to say that he suggested a number of things that I could do to produce a half decent photo.

Like not trying to photograph wide landscapes or stuff that is a long way away. Instead I should concentrate on things which have light shining on them. And if I really must insist on trying to capture the landscape in all it's glory I needed to think about creating some kind of visual pathway within the picture to keep it interesting. Maybe following the line of a river or road as it winds it way down a valley. Or choose a subject in the landscape that has a contrasting colour, like a white house.

Also, when photographing an object like a boat or a steam train, try to get it when it is not moving. And get people in the photos if at all possible. Evidently, a picture of a steam train in a station with all the people getting out of the carriages is far more interesting than one of just the engine.

It was all good stuff and very interesting and informative, but by the end of the hour he could see my eyes glazing over again.

“Actually,” he said,” maybe you could try choosing subjects that are totally different, like an unusually shaped tree. Or perhaps something on the ground, like a flower, or snail or something like that.

“A snail?!!” I said.

He looked at me in desperation. “Anything low down,” he answered, “I don't know, what kinds of things do you find in the lake district in autumn?”

I was going to say 'sheep poo' but thought better of it. I didn't want him to think I was not taking him seriously.

“How about the moss in a wall,” he continued, “ or the bark on a tree, or maybe horse chestnuts, or berries, or holly. ANYTHING! As long as it is interesting.”

“What about a puddle?” I asked.

“So you think puddles are interesting?” he replied, a sarcastic tone entering his voice.

“ A puddle with a reflection of an unusual tree in it would be,” I suggested.

He thought for a moment. “Reflections on a still lake, now they are good, particularly if you have autumn colours mirrored on the surface.”

“We're back to landscapes then,” I said.

He sighed.

Despite his obvious exasperation, I felt we were getting somewhere. My creative juices were beginning to flow, so I got some pictures I had taken and asked him to review them and make a few suggestions as to how they could have been improved.

After looking through them, raising an occasional eyebrow as he did so, he put them down and said “Do you have a tripod?”

So that's the answer. After all these years it turns out that I am not useless at photography after all, I just can't hold the camera steady.

No such luck, it turns out that I have to do all the other stuff as well as keeping the camera steady. Curses, I thought I was on to something for a moment. Anyway, in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. Next week I shall put my new found knowledge into action and try to take some half decent photos. So all I can say is watch this space!