To the Lakes of England (3)

I walked on to the streets of Windermere, my hefty jacket wetted by the drizzle. I was not exactly sure how far Beckmead Guest House was from the station and so I took a taxi and it is worth mentioning here that I did not have to pay more than the minimum fare and I was already outside the central areas of this little town. My initial impressions of the town itself, even if one discounts the weather, were not particularly impressive. It was clearly touristy with guest houses and restaurants lining the its few streets, and I was rather convinced there would be very little local flavour to savour, in contrast to the quaint Bourton-on-the-Water in the Cotswolds, something I guessed right

Beckmead Guesthouse is run by an old lady, who reminded me immediately of Verna, who was my first landlady in England, and for that matter, outside India. As with most English places, the house was fully carpeted: I generally hate carpets, but at least the ones here were soft and furry and did not irritate me in any way. The room was small and sufficient and neat and well supplied with ingredients for making coffee, tea and hot chocolate. There was also a TV, which I did not put to much use anyway.

I was not planning to sit around in the room doing nothing, even in this weather, and accordingly stepped out, mentally charting out my plan of action for the day. I first went over to Mountain Goat tours, with whom I had booked my bus tour for the next day, and made sure everything was alright. I also wanted to go to Wastwater and Eskdale, which were not easily accessed by public transport from Windermere. But Mountain Goat were running a daily bus tour to these remote areas and I booked myself on this trip for the Sunday. That done, I walked over to the nearby Tourist Information Centre and took a local map and some advice on where to walk that afternoon. All the while, the weather appeared to be clearing slowly - definite breaks were appearing in the clouds and the drizzle was no longer incessant. For once, I had to admire the weather forecasters: this was almost exactly as predicted by the Lake District Weatherline a day or two earlier. Even though the town failed to impress me, as the weather started to somewhat clear, I took a couple of snapshots for the record.



I was now ready, armed with my cameras and lenses and the tripod fixed to my Karrimor rucksack, to take the walk up to the Orrest Head viewpoint at 784ft and less than a mile walk from the Tourist Information Centre. And not without apprehension about what the weather would do to my photographic ambitions and even if, in the rain, I would be able to enjoy exhilarating views of the Lakeland 'fells' from this 'view-point'. The only way to answer these questions was to go up to Orrest Head and I did just that.

(to be continued)