Once clear of the congested urbanization, that is Greater Manchester, the journey northward to the lakes along the M6, was quite a pleasant one.
As we drove across the River Ribble, day break slowly seeped into the landscape, revealing the switch from heavy industry, to a softer, more traditional, land management approach to making a living.
The green, undulating, low-lands, their area now partitioned by dry stone walls, instead of the more familiar hedgerows of the south, was home to Sheep. Tough as old boots, and hard as nails, these Icons of the Fells, dotted the landscape, sharing their daily food supplement with flocks of ravenous crows, and chattering Jackdaws.
From Kendal, the Motorway climbed, steadily, but noticeably, forming the Eastern border of this Unesco site. Teasing glimpses of the high fells were revealed as if giving us a sneaky peek, as we rose from the valley bottoms, as if to whet our appetites, sharpen our senses and intensify our expectancy of what lay ahead.
Snow blanketed the hills, fluffy grey clouds rested along the tops of the highest peaks, stealing the view from anyone walking the ridges.
Exposed granite, forming formidable crags, that housed Falcons and Ravens, added depth and character to the white, winter canvas.
The temperature dropped by 2 degrees, the wind ticing displaying Buzzards onto the wing. This truly beautiful enviroment, has the potential to astound, mesmerize, and kill.
During the harsh winter months, dancing Daffodils, are a long way off.
Categories: The Lakes.