Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness - Crummock Water(click to enlarge)
Wainwright and I had a refreshing few days in the Lake District, never getting rained on once and being overwhelmed by the glorious colours of autumn.
One of the main purposes of the trip was to sample life courtesy of the Youth Hostel Association to assess whether I can cope with similar places abroad.
The hostel we stayed at was at Buttermere, towards the west of the Lake District and not as busy as Grasmere, which we visited in July. It was a grand old building that had 18 bedrooms and at £18 a night for bed and breakfast, represented brilliant value for money.
The reception area was as bright and modern as most hotels and when I was given a key to Room 1 my hopes began to rise. Could it be? A whole room to myself? No. The room housed 6 men, spread around 3 bunk beds. By the time I arrived there were just 2 bunks left.
I made my bed and there was even a couple of drawers for me to unpack into. Looking at my fellow roomies though a thought struck me immediately - where are all the Youths mentioned in the title? I was clearly the youngest person in the room. Indeed, I was one of the youngest of all the people I encountered during my 3 night stay in the hostel.
It is well over 30 years since I stayed in a youth hostel and during that time the YHA has morphed from providing cheap, basic accommodation for the scouting generations, to providing cheap hotel facilities for the baby boomers i.e. the same people, 30 years on.
My stay allowed me to enjoy 2 breathtaking walks around Ennerdale and Crummock Water. The latter was particularly good as it included some tramping on higher ground, a visit to Scale Force and a midday stop-over at the pub at Loweswater for a pint of Loweswater Gold.
The evenings afforded ample opportunity to relax, drink beer and read. And as I began a journey across Europe to Asia with Paul Theroux in his book Ghost Train to the Eastern Star I realised a significant failing in myself as a budding travel writer.
Theroux's book is jam pack full of detailed encounters with fellow travellers, locals and, being Paul Theroux, other literary luminaries. Paul must have a brilliant memory for conversations as they often ramble on for pages.
With me it's not so much a memory issue as a 'can I really be bloody bothered?' issue. Buttermere certainly seemed to bring out the reclusive, Victor Meldrew side of my character. I don't think it was all my fault.
Take for example the bloke who shared my bunk (me on top, him downstairs). I soon gathered that he had made a last minute decision to travel up from London for a few days based purely on the fact that the weather forecast was good. I learned very little else about him though, as our conversations became increasingly one sided and I began to hide whenever I heard him approaching. For example:
Me: Where did you walk today?
Him: The weather favoured a low walk so I set off along the north eastern edge of Crummock Water and then climbed up along Clint Crags. Taking a left through a moderately wet meadow I soon came to Dirty Harry's Hole which was only maybe 452 yards from Magnum Force. There was a lovely bridge that I passed on a compass bearing of 294 degrees west - north - west. I continued in a jaunty manner, despite the small stone that had worked it's way into my 15 year old Brasher boot........the final leg along Unforgiven Pass was every which way but loose.......blah, blah..... What about you?
Me: Ennerdale.
Him: Ah yes, one of the most western lakes, also a reservoir. Volumetric capacity 4.324 squillion litres, although the last time I was there it seemed t be about 3 pints less than that......
Thus it was that I discovered that I suffer from BTSD - Boring Traveller Stress Disorder. A condition brought on by an adverse reaction to people who are only interested in providing detailed accounts of their exploits and feel the need to litter them with as many points of reference as possible.
I know that London taxi drivers have to pass The Knowledge - a test of routes and London street names. There must be something similar for regular Lake District visitors. I find it strange that no one ever appeared on Mastermind with a specialist subject of Encyclopaedic Knowledge of the Lakeland Fells.
Thinking about though it would have been confusing. Imagine:
Magnus: What geological feature divides the mountains in the Honister area, south of Keswick?
Contestant: Pass
Magnus: Correct.
(Sorry, I couldn't resist a version of an old Eric and Ernie routine - put it down to my BTSD).
Ironically, having driven me to sleep during the day my fellow bunker kept me awake at night with his incessant snoring.
In the name of sanity. I do not bloody believe it! Victor screamed silently.
Luckily, the hostel sold ear plugs, so night number 2 was more peaceful than night number 1. And by night number 3 I had the whole room to myself. A simple, peaceful bliss descended on my tattered soul and my inner Victor Meldrew gradually melted away. Until next time.
Live long and prosper.
Wainwright and I had a refreshing few days in the Lake District, never getting rained on once and being overwhelmed by the glorious colours of autumn.
One of the main purposes of the trip was to sample life courtesy of the Youth Hostel Association to assess whether I can cope with similar places abroad.
The hostel we stayed at was at Buttermere, towards the west of the Lake District and not as busy as Grasmere, which we visited in July. It was a grand old building that had 18 bedrooms and at £18 a night for bed and breakfast, represented brilliant value for money.
The reception area was as bright and modern as most hotels and when I was given a key to Room 1 my hopes began to rise. Could it be? A whole room to myself? No. The room housed 6 men, spread around 3 bunk beds. By the time I arrived there were just 2 bunks left.
I made my bed and there was even a couple of drawers for me to unpack into. Looking at my fellow roomies though a thought struck me immediately - where are all the Youths mentioned in the title? I was clearly the youngest person in the room. Indeed, I was one of the youngest of all the people I encountered during my 3 night stay in the hostel.
It is well over 30 years since I stayed in a youth hostel and during that time the YHA has morphed from providing cheap, basic accommodation for the scouting generations, to providing cheap hotel facilities for the baby boomers i.e. the same people, 30 years on.
My stay allowed me to enjoy 2 breathtaking walks around Ennerdale and Crummock Water. The latter was particularly good as it included some tramping on higher ground, a visit to Scale Force and a midday stop-over at the pub at Loweswater for a pint of Loweswater Gold.
The evenings afforded ample opportunity to relax, drink beer and read. And as I began a journey across Europe to Asia with Paul Theroux in his book Ghost Train to the Eastern Star I realised a significant failing in myself as a budding travel writer.
Theroux's book is jam pack full of detailed encounters with fellow travellers, locals and, being Paul Theroux, other literary luminaries. Paul must have a brilliant memory for conversations as they often ramble on for pages.
With me it's not so much a memory issue as a 'can I really be bloody bothered?' issue. Buttermere certainly seemed to bring out the reclusive, Victor Meldrew side of my character. I don't think it was all my fault.
Take for example the bloke who shared my bunk (me on top, him downstairs). I soon gathered that he had made a last minute decision to travel up from London for a few days based purely on the fact that the weather forecast was good. I learned very little else about him though, as our conversations became increasingly one sided and I began to hide whenever I heard him approaching. For example:
Me: Where did you walk today?
Him: The weather favoured a low walk so I set off along the north eastern edge of Crummock Water and then climbed up along Clint Crags. Taking a left through a moderately wet meadow I soon came to Dirty Harry's Hole which was only maybe 452 yards from Magnum Force. There was a lovely bridge that I passed on a compass bearing of 294 degrees west - north - west. I continued in a jaunty manner, despite the small stone that had worked it's way into my 15 year old Brasher boot........the final leg along Unforgiven Pass was every which way but loose.......blah, blah..... What about you?
Me: Ennerdale.
Him: Ah yes, one of the most western lakes, also a reservoir. Volumetric capacity 4.324 squillion litres, although the last time I was there it seemed t be about 3 pints less than that......
Thus it was that I discovered that I suffer from BTSD - Boring Traveller Stress Disorder. A condition brought on by an adverse reaction to people who are only interested in providing detailed accounts of their exploits and feel the need to litter them with as many points of reference as possible.
I know that London taxi drivers have to pass The Knowledge - a test of routes and London street names. There must be something similar for regular Lake District visitors. I find it strange that no one ever appeared on Mastermind with a specialist subject of Encyclopaedic Knowledge of the Lakeland Fells.
Thinking about though it would have been confusing. Imagine:
Magnus: What geological feature divides the mountains in the Honister area, south of Keswick?
Contestant: Pass
Magnus: Correct.
(Sorry, I couldn't resist a version of an old Eric and Ernie routine - put it down to my BTSD).
Ironically, having driven me to sleep during the day my fellow bunker kept me awake at night with his incessant snoring.
In the name of sanity. I do not bloody believe it! Victor screamed silently.
Luckily, the hostel sold ear plugs, so night number 2 was more peaceful than night number 1. And by night number 3 I had the whole room to myself. A simple, peaceful bliss descended on my tattered soul and my inner Victor Meldrew gradually melted away. Until next time.
Live long and prosper.
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