Castle Crag

Borrowdale

This was taken as I retreated from Tongue Gill, thinking better of it, as the world went from green to white in moments as a sleet/snow shower funnelled through. Glaramara and Gable were brooding in the distance. All that said, I headed here deliberately. I meant to say it last time I blipped down by Derwentwater ... but there is something about the valley at this time of year that I find oddly comforting, accepting, enclosing, timelessly transcendental ... not quite sure what it is exactly ... but also more peaceful, of course. I watched a group of fieldfares braving the elements, in ones and twos swooping from one tree to the next, it felt like watching a western or a battle movie .. ok, Charlie, we'll cover whilst you make a dash for the next tree ... go .. go .. go ... phew, that was close as the next hail of sleet bullets rushed through.
Back down in the valley bottom I got that 'I'm going mad I can hear the high pitched squeaky tweeting in my head moment ...' before I stopped for a bit and saw the tell-tale movement of the teeny weeny .... teeny teeny weeny, goldcrests working their way through the mossy bark on the trees and I wonder how on earth they stay alive - every time I see them I marvel at how small they are. And then, out of the top corner of my eye something quite large seemed to fall out of the sky, just for the sheer hell of it and then soared up again ... I think it might have been a peregrine.