Smardale

A morning so crisp that the air almost had a taste - a promise that venturing forth would feed both the soul and fill you with thanks for what the world has to offer.

We headed out to the wonderful little reserve of Smardale Gill - and saw no-one as we ambled the long gone tracks - now a near perfectly flat path - making our way towards the kilns that once made this valley important in the simple matters of man. It's impossible not to be impressed by the endeavour with which our forebears shaped this land - but it's a far richer place now as nature slowly claims it back. 
Emerging from Demesne Wood the eponymous viaduct cast steeply arched shadows across the shaded canvas of Nettle Hill's flank. Whilst Smardale Fell to our South is relatively low, the solstice sun is lower still - throwing a halo of colourful beams onto the ridge - leaving us to walk through the fading frost's willowed mists as the sun's arc slowly ascended away from the fell's fall to the beck below.
At the kilns we ran Missy betwixt us for a while - the exuberance of puppihood the perfect way to celebrate such a day. I think we'll learn a lot from this little treasure.