Water water everywhere

Except, thankfully, falling from the sky.

The staff where we're staying warned us (I'm completely in tourist mode, happy to listen like a noob) that everywhere was saturated - they were not wrong.
We headed out under moody skies and towering clouds danced around us all day. Ringed though we were by a majesty (correct collective noun) of peaks they only begrudgingly made themselves known, the occasional glowering glimpse, they remained shrouded, oft appearing reluctant, high lonely watchmen keeping only the slightest of eyes upon their flock.

But the day belonged to the waters - becks, ghylls, tarns and shimmering mosses, all full of the life of the land. Birker Force raged, Eel Tarn (main blip) shone, Ramshaw and Brockshaw Becks crashed in to Whillan Beck, together they reared white horses down the the Esk.
At beautiful Burnmoor Tarn (extra) we paused a while to pay our respects to the wonder of it all, before heading on. Eventually on the flanks of Illgill Head we turned down into lonely Mitredale, the tarns of Siney, Blind and Blea all giving further reason to pause, pleased.
We walked into the Inn as the heavens opened.

The remedy to so much water?
A roaring fire and a wee dram - with just a splash of water