Mickleden

I made the mistake of thinking it might not be too busy in the lakes today, with it being Monday and still off-season, even though it was a glorious day. 
It was grimly busy as I headed through Grasmere and Ambleside and I was reminded that I hate the place at times.

I bravely popped into Hayes to check out seed potatoes but they only had bags with way too many in them. Panic set in after my 3 minute tolerance expired and triggered the persistent and ever more urgent ‘out, out, get out, now’ inner voice. I got trapped in Pavers, stumbled through Edinburgh Woollen Mills and fought my way through gifts and lifestyle tat and made my escape up Langdale.

Elterwater was packed and with nowhere to park and short on tolerance I was about to head home but decided to press on up to Dungeon Ghyll. It was a bit calmer and I managed to find a space and started on my way up Stickle Tarn. Within a few hundred yards I realised that I had neither the heart, body or spirit for it and so sat and drank my thermos of coffee and then segued along to the bridlepath up Mickledon. It is such an ancient route and as soon as my feet connected with some sense of all those souls that would have gone before me and wondered at the Neolithic axe makers high up on Pike o’ Stickle I was a bit more engaged. The wheatears kept me company and the river bed was as dry as a bone in places. 
 
I made my way back and had a pint sat outside before heading home via Grasmere which had emptied and so I stopped off for a short evening jaunt onto the terrace to seek out what I had originally gone for in the first place.