CHAPTER V.
The Borrowdale Valley, Buttermere and Crummock Lakes.
THE Buttermere Round (as the famous drive through Borrowdale, over Honister Pass to Buttermere, and back by the Vale of Newlands, is called) will always be an out-standing feature of a Lakeland holiday. The rapid changes in the character of the scenery are so dramatic, the various types of beauty seen are all so distinctive and so perfect in their own way, and the drive itself is so full of incident, not to say excitement, that this could not well be otherwise.
Our char-a-banc leaves Keswick at ten o’clock, upon any morning throughout the summer, and follows the road past Castle Head and along the eastern margin of Derwentwater. Ravishing glimpses of the lake and opposing mountains are caught through the foliage of Great Wood, as we drive along under an avenue of oak and fir trees. High up on our left is the forbidding escarpment of Walla Crag, reminiscent of Lady Derwentwater’s wild escapade; this rises sheer over us until we emerge from the forest and see the face of Falcon Crag towering perpendicularly in front. It is one of the many features of our drive that we get a glimpse for a few seconds and then we lose it, to be introduced almost immediately to a scene of an entirely different character. The lake again arrests our attention and displays all its beauties for a full mile until the roar of Lodore Falls is heard in the narrow gorge in front.
Perhaps the glowing description by Southey and the glimpses of white we catch through the trees will leave us with a better impression of the falls than if we alighted and came to close quarters. Truth to tell, they will be found disappointing in normally dry weather. The American gentleman who searched for an hour up and down the gorge, and at last sat down in despair, merits our sympathy. For it was unkind of a local worthy to reply, in answer to a query as to the whereabouts of the waterfall, “Why, man, ye’re sittin’ on it”!
A mile further along we enter the “Jaws of Borrowdale,” not such a fearsome proceeding as it sounds. The “Jaws” are formed by the mountains, Maiden Moor and Brund Fell—the retaining walls of the rapidly narrowing valley. Rising from its side is the “Tooth of Borrowdale,” Castle Crag, a rocky pyramid commanding the approaches of the valley in all directions. For this reason it was occupied by the Romans as a military station. It forms a fitting background to the little village of Grange, with its picturesque, double-span bridge (over the river Derwent) which we soon pass on our right. At the far side of the bridge is unmistakable evidence of the long past Glacial Period. A large rounded slab of rock is here exposed and on its surface are to be plainly seen the scratches and long indentations made by the glacier as it slowly ground its huge mass westward towards the sea. It must have been about this period—or, at all events, very long ago, for the incident lacks confirmation—that the folk of Borrowdale built their famous wall. It is on record that the natives thought that if they could keep the cuckoo always with them, they would have eternal summer. So, early one spring they began to build a wall across the valley, just beyond Grange, but in the autumn the unappreciative migrant flew over the top of it and the good people of Borrowdale gave up their project in disgust.
After climbing a gentle gradient and rounding the corner past a slate quarry, we come upon the most lovely bit of valley scenery in England. Such at least is my humble opinion. The defile is here so narrow that there is only space for the road and the river running alongside it. Silver birches overhang our heads. Larch, oak and fir clothe the hills low down, while, above the belt of foliage, heather and bracken, the stony fellside is dominated by gaunt, grey crags, around which the ravens circle. At our feet flows the Derwent; its bed is of green slate peculiar to the neighbourhood. This has the effect of imparting to the water a brilliant emerald tinge, the splash of vivid colouring that is the key-note of the whole beautiful combination. The huge isolated rock, up on the small plateau ahead, is the famous Bowder Stone, claimed to be the largest detached boulder in England. More remarkable than its size, however, is the small space upon which it rests. So narrow is this that directly under the greatest bulk of the stone two persons, one on each side, may shake hands, and we are told that whatever they wish for at the time they are sure to get. Perhaps, this is why one so often observes a man at one side and a lady of similar age at the other!
Lack of space renders it impossible to dwell in detail upon this wonderful valley. The green, hill-girt pastures of Rosthwaite; picturesque Langstrath, guarded by the square shoulder of Eagle Crag, leading over Stake Pass into Langdale; the wild valley of Seathwaite, famous for its old plumbago mines and enclosed by the grandest and highest fells in Lakeland, and the moss-covered, old-world farmsteads and overhanging eaves of Seatoller, must be dismissed with bare mention. The steep grind up Honister Hause above Seatoller has compensation for us in the lovely woodland glen below it, with Horse Ghyll singing lustily out of the depths. Another twenty minutes finds us, after having traversed a stretch of moorland worthy of the Scottish Highlands, on the top of Honister Pass, gazing at one of the grandest cliffs in Lakeland. Honister Crag presents its almost perpendicular sweeping outline in
The Bowder Stone