The Lake District is shit. Actually that’s not completely true. The Lake District is quite possibly one of the most beautiful parklands in the United Kingdom, it just happens to be covered in shit. Totally. In fact it is quite astonishing how wholly and completely covered in shit the Lake District actually is.
Let me try to explain. Take a salt cellar the size of say, Durham. Fill it to the brim with Maltesers and Revels (technically Revels contain Maltesers I know - but one requires proportionately more Maltesers for the desired effect). Stand well back, and sprinkle liberally and evenly from Thursby down to Grizebeck, making sure you take in Crackenthorpe and Whitehaven. In actual fact this will look nothing like the vista of scattered poops stretching the length and breadth of our most beautiful national park, but those who frequent the lakes on a regular basis would it find strangely familiar.
This was not the most important feature of the recent trip up to Cumbria with my father. The most important feature was this. He wanted to take me to the place where he wants his ashes scattering.
To say that my father enjoys walking would be an understatement of catastrophic proportions. He adores, loves, lives, nay breathes walking - and his favourite place to walk is the Lake District. The place we were headed was Stickle Tarn - favourite part of the lakes. We were booked to stay for two nights at his favourite pub in the area, which just happened to serve his favourite pint of bitter. To recap, for those at the back, he rather liked this particular place.
In the 30 or so years that he’s been coming to the Lake District however, this was the first time that I’d gone with him, and I suspect he was quietly over the moon. I was equally excited. This was about spending some quality bonding time with each other - in my fathers territory, on his patch, in his element.
It is not unknown that when my father and I get together, it invariably involves a drink, and this was no exception. My father was hoping for a walk on the Friday afternoon but unfortunately the weather was against us. So, after unpacking, it was with a wonderful unspoken understanding that we made our way silently to the nearest watering hole - The Old Gnarled Toe (or something similarly endearing) to begin a late-afternoon-till-chucking-out-time “session”.
The following morning we forced down a full English Breakfast and headed up Stickle Ghyll - a mile long near vertical hike to Stickle Tarn, the final resting place-to-be of my father.
The day was fantastic, we hiked over marshes, waded through streams, "scrambled" up rock faces and generally had the Lakes - both thoroughly loving every minute of it. And then we arrived at the top of the mountain overlooking Stickle Tarn, possibly and certainly according to my Father the most beautiful lake in the Lakes. We both stood in silence looking across the incredible vista, and then he said "in there please, son."
I realised instantly that this was a photo opportunity not to be missed, so grabbing my phone I turned it around on us (there was nobody else there to take it). I captured the most perfect shot of the two of us, with Stickle Tarn between us in the distance. As we both sat there admiring the my handywork I suddenly had the stangest feeling. This would possibly be the most important photograph of us both that would ever, could ever be taken. There we were, in my Dad's favourite place in the world, a place he has come to time and time again, the place to where I would eventually make this same journey, alone save for a cask in my rucksack.
Morbid as this may sound, it seemed to make him happy to know that when the time came he would return here forever. It turns out in fact, that his Father's ashes were also scattered in a lake in the Yorkshire dales, and we joked that perhaps all the men in our family should pick their favourite lake, and keep the tradition alive.
It was a great trip, and one i hope we shall make many more times together, before the final solo mission I will, inevitably, have to make.
By then of course, there will be even more poop to step in.
The Diary of a Commuter
6 comments:
I'm watching with interest. Sorry about the "shit" in the Lake District. Your wife sounds perfect, as do your children...
I really love your blog. My mother is pre-occupied with the preparations for her funeral. This is not new. One of the first things she did when introduced to my lovely husband, was show him where she keeps the lovely Laura Ashley pyjamas she is keeping up to be laid out in. He was horrified. I am not a good daughter, and intend to have her laid out in a gold spangled Latin American ballroom dress. What is she going to do? Haunt me? I hope so, I would so miss her...
I agree - keep the LA PJ's for yourself!
just for the record the pub was the old dungeon ghyll, the beer was yates's and the "mountain" was pavey ark.
the shortened walk from the planned ascent of scafell pike reduced to the langdale pikes was due to the inclement weather preventing an early start ( aided and abetted by the previous evening's consumption of both last week's and next week's ration of alcohol units plus next week's cigars and a greasy breakfast.
finally in response to dulwichmum I am not in obsession like her mum with ny demise and what happens thereafter. I am merely following in my father's footsteps and planning to rest in my favourite water ( for those interested in my father's lake it was ladybower in derbyshire - close to the yorkshire dakes though)and therin lays my so-called obsession with what happens to me in the thereafter.
cheers SG
Dear Dulwich Dad
It brings great pleasure to the heart of a senior citizen that you have committed what must have been a most touching experience with your father to a Blog!
It depicts the extent that a bond between father and his off spring has developed a pleasing contiguous liaison, facilitated through corpus amounts of mild, bitter and whisky.
I feel duty bound to express concern on behalf of the national interest. The environmental impact such behaviour requested by your father will reek is not acceptable. To allow the residue of your departed line in to the water supply chain frankly leaves me cold. Furthermore, if every departed sole requested their residue placed in the lakes would not the lakes overflow their waters over the land go into to the sea, raise sea levels, cause havoc to the low lining coastal areas of this green and pleasant land with eventual conversion from lake district to the ash district!
Oh why, oh why cannot your senior relative go as every true Yorkshire man would; into the ground to let twerms eight three up!
E bah gum serry! What is the Point?
But what else can you anticipate from a Sheffield lad with aspiration above his station.
PS
With 30 years walking I would this some parts of his anatomy, such as knees, must be getting ready for replacement!
Your fahter will carry the memory of that trip with him forever as, I hope, will you. Lovely blog.
The sheep shit reminded me of my lake district school days and Outdoor Activity sessions.
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