Lake

My college roommate grew up in Santa Barbara and was not used to Massachusetts winters. She’d start wearing long underwear in October, something for which I, the hearty Minnesotan who wore converse sneakers all winter, would make fun of her. One crisp winter day, in an uncharacteristic moment of exuberance, I exclaimed to her “but Laura, doesn’t the cold make you feel so alive?!?” She’s spent the last twenty years reminding me of that exclamation every time I complain about the cold.

And I complain about the cold a lot more often than I used to. I’ve fully adapted to the California climate. My jacket and beanie hat are on as soon as it hits 50. Which might make my decision to walk around in Northern Europe in the winter seem a bit strange, but more on that later.

Today’s walk through the Lake District was beautiful and chilly. Blue skies, sunshine, and frost on the ground. I set off on a path around Derwentwater. It was still, reflecting the mountains surrounding the valley perfectly. The rivers and brooks running into the lake weren’t frozen over, but the puddles on the path had a thin sheet of ice over them. I crunched the ice delicately with my hiking shoe - it made a satisfying hissy crackly sound as it broke apart and floated on the water beneath it. I’d missed that sound.

Derwentwater isn’t technically a lake - there’s actually only one lake in the Lake District. The rest of the bodies of water here are called meres, waters, or tarns. The lack of official lakes in the Lake District propelled a group from south London to try to claim the term Lake District for their area - which has two lakes. "People are astounded to discover the Lake District only has one lake," said a man from the group. "To be honest, if it's raining there's nothing to do," he said. "It's a bit gloomy and, if you've got kids with you, once they've seen one lake they've seen them all.” This happened back in 2013 ; the group was unsuccessful in their attempt to claim the “Lake District” title - but perhaps a bit successful in bringing attention to the wonders of Croyden.

Not a lake (?!)

I rounded the “lake” to a pier, the end of which sagged into the water. A fat Corgi bounded over to sniff me, before moving on. After going through a gate, I came upon a large shed with a teddy bear in its window. For the last 30 years, people have been writing letters to the bear, from all over the world. The shed is papered in these letters.

The famous Teddy Bear

Eventually, I came across some sheep on the move. They were sprayed red and green, as if they’d been specially decorated for Christmas. I couldn’t figure out how to open the gate and leave the Christmas sheep behind — I thought I’d seen all of the different ways a gate can be opened and closed during my rambles, but it seems that farmers are always coming up with something new. I finally got through and passed the magnificently named “Alpalcaly Ever After” alpaca farm. On my right, a little stone bridge with fairy lights led to Lingholm Kitchen - its garden was the inspiration for Beatrix Potter’s Tale of Peter Rabbit. I pressed on, past a marina and a parade of boats that lined the road, stored for the winter, and over a suspension foot bridge that reminded me a little of home. The walk into Keswick finished on a gravel path through a sheep field. It was full of puddles and fenced in by barbed wire. After six miles of walking, it was the last 200 yards where I collected the most mud.

It felt strange to be so hemmed in for the last part of the walk. All of the land I’d walked on is within the borders of the Lake District National Park — why the barbed wire? It turns out that “National Park” doesn’t mean the same thing in the UK as it does in the US. The UK’s national parks are not owned by the government — in the Lake District National Park, 50% of the land is in private hands. Only 4% is owned by the Park Authority; according to the Authority, “we don’t need to own land to protect the public’s interest in visiting it, in enjoying it and knowing it is conserved to the highest standards.”

This philosophy isn’t inline with the common international understanding of what a national park is — land dedicated to conservation, mostly uninhabited but open to the public, and owned by the government. In the UK, the National Parks include many inhabited areas (42,000 people live in the Lake District), the land is farmed and used for other commercial purposes, and its privately owned. It turns out the barbed wire I walked past isn’t strange for a national park here.

My nose is still a bit cold as I write this, but the brisk air really did feel good. This is not perhaps the ideal time of year to travel here, but it was the time period that made sense for me to take off work. And I figured that visiting places in the “off” season would be less expensive and allow for greater flexibility in my wanderings (it’s a lot easier to book last-minute accommodations in December than in July). But the best perk of walking during this time of year is something totally unexpected. The short days (less than eight hours of sunlight) mean that the golden hour seems to stretch and fill half the day. The hills glow. The clouds are luminous. The celestial rays are so glorious it’s almost cartoonish. This winter light - doesn’t it make you feel alive?

A little note: I’m working on a few other pieces, including about my trip to Kinder Hill, the site of the famous mass trespass in 1932. In the meantime, if you like reading this, please consider sharing with others who might like it as well. There is a paid version of this newsletter, but the content is basically the same as the free version - this was the only way I could figure out how to make posts public but not allow the whole world to comment on them. If I recognize a name when someone signs up for the free version, I gift them the paid version as I’m not trying to make money off of this. Probably more than you needed to know about substack admin, ANYWAY, please share if you enjoy reading it. xoxox.