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Richard Ingham, Cycling Adviser to Go Lakes Travel writes about a recent short break with his family in the Lake District.

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October half term. A last chance to capture a bit of sunshine and half-decent temperatures in the Lake District, so we thought. Nods all round so Susanna, my wife, set to with her magic touch of finding  some exciting accommodation.

And she duly did. A camping barn complete with wood-burning stove in Dunnerdale, my favourite valley. An irresistible combination. Never mind the outside loo and shower.

Now, I should come clean from the outset. We did use our car to travel to the Lake District and home again. Sleeping bags, bikes and clobber for a family of four going to the Duddon Valley from Carlisle was not going to be achievable by public transport. But, once installed, the car did not move.

Our first adventure was guided by our two teenage children’s obsession with the sport of “bouldering” an off-shoot of rock climbing but, thankfully, without the height. We left the barn on foot in the direction of Seathwaite Tarn, bouldering maps firmly strapped to backs. Gradually Dunnerdale started to reveal its secrets of hidden gorges, deciduous woodland and a network of footpaths, streams and rivers forded by stepping stones. We struck eastwards and upwards on a track signed “Walna Scar Road” (an exaggeration!) then onto an access track which climbs to the tarn.

After a kilometre or so a dam came into sight – Seathwaite Tarn-cum-resevoir. And so did a magnificent boulder, just perched on a slab where the local glacier left it circa 10,000 years ago. For Susanna and I this had been a not insignificant walk but for the resident teenagers the day’s task was only just beginning: climbing the boulder. Whilst they bouldered we walked some further, exploring the tarn and dam, built in 1907 to serve Furness.

Our second day dawned clear and sunny. A plan was hatched: we would cycle, the kids would boulder (again). We left them, complete with bouldering mats near Birks Bridge, a magnificent 18th century packhorse bridge over a gorge and continued along the bridleway to Birks, an old farm now used as an outdoor education centre, and southwards to Grassguards, a still-working hill farm amongst more recent forestry. It’s a crossroads of historic routes between Eskdale, the Duddon and Coniston. Now classified as public bridleways, they make for excellent mountain biking as well as horse riding and walking.

We crossed a ford and headed south towards High Wallowbarrow. The fells looked pristine in the clear air, after their washing by the overnight rain. But High Wallowbarrow was not going to give in easily. We had height on our side but, wow, the old packhorse route builders knew how to build hairpins! For the mountain biker in me, they presented a real challenge as I rolled over rocks and tree routes and crossed steams before reaching the valley floor – the cautionary call from my wife disappearing in the wind. But, hey, I had the stove lit and the barn warming for her when she arrived.

Just as the rest of the family were putting their feet up, reflecting on the day’s adventures, I hatched the final adventure of the holiday. We would eat in the Newfield Inn tonight as a reward for trying to be sustainable, but we would ride our bikes there. With
the clocks having just changed that meant cycling in the pitch dark, not a single street light, guided only by our bike lights. The offer was gratefully accepted, until we wheeled our bikes out at seven pm to be greeted by driving rain. This was a test of our resolve, but I am pleased to report that, after a bit of friendly family discussion (“please can we go in the car, dad?”) we continued by bike and sharpened our appetites even further. We certainly felt that we had earned our rightful place as we rubbed shoulders at the bar with the valley sheep farmers.



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