Ambleside, Lake District, Winter
Temperatures have plunged.
Temperatures have plunged.
The nigh persistent rain of November and December has given way to a sub-zero climate and clearer conditions. Much better.
With a bright Saturday forecast, Lisabet and I ventured into the heart of the Lake District and major tourist hotspot, Ambleside. We wanted to do two walks: one, a small circular of Stock Ghyll Force, the other bigger hike up to High Sweden Bridge.
Despite being in the middle of a blisteringly cold winter in the Lake District, Ambleside was as busy as ever. This town never gets any rest.
All photos taken on my Sony α7ii using my SMC Pentax-M 28mm F3.5 and SMC Pentax-M 55mm f2.0 prime lenses, plus my Vivitar “Series 1” 70–210mm f2.8–4.0 zoom. RAWs developed in Lightroom, edited in Photoshop.
Ambleside, Lake District, Winter by Ian Cylkowski is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0
A misty shot from the top of Stock Ghyll Force. Made by stacking five landscape 28mm shots, top to bottom, for a wider field of view.
The classic view of Stock Ghyll Force, currently in its more barren winter finery.
After stopping for delicious hot brews at Force Cafe, we followed the trail back down to the town. By the side of the road, this still life-esque scene revealed itself to me, and so quickly I quickly nabbed a composition.
From the town centre, it’s easy enough to find the route to the High Sweden Bridge trail. Given the direction of the low sun, we opted instead to take the trail anti-clockwise, which we’ve never done before, to get more side light.
The old packhorse bridge itself, with my Lisabet providing a nice colour contrast as she strolls across it. As I’ve mentioned on this site elsewhere, the name “High Sweden Bridge” might seem unusual, given this is located in the Lake District, England. The “sweden” aspect originally comes from the Old Norse sviðin (pronounced “swee-thin”), the past participle of svíða, meaning “to burn” or “to singe”. In this context, it refers to the clearing of land by burning.
Looking up Scandale, admiring the light beams scanning across the face of High Pike (656 m/2,152 ft).
Heading back down the higher eastern side of the Scandale valley, I equipped my 70–210mm lens for some tight and distant compositions. Fully zoomed in, I was able to pick out the mist clearing from the summits of the Langdale Pikes, on the right, and Bowfell on the left.
My 70–210mm also has a macro mode, which I used to try and capture these beautiful and tiny Cladonia pyxidata lichen.
Lake District sheep get all the best views.
Did you enjoy these photos?
Stenkrith Park, Cumbria, Winter
By the gods, there has been a lot of rain.
By the gods, there has been a lot of rain.
It’s made getting out for some winter hiking difficult, if not impossible. In decades past, the Lake District was more known for a lurking misty drizzle that saturated everything. With climate change ever more present, these days rain in Cumbria crashes down in sheets of massive downpours, overwhelming infrastructure and rivers alike.
Finally, after careful cross-examination of various weather services, there appeared to be a gap in all the rain. We quickly made our way to an area not only familiar to us but that also had the best chance of some clear skies: Stenkrith Park in Kirkby Stephen.
It felt good to be out.
All photos taken on my Fujifilm X-T2 using my Vivitar “Series 1” 28–105mm f2.8–3.8 zoom and Laowa 9mm ultra-wide prime lenses. Shot using the camera’s Pro Negative Standard film emulation. RAWs developed in Capture One for iPad, and finalised in Affinity Photo 2 for iPad.
Stenkirth Park, Cumbria, Winter by Ian Cylkowski is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0
The crown of Stenkrith Park, known as the Devil’s Grinding Mill. Here the River Eden takes a sharp bend and has carved a deep and narrow gorge, dropping in several stages below the Millennium Bridge. It’s a spectacular sight, but I’ve never seen this much water flowing through. It was roaring.
We followed the Northern Viaduct trail towards the village of Hartley, the trees now bare. Winter afternoon light showed the way forward.
From atop Podgill Viaduct there are excellent views all the way to the Northern Pennines. Their summits never escaped the clouds.
Looking the other way from Podgill Viaduct. The bare trees allow the shape of the meandering beck to be more visible, making a stronger leading line towards the hills.
Kirkby Stephen’s always a pleasure to visit. We stopped for lunch and a potter around some of the charity shops, before relocating the River Eden for the return stretch of the walk.
Quintessential British quirkiness or a scene of horror? You decide!
Did you enjoy these photos?
Kendal Town, Cumbria, Winter
A new storm has arrived on our shores.
A new storm has arrived on our shores.
Storm Cowrie, like Storm Arwen, has not brought much in the way of rain (at least here in Cumbria) but definitely in terms of wind. There’s already been recordings of 140+ mph winds on the peaks of the Cairngorms in Scotland.
Here in Cumbria, we’ve had gusts of 50–60 mph winds with the occasional spell of mizzle. No peak climbing for us today. Instead, after a lazy lie in, we enjoyed a brisk and lengthy walk around the place we call home: Kendal, the Auld Grey Town.
All photos taken on my Fujifilm X-T2 using my Fujinon 23mm f/2.0 lens. Shot using the Velvia film simulation, edited in Lightroom, and finished in Darkroom.
It’s no Big Ben, but Kendal Town Hall’s clock tower is unmistakeable in any direction.
Heading up one of Kendal’s steepest roads, Beast Banks, I stopped for a shot down Garth Row, a medieval footpath linking Beast Banks with Captain French Lane.
Up Brigsteer Road, the light started to improve, highlighting these trees covered in vines.
A casualty of Storm Arwen, cut up before removal from the footpath. I wonder how many more trees will be felled by Storm Corrie.
A picture of suburbia. The small knobby hill in the distance is The Helm.
One of many old stone bridges in Kendal that cross the River Kent. This is Nether Bridge. It has records dating from the 14th century, and the 18th century packhorse bridge still exists underneath this newer 19th century construction.
The Almshouses on Aynam Road, originally built in the 19th century and named the “Sleddall Victoria Jubilee Alms Houses”.
Aynam Mills, originally built for processing snuff, which Kendal became known for making during the 18th and 19th centuries after the decline of the woollen industry.
Some of Kendal’s older buildings have definitely seen better days.
Kirkoswald, Cumbria, Winter
Welcome to the ancient village of Kirkoswald.
Welcome to the ancient village of Kirkoswald.
The day ahead looked to be rather changeable, with unpredictable downpours combined with gusty winds. Our best bet was to head to Northern Cumbria. So why not spend a day with Dad?
We all ventured to Kirkoswald for a gentle stroll around the area. The village is timeworn, with many buildings still standing since the 1600s and 1700s. Even older—to the south of the village—is St. Oswald’s Church, with parts of it dating back to the 12th century. The church is, in fact, where the village gets its name: “Kirk” is the Old Norse word for “church”. It is thought that the body of Saint Oswald, King of Northumbria, was taken through the village.
Southwest of the village is Eden Bridge, a beautiful red sandstone construction. It dates from 1762, with repairs made in the 19th and 20th centuries.
Thankfully the day was largely cooperative, weather-wise, and we all enjoyed some lovely photography walking around this ancient parish.
All photos shot on my Fujifilm X-T2 using my three prime lenses: a Fujinon 23mm f/2.0, a Laowa 9mm f/2.8, and an adapted Pentax SMC 55mm f/2.0. All images 95% made in-camera using Øyvind Nordhagen’s Modern Documentary Fujifilm recipe, with cropping and framing in Pixelmator and Darkroom.
My Dad’s lovely little farm cottage, in the middle of nowhere of Northern Cumbria.
The road that passes by Dad’s cottage.
Dad set up a load of bird feeders outside the cottage, home to many species that he’s always happy to take photos of.
We parked at a small car park just before the Lazonby Eden Bridge. This signalled the start of our walk into Kirkoswald. The River Eden was rather high and fast.
On the Kirkoswald side of the main bridge that spans the River Eden are these “dry arches” that were, nevertheless, flooded.
She’s a beaut of an 18th century bridge.
I whipped on my 9mm ultra wide lens to capture the whole span of the bridge as well as the lovely cloud textures that were forming.
One last look back along the entire span of the bridge before carrying on towards Kirkoswald.
Evidence of Storm Arwen’s vengeance on trees across the UK.
We took the permissive footpath from Eden Bridge into Kirkoswald, then through the church gate to follow the old cobbled path towards St. Oswald’s Church.
The church is in a beautiful setting.
There she is, St. Oswald’s Church. The building’s unique in having a 19th-century bell tower on top of a hill 200 yards from the church itself.
The main entrance to the church. Historic England specifies this timber frame thus: “North timber-framed gabled porch of c1523”. So 500-years old.
Small, and old, but humble.
People are still buried in this church’s graveyard. I spotted a gravestone for January 2021. I’m sure there are conditions/restrictions that need to be satisfied for burial here.
Love the wrought iron works around the churchyard.
A rather grand entrance to an estate of some sort.
Crossing over the small bridge that spans Raven Beck. Ancient red sandstone buildings everywhere.
Not sure what these folk were doing along the shores of the beck… but I had to snap them.
One of many buildings in Kirkoswald dating from the 18th century. This one’s datestone reads 1713.
The Crown Inn, still very much in operation. It’s an old coaching inn, again from the 18th century.
On t’other side of t’road, Lisabet inspects the menu for the Featherston Arms.
Love old buildings that are wrapped in branches and vines.
Victorian-era road signage, which still references Cumberland County Council.
Out of the top of Kirkoswald, the views across the Eden Valley are extensive.
The village square. Kirkoswald gained a Market Charter in the 13th century, and hosted markets at the village square for centuries. This then moved to the Lazonby and Kirkoswald Railway Station after the opening of the Settle–Carlisle line in 1876.
Heading back to Eden Bridge via the permissive footpath, I spy a simple composition as the storm clouds build up above.
A high and fast-flowing River Eden from the top of Eden Bridge.
Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland, Summer
Here’s the final collection of work from our week-long summer jaunt around Northumberland.
Here’s the final collection of work from our week-long summer jaunt around Northumberland.
Berwick-upon-Tweed is a town steeped in history and filled with curiosities. It’s England’s northernmost town, right in the northeastern corner of the country. In fact, it’s slightly further north than Copenhagen in Denmark as well as the southern tip of Sweden.
Berwick’s name comes from the Old English berewíc, meaning “corn/barley farm”, which I guess gives you an idea of the town’s origins. During a period of about 400 years, Berwick changed hands between England and Scotland a dozen times or so. Richard of Gloucester retook Berwick for England for the last time in 1482. More than 200 years later, the Kingdom of Scotland joined the Kingdom of England in 1707, forming the Kingdom of Great Britain, and ending the border quarrelling between the nations.
A persistent legend exists about the town “technically” being at war with Russia. The myth goes that because Berwick had changed hands several times, it was regarded as a special, separate entity, sometimes referred to in proclamations as "England, Scotland and the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed".
For the declaration of the Crimean War against Russia in 1853, Queen Victoria supposedly signed the proclamation as "Victoria, Queen of Great Britain, Ireland, Berwick-upon-Tweed and all British Dominions". When the Treaty of Paris was signed to conclude the war, "Berwick-upon-Tweed" was left out. This meant that, supposedly, one of Britain's smallest towns was officially at war with one of the world's largest powers – and the conflict extended by the lack of a peace treaty for over a century.
In reality, Berwick-upon-Tweed was not mentioned in either the declaration of war or the final peace treaty, and Berwick-upon-Tweed was legally part of the United Kingdom for both.
Regardless, the town is fascinating and you can feel the dual-nationality personality of the place. During our wandering, a sea fret obscured most of the coastline, lending a misty foggy atmosphere to our photography.
All photos shot on my Fujifilm X-T2 using my three prime lenses: a Samyang 35mm f/1.2, a Laowa 9mm f/2.8, and an adapted Pentax SMC 55mm f/2.0. Developed using RNI Film’s Astia 100f profile.
The Royal Tweed Bridge as the sea fret rolled in. It was constructed in the 1920s, designed to take on the increasing numbers of traffic away from the old Berwick Bridge, which had stood since the 1600s.
The nice thing about the Royal Tweed Bridge is you can get right underneath it and see its “guts”, so to speak. An incredible piece of engineering.
One of our favourite shops in Berwick, Slightly Foxed. The interior of the shop is almost made out of books, there’s so many.
The weird leaning/curved building is the old Granary, now serving life as the Granary Gallery.
An unusually empty Berwick, as we make our way towards the sea.
As we approach the North Sea, a look back reveals the three bridges of Berwick, which cross the Tweed.
Old riverside properties as the Tweed pours out into the North Sea.
We decide to venture out towards Berwick Lighthouse, England’s most northerly lighthouse. It was built in 1826.
Time to whip out my 9mm ultra-wide lens to capture the entirety of the lighthouse.
And lurking behind the lighthouse, a fisherman investigating opportunities in the North Sea.
We decide to exit the pier and continue up northwards along the Berwick coastline, see what’s what.
Welp, this was an unexpected find. The bloated carcass of a whale, long dead and washed up on the shore of Meadow Haven. I couldn’t tell you what type of whale it was.
Further up the Berwick coastline we came across an unexpected and delightful find: a raised platform of rocks and boulders known as Meadow Haven and Bucket Rocks. Let’s explore compositions!
I’m always fascinated by how geometric geology like this comes to be formed.
We pop up through the dunes away from the sea to find a way through the golf course and back into the town.
A lovely clump of Red Valerian amongst the reeds and sand dunes, Centranthus ruber.
Story time! As we made our way back through Berwick town, we stopped outside someone’s house to admire their front garden filled with flowers. Lisabet took some photos. As she did, an old gentleman enquired approached us to ask about our activity. After learning we were just admiring his garden, he simply invited us through to their back garden, which was even more fecund and filled with all sorts of flowers and vegetables. The “lady of house” was very enthusiastic about her gardening, and was more than happy to meet us and run through the garden with her. I snapped this quick portrait of her. What a wonderfully welcoming and friendly pair they were!
Her garden was, indeed, glorious.
After the Surprise Garden Tour we made our way towards the old town walls and military fortifications that surround Berwick-upon-Tweed. Local kids enjoy a game of footie sent against the 500-year old fortifications.
Walkways have been constructed around the old walls and fortifications, but there are still sections that have been preserved.
This area of the walls are known as the Elizabethan ramparts, which were essentially 16th-century upgrades to the existing 14th-century construction.
And back down the old cobbled street.
Lancaster Canal’s “Northern Reaches”, Cumbria, Spring
Over the years I’ve learned that the UK’s canal system is fascinating.
Over the years I’ve learned that the UK’s canal system is fascinating.
Built primarily as a means to quicky transport raw materials and goods between major manufacturing towns and cities, these days the UK’s canals are largely used for leisure and tourism purposes.
Lancaster Canal was originally proposed in the mid-18th century as a way to link up the prosperous port of Lancaster with the growing port of Liverpool. Ships delivering goods between the Old and New Worlds (Europe and the Americas respectively) were getting bigger, and navigating the tricky Lune Estuary into Lancaster was becoming increasingly problematic.
In 1819 the new Lancaster Canal section between Preston and Kendal was completed, but never linked via the waterways towards Wigan where all the coal came from (a “temporary” tramroad was constructed that linked Preston to Walton Summit, 5-miles south of Preston, from which the canal continued to Wigan. Eventually the tramroad was made permanent). Lancaster Canal flourished, mostly transporting coal from the Wigan area northwards, and moving wool and limestone from Kendal southwards.
This domination ended with the advent of the railways, particularly the Lancaster–Carlisle line as it promised the transportation of goods beyond Kendal. By 1885 the Lancaster Canal Company ceased to exist and the railway line was bought by London & North Western Railway Company.
The railways themselves then came under threat with the advent of cars and roads. By 1944 canal traffic to Kendal ended, the section between Stainton and Kendal was gradually dewatered, and the last two miles of the canal in Kendal was filled in. During the 1960s the development of the M6 motorway north of Carnforth split the Northern Reaches of Lancaster Canal, which terminated Lancaster Canal at Tewitfield and left the remaining unlinked sections of the canal to be reclaimed by nature.
Lisabet and I recently explored a small section of the Northern Reaches of Lancaster Canal via its old towpath; from Crooklands at Millness Bridge to Duke’s Bridge right underneath the imposing stature of Farleton Fell. It’s fascinating to trace the old route of the canal, the places where it’s been cut off from the main canal system, and to observe the ways nature has been reclaiming the waterway.
All photos shot on a Fujifilm X-T2 with a 16–50mm f/3.5–5.6 lens, using a customised Classic Chrome film simulation.
Looking north along Lancaster Canal from Millness Bridge (Nº 164) in Crooklands. This is also where, once a month during the summer, you can take a guided narrowboat tour of these abandoned Northern Reaches of the old canal.
South from Millness Bridge the canal is lush with overhanging trees, grasses, and flowers of all sorts. You soon reach Seven Milestone Bridge (Nº 163), reflected here in the very dry canal. This bridge carries the A65 over it.
After passing Moss Side Culvert (Nº 162), which is where the A65 splits Lancaster Canal, the views start to open up. You can make out Dovehouses Bridge (Nº 161), but more obviously the looming shape of Farleton Fell (265 m/869 ft) comes into view.
Across the canal, farmers have made pleasing lines in the fields as they prepare hay.
On the banks around Dovehouses Bridge, daisies (Bellis perennis) grow in proliferation.
The canal was so low and still that it offered irresistible reflections of Farleton Fell.
Just beyond Hodgson’s Bridge (Nº 157). More reflections and Farleton Fell’s pointy knott becomes more apparent.
After Farleton Turnpike Bridge (Nº 156), and heading towards Duke’s Bridge (Nº 155). Two very shapely trees across the canal caught my eye.
What a scene. Farleton Knott above, cows and bulls grazing below, with lush vegetation everywhere. No wonder people want to restore this section of Lancaster Canal and link it back up. Imagine taking a narrowboat down here with these sorts of views…