SILVER HOWE, GRASMERE

I'm walking up Silver Howe today, above Grasmere. The rain is pervasive and the hills are cloaked in mist.

A couple start the climb behind me and abandon it on the basis that there'll be nothing to see in this weather. I can't help but wonder if they've tried opening their eyes. There's plenty to see.

Juniper bushes shining in the rain, their star-shaped needles heavy with raindrops, spider webs stretched across their branches a constellation of shimmering beads of water, blowing in the breeze. Bracken turning from deep green to orange and a rich, rusty brown. Soft hair-like moss coating the branches of shrubs, thin fingers of lichen reaching upwards next to round, mint coloured cups.

I sit on a twisted juniper branch close to the ground and read my book, study the mosses. I wonder what it is that makes this patch attractive to the junipers, why they've gathered here to form a stand.

View from the juniper

I walk on and hear a gill trickling along. Perhaps the supply of water has something to do with why they're gathered here, although they're set back from the stream. The fog has set in behind me and the view looking back feels prehistoric. The weather has blocked out the signs of civilisation pockmarking the landscape below: buildings, roads, neatly laid out fields shorn bare by sheep. All that's left is the bracken, juniper, and a couple of lone pines. The stream carves a steep and winding path through the hills. 

Other walkers had said there are no views today but there are special views, views that only certain weather conditions can reveal. I continue to climb and detour to a high rock. Far below, another deep gill runs through the landscape. The water is louder, rushing through the rock. Orange and purple heather clings to the side of the ravine and coal tits flit around below, in a tree I don't recognise. Juniper crowds the high sides of the crevice. A group of swallows chirp overhead, gliding through the mist.

As I stand and watch, the mist becomes heavier and the view of the water below slowly starts to fade away, so I return to the path. On the other side of the bank, a lone rowan strikes colour to the scene with its red berries, bright against the greens and browns of the bracken. The heather grows amongst low juniper bushes here, both clinging to the rock face. I scramble up the other side of the water and make my way to the summit of Silver Howe. The way is marked with cairns, huge piles of stone, and I wonder who brought them here, for me to follow.

View from the top

When I get to the top, it's like being on an island in the middle of a foggy sea. I can't see anything other than a thick blanket of grey all around. It's wonderful.

On the way up, I'd tilted my cap against the rain so that I could keep my eyes open and concentrate on the slippery rocks underfoot. Now, I turn to face the wind and tip my head back, closing my eyes and letting the rain fall onto my face. I stand there, breathing deeply, taking in the silence and the cold rain.

I tip my head forward and wait for the water to run from my eyes before opening them and looking again at the fog. It doesn't feel eerie like fog on the moors, but comforting, like snow at Christmas. I feel enveloped, safe. Here I am, alive, on a summit in the Lakes, rain water pouring from my shoulders and the ends of my sleeves.

I keep turning my face into the rain. This time really is the last. It seems an odd, eccentric thing to do, to walk to the peak of this hill by myself and stand in the rain. I feel the water run in rivulets down my cheeks and drip from my chin.

The descent is a steep gully. Before me, the views open up as the mist clears, and I see Elter Water in the distance. Wisps of cloud float across steep peaks half planted with tall pines. In one area, pines have been felled and left on the ground.

All I can hear is insects and sheep. I stop to look at water droplets hanging on grass seed heads amongst the moss.

As I round a corner, Lake Grasmere comes into view. I skirt from the path to a rocky outcrop with magnificent views. I crouch to watch a baby toad making its way through the bracken before turning to take in the lake. Like yesterday, it's dark, but today it isn't glassy; its surface is textured with millions of tiny ripples from the wind, making it look like a painting of its true self.