The Otherworld
Vivienne Crow celebrates ‘otherness’ in a hidden corner of the Lakes with a very familiar name…
WHAT A MASTERPIECE of a valley Borrowdale is. Sleek lines, welcoming hills, sparkling rivers… and no crowds.
That’s made you jump, hasn’t it? The words ‘Borrowdale’ and ‘no crowds’ don’t generally hang out together. But I’m not talking about the Keswick Borrowdale, the one that hosts the likes of Derwent Water, Rosthwaite and Castle Crag; the one with three lovely hotels and access to the highest mountains in the country. I’m talking about the other Borrowdale. This Borrowdale is a secret one, one that sees few visitors even in the height of summer. This one is hidden away between Shap and Kendal at the very eastern edge of the Lake District. It’s part of an upland mass known as the Birkbeck Fells, a zone which technically only joined the national park last year. But I have loved it for a long time.
I first discovered Borrowdale and the superb Whinfell ridge when I moved to Cumbria just over 20 years ago. From the parking area at Huck’s Bridge on the A6, on that first visit, I climbed a little-used, grassy trail to the first top, Ashstead Fell, and then followed it to the lonely tops of Mabbin Crag and Whinfell Beacon. I didn’t see a soul. To the north, east and west, hills filled the horizon, and the knowledge that I had at least some of those hills to myself brought an enormous grin to my face.
When I revisited the ridge earlier this summer, there was no indication that the area had been ‘discovered’ in the intervening years, even with the national park expansion. The trail was as vague as ever as it made its rollercoaster way through a landscape dominated, at first, by heather and bilberry.
These fells are low by Lakeland standards – never even managing the dizzy heights of 500m – but their rugged remoteness makes them feel more substantial. Here and there, a few rocky bits stick out, adding to the sense of this being a wild place.
But as fine as it is, the ridge is only half the story. The valley beneath is where the tale really unfolds.
Beyond Whinfell Beacon, I followed a bridleway that eased its way down to the valley bottom, slowly revealing the beauty that is Borrowdale. My initial sense of disappointment at having to leave the high ground was replaced by a growing delight in the valley I was entering.
It is that rare thing in Cumbria – a valley without a road, town or even village. All you’ll find are the ancient farmsteads, meadows and scattered woods of Low and High Borrowdale. The latter was bought by the Friends of the Lake District in 2002, and the charity has since created upland hay meadows and planted woodland in an attempt to ‘restore the traditional character’ of a Westmorland farmstead.
I saw several herons and a juvenile snipe as I headed upstream. Territorial buzzards wheeled overhead, protective of their nest, while the call of a cuckoo echoed off the valley walls.
We are lucky to have Borrowdale in this form, for vultures have circled around it many times. In the 1960s, the Manchester Corporation wanted
to flood the valley and turn it into a reservoir. Thankfully the plan was turned down. In the early 1970s, the Water Board put forward an even more ambitious plan that included a reservoir, a new road and watersports facilities. Also abandoned.
Then in 2005, a plan was put forward to build what would have been England’s largest windfarm on the high ground between Borrowdale and neighbouring Bretherdale. Likewise, it was defeated.
Thankfully, now that it has become part of the Lake District National Park, Borrowdale need never face such threats again. Its beauty and isolation finally have the protection they need and deserve.
This Borrowdale is a secret one, one that sees few visitors even in the height of summer.”