Lake Distict, May, Day 5

Expecting an inclement day, we were pleased when we woke to a dry, if dull, morning.  As the day went on it became more and more pleasant and even hot later.  Pack up made and rucksacks packed we set off for one of our favourite walks:  down into the valley to Bowston, along the river Kent to Stavely and then back home over the fields.  Today, however, as last May we left the river to climb up the valley side to walk through Dorothy Farrar Spring wood as it is one of the finest bluebell woods around. As we wandered through Rather Heath Woods, adjacent to the site we delighted in the display of bluebells here, their heady, hyacinth scent filling the air.  I was also delighted to hear a pied flycatcher singing and realised that we had heard one the day before as we left Gait Barrows.  Chiffchaff and blackcap were also singing in the wood.  We crossed under the busy Windermere road and then strolled down the green lane to Bowston Farm where we watched swallows, sitting on the telephone lines and flying in and out of an outbuilding to see to their nests.  Further down, at Bowston Bridge, I was thrilled to see a large group of house martins busy with their under-eave nests and my first swifts of the year.  Sitting by the river eating our pack up we started to note down all the flowers we had been seeing; on this day we found 34 species in flower.  We crossed the river into Beckmickle Ing Woods spotting dipper and grey wagtail before climbing the steep road up to Dorothy Farrar Spring Wood.  Noticeable here was the tree destruction caused by last autumn's storm winds.  Although the bluebells in Rather Heath Plantation were in their prime we felt that those here were past their best.  They were set off perfectly, though, by wild garlic or ramsons, with its strong aroma that gives it its name, and also greater stitchwort.  Leaving the wood and dropping to the road we walked first along the lane and then down fields into Stavely  where the pot of tea and cheese scone in Wilf's were well-received.  I went out to the terrace above the mill race where dippers were feeding chicks back in April, but today there was no sign of them.  Hopefully the brood fledged successfully.  By the time we had walked up out of the valley and across the fields to the caravan, I was well ready for the cold pint outside the van in the, by now, hot sun. 

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