I absolutely love the rain. Well, when I’m listening to it from indoors that is. Hearing the startling sound of the wind echo through the precipitation party outside, while you’re snuggled in bed or cosy on the sofa, is one of life’s simple, yet great pleasures. Your decision to be a couch potato comes with a guilt-free-guarantee in such weather conditions; I mean, who wants to go for a casual stroll when the sky has just turned on its giant tap? These were my thoughts exactly as the atmosphere morphed to a moody grey over the Western Lake District on my recent weekend away.
The Ravenstone Lodge is set by the roadside, a sharp downwards turn to the left. I later discovered that the charming lodge was originally a coach house for the manor which lies uphill on the other side of the road, and is now separately owned. Arriving in the late afternoon, we had every intention of venturing out for a nosey at the surrounding area in the fading daylight. Our quick turnaround time was instantly thwarted however as I stepped inside our room for the next two nights.
There to welcome me was a four poster bed, with fresh white linen and frilly curtains. A spontaneous comfort test was essential, and I was still lying in a starfish position some ten minutes later. We did leave the room eventually, though the extent of my exploration was a wee wander round the small lodge, before settling in front of the fire in the conservatory. It was then the downpour commenced.
The build up of rain droplets tapping the conservatory roof mimicked the sound of popcorn slowly cooking in the microwave. Before long the noise was frantic, with mighty gusts of wind propelling the rain against the surrounding windows. I relished the warmth and shelter, and the excuse not to leave the lodge that evening. Ordering my first local beer from the converted-stable bar, I was quietly content and looking forward to a night of more fire-side tipples and a tasty three courser.
As well as providing ample justification for being lazy, wet and wintry nights are matched perfectly with indulgent comfort food. Scanning the tempting specials menu on the wall, I had a hunch that the highlight of our cosy night in would be delivered by the local on-site chef. My suspicions were correct - the ‘Twice Baked Appleby Cheese Soufflé’ starter was both rich and light, a cheese lover’s dream. Oh but the dream didn’t end there.
My ‘Roast Rump of Lakeland Lamb, dauphinoise potato and spring greens with a rosemary and port jus’ was equally delicious, while the warm sticky toffee pudding and ice cream finale tipped my tastebuds (and waistline) over the edge. Soon slouched back on the sofa in front of the fire, there was no way I was thinking about food ever again. Or at least until the next morning.
Full English anyone?
Despite my willingness to embrace the opportunity to relax, my get-up-and-go function is automatically set to ‘high’ when I’m travelling. With a post-breakfast food baby and the early symptoms of cabin fever, I seriously craved some adventure and mild physical exersion. The banks of Bassenthwaite Lake are just an easy 20 minute walk downhill from the lodge, if you follow the correct path. We set off and all was well to start with; faces blasted with fresh air, while our trainers gathered a thick coating of mud. It was dry, bright and beautiful.
Kyle was sure that the lake was “over there”, so we strayed from the obvious path and soon found ourselves in a giant swamp disguised as a field. We squelched through the sodden grass, sinking into the mud like quick sand and struggling to free our feet. I’m sure you can imagine the sound effects which I contributed to the experience - it was like a countryside comedy sketch. After the impressive burst of morning melodrama, we decided to retrace our mucky steps and find the path to the lake. On our final approach, we knew the walk had been worth it. Sitting beautifully on the horizon in front of the lake is St Bega’s church, the foundations of which are thought to be over a 1000 years old. After a few chilly moments at the shore of the lake, we started the return journey to the lodge and discussed our plans for a scenic drive.
Racing against the brewing rain clouds, we drove through Keswick towards Borrowdale valley. We began the rollercoaster incline to the famous Honister slate mine, stopping only for a hot drink and to admire the views and slate works. Continuing on down the steep Honister mountain pass, I was in awe of the dramatic landscape and its similarity to that of the Scottish Highlands. We drove in parallel to Buttermere Lake, dodging the resident sheep and anticipating the impending downpour. The landscape was soon draped beneath a cloak of mist; we’d had our ration of winter scenery for one day.
Resorting to our rainy day strategy from the night before, we took cover in The George Hotel in Keswick, beside the fire of course. Once the oldest coaching inn in Keswick, the building has been restored to retain its original character. The hotel was also a pit stop for James Radcliffe, the Earl of Derwentwater, en route to join the Jacobites in the 1715 rising. The English Jacobite joined our Highland Clans in the Battle of Preston, where he was later forced to surrender and was subsequently beheaded for treason. Great pre-lunch chat! Our beef Sunday Roast was hearty and plentiful, a must-have on an English countryside adventure. That, and the half pint of local ale, quickly reverted me back to my lazy alter-ego. A cosy evening in the lodge was definitely on the cards.
Whenever I’ve lived in a house with a bath, I’ve never been too fussy for it but now that I don’t have a bath, I always fancy one! Typical. Luckily my room at the Ravenstone Lodge had a big, deep tub for me to sink into that evening. I left the window opened slighty to hear the howl of the wind, just for effect. The remainder of our last night was spent within the perimeter of the four poster, watching films on TV and raindrops on the window. I should also mention the cheese board and wee dram of Talisker I ordered on room service. Happy days.
I bid farewell to the Ravenstone Lodge with my favourite breakfast - eggs benny with bacon - and set off in search of some Neolithic standing stones, with the weather’s blessing. The Castlerigg Stone Circle is a mysterious memento of the past, dating back around 4,500 years. The location was serene and isolated, against a panorama of snow sprinkled hills. I was so distracted by the beauty of the surroundings, I barely noticed how bitterly cold it had become. Snowflakes floated towards us and fell between the ancient stones; it was a magical moment. Thick snow clouds approached from the west, hinting at the blizzard soon to follow. Back in the car, I was cosy once again, blissfully watching the inclement weather through a window.
***
Kay Gillespie is a travel and food blogger who guest writes travel articles for Small City, Big Personality. You can follow her across Perthshire, Scotland and beyond on her travels for us using the hashtag #SmallCityTourist.
SCBP
Perthshire's only online magazine