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summer. It tantalises the nostrils as KristalClear and NutJob walk hand in hand to the summit.
The canopy of verdant green gives way at the top to a more barren landscape. One hour into their gentle trek the sun is now bright, and they can see clearly into the distance. Expansive open fells, with wiry tufts of Mat Grass and some Bell Heather punctuate an expansive network of baked earth and rock. It looks like hard work, even for a seasoned hiker.
They pause to admire the small, odd, final tree, for its endurance if little else. Presumably stunted and sculpted by years of relentless wind.
Defiantly surviving in the thin soil, a Scots Pine with a peculiar twisted trunk stands alone. The stark, skeletal arrangements of a few gnarly, sinuous branches present a layer of shallow, flattened crowns. The paucity of malachite pine needles contrasts with the dominant mix of terracotta colours. It’s the unbending tufts of green that give this solitary tree an intriguing, resilient beauty.
The last of the regular forest is 200 metres down the hill behind them, and it arcs away to their left, first leading north and then curving a little west. Ahead, the barren fell looks uninviting, and the only other obvious passage looks like a challenge too.
It’s a downward path that goes east towards the dale, with a sheer rock face rising to the left. On the right there’s an unrelenting line of Gorse in full bloom, intruding onto the path and blocking the view further to the right. There’s no indication of what lies beyond the bushes.
Another sheer drop wonders NutJob?
“Which way shall we go?” asks KristalClear.
“North, around the forest,” replies NutJob, “if we go onto the fells we’ll be parched and soon run out of water. We want a pleasant walk don’t we?”
“East to the dale?”
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