Esthwaite Shore

 

After a short bus ride from Coniston, where we remained on the Sports and Social Club campsite, we found ourselves in Hawkshead.

Our first mission in Hawkshead was to find Esthwaite Water, or the Lake of Esthwaite as Wordsworth calls it in the sub-title of his (Lines Left upon a Seat in a) Yew-Tree poem.

Thankfully, a very nice lady in the Beatrix Potter shop gave us good directions for Esthwaite which lay less than a mile outside Hawkshead, following a road that passed the school.

Along the way, we passed a block of whitewashed houses:

An idyllic-looking cottage:

And a farmhouse which pointed the way to the lake:

Near where a herd of cows grazed peacefully in a field:

Soon afterwards, we came upon the water which, at first, looked no more than a large fishing pond:

But we soon got a great view of Esthwaite:

Walking around a stretch of its shore:

Have just read that Esthwaite is one of the smallest and lesser-known of the lakes in the Lake District, with it being known for good pike and trout fishing.

I certainly enjoyed walking round the stretch of shore that was accessible to the general public.

At one point, I couldn't help but feel an aptness to the sub-title of Wordsworth's (Lines Left upon a Seat in a) Yew-Tree poem:

 

                                       On a desperate part of the shore,

                                  Yet commanding a beautiful prospect.

Absolutely loved this spot on Esthwaite shore.

Away from the tourists in Hawkshead village, this place seemed to offer the perfect stillness (for profound reflection on life) that Wordsworth was after in the Yew Tree poem:

 

           "—Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands
           Far from all human dwelling ...
           Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,
           That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
           By one soft impulse saved from vacancy".

          

          "If thou be one whose heart the holy forms
           Of young imagination have kept pure,
           Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know, that pride,
           Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
           Is littleness ..."

Really glad that in late middle-age, with the aid of such places as Esthwaite, I'm finally beginning to understand Wordsworth a bit more.