High spirits
I SPECIFICALLY REMEMBER the first time I was ever moved by a view of mountains. I was perhaps 10 or 11, and walking along the spine of High Street with my family. From that wide, whalebacked ridge, you can see the entire Lake District: a sea of fells, interlocking ridges rising and receding across the whole western skyline. Although I couldn’t name them at the time, I would have seen from the Coniston Fells in the south to Blencathra in the north, and everything in between – the hulking profile of the Scafells, the imposing dome of Great Gable, the ridges of Helvellyn – all cast in the soft light of an early evening in May. As a child, you tend to be more interested in the minutiae of things; but…