Black Force, Howgill Fells

 

Carlingill Bridge is probably the closed point in terms of time to the Howgills for me, and also one I’d never visited, muttering to myself about motorway noise.  I always joke about the ‘Low Flying Planes’ sign you see travelling north in the Lune Gorge, but today witnessed a Special Forces Osprey at the same level as the M6 as I laced my shoes. A quick chat with two other fellrunners, and then into the valley of Carlingill, which was wonderfully silent, bar the sound of running water. Having never been there, I took my time to admire and appreciate the valley: the slanted evening sun lit the floor most of the way to Black Force. There were pools, cascades, rowans, and then a really deep scoured set of falls, with a steep path up the side. Wainwright describes it as a scramble, which it isn’t, but it does feel relentlessly inclined, with aerial views down into the shadowed depths. Once on top of Linghaw, I realised that I was  no longer alone, with two paragliders enjoying the thermals of an early autumn evening. Descending back to the car, the traffic became noisier as I followed the quad bike trails directly to the lane, ending back there exactly an hour later.