England Travelogue - 4

I hiked up the Hampsfell Scar. It was the place I came to England to see, although I did not know it until I was there. It was the place that fulfilled every Jane Austin fantasy I had about England. I'm not sure what a 'scar' is. We wondered about all the quaint names for things and I wished I had a Middle or Old English reference to look them up. Cheryl asked a native and learned that a 'fell' is a valley and a 'tarn' is a small mountain or big hill. I think a 'beck' is a small stream or spring. There were lots of words like that - they all seemed vaguely familiar and pleasant as if I'd known them at some point and merely forgotten.

The Hampsfell Scar is a hill - not sure if it is high enough to be a tarn - with meadows and rock outcroppings and ancient stone walls. I hiked through some woods and climbed over a very old stile set into the wall. Then it opened out into this:



At the highest point was an old stone structure called a hospice. It was basically a shelter for walkers. It had a stone hearth inside and Roman writing over the entrance. It looked a bit forbidding as I approached it. There was a man inside, writing in a journal. I wasn't scared. I climbed a very narrow set of stone stairs to the roof. It was a warm and blustery day, my hair whipped about my face. There was a signpost pointing the direction to various towns and landmarks, near and far:



There were 360-degree views. Out over Morecambe Bay to the west:


To England in the east:


I sat up there for a long time, the wind from Morecambe Bay in my face, my heart aching for something lost I could not name.