Mysterious tarns of the Lake District
I have been asked, is 'The Tarn' based on a real place?
The answer is both yes and no.
'The Tarn' is set somewhere near Keswick, and includes elements of personal recollections of time spent tramping around the English Lake District. Tarns always fascinated me as a child. Dark patches of unfathomable water dropped amongst the craggy rocks and windy peaks. There was the way the sunlight seemed to shatter into a thousand diamonds when it hit the surface on a beautiful day. How that surface could lie as flat as a tarmacked car park, or gently ripple as a gust of wind skidded over it. And it is delightful yet unsurprising to find that they have fascinated many generations before me.
In the folklore of the Lake District there are two tarns not far from Keswick, that have supernatural tales attached to them. Unlike the figure in my story, there is nothing menacing about these legends. Rather they are enchanting, and a chance to think about the people who once lived in the area. The stories told before railways and motorways made access by outsiders so much easier.
Nestled in the steep sides of Saddleback are Bowscale and Scales Tarn. Two miles separate them. Scales Tarn is alleged to be bottomless. And it is said that if you look at the water at midday, you will see the stars of night laid out before you. As I wrote earlier, I have seen the surface of tarns glitter in the sunlight on many of my walks, so I can well imagine how this story came to be.
Bowscale, meanwhile, is said to be home to a pair of immortal fish. They even get a shout out from Wordsworth, who describes
'…the undying fish that swim
Through Bowscale-tarn….'
Two tarns with a touch of mystery. But it is a sense of charm, rather than terror, that these tales leave us with. And that reflects the experience of walking in the Lake District. Once you get away from the honeypots, and the crowd of tourists thins out, there is enchantment. Even when the rain descends so heavily it destroys the boundary between earth and sky and you feel like one of those fish in Bowscale. Destroying the boundaries between heaven and earth is what the Lake District is good at. Just ask Wordsworth and friends.
The answer is both yes and no.
'The Tarn' is set somewhere near Keswick, and includes elements of personal recollections of time spent tramping around the English Lake District. Tarns always fascinated me as a child. Dark patches of unfathomable water dropped amongst the craggy rocks and windy peaks. There was the way the sunlight seemed to shatter into a thousand diamonds when it hit the surface on a beautiful day. How that surface could lie as flat as a tarmacked car park, or gently ripple as a gust of wind skidded over it. And it is delightful yet unsurprising to find that they have fascinated many generations before me.
In the folklore of the Lake District there are two tarns not far from Keswick, that have supernatural tales attached to them. Unlike the figure in my story, there is nothing menacing about these legends. Rather they are enchanting, and a chance to think about the people who once lived in the area. The stories told before railways and motorways made access by outsiders so much easier.
Nestled in the steep sides of Saddleback are Bowscale and Scales Tarn. Two miles separate them. Scales Tarn is alleged to be bottomless. And it is said that if you look at the water at midday, you will see the stars of night laid out before you. As I wrote earlier, I have seen the surface of tarns glitter in the sunlight on many of my walks, so I can well imagine how this story came to be.
Bowscale, meanwhile, is said to be home to a pair of immortal fish. They even get a shout out from Wordsworth, who describes
'…the undying fish that swim
Through Bowscale-tarn….'
Two tarns with a touch of mystery. But it is a sense of charm, rather than terror, that these tales leave us with. And that reflects the experience of walking in the Lake District. Once you get away from the honeypots, and the crowd of tourists thins out, there is enchantment. Even when the rain descends so heavily it destroys the boundary between earth and sky and you feel like one of those fish in Bowscale. Destroying the boundaries between heaven and earth is what the Lake District is good at. Just ask Wordsworth and friends.
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