Burnmoor tarn
Another chance to enter what for me is an enchanted domain above Eskdale and this time the weather is brighter. We weave our way through the furns past Eel tarn and on towards the horizons that we looked longingly at last time, knowing that over the lip of one shoulder lay hidden Burnmoor tarn – infact it lay hidden for most of the journey there. Something about the shape of the hills round here, their lazy slow curves and unobtainable colour I find hypnotic. Later I read that Burnmoor refers to ‘Borrans’ or burial mounds on the moors. We cross a bridge over the river before the final slope to the edge of the tarn. I long to linger and somehow penetrate and possess the secrets of the place, where the river divides. This must all constitute the aesthetics, the art of the project and yet it remains terribly elusive.
Arriving at the edge of the water and looking across, the need to deal with practicalities steals the moment. We have a good and relatively easy swim despite a breeze wiping up some waves and emerge tired.
Afterwards the magic qualities of the place give way to a more mundane effort to get ourselves back, carrying packs that get heavier by the moment, and down for refreshment and rest.
Richard
