Glasgow to the Lake District

Our first stop this morning was the Falkirk Wheel, which I had read about with interest when we were planning this trip but did not expect to actually take a ride in.  The Wheel is a rotating boat lift, the only one of its kind in the world, in the town of Falkirk connecting the Forth and Clyde Canal with the Union Canal.  It is an amazing piece of engineering, based on Archimedes principle, which lifts boats up a total of 79 feet from one canal to another far more efficiently than the several locks that would ordinarily be needed (see previous post) for such a change in elevation.  It uses almost no energy to accomplish this.

 

Our little boat was called the Archimedes, appropriately enough, and we also enjoyed the Scottish brogue of our captain, who could not resist taking a crack at Trump once or twice. Our boat began to rise so effortlessly and silently that I was not even aware we were being lifted into the air at first.

In the distance, we could just make out the famous statues of the Kelpies, huge horse-head statues of mythical creatures that pay homage to the pit ponies that worked the mines and pulled the barges long ago in Scotland.

We left Falkirk for Gretna Green, close to the English border.  Gretna Green is most famous for weddings, following the 1754 Marriage Act which prevented couples under the age of 21 marrying in England or Wales without their parent's consent.  It was still legal in Scotland to marry, so couples began crossing the border in to Scotland and their first stop was the Famous Blacksmiths Shop, Gretna Green.  Couples make their wedding vows on the old anvil, and in fact while we were there we witnessed a wedding taking place.

Picture Las Vegas, or Pigeon Forge, and you have the idea, except that the venue is much classier and the shops and cafes in the little village square much nicer.

From Gertna Green, we crossed back into England and stopped at one of those little gems our Travel Director had arranged for us, Howbeck Lodge.  It was a picturesque little farm in the middle of beautiful sheep-farm country.  On the way, we chatted with Steve, and found out that although born in Wales, he lived in Sri Lanka.  He does Trafalgar tours May through October and appears to enjoy it immensely.  On the way to the Lodge, he read us three poems by Robert Burns, a personal favorite of his who was, he said, a working-class intellectual beloved by the common Scotsman.

Young Oliver was out in the field at the Lodge, and his job was to call in the cattle - several head of fine hairy coos - so that we tourists could see them.  He did not succeed in this job despite banging on a feed bucket and whistling very loudly. 

"Time to call in the Professional!"  he said, "Grandpa!"  Grandpa arrived and with, I suppose, a more authoritarian whistle (or a bigger bucket) he summoned the cows to the yard for us to gawk at.

There were some beautiful stone walls on this farm and in this part of the country in general, which as an amateur stone mason I greatly admired.  Most of them were dry-stack, and had weathered several centuries without moving an inch.  Steve told us that there were over 2000 miles of them, mostly built by the Irish.

After we had toured the farm, we all filed into the dining room of the house and had afternoon tea, prepared by the owners - crustless sandwiches, sweets of every variety, and Yorkshire tea.  The Aussies, some of them farmers themselves, asked intelligent questions about the sheep, which, they were told, were raised for meat and were mostly Swainsdale and Herdwick sheep.

This was beautiful country, in the very heart of "England's green and pleasant land," with picturesque small villages all around.

Leaving Howbeck Lodge, we passed this old stone railroad bridge; it was definitely not dry-stack stone.

Our hotel was the Lancaster House, which despite its vintage separate hot and cold faucets and tiny bathroom had a surprisingly modern indoor swimming pool and sophisticated fitness center.