Round the back of Blencathra is a quiet haven populated by idyllic, sought-after villages and simple, geometric and deserted hills. There are also little ponies. Where the road meets the fell, these little chaps, barely reaching navel height, congregate to make the most of human offerings.While this one was creating a distraction, his mate was busy putting dents in the other side panel of the car, which seemed a little uncalled for. 
But perhaps I shouldn't have encouraged them by quietly flipping them oatcakes...However, they are, give or take the odd violent outburst, an affectionate bunch and full of character. After inspecting the damage, we walked into the heart of this deserted part of the Lakes. The great gash of Raughton Gill opens out into an unexpectedly grand amphitheatre. The river cutting through exotic mineral veins is slicing almost vertically through the shattered rocks, creating a micro-climate of weird mosses and odd squelchy worts. Fab place.
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