High summer has arrived in the Lake District, perhaps earlier than expected. A drowsy heat haze hangs over the fells, silencing the usual music of countless becks. The grass is turning brown, and only the bright fronds of new bracken show fresh green. The lakes are lower than they have been for months. Hardly a ripple stirs the waters, and one can watch for half an hour in the soft cool of the evening without seeing a single fish rise. The sunburnt, shirt-sleeved boatmen are doing brisk business.
Rock Climbers Feel the Heat
Up on the crags, rock climbers feel the heat rebound from the great rocks like sound from a gong. The mosses in the gullies, sodden for 11 months of the year, are now brittle as tinder. The light breeze that occasionally rustles along the heights blows dead lichen and rock dust into eyes and hair. The only water less than a long, weary trudge away is the tiny spring that has been bubbling out of its little rock corner for centuries.
Farmers at a Standstill
Many farmers are at a standstill. The hay harvest is going to be later than ever this year, and prospects for next winter's fodder are becoming grim. Drowsily, the dairy cows stand in the shade or wade belly deep in the lakes. Even the sheep, unkempt in their unshorn fleeces, look listless as they crop the drying grass. A fortnight's rain is badly needed.
