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In the early 90's, we (the Hinkins family) began what would become an annual pilgrimage to the Lake District: since I learned to walk, in a Windermere cottage, not a year has gone by without a couple of self catering or, more recently, camping holidays in the Lakes. The place is achingly beautiful: lush and green in summer, misty and cozy and atmospheric in the rain or early morning mist, exciting in a thunderstorm, dark and wild in winter. When Jasper was added to the family he learned to swim, puffing like a grampus and sloughing through the water, in Stickle Tarn and the deep, crystal pools of the Langdale Beck between Elterwater and Chapel Stile. We've endured snowstorms and downpours on the fells, tucked into rock clefts or sheltered behind the ubiquitous dry-stone walls, and we've endured monstrous gales squatting in the bell tent, grasping with white knuckles the taut fabric while the roof popped in and out, threatening to break the poles and send our equipment crashing across the fields. In all of its temperamental, fundamentally exciting moods, we have recorded them on our cameras, and a number are presented below for your delectation. They do not do the place justice.
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