INGLETON FALLS

Despite managing to injure my left knee on Hellvellyn, as well as making it worse by insisting on going bouldering in an act of denial, I found myself at Ingleton Falls over the weekend.

This trip had been planned fairly far in advance, and when coupled with a healthy dose of FOMO, I took little convincing to make the journey northwards for some more masochistic adventures.

Melodramatic self-pity aside, the knee isn’t actually that bad.

In the first leg of the walk, you come across a coin log – a felled tree covered in pennies that’s part of a more modern day folklore. Bark is barely visible after being slowly replaced by a mantle of rusted metal, which has been crafted by hundreds of hands.

Their origins aren’t entirely known, but someone with more time on their hands figured out that this custom couldn’t predate the mid 70s.

Supposedly, these are considered offerings to the wild, in a similar way to wishing wells or spiritual shrines. The difference being no one seems to know exactly how these coin logs began, when they first appeared, or why this custom became accepted and perpetuated to this day.

It’s been a good number of years since I last came here, wandering around in a curious but sensible manner befitting the mild mannered school kid that I was. The biggest change between now and then is how much smaller everything seems.

Things like that can’t be helped after growing taller by several feet and older by over a decade. You can have the clearest memory held in your mind, but it will inevitably still be coloured by context.

Falls 1

Every memory you have still holds an imprint of who you were at that point, which affects how you perceive said memory, and is only brought into focus when you look back and compare it to your current self and how you view the same things now.

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