I had decided to set out early from my tent. A warming autumn glow had settled on the peak of Skiddaw nearby as I began my drive. I had just the spot in mind. Not far from the eastern shoreline of Bassenthwaite Lake sits Dodd Wood, a managed woodland wrapping its way around Dodd Summit, and the only place in England I had ever seen a red squirrel.

The Lake District national park lies over almost 2500 square kilometres right in the heart of the British Isles. I had taken the three-or-so-hour trip across from my home on the east coast to spend a long weekend in one of the last true wildernesses of England. But one goal stood out for me, to photograph, or at least see, a red squirrel. I had seen countless among the forests of the Cairngorms national park in Scotland but had seen as many in the wilds of England in my years living here as I had seen scampering around a concrete city centre war memorial in Nuremberg. Just one. I was hopeful this time as I brandished my camera and headed uphill into the woods.

I delved into the thick forest of Dodd Wood. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth

My first port of call was arguably nothing to do with red squirrels. An osprey viewpoint sits in a clearing on the hillside and, when not enduring a pandemic, usually has birding telescopes set up to watch the Lake District’s breeding pair of the raptors. On a trip around a year or so previous, I had the luck of the draw being able to watch the pair on their private nesting site. No such luck this time as both telescopes and ospreys were nowhere to be seen. The pair had likely already begun their flight back to the winter warmth of North Africa by the time I arrived in the late summer. I continued upward, spiralling the mountain through a darkening forest of pines and firs. I checked almost every tree, stopping now and then to scan the forest through my camera lens. No squirrels.

The osprey viewpoint is at this stunning lookout over Bassenthwaite. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth

Walking on, I found the forest around me thinning and then disappearing altogether. By now, however, the draw of finding a red squirrel had melded into wanting to simply see more of the landscape I was in. The September air was crisp and bit at my nostrils as each breath became heavier on my ascent. I was now walking above the conifers with flecks of purple heather breaking up the greens and browns of wilting bracken. Soon, the climb steepened, and a cairn came into view. I pushed for the top.

Laying a hand on the cairn I turned to look out and was greeted with one of the most spectacular views in the country. All around me was near unbroken wilderness. Midday sun breaking the clouds bounced off two huge lakes, Derwent Water and Bassenthwaite, and lit up the hills and valleys all around with a gentle white haze. I looked back at the cairn and its plaque; I had somehow hiked to half a kilometre up while on the hunt for an elusive little animal.

The view onto Derwent Water from the summit of Dodd. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth

I never did get my eyes on a red squirrel, but it appeared to me, at that moment, that the wildness of the Lake District lives in its unpredictability. A day there can be a mix of sun and snow, of rain and warmth, or, indeed, of summiting a mountain when all you were looking for was a little red rodent.