The weather was forecast to be horrible (which is why we went to Carlisle on Saturday instead of Sunday). Of course, it was a beautiful sunny Sunday. I dressed in layers, the warm kind my mother would have advised rather than the stylish kind of my daughter. Long johns, turtleneck, heavy sweater, jacket, and cap. I got to wear my giraffe wellies. What a sight, I'm sure.
The (other) sights along the way were amazing. Our house in Connecticut had such short sight lines; it is wonderful to be able to see for miles here. 
The walled path leading up the hill.
The clouds and sky offer such lovely shades of blues and grays. (The lonely walker is Hal because Rosi is dawdling with that darned camera!)
The sheep are marked (in spray paint?), like branding I suppose. This flock has yellow bums.
I wonder how the paint affects the wool value at shearing time. The ram, shown here, was up to no good, "bothering" the ewes.
Hikers beware of deadly BULLS.
Recently a "news reader" was gored by his bull and had to give up his program for a few days. So, beware. It's no joke.
Here's another caution to add to the list: pesky moving plants.
I will concede it's POSSIBLE that the "plant" MIGHT refer to construction equipment for work on the monument at the top of the hill. Currently surrounded by scaffolding (see below), this monument to Sir John Barrow is scheduled for unveiling in the upcoming year.
Barrow was a local boy who became a brilliant civil servant. He promoted British exploration of West Africa and the North Polar Region with attempts to find a north‑west passage from east to west through the Canadian Arctic.
(cite: http://www.sirjohnbarrowmonument.co.uk/sir_john_barrow.htm)
Think of Point Barrow, Alaska.
We returned to sea level by a different path:
a rockier and steeper one. Oh joy.
