Thirlmere is a near four mile long lake (once two separate lakes but now turned reservoir) in a strikingly beautiful woodland setting under the shadow of the Helvellyn range which rises abruptly from the Lake's eastern side. Just south of Thirlmere is the oldest highway in the Lake District...Dunmail Raise. A large cairn marks the boundary of old Cumberland and Westmorland. It is said that under the cairn lies Dunmail, Wordsworth's 'lost king of rocky Cumbria'. Legend credits him with being the son of Owain, and leader of the last desperate resistance against the Anglo-Saxons in 945AD. Dunmail was apparently killed here and his body covered with the rocks and boulders which you see today. Apparently the story goes that as he fell mortally wounded, he cried to his men not to let the golden crown fall into Saxon hands...urging them to hide the crown safely until the day that he returned. His followers threw the crown into Grisedale Tarn and that is where it remains to this day. Every so often though, his warriors return, retrieve the crown, and return to the cairn. After first knocking, the voice keeps coming back "Not yet, my warriors, not yet...wait awhile". After which the crown is once again returned to Grisedale Tarn.
     At Thirlspot and Wythburn nearby is where Wordsworth would meet up with his famous contemporaries and set off up Helvellyn, amongst whom would often be Humphrey Davy (of the miners lamp fame) and Sir Walter Scott).
     Armboth, which is marked on most OS maps, was a hamlet which disappeared under the reservoir when the valley was flooded. Another well known legend from this village is the 'Legend of Armboth Hall'. For many years there was an innocent looking farmstead known as Armboth House on Armboth Fell above Thirlmere, which was said to be haunted. On one All Halloween, a wedding feast was being prepared for the daughter of the house, but in the midst of the preparations, a man came rushing in to tell the family that the bride had been pushed into the lake and drowned. It is said that every year on this particular night lights are seen and neighbours say that just as the bells start ringing, the ghlostly figure of a large dog can be seen swimming across the lake. The plates and dishes clatter and the table is spread by unseen hands. That is the preparation for the ghostly wedding feast of a murdered bride who comes from her watery bed in the lake to keep her nuptials. There are, however, no records as to who the unfortunate bride was, nor for that matter can be traced any record of the foul deed.