Ozzie worked east of the Southern Uplands before crossing to the headwaters of the Esk. From there the mountains of the Lake District were in view.
After nine hours of continuous flight Ozzie began to tire and look out for a place to rest and perhaps feed. The weather had been superb all day but as Ozzie dropped down to Ullswater clouds were rolling off the tops and it had started to rain. Ozzie flew along the western shore scanning the water for fish. But it was no use. The rain was getting harder and the surface was a seething carpet of ripples. Spotting fish was out of the question. Ozzie gave it up as a bad job and opted to roost up in the lakeside pines.
Ozzie had a wet and blustery night but the following morning was a little better and he felt compelled to continue. Visibility was less good but flying lower he set off again. He struggled up the valley and began to cross the Kirkstone Pass. Cloud gave way to misty rain and visibility reduced markedly. The rain became harder and suddenly the rough moorland loomed up ahead of Ozzie. He was in trouble now and he knew he couldn't go on in this. He went to land on a dry stone wall by the road but then opted for a large boulder, where he sat with his head pulled deep into his shoulders, body held parallel with the angle of the rain to minimise his soaking. Twenty minutes later the squall abated revealing the pass up ahead and a break of clear blue skies beyond.

Ozzie shook the water from his plumage and preened his feathers into shape. Moments later he launched off and flew low over the moor and took the crest of the pass with only a metre to spare. Down the valley ahead lay Lake Windermere. He came into the lake across the town of Ambleside and over the sailing boats. The next shower had already hidden the far end of the lake and within minutes the fine weather had been overtaken by rain. Ozzie spent the rest of the morning at the lake, enduring several more sharp showers and making no successful catch of fish. At around midday the weather had improved and Ozzie struck out southwards again. By early evening the temperature was beginning to drop and flying for Ozzie was harder without the lift of warm air.
Ozzie saw a large horseshoe shaped lake coming up and decided to drop down. It was the huge reservoir of Rutland Water. He roosted in oaks on the southern shore of the central peninsular. Ozzie woke up hungry and set about catching breakfast. As he circled up he heard a familiar sound. An Osprey was calling. The tone was aggressive, and was delivered by an adult Osprey taking a break from migration. There were seven other Ospreys in residence, young birds from a reintroduction program at the lake. Ozzie decided to strike out southwards, earlier than intended, and still hungry. The weather was good and Ozzie got up high. Within three hours Ozzie was east of Stevenage. Ahead of him was the Lee Valley, a ribbon of lakes stretching twenty-five kilometres into the heart of London.