FinalWe tore ourselves away from supporting Tom Daley in the Olympics to have an excellent breakfast in the company of a couple we had met at the Lion. And then off on the last day of walking. It started with half an hour of steep uphill to wake up my legs and back. One of the things I’m really grateful for is how well my legs have stood up to the challenge, I’ve had really no problems at all, no twinges, no stiffness, they’ve just kept going. But even more than that I’m grateful that my back has survived. I had a prolapsed disc 9 months ago, and it was one of the sources of anxiety before starting, that continuous walking with a pack would be too much for it. But although I’ve needed to stretch it most mornings, that’s been all, which I feel is pretty miraculous. Thanks to my wonderful physio, Owen Gerrie, for getting me here! As I was pushing up the hill I caught up with Gary and his son Robert, who I’d first met in the Lion. Gary paused half way up, looked ruefully at his son striding ahead at speed, and told me he was worried he was going to lose his breakfast. Although it sounds unfeeling, that made me laugh a lot, it quite cheered up the climb… At the top of the hill Sleights Moor opened up, and in front of me were 7 walkers in three groups, and then a couple behind me. This was the most people I’ve seen, it was as if the path was the shepherd gathering the flock together for the last leg. It was good to be out in the open space again, though I was very conscious that it wouldn’t be for much longer. And before long the path left the moor and went downhill into the Littlebeck nature reserve, following the stream. I knew there were waterfalls here to look out for, and kept being a bit disappointed at the flimsy nature of the cascades I spotted. And then I saw Falling Foss. That’s a proper waterfall, and has a proper tea room next door at which I had the second coffee of the last 17 days. Just before the waterfall there is the intriguing Hermitage, which is an enormous piece of granite that was carved into a shelter in the 18th century. It led to a bafflingly acerbic comment in my Cicerone guidebook: ‘Quite why it was built appears to be unrecorded - it may simply have been to serve the purposes of a local eccentric, a form of 18th century escapism that sees its modern counterpart in the blank-faced mobile phone-clutching brigades, who wander about our streets or sit immutably insular on trains or buses’. I wonder what has happened to the author in the past to make him so heartfelt. Having come out of the wood I joined Toni and Martin, whom I’d been periodically catching up with during the day. We were together for the final stretch of moorland. Here for the first time there was proper bog, probably made particularly unctuous due to the rain yesterday. Mostly we could squelch through it, but on a number of occasions it took a bit of thought and a few leaps to avoid the water coming over the top of our boots. Not for the first time I was very grateful for my walking poles to help keep me upright. It was really good to have company over the very tricky terrain, and then later they were kind enough to sponsor me too. Away from the bog, on country lanes, my map told me I had less than 5 miles to go. I suddenly and unexpectedly felt completely overwhelmed at what I’d done and the fact that it was finishing. And then I got into signal in Hawsker, a village with links to Robin Hood, though all probably tenuous and apocryphal. As my phone jumped into life I found lots of notifications that people have been sponsoring me this morning. That was really encouraging to keep marching on. The track took me through a static caravan park, and then there ahead was the coastal path, and the sea. Just like the beginning of the walk, but now I’m on the East coast. I’ve really walked right across the country. And as if to say that the path is now on my side, there was a huge herd of noisy cows, safely contained behind a fence. I love the coastal path, and have walked for hours on the section near Woolacombe in Devon. But now I wanted to be off it, and to be walking into Robin Hood’s Bay. I picked up the pace, seeing glimpses of the place periodically, and after 3 or 4 miles eventually reached the edge of the village and started the steep descent down to the sea. There were so many people there. It was really unnerving to be in a crowd after so long to, and especially that almost all of them were holiday makers - they weren’t walkers, they didn’t know what I’d been doing. At the bottom of the hill was the sea, and sitting next to it was David. I walked to the beach to throw the pebble I’d carried from St Bees into the water, to dip my boots in the sea and have a paddle. I was overtaken with emotion at being there. As we were clambering back up over the granite rocks to the walkway from the water, a woman offered me a hand. I thanked her, but said that I was ok, I’d clambered over worse! And then my thermos fell out of the rucksack again, adding to its impressive dents. As David was nobly rescuing it, she asked me what I’d been doing, and when I told her she also became emotional. I encouraged her to take the challenge on herself one day. And then it was over. Brilliantly, at the Bay hotel by the water I met Toni and Martin, Gary and Robert, and Georgia who I’d last seen at the Lion, along with others who’d just completed the Coast to Coast. We shared anecdotes, toasted each other, teased each other, laughed a lot and for a little while we were the only people that mattered in Robin Hood’s Bay. Stats
Distance covered: 16 miles Total ascent: 1850 feet Calories burned: 2200 Annoying ear worm: 5 dollars Christine and the Queens Post walk hearty dinner - don’t know as tonight we’re eating late, but this hotel is fancy!! Things I wouldn’t have been without on the walk: Headphones, walking poles, Aveda foot cream, 1000 mile socks, and my phone - on which I’ve done my blog, created the Relive videos, taken my photos, operated my GPS and stored my routes, spoken to my dearest people, had lovely messages to read, operated my JustGiving page, listened to Bill Bryson, played games, watched the Olympics and read a book. Video of the day: https://www.relive.cc/view/vXOnwGyLo56 Thank you for reading this - knowing there are people out there enjoying it has been a surprising bonus of this adventure. And huge thanks to everyone who’s sponsored me. At time of writing, over the two pages I’ve set up I’ve raised £1300 for Buckinghamshire Mind, which is absolutely amazing. If anyone else would like to chip a bit in, the site is: www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Jane-Smith109 Here’s to the next challenge! J xx
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WetThe forecast this morning was terrible. Rain all day, with thunderstorms starting at 1pm continuing for four hours. I didn’t fancy being struck by lightning on the top of the moor, so we had an early breakfast and got going. The strangeness of walking together after two weeks apart was mirrored by the strangeness outside. No rain yet, instead a thick mist down to the ground, making it hard to even see across the road. Mist has a strangely audio-deadening effect, rather like snow. David was thinking positively, when I said how sorry I was that he wasn’t getting the views I’d enjoyed, by saying that it was all part of the experience of the North York Moors. It was certainly evocative. The first section of today’s walk was on the road, but the interest was just to the sides. Moorland crosses are a frequent occurrence in this part of Yorkshire, and there were some wonderful examples in our first two or three miles. They were used to guide travellers, and first appeared in the 7th century. In these misty conditions with uncertain visibility, they gave a flavour of how grateful a medieval traveller would have been to see them reassuringly rising into view. We saw at least three, the Ralph Cross, which is now the emblem of the North York Moors National Park, the Botton Cross, which is less intact, and also the White Cross, known, brilliantly, locally as Fat Betty. I had to work hard to not let this lead to today’s ear worm. After half an hour or so, the mist started lifting periodically, offering tempting views of the moors. Then, joyfully and temporarily the sun broke through, so we could almost imagine we could see the sea. Walking fairly consistently downhill over Glaisdale Rigg, we passed a lot more grouse butts, and a lot more grouse, blissfully unaware of the imminent arrival of the Glorious 12th. We stopped for a cup of tea from my battered thermos, looking over the wonderfully named Great Fryup dale, observing the rain clouds coming at us in all directions. Two hours in and we were still pretty dry, every minute in that state was a bonus. But the rain came suddenly and heavily. I stopped to put on waterproof trousers with the speed, focus and precision of an F1 pit stop. The wet meant we then couldn’t talk, so I had a little concert inside my hood to keep my spirits up. Eventually we descended into Glaisdale. In doing so we passed a little girl of about 10, her dog, and her dad who are walking the path, camping all the way. They have become quite the celebrities, lots of the walkers know of them, and all are most impressed at her grit. They were queuing at the butchers - maybe it’s sausages for the dog’s tea tonight. Bev and Bob’s cafe is on the road out of the village, an oasis for walkers. Their garden is impeccable, a plantswoman’s delight with meticulously labelled specimens. But the real joy was the refreshments, home cooked scones, amazing gingerbread and cheese. Just what we needed before the last push of the day. And it had temporarily stopped raining, and the seating was undercover too, so the condensation on the inside of my outer shell had a chance to dry. Perfect. Within a couple of minutes of setting off again, and directly after I’d commented on how lucky we’d been so far compared to the forecast, the rain started again. This time it meant business. It hammered down in Biblical fashion, finding the flaws in our waterproofs, making the phone difficult to use for navigation, making the map soggy, and it continued without much relief for the next 90 minutes. As we were doggedly ploughing our way along the route the water was escalating down the hills, swirling round and over our boots, and the mud from the fields was creating a brown bubbling torrent where the roads had been. There’s a strange resignation about being in weather like this. There’s no fighting it, and when it’s set in there’s no point in trying to wait it out, and there was nowhere to wait anyway. You just put your head down, hunch your shoulders and endure. But whilst we were walking in this state, it was lovely to see the cheerful Skipton couple, Donna and Graham, whom I’d met up with days ago. Catching up with them, swapping stories about where we’ve been and the people we’ve met, meant that our sodden walk into Grosmont went a lot more quickly. Grosmont is an interesting place. Originally just known as Tunnel, it’s very much based round the railway. The North York Moors Railway now operates out of the station, and throughout the afternoon we could hear the thunderous sound of the steam engines. What a sight. And a smell. Perhaps not quite as pungent as my walking clothes, but not far off. The last night tonight before Robin Hood’s Bay. I am feeling ambivalent about it - excited to complete the challenge, but very sad that this incredible experience will soon be over. Hoping that It might be a drier day tomorrow.
Stats: Distance covered: 14 miles Total ascent: 420 feet Calories burned: 1500 Number of working steam engines admired: 2 Annoying ear worm: Starstruck (Kylie & Years and Years) Hearty post walk meal with local tipple: Ham, egg and chips (amazing!) Jam roly poly and custard (again?!) Pint of Wainwright’s Video of the day https://www.relive.cc/view/vXOnwGKrdB6 LionI was thinking this morning about how I’ve changed since starting this trip. A fortnight ago I was filled with anxiety about whether I was going to be strong enough, brave enough, good enough at navigating. Whether I’d bitten off more than I could chew, and wondering why I’d decided to do it. I was also worried about being on my own. Now I was just itching to get out on the hills, and wishing the walking was going to be longer today. As he drove me back up from Great Broughton to Clay Bank Top, the driver, who is also the hotel’s breakfast chef, was talking about the idea reported in the news today, that the Coast to Coast might be adopted as a national trail. We agreed that it would probably be beneficial to the many businesses on the trail, and that some improvements would be welcome, most particularly a road bridge over the A19. It seems I’m not the first one who’s had to run as fast as they’re capable of to get across the traffic - he feels an accident will happen there one day. But he thinks that the disadvantage of it being formally adopted is that it will become something people feel they have to complete exactly as Wainwright wrote it. Whereas in fact AW was very keen for the opposite to be true, that people make their own path (in much the same way that I planned the JOGLE walk). Today was a short day, and the only strenuous walking is at the beginning, climbing the slope up Urra Moor and Round Hill. After that it’s pretty level, clear easy walking. I passed my death metal friends who suggested I’d walk a lot faster than them and so let me pass, and shortly I was on my own. Looking back I could see a large group of walkers following me some way away. They were possibly the group staying at the hotel last night, an organised group of guided walkers going over the Cleveland Way and other areas - I heard the leader exhorting a member to stick it out at dinner yesterday evening ‘it’s not that you’re not fit enough, it’s because you’ve got the wrong clothes. Take my trousers and gilet’. I was left to wonder what the leader would be wearing this morning. But no chance of checking, I was way ahead and had all the peace and isolation. I didn’t see another walker all day. I have been thinking about how much I’ve enjoyed this solitariness. Yesterday I had unexpected calls from people who are very precious to me, and that was absolutely lovely. I really enjoy the company of others, and I will be very glad to see my friends and family again, but this chance to be with myself for an extended period has been fantastic. I watched helicopters with large loads swinging underneath them flying over the moor, reminded me of the bags of stone on the paths in Cumbria. That seems such a long time ago. And the weather is so different too - chilly and windy today compared to the baking heat of the Lakes. As the path moved out onto an old miners’ railway line there were large patches of burnt heather with signs of new life pushing up. I read later today that this is part of the management of the National Parks to help with the breeding of grouse. The new shoots are what the birds like to eat. An astonishing 28% of the North York Moors is given over to driven grouse shooting. That feels a lot. Along the route are various large stones, placed as guideposts in the 1700s to help with navigation. I particularly liked the Face Stone - it reminded me a bit of the Easter Island statues. The old Rosedale Ironstone railway track, although clear and level, is a bit dull to walk on, so I brought Mr Bryson on board today. I loved a moment where the Audible editor missed both his stumble over the word ‘gynaecological’, and his subsequent outburst of annoyance. But my takeaway from him today is that, due to the way our pelvises are different, women carry bags differently to men, with their palms facing the opposite way. I noticed the contrast between both being caught up with the immensity of the moor and the little things. The grouse hen and chicks nestling together near the sign for the grouse butts. The small bird of prey hovering and diving repeatedly. The larger one soaring above me, could it be an eagle? Wish I knew. The different types of grass as the walk progressed. And then the shepherd and his dog gathering his scattered flock together over this most inhospitable terrain. I told him I thought he was amazing - I was transfixed by it. He took my praise to be meant for the dog. ‘Aye, amazing when he gets it right’. After 5 miles or so of the very bleak wilderness of the moor, on the distant horizon pops up the Lion Inn, my destination for the night. It dates from 1553, and used to cater for the iron workers and coal miners. Now it’s mainly walkers and cyclists comparing notes in the bar. Having said earlier that the day was entirely straightforward navigating, I missed the path to the pub, so the 8 mile route turned into a 10 miler. But then it was a day for it, later in the afternoon I lost my bearings and managed to walk into the kitchen instead of the bedroom corridor. I walked up the road with high speed traffic enjoying the chance to put their foot down, with more than one boy racer. The tarmac was bedecked in roadkill. It was a bit sad looking at the different types of wildlife that live on the moor by examining their squashed corpses. One of the pleasures of being in a pub or restaurant on your own is being able to listen in on others’ conversations without being rude to your friends and family. An older woman talking to a younger man, very soon after the initial introductory pleasantries: ‘Have you got over your addiction? I can’t remember, is it that you’re an alcoholic or a gambler?’ His reply was indistinct. And then one of those lovely C2C meetings, Georgia, who I’d met briefly a couple of days ago, arrived as I was having lunch. She’d been walking with a man when I’d met her, but it seems he was just a walking buddy, and she’s on her own today. We had a lovely meal together, she told me about her career designing kitchens and I sorted out some antiseptic cream for an injury on her hand. And off she went, she finishes the path tomorrow. And at the end of the day David arrived! He’s looking forward to walking tomorrow, fingers crossed the weather is better than forecast….. Stats
Distance: 10 miles Total ascent: 954 feet Calories burned: 1200 Number of horse fly stings within a square centimetre on my wrist: 3 Hearty post walk meal with local tipple: Chicken parmo (this is a specialty of this part of Yorkshire - chicken breast covered in cheese sauce, covered in more cheese….) Jam roly poly pudding and custard (yay!!) with a pint of Yorkshire Golden. Video of the day is here: https://www.relive.cc/view/vmqXX2MBAoq ClimbAn entertaining breakfast. I was seated on my own, and the larger table next to me had the other four guests, all of whom I’d met in the pub last night. Probably all about the same age, in their early twenties, one couple were from Cambridge, having just finished their studies in robotics and veterinary science. The other couple were death metal fans, heavily tattooed and pierced. Both were very chatty and friendly to me (presumably regarding me as someone unthreatening, maybe like their mums) , but they had no idea what to do with each other. There was a lot of studious looking at their phones through breakfast so that they didn’t have to make eye contact. The day started as it continued with a steep climb up through the forest. It was swiftly working off the excellent breakfast, but I was rewarded by a view point opening up so that I could see still more clearly the plain that I had travelled over the last two days. West was in front of me, east would became obvious at the top of the climb. Towards the top of Beacon Hill there is a large transmitting station. I had full signal as I passed. The path turned, still rising a little, and then suddenly in front of me were the North York moors. The sun was beginning to burn off the cloud, and the browns and purples were shimmering in sepia, calling me over. Mr Wainwright, you were a genius. To have this first glimpse of the high lands again after the flat made me cry out with happy surprise. I couldn’t wait to get out on it. I was so glad that I set off before the others, and so had this experience all to myself. I put on Mr Blue Sky, had a happy dance, then turned off the music, and walked in the buzz of insects and the faint bird song, thought about the most important people in my life and felt filled with joy. After the Scarth Wood Moor there was then another forest interlude, like the path was messing with me for getting all over myself with being out in the wild again. Emerging from it there was plenty of evidence of the work that is being done to protect against wild fires. For a lot of the day today the C2C piggy backs onto the Cleveland Way, a really popular 108 mile walk from Helmsley to Filey. I met a woman with her teenage daughters who are doing the Cleveland in 5 days. They did 23 miles yesterday, and she said they were all a bit broken. I passed them, but later, as I had emerged from Clain Wood and was having a breather before climbing Round Hill, she caught up with me and showed me where her farm was in the distance. She’s a farmer who should be helping with the harvest, but instead is out for a long walk with her daughters. Good on her. Out on the moors again, the views went as far as Hartlepool and Middlesbrough. The sea is there, the end of the journey is in sight. A week or so ago, I might have thought I’d feel excitement as the end gets closer, but now I already feel a shadow of the regret that it’s finishing. Today has been mainly about hills. Although it’s not been one powerful tackling of a mountain, more a number of smaller peaks, the repeated climbs and descents have meant that the total ascent for the day has been more than any other on the walk. The mileage wasn’t that high, at just under 12 miles, but the energy expended has felt significant. I could have swapped the moor top route for a lower and much easier road that used to be used by the jet and alum miners, but I wouldn’t have missed the exhilaration and freedom of these views for anything. I sat near a single man my age at the summit of Carlton Moor. We discussed the joys of travelling solo, but also how we both felt too old for extended camping trips. He described a hiking holiday he had in Scotland where the midges and the rain were so bad that he had to retreat into his tent at 6pm. His tent was too low to sit up in, so instead he would end up in his car drinking beer and whisky until late as he had nothing else to do.. He had to call a halt on the holiday early as he thought he’d end up an alcoholic. As I eventually left, he said that it was good to talk to me, he’d had his sister on the phone for half an hour at the summit of the last peak ‘talking about feelings, yadadada…..’ The path over the moor is unequivocal, flagged and mainly even on the flat sections, though challenging and hard underfoot for the descents in particular. I took a little detour for an extra drink at Lords Stone, a remarkably busy cafe, rather incongruous after the tranquil isolation of the morning. After passing the cafe the feeling on the path changed. Instead of long distance walkers, there were many more families and groups clearly just out for the day. The Cleveland Way at this section feels like a local amenity. What a place to have to pop out to for an afternoon. I loved seeing a daughter leading her father up Cold Moor, and as he was complaining that he was out of breath she retorted ‘I told you these hills are a bit spicy!’ Spicy indeed. And an interesting encounter with four walkers who opened with asking why I was breathless as arrived at the summit of Cringle Moor. Once I’d got over that (I couldn’t retort with what might have been a normal withering response as I was breathing too heavily), we talked about walking. They are going to do the C2C next year, and that led me to talk about my big walk. One of the women in particular appeared very excited about the idea, asking lots of questions. I wonder if my conversation with her sets a seed just like the conversation with the American man in a bothy in Scotland did for me. Certainly as I walked on, breathless no longer, her husband said ‘it’s given you ideas, hasn’t it?’ One of the highlights of this bit of the path is the Wainstones, a group of rock outcrops perched seemingly haphazardly on the moor. The Wainstones are one of a very small number of rock climbing opportunities in the area. I inadvertently ended up making the most of these. I couldn’t see the path through the stones, so asked a group of teenage boys who were enjoying clambering over them whether they knew where it was. They pointed out a flimsy looking path that headed round the side. After a few yards I realised that their instruction was not necessarily to be trusted. I ended up scaling the side of the ridge up to the correct path on my hands and knees, conscious that there was a very long drop down. I’m waiting to see if they filmed my endeavours and whether I will shortly be a YouTube sensation with my exhibition of calm bouldering skills under pressure. Today’s walk finished at Clay Bank Top. There is no accommodation here, but the very friendly manager of the Wainstones hotel in Great Broughton, a couple of miles away, came and collected me for my last solo night before David joins me tomorrow evening.
Stats: Distance: 12 miles Total ascent: 2780 feet Calories burned: 2000 Number of toenails that are going black and that I’ll probably lose (eww): 2 Hearty post walk meal with local tipple: Brie with cranberry sauce, chicken burger with extra greens (absolutely humongous portions - winner so far for quantity). Pint of Wainstones brewery Amber ale Video of the day https://www.relive.cc/view/vRO7VRxZzyv ExtraThe day started with a great exposition from my landlady on the state of the various pubs in the vicinity, then swerving unexpectedly to the fact that she has been repeatedly to the opera in Verona because she loves the way the music makes her feel. Yet she thinks that she can’t sing, and that her taking part in music making is an impossibility. I left encouraging her to join a choir. It was another day walking across the flat plain before the high ground starts again, and so I got Mr Bryson on board early before tedium set in. Various interesting facts today. A drug company in the early part of the 20th century encouraged their employees to bring soil and spore samples back from their holidays. They were searching for new antibiotics. However, one employee’s offering from his Norwegian holiday was turned into the drug most commonly used as an immuno suppressant following transplant surgery. Also some interesting information about calories and nutrition. It’s something I think a lot about, making sure that I am adequately fuelling myself for the rigours of the walk, without going crazy on extra cake! Today has been a strongly carbohydrate based day. I walked through a very impressive equine breeding farm. It was very comforting that the path was separated from the many horses by an electric fence. It meant that they couldn’t be disturbed by me, and I could enjoy their company. Leggy foals were alternating between their curiosity about me and their concern to stay with mum. A friend rang, and chatting to him was a welcome diversion from the pretty tedious road and track walking. He was also party to hearing my alarm as I moved swiftly away from a herd of cows in the next field who got on the move towards me. Crossing the unfenced railway tracks directly afterwards felt a lot safer option. I had earlier watched with alarm as a herd galloped at great speed from one side of a field to the other, and back again. Fortunately it was a group who were fenced off, but it gave a sobering indication of how fast they can move. Another brilliant honesty shop, this time just a fridge at the edge of a farmyard. And the stile next to it was decorated with Halloween themed objects, and wired up to cackle like a witch as it was stood on. I love imagining the fun the kids had setting it up for the unwary walker. Today’s route was mainly crossing a series of fields and following country roads. The section that is described as the most hazardous of the entire walk is crossing the very busy A19. This required flat out running to get across before being mowed down by a giant artic. The coffee shop at Ingleby Cross was a very welcome break after this pretty tedious morning. They serve fantastic cakes, are Coast to Coast themed, and I was made to feel very welcome. Having read an interesting article on the benefits of talking to strangers: https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/jul/31/the-assignment-made-me-gulp-could-talking-to-strangers-change-my-life?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other I chatted to two other customers, who, like all the non walkers I’ve spoken to, seem both fascinated and a bit envious of my experience. It makes me wonder what’s holding them back. Park House, where I’m staying tonight, is on the first hill that I’ve seen for two days. It’s a steep ascent into Arncliffe Wood out of Ingleby Cross, and the house is directly on the path. But I would have arrived there about 1, and couldn’t check in till 3.30. So to fill the time I decided to go to Mount Grace Priory, another English Heritage property. Although it is probably only half a mile as the crow flies, the owner of the land has removed the permissions on the permissive paths, as they are breeding pheasant all over the area. I saw hundreds of them as I made my way to the priory, mainly contained behind fence, being fattened up very carefully before they’re flushed out and shot by the guns later in the season. In total the walk was an extra 5 miles round trip. There’s no way I’d have countenanced doing so many additional miles two weeks ago. Now it feels perfectly reasonable, and the hike to the Cleveland Way which was en route, meant I got my first extended vista for a few days. Mount Grace Priory is a lovely site, used by local families as a place to have picnics and relax, as well as by tourists like me reading the information boards. The Manor House built on the priory lands has got interesting exhibitions on its history, but the really fascinating thing for me was the reconstructed monks cell. This priory was for Carthusian monks (not Caucasian as my landlady this morning suggested…). They lived in isolation in their cells, only joining their fellow monks on Sundays and feast days. I had imagined these cells to be similar to prison accommodation, but in fact they were self contained houses with a number of rooms and separate gardens. Still, to be honest, not the life I’d choose, but it gave me a completely different picture than the one I’d imagined. A hike back up the hill to my friendly B and B, deep in the woods. They can’t do evening meals at present as they haven’t got room to distance everyone adequately. So instead they ran me down to the local pub where I met two young couple who are walking too, looking a bit weary. It’s been interesting seeing the different attitudes to Covid protection in my accommodation. Some venues have been utterly relaxed about it, others frantically anxious. With every day of interacting with people my anxiety levels have dropped. And I guess this has also to do with getting nearer to the end of the walk, there is less that will be snatched away from me with every day that I stay well. Stats
Distance covered: 14 miles including the extra trip Total ascent: 1256 feet Calories burned: 1800 Annoying ear worm: Los Lobos - La Bamba Number of splinters in my thumb sustained from a wobbly stile post : 1 Number of nettle stings from overgrown path that turned out to be the incorrect one anyway: about 100 Number of slurry pits that I got far too close to: 1 Hearty post walk meal and local tipple: Black pudding croquets with apple sauce (for the black pudding haters) Fish and chips with mushy peas - first of the trip. Home made rhubarb gin with lemonade at the B and B, followed by a half of Wensleydale brewery Semer Water Video of the day, missing the first couple of miles: https://www.relive.cc/view/v8qVp8oz83O FlatThis morning I had a fascinating chat with my B and B landlady about her experience of supporting refugees in Richmond. She had just come back from taking two Iraqi families and a Syrian family on a day trip into the Dales. This led to another interesting conversation about tackling racism and prejudice, and supporting the people who come as refugees whilst encouraging independence. It was a glimpse into her life that was very unexpected. And serendipitously I then heard that a young woman whom I taught as a little girl is walking Lands End to John O Groats this summer raising money for a refugee charity, Refugee Action. It felt good to sponsor her and wish her well. Wainwright is very scathing about the next part of the journey, ‘If you are fond of placid rural scenery and have an interest in farming, you might enjoy this section of the walk; but if your preference is for high ground and rough hills you will find it tedious.’ The whole day, across the Vale of Mowbray, has a comically small ascent of about 50 feet, and so there are no views as such. There’s also the noise of the A1 and other busy roads at times. But the gentle nature of the landscape felt a bit like home, and my hosts at the B and B were quite defensive about it, saying that there is a lot of beauty in it, even without the high hills. I think I understand what both parties mean - the day was certainly without drama, but it also contained the restrained sylvan nature typical of much of the English countryside. And a big plus was that I continued to follow the Swale, broadening and even getting a bit urban and edgy at times. My mood in the morning followed the contours of the landscape. I set off cheerfully from Richmond, even remaining cheerful when I had to back track the best part of a mile to retrieve my walking poles that I’d left at the B and B. But as I descended down the steep Richmond hill I felt lower too. There was less to divert me from feeling solitary, and today the pleasures I’ve taken from being in that state seemed to slip through my fingers. It was interesting, spending time with my emotions, and not diverting myself from them. I listened to music again, but this time it accentuated the emotions as opposed to soothing them. Maybe that was what I needed. And there was no one there to worry that I had tears on my face walking through the fields. Thanks to Tim Minchin for singing to me today. But, as has been the case for me for years, the act of walking improves everything. After a couple of hours of very easy walking on clear paths, and after passing the both ancient and current garrison town of Catterick, I took a break by the Swale for a cup of tea, feeling a lot more settled. It wasn’t quite as pastoral a scene as I’d imagined, as when I took my headphones out I realised I was still very near the noise of the main road. But that didn’t bother the water birds, and I didn’t let it bother me. I had heard of the honesty tuck shops and other resources on the path, but hadn’t seen any until today. The first was in the church at Bolton-on-Swale. The church was open, and inside were tea and coffee makings, cold drinks, seats and the use of the church toilet. All for nothing, just asking donations to church funds. It was so welcome, and lifted my spirits enormously to know that people were so kind to Coast to Coasters. As I was considering setting off again, two walkers joined me. Graham and Donna are a young and very cheerful couple from Skipton. His parents are acting as back up in a camper van, so they were happily travelling very light. We shared stories about the journey and the people we’ve met. Graham talked about how surprised he was by some who hadn’t stayed overnight in Richmond, but pressed on instead. As he so wisely pointed out - ‘why move away from Richmond early, it’s got a castle, 6 pubs and a Gregg’s, what more do you need?’ We set off together, but our routes diverged after a mile or so. Mine went north, theirs south, and I didn’t meet up with them for the rest of the day. So on my own again, but this afternoon it felt fine. I even brought out a few new dance moves, this time to ‘Shut up and Dance’. The extra and very special choreographic addition was the use of my poles in a rather classy Fred Astaire pastiche. Later in the afternoon ‘Build me up Buttercup’ was also brought alive through the medium of my fancy footwork. I can see a change in creative career ahead. I am no geographic or nature expert, and I don’t know if this area of the country is normally a bit further ahead of the west in terms of the seasons, (maybe it’s because it’s less rugged and flatter?) but I’ve noticed many more signs of the countryside turning to later summer today. Where earlier on the trip the blackberries were just in flower, now they are fruiting. The crop is turning gold, and the peas are ripening too. However the frisky behaviour of the white butterflies that accompanied me for a few miles was more springlike…. Including the extra mile at the beginning, this has been one of the longest mileages of the path. But because it was such easy walking, I got to the little village of Danby Wiske with plenty of time before I was allowed to check in. This has been an issue throughout, if the walk doesn’t take as long as the interval between the end of breakfast and check in time, then there can be quite a bit of hanging about. Not a problem if the weather is dry like today, but much more difficult if it’s raining. But today I had the benefit of another honesty tuck shop, near the church in the village, to occupy me before my B and B allowed me to check in. Following the sign, I confidently opened the door of the hall where I assumed the shop would be. Fortunately I noticed in time that in fact it was a yoga class. I reversed away before I upset their chakras. The Bakewell tart at the correct location was fantastic, one of a huge array of cakes, biscuits, ice creams and other goods, all supplied on an honesty basis, and all at extremely reasonable suggested prices. The lovely owner of the campsite who organises it later told me that she thought anyone doing the walk were so amazing that she wanted to support us without ripping us off. So she bakes two types of cake every day for people like me to enjoy. An unusual evening. The very friendly B and B landlady had to unexpectedly cook for me, as the only pub in the village is now not serving food for the next ten days. She informed me that she wasn’t very sure how the oven worked, but she’d give it a shot…. In the end the meal was perfectly nice, but she then went out for a big night with the girls, leaving me to do the washing up.
Stats Distance: 16 miles Ascent: 52 feet Calories burned: 1900 Number of horses in fields that I have happily passed thanks to my pre walk training on horse confidence: 6 Number of dance agents who have been in touch to talk about my new career: a surprising zero. There’s still time. Hearty post walk meal with local tipple: baked salmon with new potatoes and veg. And tap water. Which is local, I guess. Video of the day: https://www.relive.cc/view/vKv2yR9Wx4q AdminA rest day in Richmond today. When I planned the trip last autumn, I thought that I’d be struggling to keep up with the walking, and therefore would be very keen to stop for a day after Day 10. In fact, I’d be happy to still be on the path today, I’m conscious of the friends I’ve made who are all continuing to Danby Wiske or even further, whilst I’m waiting here. But, as a good friend (you know who you are) often says to my great annoyance, ‘it is what it is’. So instead I made the most of what Richmond offers, which is plenty. I walked around the old town, down to the Foss (‘force’ or waterfall for southerners) on the Swale, where a man who was old enough to know better was swimming in the icy water, patiently observed by his partner. I watched with admiration, knowing how good cold water swimming is for mental and physical health. Then I realised that he was mainly trying to get a good selfie in the water with the Foss behind him, and I felt more admiration for the stoic nature of his partner instead. Then a three or four mile stroll down to Easby Abbey and back to look at some more ruins from the Premonstratensians (who ran Shap Abbey too). They were eventually known as the White Canons instead, is it any wonder. Although there has been much less walking today, I felt it was important to keep my strength up. So following on from a powerful start of a pancake and bacon breakfast, for lunch I played a strong move of a giant Yorkshire pudding filled with mash, vegetables and chicken, covered in a bucket of gravy. I’ll be closing with a meal at an Italian tonight - bring on the pasta!! A brief foray to a chemist. Thanks to everyone who has asked about my blisters. They are hugely improved, and the extra super expensive socks means that no new ones have emerged. But instead I am developing a sore on my back from the rucksack. Compared to those who are carrying all their kit, my bag is not hugely heavy - maybe 5 or 6 kilos, and it’s a very well made and comfortable one that fits well (Osprey Tempest 20 if you’re interested!). But clearly the repeated friction on my back is causing trouble. Travelling solo, this is awkward, as it’s in a place that is very hard to see. Yesterday I tried a system of mirrors, a torch and my phone camera to inspect it, to no avail. So this morning I decided that this trip is all about new experiences, and something I’ve never done before is to ask the landlady of a B and B to look at a lesion on my back. Fortuitously, she then told me she was a nurse, which presumably meant that she had possibly seen worse. Or maybe not. Anyway, treatment was advised, she suggested chiropodist’s felt. I am unsure about what that will do to already sore skin, so have also invested in a couple of packs of giant plasters. Hopefully it will stop it developing still further. Apologies to all who feel a bit queasy now. And finally a trip around Richmond Castle, now owned by English Heritage. Busy with children loving the ruins and parents glowing with enjoyment at their offspring’s happiness, it is an evocative piece of history that is still being explored. It was great to see the recent evidence of community archaeological work. And the exhibition had a brilliant timeline showing the lords of Richmond from William the Conqueror’s time. He awarded the first Honour of Richmond to his cousin, Alan Rufus. Rufus ended up with an income of £1200 a year from his landowning, the equivalent of £81 billion. He was the richest man in UK history. The rest of the afternoon was spent resting, and doing admin.
Every afternoon, when I finish the day’s walking, I have a routine of jobs that need to be done in preparation for the next day. My rucksack needs emptying of any rubbish, wet stuff hung up and then eventually repacked. The hydration system has to be emptied, cleaned and refilled with the appropriate amount of water based on the weather forecast for the next day, and slotted back into the rucksack. The GPS has to be recharged, its compass recalibrated and the new map for tomorrow opened and checked. Then I charge the portable power pack that I carry with me in the rucksack so my phone never goes dead. I read and reread both the Cicerone guide and the appropriate section of the Wainwright book. And I write up this blog. Writing about writing a blog on a blog feels a bit meta, but it has been a very interesting process of the journey. It was originally just going to be for my close family, so that they could keep up with what I was doing. But then when people asked to sponsor me, and so I set up the donations system for Mind, I then felt a bit of responsibility to let people know how I was getting on, and to give them a taste of the experience. It has also ended up being a very good way of me processing the day when I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m just writing to myself, but then I get the lovely comments on this page (keep them coming!) and that is very encouraging. Talking of donations, I discovered that my Just Giving page, that I’d set up for the big walk last year, closed yesterday because it had a time limit on it. I’m delighted that it had raised £750 by the end of July, but I’d love to get to at least £1000 for Buckinghamshire Mind. So I set up a new page. If you’ve been enjoying the blog, please can I ask you to pop a few quid over? The page is: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/jane-smith109 Stats Distance covered - a much more relaxed 8 miles over the day Annoying ear worm even without the regular walking: The Power of Love - Celine Dion (not even the moderately good Frankie goes to Hollywood one!) Hearty meal without previous walk: caprese salad, penne arrabiata and a Sauvignon blanc. I limited myself to only one portion of each… The forecast was poor for later, so I set off earlier than planned to try to have at least half an hour in the dry, foregoing the strongly recommended scotch eggs from the deli as it didn’t open till 9. In fact today was the first day that I didn’t take a packed lunch, just the remnants of a flapjack and an apple from a couple of days ago, as the mileage was shorter. Walking out of the town, the route follows the Swale again, and it was lovely to watch it change from the enthusiastic childlike bounce at Keld to a more considered confidence in Reeth. I passed Marrick Priory, once a 12th century Benedictine priory, now an outdoor education centre. And then away from the river and up to the hills again. The profile of the climb for this morning had looked intimidating, but in fact to get to the top the route goes up the Nun’s causeway, a series of steps climbing 300 feet to approach Marrick. Another cow and calf encounter, resulting in me perched on a wall sending out my best pacifist vibes whilst they decided whether I was a threat or not. Fortunately it was agreed I was not. And into Marrick, a tiny hamlet perched on the side of the hill. The names and architecture of the houses talked of the lives they used to lead, no shop, school or blacksmith anymore. But a beautiful, peaceful place. A bench commemorated a woman not much older than me when she died - just saying ‘ She loved Marrick’ I can see why. The Cicerone guide uses the description of a field with rusting farm equipment as a navigational aid. My edition is at least 4 years old. I wonder whether it’s now a condition of owning that farm that they keep the decrepit tractors on their grounds to help the Coast to Coasters. I could have done with some sort of similar help at the next field, where the path disappeared in the middle of an informal campsite. I walked around it to no avail, (as can be seen from the Relive video of today’s walk) and eventually asked some campers frying sausages whether they knew where it was. They didn’t, but they got their son’s trail bike out of their van, and he roared off to check it out. He kindly came back with instructions, and in following them I bumped into Simon and Andy who thought they weren’t lost. Turns out they were, but the combination of our navigational expertise resulted in us finding the path that had been blindingly obvious from the outset. We walked together for the rest of the journey, discussing the difference between men and women’s conversational topics (theirs involve a lot more lists, mine a lot more feelings, though I came up trumps with a detailed discussion of the methods of transferring gpx files to my GPS machine….) sharing thoughts on the landscape and the journey, laughing a lot and enjoying an encounter with a farming couple and their teenage son armed with a 22 rifle. He uses it for pest control. He either eats the rabbits he kills or feeds them to the dogs - ‘I wouldn’t let them go to waste’. A highly impressive young man. Apart from the climb at the beginning, this was easy walking today, and we made it into Richmond by lunchtime. We said goodbye and the men went off eat their sandwiches whilst watching the cricket being played on the local pitch. Another very enjoyable walk in good company. I spent the afternoon doing a bit more walking, exploring the town before my rest day here tomorrow. And then a surprise hit, a tour of the Georgian theatre in Richmond. Quite extraordinary, seeing a building restored so beautifully to give the feeling of what it would have been like then, and yet it also be a living theatre that entertains people weekly like it did over two hundred years ago. The travelling players who came to Richmond every September had a tough life, hiking over the Pennines and the Lakes going between the eight theatres that their impresario owned, then setting up for the 4 or 5 hour performances they would deliver, and finally sleeping on the floor backstage. They followed a route across the country not unlike mine. But history relates that they would walk 48 miles in a day, doing 20 before breakfast. Hmm. Stats
Distance walked: 11.7 miles Ascent: 1000 feet Calories burned: 1500 Annoying ear worm: Man in the Mirror - Michael Jackson Video of the day https://www.relive.cc/view/v36AgrzN4Zv MusicGo, lowly Swale: go headlong down, Down through your stony-faced meadows, Your scowling hills, your crouching towns. Go, little Swale, and I follow. A more solitary day today, but that felt good after lots of time in company yesterday. I started by rewriting the blog for yesterday, as the tech had failed me and half of it was missing. Good to think again about the day though. Today it was properly wet for the first time. I walked initially with Steve and Elaine, whom I’d chatted to yesterday. They are early retirees who’ve done a lot of travelling abroad since stopping work, but because Covid has put a temporary stop on travelling further afield they decided to do the C2C. They’d never done any long distance walking, but thought it couldn’t be that hard. This experience is making them think it’s a bit harder than that…. But they are cheerfully cracking on each day, and really enjoying the experience. They pointed out that I walk faster than them (a fact that will come of no surprise to my family) so I left them behind and plodded on into the rain on my own, following the Swale as it gallivanted down the hill. Today involved a choice of routes. Wainwright suggests going up onto the fell again, where it is scarred by the lead mining that used to take place there. I’m told it has resulted in a strange almost lunar landscape. But he also says that if it’s wet then the alternative route is the better option. This involves following the river Swale much more closely at a lower altitude. I fancied the change, so went with that one. It also touches on part of the Pennine Way, something I was going to have done in the big walk. Last night I used the pub’s WiFi to download some Jake Thackray songs. These are a sound of my youth. He was mainly famous for performing comedic songs at the end of programmes such as ‘That’s Life’. But he also wrote beautiful observant lines about this part of the world, as a fervent Yorkshireman. I listened to Go Little Swale as I watched the river, and then became very moved listening to North Country Song. I was living it as he was singing it. The rain is on the mountainside, The beast is in the silent meadow, The north countryside is patiently waiting again. For a musician, I don’t listen to much music. I generally prefer quiet. But having started with Jake, somehow Bill didn’t do it for me today with his body facts. So instead I turned to a playlist a friend and I put together once. I pressed shuffle, and got Come and Get your Love by Redbone. I love this song, and in the middle of a field by a river in the pouring rain, wearing a luminescent rucksack and waterproof everything, I did a bit of a dance, filled with joy. I’ll not forget that moment, and no doubt nor will anyone else observing. Looking forward to the next song, I was surprised to get Come and Get your Love again. It wasn’t quite as good the second time. I then realised it was the only one of the playlist that I’d actually downloaded, and in this part of Swaledale there is no signal. So then it was a selection of whatever was actually on my phone, ranging from Bach to 20s swing, Motown to Stormzy. It was a very happy couple of hours. To be honest, one of the reasons that I chose the lower route was that it was going through the village of Gunnerside, about which the guidebook spoke of cafes with cups of tea and cake. Indeed as I approached, there was a very encouraging sign indicating that. But everything was closed, so instead it was a damp flapjack from the bottom of my rucksack and a scrabble for a 20p piece for the public loos. But seeing the dove fly from the dovecots above the sheepfold was worth the trip. The pinch stiles which punctuate the dry stone wall here are well named. I would imagine I might have lost a bit of weight this trip, but I’m still sturdy when combined with a daybag. Getting through these narrow apertures is a tight squeeze. Unexpectedly, the path led from grass onto the top of a dry stone wall. It was a flagstone wide, so actually plenty of room to walk. But there was a 6 to 8 foot drop on either side, and it went on for a couple of hundred yards. Of course once up on the top, all I could think about was of the danger of falling, and the possibility that I would unexpectedly and wilfully take a jump to the side and fall to the ground. The fact that I’m writing this now has obviously removed any sense of jeopardy for you, the reader. I traversed it safely, and didn’t negligently fall off. Not such a good story when it has no dramatic ending, sorry! I’d be no good at writing a thriller screenplay…. I went back to Bill B in the afternoon, this time talking about the process of walking. This made me hyper aware of how I was walking for a while, and the marvel of how we are biped animals. Fortunately, I then had decisions to make about the route, so I could stop overthinking how to walk. My body thankfully went back to doing what it does well without any extra input from me, and my brain successfully negotiated us into Reeth, an attractive village with a big market green surrounded by stone houses, pubs and shops. I’m the only person in my bed and breakfast tonight. It’s not the first time that I’ve been somewhere so quiet. The hospitality industry has been hit very hard by the lack of visitors from abroad coming to our beauty spots. The whole village seems a little subdued, but then it was wet again this evening. It didn’t stop me and fellow walkers Simon and Andy from having a drink outside, we laughed in the face of rain. Or at least we did until there was a table free inside the pub. It was a very convivial way to spend the early evening, though an unconventional way for Simon to celebrate his wedding anniversary…. Hopefully we might spend a bit more time together tomorrow. nStats
Distance: 12.5 miles Ascent: a lowly 350 feet Calories burned: an equally lowly 1500 Annoying ear worm until I filled my head with Jake Thackray: Lay all your love on me - ABBA. Number of fortunately unobserved tumbles due to not watching my feet - 1 Hearty post walk meal with local tipple: Whitby scampi with chips and mushy peas. Treacle sponge and custard! Video of the day: https://www.relive.cc/view/v1Ow3MjXoEO CompanyIt’s been a great day today, varied, challenging and satisfying. But the biggest difference is that I’ve had people with me for the whole time. The forecast was not great for what is known to be a demanding walk, and the excellent host at the Old Croft House, an experienced walker, strongly suggested that I should miss out Nine Standards Rigg if the mist was down. Although this point is not the highest of the path, it’s still high, and is in a very remote area that can be hazardous. I was keen to get there, but also reluctant to do anything risky. So I was ready to follow his advice and take the lower Green route instead. Kirkby Stephen has many little alleyways and ginnels, created to herd cattle into the market place to save them from bandits. It was down one of those that the walk started today. As I left the outskirts of the town, I saw Wendy and Liz, my dog walking friends from the last two days. We fell into a rhythm of walking either a little ahead or behind each other, depending on who needed to stop for breath as the path rose steeply. But gradually we walked more in synch, chatting easily about the route and what we thought the weather was going to do. So far it was considerably better than forecast, and it seemed more of a possibility that I might get to Nine Standards Rigg. At the junction of the lower and higher routes we looked at the sky and thought it was high enough to go for it, they kindly asked if I’d like to be part of their group for the journey. With some excitement we started to climb past cairns, some conveniently converted into chairs,that are described as the ‘false’ standards - to confuse the unwary walker. But then we could see the silhouette of the 9 true cairns at the summit. Our guidebooks disagreed about the history of the piles of stones. Mine suggested that the English army built them to confuse the Scots into thinking there were more soldiers on their side. This seems deeply unlikely, but at least it’s a story. Liz’s guidebook could offer no insight at all. Whatever the reason for them, they are both a welcome sight as signifying the top, but also deeply evocative in the mist that swirled around them. As the photos attest, (!) it was very blowy and cold. We were delighted to have made it, but knew that the next section of the walk was the more hazardous in the mist. It is unstable peat bog that has been eroded by generations of walkers. The park authorities protect it by providing alternative routes for different periods of the year, and also have laid flags to set on top of the peat. Because of the extended dry spell, generally the going was ok, with just some areas where we had to negotiate unstable ground. We were conscious how lucky we were, it is not unheard of to go up to your knees in the bog, and walkers have to be rescued who have got completely stuck in it. And in setting off from the summit, we crossed into Yorkshire, marked by a suitably lugubrious and understated stone. The Cumbrian leg of the walk has been breathtaking, it’s exciting to know what Yorkshire is going to bring. The drama of these moors when the sun disappears and the mist descends is unforgettable. I was glad we were heading downhill. One of the things I was looking forward to today was to visit Ravenseat Farm. My book group read Amanda Owen’s book, ‘The Yorkshire Shepherdess’ along with a similar one by James Rebanks. We got very good at knowing about tups and hefting that month. A TV series was made about the Owen family, with their 9 children, which is a very engaging account of life on this extremely remote farm. The farm is directly on the C2C walk, and they periodically offer refreshments to travellers. I was delighted to see that they were doing so as we approached the farm. However, it is now not just walkers that stop for their cream teas. Clearly the fame of them being on TV has attracted people who drive up specially to see the family, even taking photographs of the children. It was great to see the farm that I knew so much about, but I felt sorry for them being in a goldfish bowl. We made our gradual descent from Ravenseat towards Keld, chatting easily on the way. We passed men laying new flags on boggy sections, which although obtrusive now will blend into the earth. Talking to Wendy, I discovered that she too is a music teacher. That makes 4 so far. We wondered what it is about a music teacher’s qualities that draws us to this sort of challenge. As we moved towards Keld, and started to follow the Swale down past Wain Wrath falls, it looked like Yorkshire was shaping up pretty well. Having seen so many sheep since setting off, it was a privilege to watch a skilled shepherd and his scruffy collie negotiating a flock down a hill and into a new field. With almost no instruction the dog keenly checked that the flock was together, and once the shepherd had shut the animals in she jumped up on to the quad bike and stood, ears blowing, as they roared off up the hill again. At the end of our journey we walked down into Keld, a tiny hamlet in the Swaledale valley. Liz, Wendy and their dogs are stopping here, as they are completing the walk in sections every month. So I won’t walk with them again. I am so grateful that they were there today to give me the confidence to get up onto Nine Standards. It’s been an unforgettable experience, and the camaraderie of the journey is something I was really hoping I would get from walking the Coast to Coast. Keld Lodge is the perfect place to stay in this environment. A converted youth hostel, it offered a convivial welcome to the many walkers that stayed today. This is much more the experience I was expecting, compared to the quietness of the beginning. It is great to compare stories with others, and discuss routes and plans for the upcoming days. The food was excellent, and to the great benefit of anyone who might meet me tomorrow, there was a brilliant drying room, so I could do some washing! But the other notable thing about Keld, and this stay, is that it marks the half way point. Stats
Distance: 13 miles Ascent: 1673 feet Calories burned: 2000 Annoying ear worm: Proclaimers 500 miles (at least that makes more sense!) Number of cows encountered: 0, thankfully Number of people that I spoke enthusiastically to about the joys of solo walking and who encouraged me to continue with the Big Walk next year: 4/4 Hearty post meal walk and local tipple: Black pudding and Stilton salad (yes!! Who knew?) Chicken with mushroom and cream sauce with new potatoes. Half of Black Sheep ale Video of the day: https://www.relive.cc/view/vevYxVjZQyq |
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