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
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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 AnimalsAn early start from Tebay so that the B and B owner could get back from dropping me off in Orton in time to feed his other guests. So this morning I was in Orton at 8 am, conscious that I might be on my own again due to the early start, and feeling a little anxious as today’s route is exposed and the forecast was poor. As I left the village a hare reared up in front of me, and rabbits scampered ahead. I felt like I was in a Disney cartoon. The sheep were hilariously noisy, shrieking at me with urgency to clear out of their field. There was no one else there to talk to, so I talked to them instead. They seemed unimpressed. And then there were the cows. I don’t like cows much - I fear their unpredictability, and am not sure how to approach them. And they’re obviously very big. So generally I steer clear of a field with cows in, and take another route. But today that wasn’t an option. Over and over I encountered fields with cows and their calves. These are the most dangerous to approach, and walkers are regularly killed by being trampled, an average of 4 a year. I was glad I didn’t have our dog with me, but even without her I felt in danger. People have said that I’m brave to do this on my own - actually most of the time that there is any jeopardy I feel anything but brave. So cows were the theme of the day, I must have walked through 10 fields with them at least, and it’s tiring feeling on full alert whilst also trying to appear insouciant so as to not aggravate them. The forecast was poor for much of the day, but in the end I only had about 5 minutes of rain. It was wet underfoot though, after having hammered down in the night. Very different conditions to the previous days, with pools of standing water, some boggy patches, my legs getting wet from the soaked grass, and watching my feet so that I didn’t tread on the little frogs leaping in the moisture on the ground. The path climbed past Orton Scar and Knott, and I passed a herd of wild ponies before turning out out onto Ravenstonedale Moor and then to Crosby Garrett Fell (maybe the band Crosby was in before he joined Stills and Nash? - sorry, desperate nerdy mum joke) This is more ancient land. Up on the top, it felt miles from anywhere, and I would be moved by the feeling of isolation and remoteness, only for the little road to pop up to tell me to get over myself with my Wuthering Heights ideas - I was not as far away from civilisation as I thought. The path skirts Severals Settlement. This is the remains of a complex of prehistoric British villages, and is listed as an archaeological site of key importance. From the walker’s perspective it is frankly underwhelming, looking like a series of undulations and banks. It seems it’s much more easily appreciated from a hang glider. That is a challenge too far. As the track proceeded to Smardale Bridge I bumped into Wendy and Liz, two of the dog walking women from yesterday. I could see first hand just how difficult it is to walk dogs round here - one of the dogs had made a run at the stile to try to jump over it and had hurt her chest, frightening her so much that she refused to go near another one. An extra stress for everyone concerned on top of a long day’s walking. Happily, later I met them all again and joined them for tea and cake, Chewy (the dog, not the cake) seemed OK, hopefully she’ll have forgotten the trauma by tomorrow’s walk. We hope to all meet up again to give ourselves moral support on the challenging leg tomorrow. The highest point of today’s walk came quite late on, at the top of Smardale Fell. Then it was a bit of a trudge through lots of cow fields into Kirkby Stephen, so I got Bill on board again. Today’s fun fact is that you pronounce endorphins with the emphasis on the first syllable. Or at least that’s how Mr Bryson does it. He was also discussing appetite, but didn’t consider the strange appetite phenomenon that I’m experiencing. During the day, both before and during walking I am having to force myself to eat because I know I must keep myself nourished. This is partly why I’m recording the calories burnt on the walk - so that I can see how many must be ingested to keep going. Presumably exercise is an appetite suppressant. I try to make up for it in the evening…. Into Kirkby Stephen, the biggest place I’ve seen since Whitehaven a week ago. A flourishing market town, and a fantastic B and B in the Old Croft House - the best room so far by a country mile. Whilst waiting to check in I chatted to Lindsay and Paul who were sheltering from the rain with me in a neighbouring pub. I think Lindsay is going to plan a solo walk after my evangelising…. Stats
Distance: 13 miles Ascent: 696 feet Calories burned: 1815 Today’s ear worm: Jessie J - Price tag (no idea….) Number of times I took a wrong turning in the first mile of the walk due to not sleeping well (that’s my excuse): 4 Hearty post walk dinner and local tipple : Chicken tikka biryani and entirely not local Cobra beer Video of the day: https://www.relive.cc/view/vJOK2X5kdwv An easy start across undulating fields - there is some ascent today but far less than the last few days. And although it’s 13 or so miles, the lack of ascent meant I risked wearing my walking shoes instead of boots, to give my feet a change. The narrowing of priorities to footwear, calories and weather is liberating and intriguing. An hour or so through fields full of animals to get to Shap Abbey. Although the Abbey’s stone was mainly removed after the dissolution for buildings in the area, the tower still remains. I had a bit of an Ozymandias moment, which often happens when I see ruins of something that had been built as grand : My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.” Thanks to Percy Bysshe, and A level English set works for giving me decades of feeling depressed at the sight of these sorts of ruins. Climbing away from the abbey, I could see both the M6 and a mainline train at the same time. It felt like a reminder of another existence, where there are people who aren’t just focused on boots, blisters and maps. My world has got both bigger and a lot smaller. An excitement now is noticing that pelargoniums are the new wildflowers in the verge. As the motorway noise fell away, the landscape rose, and after passing a quarry I caught up with other walkers. 3 uncommunicative men, either to others or between themselves, a young couple following the same Cicerone guidebook as me, 3 women of my age with a dog each who are doing the path in stages. Their dogs are large, and the stiles so far are exceedingly unwelcoming to dogs. Maybe because it’s sheep country. Anyway, it means that at every stile they have to lift their dogs over. One said ruefully that it was a different sort of workout to what they’d expected. Having reached 1000 feet, or thereabouts, there was a fairly even plain of limestone moor, the Crosby Ravensworth Fell, part of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. This is ancient land. Prehistoric communities, Bronze Age, the Romans, they’ve all been here. The sense of space and easy walking underfoot was exhilarating. Stone circles, odd ‘erratic boulders’, heather about to burst, the sound of nesting birds that I wished I could identify - it was a memorable couple of hours walk. The guide books and the maps described Robin Hood’s Grave being in this area - featuring an ancient cairn. There are a lot of cairns and piles of stone, and by the time I’d realised I probably had missed the special one I was half a mile away. Every footstep counts, I wasn’t going back to check on an old cairn under which Robin Hood was probably not buried. Reluctantly leaving the fell behind, I followed the road and the footpath down to Orton. This is not a big place, but it was significant in that it was the end of today’s walk, and also the home of Kennedy’s chocolate shop, about which I had heard much from friends who had been here before. Whilst drinking hot chocolate outside, waiting for my lift to tonight’s lodging (a little way off the trail in Tebay) I chatted to the couple with the Cicerone guidebook, Ben and Georgia. Ben is also a music teacher. Is there something about the path that draws us? And to add to the weird coincidence, they both teach in a school in Marlow, down the road from us, and Georgia grew up in Seer Green, our village. The final leg was with the owner of the B and B in his car with his foster son. He told me that he was 7, and then asked if I was 91. The path is clearly taking its toll. Stats
Distance: 13.8 miles Ascent: 1132 feet Calories burned: 2280 Number of fields I walked through with cows and calves even though they were looking at me funny: 3 Number of fields that I decided the cows were looking at me too funny and therefore I’d take a detour: 1 Hearty post walk meal and local tipple - chicken and mushroom pie with mash, peas and gravy and a Wainwright’s Golden beer at the junction 38 truckers’ services…., Fantastic, and the best value meal f the trip so far. Video of the day: https://www.relive.cc/view/vAOZzBxeMyO KidstyA lovely encounter at breakfast this morning with Courtney, a young Aussie, who now lives in London, who’s also doing the path. She’s tougher than me, and is mainly camping, but had wisely decided to discard her big pack in favour of a transportation service. To our mutual delight we discovered we are both music teachers. This led to an animated discussion of the joys of our jobs. For the others in the breakfast room, if you weren’t interested in how rewarding it is to get people singing, sorry! The lovely landlady last night had reassured me about today, which is thought to be one of the hardest of the trail. She said that I’d find it very doable, and that was hugely helpful before setting off. She did say that the first half an hour was a stiff warmup, and she wasn’t wrong. Steep climbing for a mile and a half, and then some respite with some flatter sections for the next little way till Angle Tarn. I took it very steady, stopping every 15 minutes or so. In another life I would have seen the challenge to be to get to the top without stopping. Now it’s much more about listening to what my body is telling me, and giving myself a break if I need it. And in doing that I’m noticing more and punishing myself less. So had I not stopped for a tea looking over the tarn, I wouldn’t have seen the two supersonic RAF jets hurtling down the valley. The climb continued, relentless but rewarding with the changing views. I passed the spot that Wainwright described as the 50 mile marker - that feels like an achievement in itself. And I was beginning to get glimpses of flatter landscape beyond the edge of the Lakes, where I’m heading. After 5 miles of relentless uphill, in the end it was an easy stroll along the path skirting the rim of Riggindale to reach Kidsty Pike. On the way I could see High Street, an old Roman road, used by the centurions across the top of the fells. They must have been fit. This is the highest point of the path, and signifies the beginning of the end of the Lakes. I felt elated that I’d managed the stiff climb, and a little nostalgic to leave the lakes behind. I was glad I’d brought AW along to point out which peak was which. But the elation turned to deep sadness as David rang to tell me an old and very dear friend had died. Farewell Paul, you and I helped each other through the joys and horrors of our teacher training, and those parties were unforgettable. A sweet, kind and engaging man, younger than me, I will miss you. All the regret for not keeping up as often as we should, and the grief that he only had a year post retirement. Carpe diem. Through quiet reminiscence and periodic tears I made my way off the Pike and down towards the lowlands. Last night at the hotel I watched a clip of Kate Humble doing this part of the walk. She descended over the boulders like a mountain goat. That’s not the animal I would describe as the one to embody me. Unless goats go down hills mainly in their bottoms. Eventually the path flattened at the head of Haweswater - a lake that was turned into a reservoir to the cost of the village and farm nearby - the farm ruins are still obvious, and I’m told that the village ruins can be seen if the reservoir levels are low. Then there was a surprisingly steep pull up into the forest above the water, and when gasping for breath on a large granite shelf I was delighted to be joined again by Courtney. We walked together for an hour or two, and the miles went by much more quickly in her company. As we said goodbye, with her walking on further than me, I sat to recharge both my tech and my calories. Across the path I watched two red squirrels running up and down the tree - the first I’ve seen for decades.. The final leg was an extraordinary difference to all the walking so far. Gone was the rugged and unforgiving nature of the Lakes, instead it was the much more gentle landscape of the beginning of the Eden valley. It feels much more like home. And the day finished with a fantastic meal at the Crown and Mitre in Bampton Grange in the lovely company of Karen and Steve, who are walking the path too. It’s good to know that there’ll be friendly faces popping up whilst walking over the next days. Stats
Distanced covered: 12.5 miles Total ascent: 2484 feet Calories burned: 2400 Number of items I thought I’d left in the hotel room and therefore would have to get posted: 3 Number of items I’d actually left in the hotel room: 0 Hearty post walk meal and local tipple: Fish pie and sticky toffee pudding with Ullswater Ales Boathouse blonde Video of the day (technical hitch for the first two hours!) https://www.relive.cc/view/vE6Jp2wnPxv PeopleI had a restless night, feeling discombobulated, missing David. Although the Glenthorne was very peaceful, everyone there was very much focused on their own group, and it had accentuated how difficult I was finding being away from my tribe. Having no one else (as far as I can see) doing the walk at the same time as me has meant that there hasn’t been the sense of camaraderie that I had expected and hoped for. But the morning was beautiful and talking to David on the phone as I set off settled me for the day ahead. This is a short day in terms of miles - only 8 or 9, but a number of people have said it’s a tough one, and certainly the incline would suggest it, so I was expecting to take it steady. Until a couple of days ago it had been forecast to rain today, but instead it was perfect weather for walking, not too hot and clear skies. The profile of the walk was entirely up and down, and the climb started pretty soon after setting off. I walked away from Grasmere, past Tonguegill Force, and then started walking up the valley with Great Tongue on one side and Rowan’s Ground on the other. Just last night I’d been learning about a farmer at Great Tongue and his high quality Herdwick - I said hello to a few on the way. The valley is covered in ferns, extravagantly lush and green, almost arrogant in their vigour. The path was clear and unequivocal, though a stiff pull. Nearing the top of the first section I stopped for a cup of tea from my ruggedly dented thermos. Again, like yesterday, the morning’s anxieties receded in the loveliness of the landscape. An intrepid mountain biker passed me going the other way. Now that would really give me anxiety. Within moments he was off his bike and repairing a major puncture. I’d rather have blisters. The path continued clearly up the valley, intersected at one point by a presumably ancient fall of huge granite boulders. No really scary stuff to negotiate here - giving me the chance instead to be impressed at their size, and imagine how it would have looked to see them when they were on the move. A tantalisingly brief call from a dear friend in a moment of phone signal was really welcome, but as soon as the signal came, it went, leaving me feeling a bit more alone than I had before. But I was then at the top of the ridge, and before me was Grisedale Tarn. I gasped out loud in surprise, even though I knew it was coming - there is something magical about these tarns up at 2000 feet, implacable and still, surrounded by a giant bowl of green. Legend says that Dunmail, King of Strathclyde, ceremonially threw his crown into the tarn before becoming a pilgrim. It certainly feels like a place of historic drama. And for the first time on my C2C there really were people. Walkers on the opposite fell, walkers climbing up towards Helvellyn, walkers climbing down towards the tarn. There were three young men breaking camp opposite the water. As they were hoisting their packs one noticed that the second had thrown tissue on the ground. He asked him to pick it up, this resulted in a fervent row about the biodegradable nature of tissues and whose responsibility it was to pick it up. The natural amphitheatre round the tarn meant that even half a mile away the row was audible. They walked off furiously, and then: I don’t like this silence man. What silence bro? Your silence bruv. And they started to argue again , this time about who was carrying the most, with the third youth exhorting them to appreciate the view and stop and stare for a second. I observed and listened from my vantage point on a rock at the head of the tarn, fish swimming round at my feet. I picked up all my rubbish when I left, biodegradable or not. Another two men, middle aged this time, were commenting from some distance away on the great place that man has chosen for his lunch. As they got nearer to me, one said ‘oh, actually it’s a lady’. There’s nothing ladylike about the state of my feet. And then starting the descent down a rough and boulder strewn path, I passed another young man sitting disconsolately by his enormous bike. He was anticipating the last push up the hill with some concern. He explained to me the tubeless system for his tyres, and then said ‘I chose an e bike because I thought it would help me up the hills. Instead I’ve just got something heavier to push’. Further into the descent, passing the isolated mountain hut, I resorted again to Bill for company. He was addressing the olfactory system today, just as I noticed first the sharp smell of sheep dung and then the evocative scent of pine as I neared the bottom of the slope. Our sense of smell is better than some think, it seems. Many people can identify their spouse’s T shirt out of a set of 15. I would hope David won’t have to go too near my current T shirt till it’s been in the wash. I can certainly identify it with no problem. He also discussed losing the sense of smell, which seemed prescient now, with so many affected with post Covid anosmia. A lovely welcome at the Old Water View in Patterdale, where Wainwright himself once stayed. There can’t be many hotels where it’s suggested that you dip your feet in the river whilst having your drink, and there is an honesty bar with local gin and beer. The drink by the tarn was made all the better with the company of Deborah and Peter. They were sitting enjoying a quiet moment together when I arrived, sweaty and excitable, to disturb their peace at the next table. They couldn’t have been lovelier with their interest in the walk, my navigational aids and lack of sense of direction. Their friendliness made my afternoon, and I hope I meet many more people like them over the next days. Stats
Miles walked: 8.5, plus 2.5 to get to dinner…., Ascent: 1673 feet Calories burned: 1500 Number of new blisters due to fancy new socks and extra blister plasters - 0 Number of new horse fly bites due to wearing long trousers instead of shorts - 0 Cockiness at sorting out both of those issues, probably too annoying to measure. Hearty post walk meal and local tipple: Roast chicken plus mammoth Yorkshire pudding with locally made Tirril Cumbrian Elderflower & Borrowdale honey gin with lemon and mint and Marlish tonic Video of the day is here: https://www.relive.cc/view/vdORwAxG9r6 BlistersI’ve trained hard for this walk. I’ve increased the mileage of my daily dog walks gradually, and in the months before setting off I’ve included long walks of 12 to 15 miles into my routine weekly. I’ve carried the pack with the right amount of weight, used the same boots and socks as I would be using for the real thing. And I’ve never had a blister. But yesterday I looked at my feet at the end of the day and had one full blown on my left foot and an incipient one on my right. So far Bill Bryson hasn’t talked about how annoying blisters are, and how your whole body starts to focus on a square inch of skin. I could tell him some facts if he wants them. I’m not sharing a photo…. I started walking into Borrowdale today. This is quintessential Lake District, with black and white flower decked houses adding subtly to the stunning landscape. Early on, the path played a similar trick on me as yesterday - disappearing entirely and leaving granite slabs in my way. At least this time I knew I wasn't lost, as there were metal chain link safety rails to grasp at to avoid slipping into the beck as I walked at 30 degrees to the slab. After a slog uphill, following the beck past the Galleny falls, taking every opportunity to stop to look at the expanding vista, (nothing to do with the hammering heart) I stopped at a verdant glacial bowl at the head of the valley before the last push to the edge. It was utterly still there, and the only sounds were the sheep calling each other over the sound of the beck bubbling up. Not too hot, but a bit of sunshine, and as I lay on the turf with the sun on my face I couldn’t feel my blisters. Blissful. And no one else here. Climbing up the Greenup Gill valley with Eagle Crag to my right, I heard what I thought was a sheep in distress. In fact it was a woman painstakingly walking uphill on a trajectory away from any footpath, groaning loudly with every step. Maybe she’s got blisters too. Climbing up the side of Lining crag, the path disappeared again. This time I had to scramble up boulders, leaning my pack forward so that it didn’t make me topple backwards. I tried not to think about what would happen if any toppling were to occur, especially after I saw the big dent in my thermos as it fell out of my rucksack and tumbled down the slope. A very different experience from the bouldering centre I enjoyed in Milton Keynes where there’s a nice cushioned floor at the bottom. And then out onto Greenup Edge for my lunch, negotiating some very boggy ground to get there. It’s remarkable how waterlogged the land is, even though there’s been little rain here for a while. Having fallen flat into bog in training, I was happy to negotiate this without much more than wet ankles. Looking to the west it was clear enough to see the sea and approximately where I’ve come from. Looks like I’ve walked a long way already. I sat for a good half an hour feeling so grateful for this experience. The voice of anxiety was giving a narrative about what might still be ahead, but just for this moment I was enjoying the quality of my excellent tuna sandwich, the fact that I’d got here under my own steam, and that this landscape was indeed ‘nature showing off’. The descent was tedious - long and demanding without the glorious views on the first side of the ridge. At regular intervals on the path are what appear from a distance to be large bags of shopping. On closer examination, they’re massive plastic bags filled with boulders. The National Park rangers are constantly repairing the path, I can only presume that these bags have been helicoptered in. Bill kept me company again, giving me information about the brain and the senses. The takeaway for today is that the brain is constantly expecting and predicting what is to come, so what we think is reality is actually coming a fifth of a second later. Which blew my mind, a fifth of a second later than it actually did…. The Glenthorne is a Quaker hotel and conference centre. Such a calm, welcoming atmosphere, I felt at home here far more than any of the other places so far, and the moment of silence that was observed by everyone before eating this evening was lovely. It’s just on the edge of Grasmere, a Lake District tourist village with gift shops and tea rooms. But to go alongside the holiday paraphernalia it also has 4 different outdoor shops at which I bought more blister plasters, and socks that guarantee they will not cause blisters. Sadly they don’t guarantee they’ll fix blisters. Stats:
Miles walked - 10 (felt like more, certainly took ages!) Ascent - 1800 feet Calories burned - 1700 Excellent rum and raisin ice cream - 1 Hearty post walk meal and local beer - salmon fish cake, veggie tagine, pannacotta at the Glenthorne, Lakes lager at the pub in Grasmere Video of the day - https://www.relive.cc/view/vZqNYXpgn36 SoloI said goodbye to David feeling wobbly and anxious, after having spent a disturbed night on the floor to avoid knackering my already delicate back on the very soft bed. I’d thought that I’d be filled with excitement today, but mainly it was trepidation. We walked together to Ennerdale Water so that he could have a glimpse of a lake before he started the journey home. I was glad that the first solo leg of the day was going to be what I thought would be an easy gentle stroll along the water. And so it seemed to begin with. Harder under foot than ideal, lots of boulders and scree, but beautiful and there was no one else there. But then unexpectedly the path veered steeply uphill, there was no option but to follow it. And then it disappeared, leaving instead a 15 foot granite drop. I heard myself say out loud ‘you can do this’ and I threw down my poles to the bottom, hoping I’d not hear them bouncing into the lake. I manoeuvred my start-of-the-day heavy pack and the past-the-middle-of-my-life heavy me down, looking for secure footholds and handholds all the way. I got to the bottom and was on a little ledge about 30 inaccessible feet up from the lake. Up to my right was what looked like a path, so there was another heart stopping climb up scree, and then I was back. As if nothing had happened, the path continued to meander, maybe it was checking I was really up to this. Later, looking back with heart still hammering and my legs still wobbly, I realised that the section I’d clambered down is the outcrop described as Robin Hood’s seat. A particularly appropriate place to be tested. A tough slog up the north side of what was Ennerdale before it was dammed. Forestry plantation and felling and a dusty forestry track. No chance of getting lost, but also not much to lift the spirits, with piles of lumber and swathes of deforestation. For the first time I started to listen to an audio book to keep me going - Bill Bryson’s The Body. It felt appropriate, as I am so very aware of mine whilst trekking. He gave useful information about sweating and how long soldiers could walk in 28 degree heat without additional water before collapse - 48 miles it seems. They’re tougher than me. I’ve not seen one person walking the path west to east today. In the whole of the morning I saw two walkers going round Ennerdale, two cyclists - one a very confident dad speeding down the track creating plumes of dust, followed a distance behind by his much less confident teenage daughter, half on her bike, with one foot down on the ground most of the time looking utterly miserable. I wanted to give her a hug. Stopped for lunch at Black Sail YHA - it was sadly closed for a private hire (though no one here), but had a welcome tree for shade. Whilst having my lunch I chatted with the manager who impressively made her way up the footpath in a 4x4. She told me of her plans to do the Camino last April, at the time I would have been doing the End to End. We agreed our audacity to make plans means we must therefore be jointly responsible for the pandemic… Then the ascent of Brandreth to get over towards Honister. Trying to push novelty jumpers out of my mind, I soon discovered I’d taken the very path indicated by my excellent Cicerone guidebook that I should avoid. If only I’d read it earlier. But a combination of careful looking at the map, and some scrambling over scree and across becks put me eventually on the right track. Built almost like a series of steps up the slope, and following Loft Beck, it was eventually a clear but very demanding ascent. The view at the top was worth it though. The path is named Moses Trod, and is an old slate road which is possibly named after a quarryman at Honister (the other side of the path) who was an illicit whisky distiller who had his still concealed among the crags. I saw no whisky, and had run out of water by the summit. I’d packed 2litres instead of 2.5, thinking that as the day was shorter than yesterday I wouldn’t need it, and was minimising weight in the pack. That was a mistake - although the route today was shorter it was much harder. I’ll take the maximum tomorrow. The walk down was straightforward but thirsty. I passed the Honister Slate mine and took the footpath on the fells instead of the road winding down to Seatoller. Never has a pint of lime and soda been more gratefully received. Glaramara used to be a youth hostel. It’s much more upmarket now, and packed with people (possibly not exactly youth ) who’ve been walking and bagging Wainwrights today, or driving round and seeing the sights. The busiest place I’ve been to since starting the trip - I am quite enjoying being the solo traveller observing from the outside. It’s a new experience for me, and one that is part of this challenge. I love my family and friends very much, and it will be one of the hardest things about the trip being without them. But it’s also an opportunity to see who I am on my own. Stats:
Miles walked: 14.5 Ascent: 1800 ft Calories burned: 2300 Annoying blister having not had any in training: 1 Hearty post walk dinner and local beer: Fancy 3 course meal with melon starter, salmon and ice cream with Lowerswater Gold HeatWe set off at 6.45, and it was already very warm. This first leg is one of the longest, and it starts with a period walking north west from St Bees. This feels counter intuitive for a west to east walk, but it grounded us thoroughly at the coast before venturing inland. We did the coast to coast rituals - I stood in the sea to get my boots wet, took a pebble that will eventually be deposited at Robin Hoods Bay and got a photo in my Buckinghamshire Mind t shirt, to help with fundraising. The coastal path section of this first day was stunning. Blue skies and utterly still sea. The only disturbance was the flock of seagulls following a fishing boat, and then later the black guillemots and other seabirds nesting at St Bees Head. Apart from a couple of dog walkers, we were alone. It takes 4 or 5 miles until the path turns inland and east, and then it felt like the journey had properly started. The sun was ahead of us, the temperature rising. After a couple of hours we stopped in the shade at Sandwith (Sannith), feeling overheated and a bit shaky. I carry a lot of water in my pack - a 2.5 litre hydration system and I also for this leg had an extra water bottle and a thermos of tea. By the end of the journey I’d drunk it all. I wonder whether there is a perfect formula for the amount to carry for hydration as opposed to the dehydration that comes with the extra weight it brings. Someone has to consider these things…. Although not a National Trail, the route was brilliantly marked today, sometimes officially, sometimes more ad hoc. Always useful and appreciated. Through Moor Row and Cleator, quiet Lakeland villages, and the last habitation before our first fell. Given the high profile of the walk, and the glorious day, it was interesting that during the whole journey we only met two other people walking the C2C. Both women of my sort of age, both travelling solo. And both camping. I love the romantic notion of that, but know that in reality I’d prefer to have a shower and a bed. And whereas before I might have decided that it wasn’t a tough enough challenge to stay in a B and B, now I’m quite happy to acknowledge that’s what I’d prefer. We started the climb up Dent Fell, rising through the forest of Black How plantation. Some moments of short lived shade, and then out on the face of the fell. This was a really demanding section. Although the views were amazing, so was the level of my heart rate. But we took it easy, and another lesson from today was that actually sitting to take a rest now and again is fine. In fact more than fine, as it gives more time to look at the scenery. Being out on these fells again, forgetting Covid, looking at the wrinkles and folds of the landscape on the most beautiful day felt like the greatest privilege. However hot, it was glorious. A hairy descent and then another joy, walking through Nannycatch valley. Lush green, vibrant wildflowers and the beck cris crossing the path. And then it was almost done - a gentle descent down into Ennerdale Bridge to find the Shepherds Arms and more hydration. I’m really pleased with how we’ve coped with such difficult conditions, and it’s giving me the confidence to look forward to the next days solo. . Stats:
Miles walked - 16 Ascent - 2362 feet Calories burned - 2700 Number of times I got us lost - 0 Number of cows sitting on the actual trail but yet I walked bravely past them - 4 Hearty post walk meal and local beer - sausage and mash with Mowdy pale ale Video of the day is here: https://www.relive.cc/view/vWqBrEG19Yq |
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