2015 - First Attempt West to East

Ex-miner turned sculptor Colin Telfer's St Bega

When planning this latest, less orthodox line - ie. going round rather than through (the lakes, that is - although it's still a Lake District route from the Gosforth turn off) - it's a runner's route anyway and what's a bit of road to runners..? ...we do it all the time, don't we?
With careful planning/booking it could be more 'running' route, but with a sack, however light, you are always going to be slower and be at more risk of injury, but at least have somewhere to lay your head should things fail to pan out - as they seem to have a habit of doing... for me at least. Blaming your age is just not on either - you just didn't try hard enough! Back next year and all that, at least till the doctor finds out what you're up to...




'You got to gather up what you need
You got to choose a direction
And when the moment is right for you
You got to go' - Above & Beyond

5/7 - Day1: St Bees to Maggs Howe - Green Quarter, Kentmere

Instead of the chinese takeaway, this time I've only two boiled eggs - and nowhere to put them - after my own muesli pre-mix they are about all I can manage from the platter of 'continental breakfast' goodies from the B&B fridge - slices of melon, grapes, hams, cheeses, fruit juice, milk... Er, did I fail to mention I was unaccompanied..?

Alf's official start

...and off we go

'Oi, you're going the wrong way!'

View back over St Bees - 'bring that sky down...'

Heading south makes a change

Seamill

Leaving the Irish Sea behind

Last glimpse of Irish Sea

Sellafield Looms

Last glimpse of Irish Sea... honest

So I'm leaving a trail of eggshells here and there - discreetly tossed into the hedge bottom of the not so busy A595. But the eggs are strongly flavoured... have they 'gorn orf '? ...or are they extra free range..? yeah like, proper 'country' eggs... It's Sunday morning, but there's still some alarming fast-moving traffic of the big sort where my Poundland hi-viz vest comes into its own (I always knew it would - one day...). But thankfully it quietens before the narrow section nearing the Gosforth turn-off.

Arrival in Gosforth

I'm up on schedule at Gosforth... but then back to time after the necessary toilet stop. Going hot and cold for miles - doing a circuit of the Blackbeck Inn to see if there were any staff around and even asking an early car washer if he'd an outside toilet... Anyway I was in the ladies side apparently - those little boxes give it away and it was all very nice smelling, and luckily I'm about before any of the ladies. Then there's the shop-come-mini-mart that those niceish Google internet people would have you believe is a country cafe... so much for the cooked breakfast of sausage and succulent mushrooms then.
I'm hoping the council cleaning person will be happy with my 'one careful owner' hi-viz vest as it's neatly folded on the window sill. I've no further use for it now... or then maybe I should have hung on to it as this narrow road up Eskdale is not without its maniacs. Oh look, here's where I had to pull-in on the recce last week when my gear selector rod fell off, and round the corner is where the passing AA man kindly stopped to give me some tie wraps, before cannily trying to sign me up... They did come in useful on the way back to the van when it fell off a second time - lucky it didn't come off on either of the passes - bless Ruth the 4x4 Panda... she's making do with 20w/50 at present too - hmm, make mental note to change oil... oh, and find those bushes, 'cos it's still on AA tie wraps...

Lakeland Hills getting nearer...

The woods before Plumgarth turn out to be something of a herbal foot spa, despite collecting a few dead fallen branches enroute to act as stepping 'stones'... but I do find, beyond the reccied section, that it's quite passable t'other side of the high bracken, and all's right with the world to Eskdale Green and the shop with its hot drinks machine.
I'm apologetic to the owner as I'd dropped a missing walker here a week before. His mates reported him missing - lost on Scafell on a National Three Peaks Challenge - I'd driven past the guy and after around 100 yds it had clicked that something 'wasn't right' about his demeanor and gait. He explained his plight - I'd got a phone signal, and, sure enough, via 999, once his name was established to the MR he was confirmed as missing. That's a first. All I could think was the guy would need a hot sweet drink as he was soaked through - the passenger seat was still wet the next day - and as I'd just reccied the shop in Eskdale Green with it's drinks machine, it seemed the obvious choice. The shop owner told me he'd taken him to the hospital as the MR hadn't collected him as they'd told me over the phone they would - he'd needed stitches in his thumb from a fall and his sister had paid for a train ticket for his journey home, as his pals had all left him stranded. So all ended well... though I still felt a bit embarrassed about just dumping the guy on them.

Dalegarth Hall

It's all very pretty round Dalegarth with woodland walks and stepping stones and the paths are well trodden up to Hardknott, where, with my tin of rice (requiring that 9gm 'baby' can opener - do 'easy open' tins of rice exist..?) I'm accosted by some cyclists from a running club - cross training was the word, he'd used. We talk about carpal tunnel as I prepare to move on - they are heading for Ambleside and the lady of the group, which becomes apparent on helmet removal (friend or foe: we don't know) tell's me it's not a race and that I should just 'bugger off'... and so I do. It seems I'm something of a cyclist magnet when performing my upside down routine...

Sharp spears indeed, but did they enjoy rice from a tin..?

The off-road bits are pretty steep in places - but it's like Alton Towers up here for motorists and bikers accept the challenge in droves. One biker has broken down - his machine looks new to me - but no one can get past... It's all a bit chaotic - the downside of choosing a Sunday I suppose...

Hardknott Pass summit cairn

There is a footbridge to the Roman Road at Cockley Beck, but it's over there through that wall, and I'm over here, so I slosh through the ford instead - and the gate's not locked. In running shoes, you'd get wet feet in the next hundred yards anyway. The Roman road repair men left long ago - now cattle have churned up a quagmire, but it does improve.

'Hi ho, hi ho'...on the Roman road

 I make that classic error of following the party in front... I can tell from a half-mile behind by the size of their packs they're DOE's. "Do you know where we are?" asks a pleasant young lass as she proffers her full-size map. Well there's the road and we're right next to the river, so I say, pointing: "we need to be over there," and sure enough, not a hundred yards away is a stile.
There's a fiesty mum in the next field though - she's separated from one of her calves and lowers her head and blows at me as I consider passing between them. I decide to wait for the girls to catch up a bit and shout about going round - nothing to do with me, but it seems the right thing to do under the circumstances and we coax the old girl to join her wayward calf with 'way on and giddup' being universally understood. I ask the girls if they have wet feet - they nod in unison - I tell them it's just as well, because they'll soon be wetter anyway as we have to cross the river next...
There's a good bit of 'road', with evidence of Roman engineering which in reality is a bit of a bank with a lot of small stones lying around. Nearby though is the last stile and we all get across the rock strewn river without falling in. Back on the road now then, I wish 'em well and decide I'm in danger of falling behind on the climb of Wrynose Pass and I'm looking forward to my 'shorcut' over yonder 'ill.

view back to Hardknott

Cutting over the hill - view back

incident at Wrynose summit

Air Ambulance departing

 There's been drizzle and light rain in the afternoon, but nothing could have prepared me for the sudden and instant wall of water that hit me near the summit. I'd stopped to take a few pics of an incident near the summit of the pass just around 50m from the crest of the hill when it struck and I was soon wondering if I'd need a helicopter myself as I was knocked sideways by what I can only describe as a wall of water accompanied by a strong gusting wind - clearly whipped up into a frenzy by the 'Old Git' of Coniston to the southwest. I was soaked in seconds before I could get the jacket off the sack even...

route uphill - on a steady diagonal

 I'd reccied the climb the week before, and at the top came across a rambling club tackling the ridge towards the Old Man. After a bit of banter about pints in the pub with the guy who'd done an eight day Wainwright Coast to Coast, I'd set off back down to the car parked up at Three Shire Stone assuming the descent down the far side would be straightforward, which it would be in good conditions. However today was now far from good and the down bit much less certain. These were the worse conditions I'd been in considering it was July, and this is where skimpily-dressed runners become exposed and I descended feeling chilled. I should have put on the overtrousers - but the damage was done now...

not the July view anticipated...

The Greenburn track

I fill my bottle straight from Greenburn Beck, which does have a bridge after all, though now I'm starting to feel a little down on schedule and a bit worse for wear after the soaking. I've used up my lunch calories by now and, unable to face a Snickers Flapjack, beg something sweet off some more DOE's on the main Fell Foot track, which ironically formed my 'bad weather route'. Sucking on a glucose tablet and with rain still hammering on our waterproofs I wish them well and pull on ahead into Little Langdale.

The rain eases at last and it's pretty straightforward going with well-used paths. Conveniently, there's a young woman out with her dog at one uncertain bit after High Park that I'd considered reccying. Here the footpath could be confused with the longer bridle route and there's a longer concessionary footpath too adding to the confusion, otherwise it's all straighforward and I'm soon joining my previous route where I'd hobbled along with my 'Angel from the Dungeon' two years before near Skelwith Bridge going the other way.

Skelwith Fold

The wet leggings have made my thighs red raw by now though, but it's only a few miles to Waterhead now... Bog Lane takes on another dimension as the downhill stimulates more toiletry thoughts though ...is it an age thing I'm wondering... or those damn eggs? Trotting don't feel good down below though now... and why haven't I got Spandex on anyway?

Keep to the jetty side and there's the chippy - and in this dull weather you'd think they'd have the lights on... and why didn't you get round to actually calling them on the telephone to check those opening times..? Oh no... those white plastic chains don't look good...
Nobody likes back-tracking, but I need some food inside me now. These few hundred yards seem to go on forever... Over the road looks too posh for the likes of me, dripping enough to douse those romantic diners candles fo'sure, but the Wateredge looks a tad less up market and they might just serve me as a puddle begins to form around my feet...

So I got my fish and chips and feel newly refurbished with a half-tin of strategicly smeared vaseline.

brightening up - Windermere

Windermere from Robin Lane

 I got the next eight miles in getting it just slightly wrong in Skelghyl Woods, then in missing a left through a gate and getting halfway across the field to Low Skelghyll before realising my error - (godsake, what do I write these instructions for?) - and taking the non ROW path up to Garburn Pass and going far too steeply uphill before being able to see where I should have been and correcting... and then wishing Garburn Pass would just come to an end - please!

Arrival in Troutbeck - Garburn Pass coming up

getting it wrong after Limefitt Park - too steep... view back

It's getting nearly ready for the headtorch up the last field nearing Green Quarter and the bunkhouse then, but what on earth is that glow..? Oh, it's Gary's fag end - it turns out there's another occupant after all. Gary is up for a few days Wainwright bagging. He got so drunk this afternoon he readily accepted the lift offered... Have you got any with you I ask innocently, recalling draining a few of the empty lager cans that the lads had left on my last visit. Seems I have a drink problem, in that I haven't any... But, no, he tells me, he left it all behind at the pub.

I apologise, I have nothing to wear other than a towel... and after a hot shower I'm bloody well shivering as it's very cold in a stone built bunkhouse in Kentmere even in July. Everything is very very wet indeed including my hundred odd pound PHD Down Wafer gilet - now wouldn't it have been a good idea to have remembered to pop it into that plastic bag I had for such an occasion like RAIN. There's no drying room either...
It's no surprise that Gary is new to Wainwright bagging and all I want is lots of hot sweet tea. In fact I'm so cold that I over dress in the sleeping bag - in that the sleeping bag liner is soaked with sweat when I wake next morning - I had no idea - just went straight out, zonked.


6/7 - Day2: Maggs Howe to Park House, Keld

I'd warned Gary about the alarm - and when it goes off it's a good 'un. However I've beat it at it's own game, so when the wailing bitch kicks off, I'm already there... Gary sits bolt upright, nearly knocking himself out on the top bunk. He'd said it wouldn't be a problem the night before as it would be good to get some Wainwright tops in early doors.

No drying room means getting back into those wet things, but where's my eggs and milk? It's too early to go knocking at the house. Muesli pre-pack would have to do me to Tebay then... a bit of a setback, but I think the owner had had to go out suddenly the night before. Perhaps she forgot... but then maybe I forgot to say how early I'd be leaving.
It's 5am out onto the misty topped moor then with a sack full of wet gear, in fact, to be honest, I left day one's socks in the shower room to save a bit of weight.

leaving Green Quarter, Kentmere

 I'd covered this section in the dark last time coming over the last hill with the injured leg and could still remember where I'd gone wrong on headtorch even down to the 'private' sign - where the path had curved to the left I'd kept straight ahead. No problems by the light of day though and in a mile I'm at the stile onto the green road.

Nearing the green road to Sadgill

How I made my way up after Till's Hole with two makeshift crutches... well, must have been sheer will power... I just kept close to the sound of the crashing brook I suppose.
I set the dogs off again but the farmer isn't at the window on this occasion and after the Outdoor Pursuits Centre which is a pretty basic affair by the looks of it, there's the enclosed track up to the last gate before the steep climb onto the brow to the north of Brow Gill.

Stockdale - a much nicer spot by the light of day

I reccied this bit though and now know to keep uphill away from the water course. There's a sheepfold/bield to make for (not shown on 25k O/S) and on a similar line the first of the gates at a second ruined bield (shown on 25k O/S) in the line of the wall. Then it seems the best line is to keep to the right of the high ground ahead but avoid the boggier ground further to the right. There's no sense in gaining the higher ground unless there's a good crossing higher up that I don't know about.

Sure enough, though time consuming, this pays off and the second gate eventually comes into view through the mist.

View back - good chance for a breather...

Bield at NY495059

Chance for a second breath...

...and another...

round boggy ground to the 1st gate

2nd gate just appearing

decisive gate with Mere Crag visible through the mist

...made it!

Those crags are much steeper and bigger than remembered - I'd only reccied as far as the first gate the week before. The site of the ditch where I sustained the injury last time is around 100m off to the right of this gate and around 20m from the line of the fence - ground best avoided! From the gate then it's hard left following the fence up to the top of the crags. Turning right (NE) on top (well away from the edge in mist!) in the direction of the 539m spot height then delivers me to the quad bike track and it's hard to miss even with the mist down, though the mist comes and goes which helps me keep to the feint track as it winds between the bogs, seeking the best line to Robin Hood - a picture paints a thousand words:

Not best defined but mostly keeps to the crest of the hill

keep straight on...

and on...

and on...

still more...

nearing Robin Hood

View eastward from Robin Hood to Whatshaw Common

from the summit the track veers hard left

I should have reccied the bit between Robin Hood and the cairn as there is probably a better line than what I took last time, and likewise this time in trying to follow what worked before. But there's a new fence in place now and I think I may have got it wrong staying with the wall as at one point my left legs sinks in up to my knee. My instructions tell me to cross Crookdale Beck at the pebbly beach... Ha, well I'm squelching about here as if I've got all day! They've clearly had some kind of major deluge here in the recent past which doesn't bode well for my assault on Bretherdale coming up shortly...

view back to Robin Hood

Line of wall shown as dotted line/path on 1:25k OS

 Still, I do make it to the line of the fallen wall and it's much easier going thereafter to the A6

Robin Hood from cairn at NY540060

Just a matter of following fence to A6

HV power lines near A6...and yay! it's brighter over there...

...soon fence becomes wall

A6 summit monument

 My first thought on the Bretherdale recce was - 'it's going to be easy - you can see where you're going - it's all downhill!' Well yes, there is that... but what I'd forgotten over the past two years is that the line of the bridle is only part of the problem with Bretherdale... and yes, it is a whole lot soggier than last time and at one point I'm in up to my knees. This is rather disconcerting as my right leg won't come out, and in fact is going down further. I'm wiggling my toes and thinking my shoe's going to come off here... but it doesn't, and the wiggling works as air gets under my foot releasing it complete with shoe. Let me tell you there are many creative expletives...

argh! Bretherdale...

Bretherdale... up to your knees..?

The ordeal over... nearing Bretherdale Head

 The beck is higher than last time and I decide against picking a way over and use the footbridge, only to sit on a rock with my feet in the water anyway to cleanse off the muck and slime, even to give my shoes a complete wash out... all very time consuming and it's not until the final rinse that my mind turns to thoughts of that slap up breakfast planned at the M6 service area.

Track out of Bretherdale

Keep straight up bank opposite

about to go wrong here... first view of the distant Pennines

The ruins of the gable end at Low Whinhowe have been tidied up a bit and back home with full faculties, I can see where I went wrong in heading for the gate instead of the stile in the second field - easy done. I came out on the road farther north requiring a detour to get back on line... and then there's the overgrown riverside path... least I know where it is this time!

Little used footpath beside River Lune

meadow flowers nearing Tebay and the Lune crossing

The river is up around two inches on the recce (and over the ankles) and the islands have shrunk in size but with a firm secure footplant before commiting bodyweight at each step it's easy-peasy and my sausages are quite a few a steps closer.

Castle Howe ancient earthwork with Motte&Bailey

'Eyup, there's bus loads of pensioners jostling for elbow space in the services cafeteria and January sales determination afoot. 'Have you got a tray? Oo, you should have got a tray dear...'
Ten items: six quid - pay by card? - no problem - more than I can eat on that plate... But I have to eat it and do get through most of it... though did think it unwise after to have included a portion of baked beans...
Then there's the shop to stock up on the hydration... there seems to be no orange juice in plastic containers in this part of the world so milk it is again then.
There's a bonus this way - you get to pass the Airstream Caravan depot just on the roundabout. I'm using my hundred gram 'all rounder phone' and because I'm not used to allowing my pictures time to save anymore, I'm losing many of them - well there you go - nice and shiny all aluminium caravans - round at each end - ten words worth a thousand pictures...

The Weasdale recce pays off - straight through. I have the feeling that it's easier going W-E and think the problem area is the bridge and main gate area. Well who would expect a ROW to go in the main gates? The side gate is open - never locked said the man... and the man is not here. They must close Mondays...


There are ladies on horseback. There's something ultimately sexy about a woman on a horse... like drinking from a pint glass and wearing men's shirts with the cuffs turned up... mind you the pervading smell of horse muck and much talk of 'laminitis' may set to temper any feelings of ardour...  They become pacers for about a mile... what am I to do? ...overtake or keep up the rear? Am I going to Ravenstonedale asks one? They stop to water the horses in the beck and I 'trot on girl'. I'm in the pub with my afternoon tea as they clatter past.

Thus fortified I'm on my way again with the biggest climb of the whole route just five miles away. As an afterthought, it turns out the shop was losing money and is now for residents only and part of the pub - hence the afternoon tea...

leaving Ravenstonedale

The next four miles are road of one sort or another - over the river then footpath to join the narrow lane to the home of Cumbria Classic Coaches (there's a site here for the sensible), a short stretch of the A683 and then Tommy Road over the Birkett Tunnel of the Settle Carlisle Railway dropping to Pendragon Castle and Castlethwaite. Then straight over the hill into Yorkshire - what could be easier..?
The only thing of note are the 'Don't use Sat Nav' road signs for Tommy Road and that I decided to break into a trot and stay on the road rather than risk the wrath of the lady in the cottage on the bend at the bottom... well... and cut out that tussocky ground above.

Highest point of the route coming up...

Mallerstang Edge

nearing Pendragon

There's a lot of fencing contracting going on in the area, indeed they were putting in new fences up Gale Syke on the recce and how they got a track laying digger up there is a wonder of the modern age, akin to putting a man on the moon surely?

additional signage

Pendragon has legendary links to King Arthur...

...certainly is an imposing ruin

Gale Syke from the road - route up left centre skyline notch

Gale Syke from the bottom near the barn

View back to Castlethwaite

rain's just holding off... 'the sky belongs to no one'

what's afoot..?

Sure enough the new fence cuts across the route ahead in two places. There's a gate to the left of the Syke, which means recrossing and up a steep bank. May be better keeping to the left side from the bottom then..? Farther up they've put in a second fence and wisely added rails for access to the open moor. I grab hold of the upright to haul myself over. As I pull up my body weight there's a sharp pain in my right little finger... what the..? Blood signals trouble... The fencers have left the cut wire at a sharp angle. I clamber over, blood dripping quicker than I can suck it out. I find a stone to hammer the stuck out wire ends flat against the post.
Where the fascination with blood and vampires comes from is beyond me - it tastes sickly. I keep flicking the finger, leaving a trail of blood. Better stop and take a look... It's quite a deep gash, ripped open by pulling my hand away quickly most like... Sucking and spitting, I continue uphill for the stony cut shown on the map as a double dotted line.
From the recce, I know not to take the first opportunity to turn sharply uphill right... I'm beginning to think about a bandage now... I think the uphill pull is not helping the finger - with elevated heart rate an' all. My father had been a medic in the last war and as a kid I remembered how he'd told me to raise my hand as high as possible to help stop bleeding - so I continue up hill with my right hand up - 'please sir' style. At the top of the cut, the ground levels. And there's the rocky overhang off to the right up ahead - I need to be up there to the left of the overhang. My finger's stopped bleeding - it worked - thanks Dad! There's some boggy reedy stuff to get across and a steep pull before it opens out onto the top. Next feature up: S of E is the hillbagger's track and small cairn.

approaching small cairn

useful cairn beside hill bagger's track - heading south of east

a slither of light - Birkdale Tarn just coming into view...

...trust your compass lightweight!

First view of Yorkshire... er, just where are those shooting butts..?

 Just a matter of finding the best way across between the hags to the shooter's butts on the other side of the hill... just got to be careful over these tussocks as my right ankle has started twinging a bit. There's mist creeping over the higher round to my right and The Nine Standards of the Wainwright route is shrouded in mist. I'm expecting to be able to see two tarns ahead left, but can't... surely it's not too misty to see those two tarns? Now I need my little Suunto Clipper. I've been following it heading just S of E... I keep tapping the little dial... I start to think about weight saving - 30 grams to 10 grams and down to 5 grams for the Clipper. I'm getting tired... suddenly I've no confidence in the compass - I need to be more over there..? Surely..? It's too small, it's been too near my phone... it's the Spot tracker that's influencing the needle. Where the hell are those two tarns anyway..? It's only a mile across but it's easy to find some kind of trod and follow it as it's better underfoot. It's not as good underfoot as it was on the recce either, and the boggy bits are boggier and did I just cross that second water course..?

But then here's the hill bagger's track on the eastern edge, and all I have to do is see the barn and the shooter's butts for the track down to Birkdale Cross and the road. I don't need a map - there's Birkdale Tarn now like a beacon - if I head downhill through the heather I'm sure to find them...

And I do, and now it's time to put the foot down... but that right one doesn't feel too happy. I've arranged with Michelle for an evening meal at Park House... thing is, I said 6:30 and it's past that already...
The shooter's track is definitely a better way down than White Spots Gutter though (or would equally be so coming up for that matter...), ha ha, and that little white Panda parked up at the cross would be a welcome sight! However it's at home and it's more shank's pony all the way into Keld. The four miles of road still take some covering though... what with trying not to slap that right foot down, and then there's the next nine miles to the bunkhouse at Low Row... be midnight before I get there at this rate.

The rain that has so far held off soon begins to thicken and the only pleasure is the thought of not having to put one foot in front of the other...
But here's the Ravenseat turn off... and the cattle grid and after Hogarth's the road seems never ending... just round the next bend... damn, yet another bend... is that the chimney at Park House..?

But I get there and Michelle has kept my dinner warm, nay, hot. I'm shivering in the barn though, but the wafer down vest has dried out a bit and is helping... I must have looked a sorry sight as Michelle returned shortly with the offer of a free bunk - as I was doing it for charity. It was a very kind offer, I explained but I must get to Low Row and my pre-arranged stop to stand a chance of meeting my target. 'Well the offer is there,' she said.
No matter how I thought it through, it would be midnight before I made it to Low Row and tomorrow required a 4am start to keep ahead. The steak pie, mash and gravy begins to kick in though with plenty of hot sweet tea and reality begins to take hold... But if I start tomorrow nine miles down..?
Michelle did mention one other thing though: they have a drying room...

And that's how it went - I think the drying room, and starting out refreshed, even at risk of starting 9m down was just too tempting - I'm 63 for god's sake - what in the world am I playing at..?
I rang the bell a second time... and yes, could I stay? 'I've changed my mind, but could you ring Low Row and tell her I'll not make it as I have no signal on my phone?' I insist on paying for the night, but Michelle waves me aside and says to put it towards my cause.

The other occupant in my room is a sensible coaster - he's going t'other way for a change... I can't believe how comfortably warm it is in the bunkhouse - and this is the one I didn't make last time. Surely I need to make a renewed effort E-W..? Once again Day 2 falls short... What is it with this 2nd day?

In the shower I realise my ankle is throbbing and decide to lather it with Ibruprofen gel.

I apologise for my lack of attire... Derek's seen it all though and as a seasoned coaster has every bit of kit you could mention... he's thought about getting a Spot Tracker too as I position the unit on the window sill and wait for the GPS light to blink green before sending an OK message for family and friends to let them know I'm safe.


7/7 - Day3: Park House to... Richmond

Early doors out of Keld

Swaledale in rain: water drips everywhere in a most dismal fashion, but it's almost sacred to be here alone with just a few odd sheep for company.

leadminer's barns - a common feature in Swaledale

'This is my church...'

'...this is where I heal my hurts.'

why waste a full size post..?

Nearing Ramps Holme footbridge

The Swale getting bigger...

That tight squeeze again near Ivelet Bridge

Half way and the tiny hamlet of Satron

With a shorter route the half way point moves forward and it's around Satron on this occasion and I'm only half an hour down on schedule overall, but it's after 8am when I arrive at the Low Row Bunkhouse, still hoping to get some breakfast as I'd requested milk and eggs and was to leave £15 on the table. The door is locked now though, so I detour to the farm to pay - well I did book and it's not their fault that I didn't make it. The farmer is about but he tells me the lady of the house is 'not available'... I sense 'the lady of the house' is just out of sight as I insist on paying and ask about the possibility of some food. He gives me a smirk and a half pint of milk and a cereal bar. Better than a kick up the arse I suppose...

At least I now feel I've done my bit and maybe improved the lot of future solo walkers, but really do need some more calories. I'll need to detour to Reeth and the Copper Kettle cafe...
So it's back over the bridge as I'll be solely on memory map and will need to find those stepping stones... though thinking back, I'd have been better just keeping to the road...
I find the stepping stones - a bit farther than I'd remembered and on the far bank get scolded for talking to a dog whose not on a lead (as every stile footpath sign there insists they should be) though he may have been shouting at the dog: 'leave him alone!' - he's carrying a lead anyway...

heading for Reeth via the stepping stones

...found 'em!

 Of all the... The Copper Kettle doesn't open till 10am and it's only 9:20... where does time go..? So it's round to the shop for me, which is only the second time I've found it open in all my toings and froings (more toings as this is actually the first froing...)
There's some Dutch lads Coasting - first coasters I've met this time. They've stayed at the camp site in Reeth and are off to Richmond today. They can't believe I covered over 60 km in the 1st day... actually, neither can I... it does sound rather a lot. I never went metric... non of us did - that's the British for you - half measures. I still order pints and drive at miles per hour... why the hell should I want to walk in kilometers? ...especially as there's more of 'em? But then, I do weigh my stuff in grams, then convert to pounds...
My ankle's throbbing and a prominent limp has developed down the Dale of the Swale... right now learning about kilometers is not good for morale... and then the arrogant dog walker turns up with his dog now on a lead.
After a tin of cold lentil and bacon soup, I dunno - salty liquid..? and a family-size quiche with 4 pints of milk, I'm away. The ankle pain will go off... they always do. I started out with some left ankle pain that went off on day one so I'm good...

Plan was to avoid Reeth and go straight for Grinton Bridge, and left up the bank for Hard Stiles. Now though I'm on my previous route in reverse - Fremington to Hard Stiles. The road will 'kill or cure' the ankle... the lads will be going Grinton Bridge, Marrick Priory to Marske and I don't expect to see them again, especially as they only have to get to Richmond...

View from Hard Stiles

On the road there's another thing developing with the right foot - my little toe feels funny. I'll stop at the Marske shelter and check it out - I'll finish the quiche and milk there too. It'll be something to aim for.

junction in Marske with Coast to Coast sign low down

 Turns out to be a blister on the inside of my little toe. Hm, maybe that's not helping the limp that's getting progressively worse? Then blow me, I'm sat there with shoes off resting the feet and who should go past..? the flying Dutch lads at a pace I'd be happy starting out with... it's a race - in the next ten minutes Coasters fly past... what's the rush I wonder? Many stop to check their maps here and one group come down towards me... I shout and correct them. The response is hearty but not in English, which reminds me that people travel the world to walk this 'ere Way of Wainwright.

I'm away again with more toilet awareness... It's got to be an age thing... surely not those bloody eggs still..?
A woman is coming out of the church. It's a quaint little church and the lady is keen for me to look round. 'Actually,' I reply coyly, 'I was rather wondering if there was a toilet.' Sadly not, but the woman says there's a tearoom to the rear and she may be open... She's not... Next door there's a guy doing some work on a property that's for sale... a long shot, but worth it... No way, there's a guy still living here and no outside loo... That's it then, behind the hedge it is... but just as I come to the crucial decision, there's voices - more bloody Coasters... From 'darn sarf' too... we chat... they're for Richmond, I'm on for Ingleby Cross I tell them, and plan to let them get ahead so as I can drop 'em near the footbridge ahead, but when I get there, they're just up the bank taking in the view. Dammit, I'll need to pull ahead... and I do - I fly up that bank limp an' all - the white cairn at the top just a blur I can tell you, knowing full well there's little opportunity until I get well ahead. 'I remember the first time I came this way..,' I tell them in passing, 'this path was like a waterfall with all the rain we had...' And it was... see was that 2006..? it's a disease for me: coasttocoastitis. They just think I'm off it it... and well, they'd be right...

At Applegarth it's bating... but I go off right a field too early and have to correct left... damn, why don't I read my own bloomin instructions? I'm going back down to meet my old friend the Swale and on to walker shy Lownethwaite Farm, which is just as well as there are public toilets at Round Howe and only a slight detour... we're at the 'hot and cold' stage now. Down by the river it gets critical on the next 'high tide' and I decide it's now or never - a tree, a hole, a ditch - anywhere - but then hear voices as a couple come round the corner... what the!... then it's subsiding again and I'm limping... at least it's taking my mind off the ankle and if I just 'do it' at least I can clean up at the toilets... they will be open surely..? they will be open..?
And over the road through the trees, there's the car park and I can see a guy shaking his hands... okay so the hand dryer isn't working... I can handle that and I can surely cover a further 100 yds now...

Round Howe car park with toilets... phew!

The AA total eclipse meridian sign in Richmond

From the Round Howe car park then it's a short walk into Richmond rejoining the Wainwright route near the chinese take away used on a previous recce at the foot of Westfields. I do notice something farther on though never seen before - an old AA sign commemorating the total eclipse of 1927. Always something new...

Wetherspoons is the same old Westherspoons though, but keeping alive a grand old pub building in the Randolph Fitz whatsisname - knock 'em if you must for stacking 'em high... meanwhile I order a pint - nothing exciting, just orange juice and soda as the jury's out yet. I've been 'doing the sums' all morning equating with 9m down and limping. So what's my chances of getting at least to Ingleby Cross some 20 miles away..? It has to be at least Ingleby Cross... Suddenly my concentration is disturbed: 'Awight mate?' It's one of the guys met after Marske - his mate is on a gaming machine. 'You're not gonna make it to Ingleby Cross at this rate mate.'
It's true... realistically, I'm not going to make anywhere on this ankle... Game over sadly - 91 miles covered with just 60 to go.
Yep, game over... back next year..?

Thumbs down selfie at Darlington station