Wednesday, July 09, 2014

Coast to Coast

Due to popular demand, well I had one request anyway, here is the account of our trip across England on the coast to coast walk. This is a popular hike from the Irish Sea to the North Sea first put together by that famous fell walker Alfred Wainwright. I recorded this narrative as we went along but with intermittent internet, and just feeling knackered at the end of each day, I decided to publish it in one mega blog. Yes it’s long, as is the walk. I’ve really documented it to remind us of what we did in our approaching senility. Here it is anyway for anyone that might be interested.

Stage 1 St. Bees to Ennerdale Bridge 23.5 km (14.5 miles)

First you have to get to the start, which is St, Bees on the Cumbrian coast. For us this was a fast train to Carlisle and then a two carriage country train that trundles along with the novelty of request stops. It ran into St Bees eventually after a pretty journey along the coast.

We checked into Stonehouse Farm and set out to explore. You have to like a place that has three pubs in close proximity; you could throw a blanket over them. We chose the Queens hotel where we had an interesting meal while watching England v Uruguay in the World Cup. I had pot roast beef that was sadly a little tough and both our meals came with what purported to be red wine jus that tasted spookily like watered down Bovril, although Mags’ had some mint thrown in as she had the lamb. The vegetables of the day were mash, carrots and peas. I’d opted for bubble and squeak that was actually just the vegetables mixed together; not much bubble or squeak there. Anyway, hard to grumble as it was very cheap and Mags’ lamb shank was tender. Louis Suarez, who was in a competition with Wayne Rooney for pin up of the World cup, broke English hearts with a brace and knocked us out. Still, it’s cricket season.

Next day, after a hearty breakfast, we set off in our brand new walking gear including my new, four wheel drive boots. Might as well as had a label saying “city folks”. We had a short walk to the beach to get to the official start. I jumped down onto the beach to retrieve a pebble to take to Yorkshire and walked across to the water’s edge to dip my fingers into the Irish Sea. The tide was out so we we’re destined to do every last inch of the journey from coast to coast.

We’d been very lucky with the weather yet again this year, and our first day was sunny and clear, the views along the coast and across the sea to the Isle of Man crystal clear. The first part of the walk took us along the coast north across St Bees Head, close to the cliff edge, past a colony of black guillemots, a lighthouse and a coastguard look out. We were immersed in beautiful scenery but after several hours began to feel a little uneasy; we were still on the west coast and, as the objective is to walk to the other coast, we hadn’t made any progress. Eventually, the path turned inland and we made our way to Moor Row. We’d earmarked this as our lunch stop as it reportedly had a bakery. This turned out to be little more that a lady selling pies from her front room. There was nowhere to sit so, armed with pasties, we searched for somewhere to eat. Moor Row appears to be particularly unfriendly to transient visitors, as we couldn’t even find a park bench, so we ate on the hoof and marched on. Soon we were at the next village of Cleator and began the long and brutal slog up Dent Hill, our first hill climb. Three hundred and fifty metres so the equivalent of climbing up the Shard. We puffed our way up a gravel path through pine forest that lent some welcome shade, and ploughed on up to the top disturbing the odd sheep on the way. We sat down and wheezed over the view which was magnificent; 360 degrees with the coast including Sellafield, St, Bees, where we’d started from, the large town of Whitehaven and the Isle of Man still visible in the distance, then west where the Pennines rose majestically and were beckoning us. Finally recovered we began the very steep descent toward Ennerdale Bridge, our destination. This really was a sharp gradient down and my knees were soon trembling trying to defy gravity. Mags was dong really well and I asked her “Doesn’t it hurt?” “Oh, it hurts all the time, you’re just not used to it.”


We reached The Shepherd Arms at around five p.m. and headed straight for the bar. We engaged some fellow walkers over restorative ale. They’d worked out that we’d each burned around two thousand calories. We quickly did the math and calculated that it equated to ten beers – happy days.

We had a very fine meal of linguine lobster and stuffed Aubergine that we shared before retiring to bed.

Walking time 7:30hrs

Stage 2 Ennerdale Bridge to Rosthwaite 26.5 km (16.5 miles)

I breakfasted like a king on smoked haddock, and then we set off into another beautiful sunny day, A short stroll down to Ennerdale water, the western most lake in the lake district and usually bereft of tourists.


We traversed the length off it taking the southern rocky path. Here we met a couple of elderly Texans (How Y’all) who were a bit lost. We pointed them on the right path after a conference over the maps. We proceeded up the valley following the river Liza upstream, passing by some larch trees that were a stunning red colour. Unfortunately, this signified that they were diseased and dying. The forestry commission were culling and replanting. Up towards the source of the river we stopped at a small picturesque youth hostel where we munched in our pre-packed salad sandwich. Suitably refreshed we embarked on the long strenuous climb out of the valley to the top of Robin Hood’s chair. Another fantastic view with Ennerdale Water and Buttermere to the west. We continued east near a slate quarry and began our descent down a disused tram line (left over from mining). Here disaster struck as Mags jarred her knee and was in agony for the rest of the day. She bravely soldiered on though, the little Aussie battler. We passed the slate museum at the bottom that was busy with day trippers who’d motored out there. “Oh look’ Mags said “Cars, what a great idea.”

We limped on and down into Borrowdale and our destination, Nook Farm, in the pretty village of Rosthwaite. We were greeted by the farmer’s daughter who complained, “Awful hot isn’t it? I’m not good in the heat, me” It was seventeen degrees. We soon decamped to the nearby pub where we discovered that it was rammed with locals from the surrounding area who’d all just participated in a charity event for multiple sclerosis. We were a bit miffed as we couldn’t get a seat and we were out on our feet. We felt a bit foolish when we discovered that they’d all been part of ten peaks in ten hours. Eventually, we did gain a table as people left and had a pretty good burger and chips while being entertained by a young band.

We ran into the Texans (How y’all) in the pub again. They’d opted for the fried chicken which let’s face, was unlikely to be up to southern fried chicken standard. I asked them how it was and was informed “It was fast and it filled us up” Bless ‘em.

Walking time 7hrs

Stage 3 Rosthwaite to Grasmere 13.5km (8.5 miles)

Mags decided on a rest day to let her knee recover and hitched a lift with the luggage transport. This left me solo on the trek to Grasmere. A gentle uphill walk following Stonethwaite Beck soon became steeper and then a LOT steeper, finally clambering over rocks to reach Greenup Edge.
Great views back down the valley back towards Borrowdale and across to England’s highest peak, Scafell. There are two options at this point, a tougher, higher ridge walk or a relatively gentler descent down. Saving myself for future days, I took the easy option and had a couple of solitary hours wandering down alongside Easdale Beck with numerous waterfalls trickling away amongst some inquisitive sheep. So, a shorter day and I was in Grasmere with Mags by 14:30 where we had a quick snooze before dinner. Grasmere was the largest town to date and a mecca for tourists drawn by its idyllic location amongst the fells and as the burial site of Wordsworth who lived there for nine years. Mags had scouted the place earlier and booked us into Tweedies where I had a couple of fine ales before a lamb rump (just had to after seeing all those sheep) and Mags had duck breast, both superb. We stopped at a lively local bar on the way back to our B and B and possibly had one too many nightcaps but great fun watching Algeria beat South Korea 4-2.


 Walking time 5:30

Stage 4 Grasmere to Patterdale 12km (7.5 miles)


After a quick visit to the chemists to fix Mags up with a couple of knee braces, we left lovely Grasmere with its perfect stone cottages and set off into another sunny day. We climbed steadily up a long but gradual hill to Grisdale Tarn where we lunched by the water accompanied by a lone duck. The descent was less brutal than the previous three days and Mags managed with the help of two walking poles that two fellow walkers had gifted us at Grasmere. Thanks Bob and Gail. We found a hat on the path and picked it up with the intention of dropping it at the nearest pub, but a lady came striding down the path thirty minutes later searching for it so we were able to restore it to her. A fairly straightforward and level walk brought us into Grasmere with views over Ullswater, We had to pass two pubs to reach our B and B, so we just looked in to check out the beer. Our home for the night was Old Water View, nestled alongside Godrill Beck. The owner Ian had walked the coast to coast when he was twenty two and had a dream to open a place along the route, an ambition he achieved when he was thirty nine. He has all the items that you might need like blister treatment and maps and was full of advice. He recommended an alternate route for us to follow on the next day that would be a little easier on Mags’ knees.



 

 

Walking time 7:30hrs

Stage 5 Patterdale to Shap (19 miles)

We diverted from Wainright’s route to take a slightly lower path to Shap to save our knees. (Wainright seemed to be magnetically attracted to hills.) This actually made the trek longer and it was still a testing leg at 19 miles. We headed for Ullswater (Norse for bendy lake), and travelled along its Eastern shore. We picked our way up and down the path that cut through the bottom of Low Birk fell, always with the calm lake in view. We passed Howtown pier where a group of youths were orienteering. In fact we passed several school parties that day canoeing, sailing or mountain biking. As it was a school day, we assumed it must be part of the syllabus. As Mags said, “Youths today. They don’t know they’re born.” We were soon climbing (again) up Askham fell where Mags powered along leaving a trail of broken mountain bikers in her wake. Great views over the whole lake at the top, the ferries gently moving tourists along below. Being ‘off piste”, we were left with no detailed directions. We’d bought an ordnance survey map and were using that. We had a little trouble finding the path at Ketley Gate as the path evaporated near a circle of stones called a cock pit. We consulted with some friendly walkers and found the right way across Moor Divock. We located the road into Brampton and plodded on. Here, the fun had stopped and we were really starting to hurt but we had to keep going for another 5 kms. Head down, we moved through Brampton Grange where we had to force ourselves past the pub. Eventually we came to Rosgill where I spotted a more direct path into Shap. Unfortunately, this was not a well used route and not clearly marked. We had to plough through overgrown fields, hurdling stone stiles along the way, We came across a herd of cows that were in our path. Still, only cows so we approached expecting them to move aside. As we approached we moved to the left to go around them and they all started to move off too to block our way. We then moved to the right and again they moved to follow us. It was like a pasodoble. We were dancing with cows, wolves being unavailable. It was only when we got close that I noticed the bull, and then we could see that there were some calves too. A bull, cows and calves – not a great place to be. Anyway, we were too close now so just had to stare the bull out saying , “I’m too knackered to turn back. Its you or me, Bully.” Thankfully, they scattered and we quickly moved on. Eventually we rolled into New Ing farm in Shap. We met up with Bob and Anthony, a couple of scousers that we’d bumped into several times already, usually in the pub. We had a few beers with them watching England gain a magnificent point against Costa Rica. (At least that was one more point than Australia), and then lose in the cricket to Sri Lanka from the penultimate ball of the test match. Mags tested if they were real scousers by getting them to say “Chicken”.

Walling time 8:30hrs









Stage 6 Shap to Orton 12Km (7.5 miles)

A comparatively easy and welcome day which was just as well with a ‘short’ 12km hike across mostly level moorland. The peace was temporarily shattered as a fighter plane screamed past a hundred metres directly above us. We had to cross the M6 at one point and it wasn’t easy dodging the fast moving traffic carrying a backpack. We started late but still arrived in Orton by 13:30, so we had a couple of drinks in the George hotel before heading off to our lodging in The Old School, Tebay. A ramshackle place, a former hostel now turned B and B and occasional tea rooms. The owner picked us up from Orton as its several Kms away on a busy road. The only other guests were a retired Scottish couple breaking their journey to the old country.  The chap was not shy in sharing his political views. He’s a staunch bagpipe playing Scottish nationalist despite spending most of his adult life in England. Of course, as a result, he doesn’t get a vote in the referendum. Anyway, all very entertaining.

Walking time 3.30hrs





Stage 7 Orton to Kirkby Stephen 21km (13miles)

We continued on in the same vein as yesterday chiefly over open moorland. The walking was relatively flat and easy going. The weather had closed in on us, the sky slate gray, but still the rain held off. We lunched at a pretty little beck with yellow flowers sprouting along its border, a disused railway hut nearby and the Smardale Gill viaduct visible in the distance. We arrived in Kirkby Stephen at around 14:20, a metropolis compared to the other villages we’d stayed in. There were several pubs, two banks, a Chinese and Indian restaurant and importantly a launderette where we put ourselves on a quick cold wash. In the pub a couple of locals asked where we heading tomorrow. “Keld” we replied. “Are you going over Nine Standards?” We hurriedly checked the guide book and nodded in the affirmative. They just laughed at us. We dined on very fine local steak in the Black Bull and retired to our comfortable room at the Old Croft House.

Walking time: 5:50 hrs




Stage 8 Kirkby Stephen to Keld 24km (14.5miles)

Mags needed another day off to rest her knee so I headed off to climb Nine Standards Rigg. The ascent started immediately but was straight forward and not too steep, passing round the back of a quarry. Once on the exposed slopes, a chill wind came biting across from the west and I donned my fleece for the first time on the trip. The skies were leaden again but somehow the clouds managed to retain the water they held. The views from the top were fabulous. The ‘Nine Standards’ are nine stone pillars. No one knows who put them there or why. One local fable has it that they were erected to deter marauding Scotts who would mistake them for an English army from a distance. Somehow, that appears unlikely. We were promised boggy conditions and I duly put on my newly purchased gaiters. There were some patches but easily avoided due to the run of dry weeks. It was easy to see though that it must be horrendous at most other times. The descent was long and gradual and beautiful with spectacular views all the way. Eventually I left the hill and reached Ravenseat Farm where I met up with a couple from Perth, W Australia that we’d bumped into a few times and a chap from Yorkshire that Mags named the happy camper (not that he was particularly happy, but he was camping.) We all had cream teas that the farmer’s wife does as a side business. Scones straight from the oven, delicious. I headed on towards Keld mostly following a stream now heading to the North Sea as we’d passed a water shed on Nine Standards. Numerous restored stone barns punctuated the path. I passed Wainwath Force on the approach to Keld, not Iguasu but pretty enough, and a few signs offering parking and camping for the upcoming “Le Tour”.  Soon, I was warmly embraced by Keld Lodge where Mags was waiting to greet me. We had now crossed into Yorkshire or, as the natives say, God’s own country.

Walking time: 5 Hrs.







Stage 9 Keld to Reeth 18.5km (11.5miles)

A rested Mags was back in the game. A leisurely stroll down Swaledale following the river downstream. There was a bit of a climb after Gunnerside but generally an easy day. At this point I should really mention the poo. Fell sheep are poo machines and they like to poo everywhere. The cattle join in too, although not as frequently as the sheep, they manage to create a small tarn of poo each time. Walking and staring at the scenery is asking for trouble, so its head down to watch your step or stop and look up at the hills. Many of the villages had bunting and yellow bicycles displayed to welcome the Tour de France that was due to come through next week. Everyone was clearly very excited. We were given a very warm welcome by Bob and Denise at our B and B. There was only one other guest, Katrina from Germany. We dined in the Burgoyne hotel that was purported to be the poshest place in the village. Very fine it was too, although slightly surreal as we were served by a Jane Fonda lookalike.

There were a few language issues next morning at breakfast. Bob was from the North East and poor Katrina had no idea what he was saying “Whey Aye Pet, would ya like anoofer coop a coffeee like?” Mags interpreted for her.




Stage 10 Reeth to Richmond 20km (12.5 miles)

Another easy day strolling across mostly farmland on the soft rolling hills of Swaledale. We travelled a little further than necessary when I took the wrong road out of Marske causing us to backtrack a kilometre or so. Mags was not amused. We arrived in Richmond a 14:15pm, a veritable metropolis compared to our previous overnight destinations. We found some fellow walkers already enjoying a pint in the Kings Head so joined in. It was Sunday, so we went in search of a late roast lunch with Yorkshire pud and all the trimmings. We discovered that we were too late for most establishments but one local pointed us to the Unicorn where we had a disappointingly average nosh up. The Yorkshire pudding was good though.





Stage 11 Richmond to Danbe Wiske 24km (14 miles)

We left the Dales for good and began our journey to the Yorkshire Moors. This was a fairly uninspiring, flat leg over farmland. It became more interesting as we got lost (again) shortly after leaving Richmond, and were diverted as the original route was closed due to roadworks. We then got lost on the diversion so made the 24km walk a fair bit longer. It was a nice change to travel through some arable farmland, thus avoiding the need to be on constant poo alert. On the approach to Danbe Wiske (Yes, it really is called that), we encountered two horses in a paddock. The animals had worked out that if they blocked the exit stile, they had a good chance of wheedling out some food from the coast to coasters. We had no food to pay the ferryman, so to speak, so had to do some petting and maneuvering before vaulting the stile. We arrived to find most of our fellow walkers already in the village pub,. We met a couple of Kiwis there who had already walked across England along Hadrian’s wall, had turned round, and were now walking back along Wainwright’s route. Put us all to shame.

Walking time 5 hrs







Stage 12 Danbe Wiske to Ingleby Cross 13km (9 miles)

A similar day to yesterday walking over farmland to cover the remaining distance to the next national park. You would think that by now, with all this exercise that we’d be as fit and lithe as racing snakes, but with the cooked breakfasts, ale and pub grub, I think we’re actually putting on weight. And of course we’d been drinking gallons of Yorkshire tea. I was on the lookout for the tea plantations but to no avail. I think they must all be in the rhubarb triangle. The highlight of the day was crossing the A19 where we had to sprint across a fast moving dual carriageway. No casualties reported. We'd discovered that two other walkers had the same birthday as us, Greg from Melbourne and our happy camper Mick. We had early drinks in the pub to celebrate, as we were separating the following day.





Walking time 4hrs

Stage 13 Ingleby Cross to Clay Bank Top 23km (13.5 miles)

We started climbing after two days walking on the flat and were soon at Arncliffe Wood. We’d entered the North Yorkshire Moors national park (Oh, Heathcliffe), the third and last of the national parks on the route. A lovely stroll through the heather, some of it flowering early in a pink bloom, disturbing the odd famous grouse. We had expansive views east and north with Middlesborough in the distance and our first glimpse of the North Sea. We climbed up and over a number of hills, testing the old knees out, terminating with the Wainstones, a rocky outcrop on top of our final hill. We dined with Martin and Robyn from Western Australia and a couple of Yorkshire girls in the Wainstones Hotel, a courtesy car picking us up at Clay Bank top and depositing us there the following day to resume our walk.







Walking time 6:30 hrs

Stage 14 Clay Bank Top to Blakey Ridge 11km (7.5 miles)

I started the day with walker’s porridge for breakfast that included a shot of Drambue. Well, it was my birthday, Mags’ too. A real shot in the arm and in no time we’d made the short ascent and were back on the moor. An easy but spectacular walk today peacefully striding across the moors. Famous grouse everywhere and the odd sheep. We triumphantly strode into Lion’s inn a mere 3 hours later to start the birthday celebrations. The Kiwis arrived and sang happy birthday very loudly causing Mags to blush. The Lion really is an incredible pub perched high and alone on top of the moor. It was packed with walkers, cyclists and motorists despite its remote location. They bash out enormous portions of pub grub to hungry travellers. Mags had lamb that consisted of four huge chops and eight roast potatoes.






Walking time 3 hrs

Stage 15 Blakey Ridge to Egton Bridge 22.5km (14 miles)

We continued on the moor (Oh, Heathcliffe) finally descending into Glaisdale and then onto our destination for the day, Egton Bridge. There were tantilising views of the coast looking deceptively near. It was very windy ont moor (notice the Yorkshire accent there) and we had to concentrate to avoid being blown off course.

We heard a local tale of romance attached to Beggar's Bridge in Glaisdale. An inscription on the bridge suggests that it was built in 1619, and the initials TF refer to Thomas Ferries, the son of a moorland farmer. When he was courting he had to ford the river Esk to meet his young lady, Agnes, whose father considered Thomas too poor for his daughter. Thomas resolved to seek his fortune at sea but, with the river in flood, was unable to cross to kiss his sweetheart goodbye. Returning later, a wealthy man, Thomas married Agnes and built a handsome bridge on the very spot, so future young lovers would never be separated.




Walking time 4:30


Stage 16 Egton Bridge to Robin Hood’s Bay (25km, 15.5 miles)

I haven’t mentioned the weather for some time as it had been unbelievably completely dry and mostly sunny. On our last day however, we did wake up to a little drizzle. At least we were going to use the waterproofs I’d been carrying for fourteen days. Or so I thought, but we dawdled a little over our breakfast and by the time we put our boots on, the rain had stopped. The local news was buzzing with ‘Le Grand Depart’ of the tour de France that was leaving starting from Leeds that day. All the press were there leaving us short of journalists to witness our own grand depart. We soon came upon Egton Manor, where a donation box was positioned “Please help our Donkeys.” A tad cheeky I thought. They were the ones living in a stately home; they should have been giving us money. The last steep climb of the walk took us past the quaint Grosmont railway station and onto Sleights moor.  It was misty up there and we finally had a feel for the eerie, haunting and lonely vibe of the Yorkshire moors. We descended into Little Beck Wood where the sun broke through providing dappled views of the May Beck. We continued on with a yomp through Sneaton Low and Graystone Hills moors. We were heartened to see our first sign for Robin Hood’s Bay (our final destination and nothing to do with the man in tights), a mere 3 and half miles away; but Wainwright wasn’t about to take us the direct route so there was still some way to go. Whitby and its striking abbey were constantly in view lit up by the bright sunshine. We finally hit the coast and then walked south along a coastal path, part of the Cleveland way, into Robin Hood’s bay. Our accommodation was at the top of the village so we checked in and deloused before stumbling down the steep road to the bay. We duly dipped our toes in the water, threw the pebble we picked up at St Bess in to the sea and retired to Wainright’s bar in the Bay hotel. Never before has house wine tasted so sweet.

Walking time 7:20 hrs














THE END