Category: Travel

Yesterday morning we set out from Osmotherly, “the prettiest village in England” one of our guide books had said.

It was lovely, but after the day we’d had what mattered was the good pub and bed. We walked up the road for a couple of miles and crossed into North York National Park, an immense expanse of moorlands and the world’s largest area of heather.

It rained a bit, as usual, and as we started the steep ascent up Live Moor we walked into a cloud. All we could see was each other spread out on the track (mostly an amazing path of set stones and steps – who did all that work?) and the heather stretching off into the fog. We all stopped to admire one blooming patch – mostly heather blooms in August.

Up and down we went, climbing next up Carlton Moor. I was resigning myself to a long day of walking on misty moors, climbing and descending very steeply over four moors (over 3,000 feet of elevation work total for the day) with no view to reward us. But as we reached the top of Carlton Moor the sky brightened, the mist lifted from the valley to the south and we could see back over the lowlands and distant Pennines from our previous days of walking.

The clouds were still piled into the valley to the north and for several miles we walked along the lip of the mist, coming up to the crest of the moor then threading away over our heads.

Eventually the sky cleared completely and we had a long walk along the vast sweep of Urra Moor, walking in sun for hours on a blessedly easy track with no mud. For the first time in a week I walked without gaitors and the outside of my boots dried.

I’ve never walked in such hugeness, heather and peat in long open slopes for as far as I could see, valleys of pastures far below.

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When we finally saw the red roof of the Lion Inn we were very happy to be at the end of such a glorious stage of this journey. After a hearty pub meal Anne, Peter, David and I got picked up by the owner of the August House B&B (not enough rooms at the Lion when our trip was booked) and driven to Rosedale, a beautiful moor valley. It was our first time in a car in almost two weeks.

Now there is a big storm moving through, thunder and lightening and heavy rain. Luckily we don't need to leave early today and can enjoy our "loo with a view" as the owner said last night when she showed us our bathroom. The view from our bedroom is just as lovely.

“You know, doing the Coast to Coast in 13 days is pretty bad ass,” I said to Cathy and Sue as we strode into Richmond yesterday afternoon. You quickly learn on this path that first questions you ask when you meet up with people (a whole other post I’ll write when I have a keyboard, about the community that develops among C2C walkers) are where have you come from today, where are you going tonight, and how many days are you taking to complete the route. Some people do it in stages, some do parts of it, the fastest ever was 39 hours, and many do it in 13 or 15 or 18 days. Our 13 day trip is on the fast side of the non-extreme.

Well I don’t feel so “bad ass” right now. Today was a long exhausting trudge through muddy fields and along back roads, ending with a thunderstorm, a dash across a very busy highway, and a half lost scramble up a steep hill through a patch of nettles that left my bare knees screaming. They’re still on fire, none of us can walk straight and we all stumbled back from dinner and into bed.

In fact, we’re so clearly hurting a local couple coming down the road said, “You’re doing the Coast to Coast aren’t you? We can tell by the way you’re walking.” And we’re walking again tomorrow? Bad ass? More like busted ass.

Some more photos, so you can see how worth it this is.

David just toasted “sweet and complicated people,” which we all agreed the eight of us are. So we clinked our pints as we do every night in whatever pub we find ourselves. We’re making this work, walking our way across England together.

Today was a walk along Swaledale, the valley of the River Swale. All the people we’ve met doing the C2C (and that’s part of the experience, the people you leap frog with along the path) did the low route today. Even in good weather it’s more scenic and a needed break, being mostly a level walk through hay pastures and old lead mining towns along the river, running brown with the peat of the Pennines. Still, the 12 miles felt like more, which the other walkers here at the Buck Hotel pub agreed was true.

We’re in the Yorkshire Dales National Park and it’s as beautiful as the Lake District but in a much broader, less nestled in and bleaker way.

The hay fields are full of wildflowers and sweep down to the river, buttercups, wild geranium, clover and thistle.

And the stone walls and buildings and bridges go on and on. As we will. Only 12.5 miles tomorrow, but then two very long days and two mid-teen days. We’ve done 112 miles and have 88 to do. I think we may make it.

David and I are resting our feet in the Ivydene B&B in Grasmere, laundry and drying goretex garments hanging from every knob, maps and the C2C book spread out, checking out what tomorrow might bring.

Yesterday brought the hike from Ennerdale Bridge to Stonethwaite, with the first three or so miles along the south shore of Ennerdale Lake. Sue and Kelly, the couple who own Far Reaches Farm had a great time finding plants they’ve never seen, like these wild orchids.

The scenery, once again, was incredible, with lake and mountain views, lakeside farms, grand sweeping open ridges, then a hike down into the totally charming Barrowdale Valley.

Here is the view outside our window last night, where an English Sparrow was nesting and singing into the evening.

Today we started out in rain and hiked into mist and clouds and fleeting sunshine, a bank of fog rolling up out of Grasmere Valley as we descended, then threading away overhead. We passed waterfall after waterfall, jumped rivers and slogged through boggy slopes, listened to the bleating of sheep and marveled at the artistry of the stone walls and buildings. It’s beautiful here!

The variety of visual beauty in today’s first stage of the Coast to Coast walk (or C2C as some signs said) is close to unimaginable. From low light on the Irish Sea as we climbed St. Bees Head, to the soft lavender of the velvet grass (actual name, I’m walking with a couple who run a rare plant nursery and they know their plants), to the sweeping views at the summit of Dent Hill across the coastal plain to the shrouded hills of Scotland to the north and tall mountains of the Lakes District to the east, to the deep and lusciously green valley of the Nannycatch Beck (stream) running high from the recent heavy rains, to the wildflowers and foxglove dotting all the open fields and slopes and ridges, it was almost too much to take in. It’s spectacularly scenic here, we walked over 14 miles, we lost the actual C2C at least a couple of times and it didn’t matter, we had a pint and a great dinner and it’s time to close the drapes against the sun that doesn’t go down until 10:30, and get some sleep.