England Coast to Coast Trek (Part 2): Through Dales and Over Moors....

This is the second of three reports on our 200 mile Coast to Coast walk across England, covering the 68 mile segment from Shap to Danby Wiske.

(The Coast to Coast Path traverses northern England for over 190 miles starting in St. Bees at the Irish Sea and finishing at Robin Hood’s Bay at the North Sea. Our plan is to walk this distance over 18 days with a handful of rest days here and there. With side trips to pubs for sustenance and some backtracking due to the high likelihood of getting lost, we anticipate we will have walked over 200 miles).

Map sourced from www.contours.co.uk.

Shap to Orton

During breakfast, we talked to more hikers who had taken the treacherous high route from Patterdale during yesterday’s storms, gale force winds, and overall miserable conditions. We told them we could see the dark menacing clouds that blanketed the heights while we were enjoying the relative comfort of sunshine and rainbows down on the low-level route we had taken as an alternative.

Two ladies from Canada said the winds were “insane.”  “There were times we couldn’t stand upright. We had to stop and brace ourselves with both feet and trekking poles firmly planted to avoid being blown over.” 

 

Canadian hikers.

A group of six Australians said their day was “diabolical.”  “We had no business being up there. We should have taken the low route like you did.”

Meanwhile, an English couple lost their hats and pack rain covers that the winds tore away never to be seen again. “They’re probably being sold in some resale shop down on the east coast by now,” the gentleman said.

And then there was another English couple who stumbled their way in the dark, not having arrived at our hotel until around 8:30 p.m. last night. He had injured his knee after getting blown over slowing their progress considerably. “Fortunately,” they said, “a police squad happened by when we were about a mile away. He took sympathy on us and offered to drive us the rest of the way.”

Today, though, was an entirely different story. Sunny skies and light winds greeted us as we left the hotel. We were leaving the hills, mountains, valleys, and treacherous weather of the Lakes District behind. We were now entering the gentler region marked by the Yorkshire Dales where the trail is relatively flatter and the weather more settled and stable.

I was rudely introduced to this new region early on in our day’s walk. We were crossing a pasture when, while looking at our map and not seeing where I was going, I stepped into a big, steaming pile of cow shit. This was no ordinary cow pie. It was wet and voluminous - as big as a manhole cover and as thick as a sofa cushion.  As I stepped in it, its foulness washed up and over my boot like what happens when you step in a rainy and gooey mud puddle. I heard the “squish” before I felt or saw it.

At the moment when it became apparent to me what had just happened, MK, who was walking behind me, said without emotion or alarm, “Umm, Mark. You just stepped into a big pile of shit.” 

“Ya think!” I yelled back to her as I cursed at my predicament.

For the next several hundred yards, I dragged my foot, clad with my fouled boot, as I zigzagged across the pasture’s dewy grasses which eventually served to successfully clean my boot.

 

Admit it. It was you, wasn't it?

Onward we trekked. The lands here consist of rolling hills covered with bracken and rough grasses. The lack of trees offered unimpeded views of yet more hills and far off places.

We would pass other hikers or would be passed by them. Friendly conversations ensued with those who only moments before were complete strangers. We are all like-minded in our pursuit of long-distance walking so conversation and friendliness come easily.

 

Making friends on the trail. This is Will, the Man with the Bag.

The maps indicated a short cut down to Orton off of the top of one hill. We could never find the trail even though the map indicated there should be one.

We ventured south anyway using the map and a compass bearing toward the village. We were stopped briefly when a barbed wire fence (damn you DeKalb!) blocked our progress only to be soon on our way and into Orton after we took turns stretching the strands while the other ducked through.

 

Heading south, off-trail.

Approaching Orton.

We were happy to make it into town without getting lost. To congratulate ourselves on our wayfinding success, we treated ourselves to a big piece of chocolate cake and a chocolate covered carmel biscuit at, of all things, a chocolate factory next door to our hotel.

Orton to Kirkby Stephen

A crisp, beautiful morning greeted us as we walked out the door of our hotel. We’ve been very fortunate with the weather so far. And the forecast shows that a big high-pressure system will be parked over the U.K. This will likely mean more fair weather for days to come.

After a couple of hours on the trail, we came up on a farmhouse whose owners graciously set out a stand and honesty box, a place where we could help ourselves to coffee, sodas, snacks, and candy. It is up to us hikers to place in a jar enough money to pay for what we have taken. Some hot coffee and delicious cookies fortified us for the many miles we had ahead of us. We hope to find more honesty boxes as we continue our eastward progress in the days to come.

 

A little hut with an honesty box inside.

Before we departed the stand, a teenager and his grandfather led a flock of sheep down the paved lane in front of us. As the boy and the sheep continued on, the grandfather stopped to have a chat with us. After learning where we were from, he shared that he is a simple sheep herder, has never been on an airplane, has never been out of England, and, for that matter, has never left the northern Yorkshire area that we were walking through. While we admired him, we both couldn’t imagine living one’s entire life and never venturing more than 100 miles from one’s home.

 

Mary Kay and the sheep herder. 

The lands we then walked through became remote, barren, and windswept. Our track passed through nothing but moors, bogs, limestone outcroppings, fields of heather, and an occasional sheep. It was a lonely place. There was nothing between us and the horizon except a centuries old stone wall or two.

Mud and bogs lead to dirty boots and legs. 

Excuse me, pardon me. Sorry for the interruption!

For Christmas, I want a pony, just like one of these. 

This went on and on, mile after remote mile.  We stopped to eat our lunch in an area of pre-Norman ruins and ancient settlements. There was an active architectural dig underway so we didn’t get too close to explore them any more than what we could see from a distance.

After our short meal, it was time to move on. We still had many miles left of our thirteen- mile day. While gathering our belongings, MK asked if I had seen her reading glasses. I looked at her and shrugged. We walked the area where we had eaten and frantically searched for them. Just then, a husband and wife who were walking past asked if we had lost something.

“Yes,” MK said. “I lost my reading glasses. We’ve looked everywhere!”

“Deary,” the wife said, “what are those that are on top of your head?”

MK reached up and, sure enough, there they were! 

Man, we’re getting old.

We reached the size-able market town of Kirkby Stephens by mid-afternoon and took a brief look around. We’ll have much more time tomorrow to explore since we’ll be taking another “zero” day, a day off from any walking or further progress down the trail.

Early the next morning, MK went to church while I lingered near our hotel to watch a Crook Morris dance troupe perform on the plaza out front. This troupe (and there are many throughout England), travels from town to town on Sundays and puts on impromptu performances of traditional dances, most from the England/Wales border region. The troupe's leader was kind enough to seek me out and explain their activities. 

Parishioners ring the church's bells before the start of mass. 

A Crook Morris dance troupe performs outside of our hotel. 

The troupe's leader discusses with me the finer details of the dance performances. 

But for what could have been a terrible accident, caused by me, the remainder of our day off was rather unremarkable. I had bought several cans of beer earlier and, having no fridge or other area to keep them cool, placed them on the ledge outside our hotel room’s third story window. While doing so, one of the cans slid off of the ledge and crashed down onto the street just missing two men and a woman standing down below. They were outside smoking cigarettes while otherwise spending time inside the pub that is part of our hotel doing a good job at getting drunk. A quickly accelerating aluminum can, full of beer and landing on one of their heads, would not have ended well.

Now, some people are afraid of spiders. Others are scared of snakes. Me? I’m afraid of drunk people who look up toward hotel windows from where a beer can just descended and who, after looking me in the eye and ignoring my pleas of “I’m sorry” and “Please forgive me,” used words and British slang to hurl a string of invective at me, such as: “You fiker!” and “Fike you, you fiking, fike!” all topped off with “Do you have shite for brains?!” and another phrase that suggested an anatomical impossibility. 

I didn’t dare go downstairs for a good bit afterward fearing they would recognize me from their drunken perch on the pub’s barstools and wreak havoc on me. So, I instead sat on the floor in a corner of our room with my knees tucked up under my chin, rocking back and forward, waiting for them to discover what room I was in and then start to pound on my door.

 

That could easily be a picture of me in this sign.

During all of this, MK was out and about doing a bit of shopping for our next day’s trail lunches. She saw them in the pub when she returned and told me that they were a mean looking bunch, getting drunker by the minute.

During my time while hiding, I conjured up images of what they looked like for I wasn’t seeing clearly when I peered down out the window earlier. “Let me guess,” I said. “One of the men had a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of his t-shirt and had intimidating biceps with a tattoo of a griffin or some type of dragon, right?”

“Well, not quite,” she said.

I continued, “And the other one had on one of those wide belts with silver rivets placed throughout. He was also wearing a t-shirt advertising some heavy metal band concert he had attended in 1997.”

“Huh?” She looked at me with pity as I trembled.  

“And the lady, she….”

MK interrupted me. “Now she looked like a mean one. She had a spiked haircut colored with some awful blend of purple and red.”

Kirkby Stephen to Keld

We have been very fortunate with the weather so far. And today was no exception to the pattern of sunny skies and mid 50s temperatures. For a hiker, these are perfect conditions.

The path ascended steeply after leaving Kirkby Stephens. We were soon confronted with a choice of routes. This stretch of the Coast to Coast Path is so highly used that the local authorities have implemented a system where you are to take either the red, blue, or green trails depending on the month you are walking through. This spreads out the foot traffic throughout the year thereby lessening the impacts of erosion caused by us walkers.

September is designated a blue trail month, which is also the trail that requires the highest elevation gain (1,700 feet) and with the longest stretches of bogs and mire. How lucky are we!

But after all of these days of walking and our growing conditioning, we found the climb wasn’t too bad. Plus, MK used her iPod music to help her through the most arduous portions of the climb, just like what she uses when training on our gym equipment back home. She popped in her ear buds and sang away as we ascended up the mountainside.

Let me first say that MK is one of the sweetest, most caring persons on this earth. But, let me tell you, her singing voice is atrocious. She can’t hear herself with her ear buds in. But boy, I and other hikers sure can.

Dry, six foot high stone walls, designed to keep sheep from roaming too far, are no match for these otherwise pastoral animals. I swear I saw them leap over the walls and into adjacent fields to get away from the sound of MK’s singing.

Me? I had nowhere to go for to wander off meant getting lost in the bogs and endless fields of heather. I was stuck. I felt like Kevin in that insurance commercial trying to escape the bad karaoke singer. What? You’ve never seen that commercial?  Here, take a look.

 Yep, I felt like Kevin.

We turned south at the “nine standards,” a collection of rock cairns that dominate the skyline as seen from Kirkby Stephens far down below.

Approaching the Nine Standards.

Soon, the trail and our feet succumbed to the bogs and mire. We jumped from tussocks to reeds and back to tussocks trying to avoid the boot sucking mud. We weren’t always successful and were severely tested throughout the day. Our ankles began to feel like jelly and our feet felt like sodden boards. The guidebook that we had with us said this is the stretch where one may lose their boots and pride, and likely their will to carry on.

Boot sucking mud and bogs.

But carry on we did, finally limping into the hamlet of Keld after thirteen very tough miles.
We had reached the halfway point on our journey across England. But when we turned in, we were too tired to congratulate ourselves. Instead, we felt like worn-out soldiers who just survived a battle of trench warfare during World War I.

Since this one bit my fingertips, I no longer want a pony for Christmas.

Approaching our lodge after a long day.

Keld to Reeth

We find that when we arrive at our hotels at the end of the day, the last thing we want to do is walk another bloody step. But when we awake the next morning, we are excited all over again and raring to go on our next day’s 12 or so miles.

For today, we were confronted with another choice of paths to take. But, this was different from yesterday’s mandate on route selection due to erosion control and the season. Today, we had the option of taking the high route up and over high ridges and hilltops, or the low route along the Swale River valley interspersed with villages and little hamlets. Given the extremes of yesterday, the choice today was an easy one: the low valley route it would be.

Many fellow hikers from our hotel were choosing the low route. We were pleased to learn that the four guys from Derbyshire we met the day before would be walking the low, valley route with us. Now, talk about fun!  These guys did nothing but laugh, tell jokes, and acted like a bunch of goofs while on their trek along the Coast to Coast. They were mates for many years and were out having good, basic, and wholesome fun. They were living life the way it was meant to be.

 

The men from Derbyshire. They called MK and me "The Yanks."

Once underway, we soon found our choice in routes was indeed the correct one for we were not at all disappointed. Old stone barns, several of which were in ruins with their roofs long since collapsed, dotted the hillsides above us. The relatively easy and, more importantly, dry trail laid adjacent to the river, it’s soft, gurgling sounds accompanying us for the majority of the day. We enjoyed the beauty of these waters, the source of which was the bogs and wet at the heights we walked through yesterday.

 

Around noon, we passed through one of many small hamlets where we stopped for a break. There was a small snack shop that served delicious desserts topped with true whipped cream. If you want your cream out of a spray can or from a plastic tub found in your favorite grocer’s freezer section, don’t come here for you won’t find it.

It was mid-day when we arrived in the village of Reeth feeling strong and fresh for the day’s walk was indeed a relatively easy one.

After checking into our hotel, we sat on a bench out in the village green. We spent the balance of the afternoon chatting with other hikers, enjoying our surroundings, and relished the simple act of sitting without thinking about a thing.

Reeth to RIchmond

Many of the friends we have made along the trail over the past several days all had left town around the same time we did.

Martin and his mates from Derbyshire were at their goofiest. We exchanged emails when we all caught up to each other while taking a break at a stone wall near a little stream.

Will, the Man with the Bag that we met many days ago, later walked with us for an hour, his always present black bag clutched in his hands at his side. We shared stories of travel, retirement, children, and grandchildren.

Just when I got up the gumption and began to ask him what in the world does he carry in his black bag, we were interrupted by a herd of sheep that came ambling down the road, pushed toward a fresh pasture by a shepherd in a four-wheeler, the modern way doing things nowadays.

Once they passed, he told us that all of his water and food were in the bag. “I rather carry it in my hands than endure the weight of it on my back in my rucksack.”  Here’s a man smarter than most.

We passed an old church and priory just before we began a big climb up to the village of Marrick. A series of flat stones and carved steps placed on the slope made the ascent more manageable. Apparently, centuries ago, an order of nuns laid these stones to make things easier when making their daily passage from their convent to the priory.

 

The nun's steps. 

And the Priory they walked to everyday.

It was along these steps that we passed two women. We had met them two nights ago at the inn back in Keld where their husbands were there waiting for them to finish that day’s walk.

“Are your husbands waiting for you again later this afternoon while you’re out here hiking the Coast to Coast ?” I asked without any thought that doing so might be a bit personal.

“Indeed, they are,” they responded in unison. “We have them well trained.”

One then said, “They’re good at making sure there’s water on the boil for tea when we arrive.” The other added, “And they know how to make one hell of a good gin and tonic.”

Reviewing the maps. Which way do we go? 

Another honesty stand. 

We arrived in Richmond at around  2:00 p.m. This is the largest of all the towns we will pass through in our Coast to Coast walk. As such, it is a great candidate for an extra night’s stay for some rest and recovery.

 

Approaching Richmond from the trail above town. 

In fact, I spent part of the evening tending to a blister on my toe. It had taken on a whole new dimension over the past several days, and even more so today. So, some time for recuperation during the day off tomorrow will be in order.

Oh, and while tending to these matters, I drank a half liter of beer and ate a bag of Bugles, all in one go.

The next day, we found Richmond to be a pleasant place being of a size that required a full day to explore if doing so at a casual pace.

 

The curved row of buildings lie roughly where the medieval wall stood at the town's once outer limit. 

And casual we were, strolling around, stopping in the shops, MK having a proper cuppa while people watching, or me listening to the locals gossip inside the pub while I sipped my pint(s).

We also toured the Richmond Castle, an 11th to 12th century edifice that towers over the town. One of it’s notable and more current uses was as a prison during WW I where conscientious objectors to the war were incarcerated.  

 

Richmond Castle.

Later, while MK found a quiet spot to draw, I visited the Green Howards museum to learn more about this storied regiment that, among many battles throughout history, fought on the Normandy beaches in D-Day alongside the Allied troops.

We finished the day with an evening play at the historic Royal Georgian theater in town. It was a one-man play about Robinson Crusoe which we found well done and very entertaining. 

Richmond to Danby Wiske

Its breath was visible in the cool and crisp early morning air, backlit by the rising sun. Drool hung from its mouth as it gave out a snort or two. This big old bull was blocking our way on the trail right outside of town. And he wasn’t intending to give way. So, a short diversion, out and over the dewy pasture one field over, was the only way we could make progress while avoiding this bovine obstruction.

Later, as the trail entered the woods, we kept having to pick the cobwebs away from our faces as we passed through. Doing so once or twice is ok. But doing so consistently, like we had to do, and it becomes an irritation.

It reminded me of a cartoon I saw that someone recently posted on social media. Two spiders are hanging from a tree. One says to the other, “what are your plans for the day?”

“Oh, the usual,” the other spider says. “I’m just going to string this cobweb from this branch across the trail and over to that other branch.”

“Doing it so that it is about head high?” says the first spider.

“Of course,” the second spider replies. “Is there any other way?”

It was soon after our bout with the spiders that a couple of dozen very fit young men came running down the trail toward us. We apparently entered a military training area and they were out on their morning run. To a person, they were most polite thanking us for stepping aside to give them space saying “thank you,” “ma’am” followed by a head nod, “sir” with another head nod, and a “have a nice day” or two.  

Their politeness wasn’t unique. Everywhere we’ve been on this hike we’ve been met by nothing but smiles, kind comments, and help with directions from townsfolk, farmers, and fellow hikers.

Speaking of fellow hikers, those that we have befriended over the past several days are now a day ahead of us. That is the downside of taking a day off while they continue on. But, the upside is that we now have a new batch to become acquainted with who were once a day behind but are now walking with us on a similar schedule.

By mid-afternoon, we reached the 131-mile mark upon reaching our inn at Danby Wiske. We are two-thirds of the way done and feeling fit, albeit foot sore and somewhat weary. We have hit our stride and looking forward to our remaining 60 or so miles.

For Part One of our journey, please go here.

For Part Three of our journey, please go here.

A music video of our 200 mile hike can be viewed at the end of the Part Three post.