Day 6 - Shap to Kirkby Stephen: The Day From Hell

21 miles, 8 hours, 1 blister pad, 2 pieces duct tape, lots of jaw gritting
Accommodation: YHA Kirkby Stephen

First off, it's pronounced "kirby," without the k. Ah the Brits. Well, this morning we were greeted by a sunny breakfast room with geraniums tapping on the window, little pot of marmalade, good coffee (!), and a lovely (if increasingly repetitive) English breakfast. Lovely mushrooms and scrambled eggs (not fried) for once (we were given a choice). Fresh squeezed grapefruit and orang juice. Lovely.
Off we went. I immediately had trouble with ankles rubbing on boot, and then the blistering on the bottom of the left foot - this was to nag and then haunt me with increasing pain all day.
What can I say about Shap to Kirkby Stephen? Only that I'd rather forget it! Trudge, trudge, trudge through farmland - for 8 hours! Cow crap on shoe, sock, self. Sweat. Pain, pain, pain. My ankle was totally swollen by the end of the day and the blister about 1" x 1/2".
We met up with the Mystery Group again. The guy keeps going ahead of the other 2 and following us closely. He gave us some very wrong directions as we were pausing - again! We think he likes to keep us in sight because D is better at navigating! My theory: the others hired him as a guide, though he's never done this before, and he's crap, so that's why the girl is so pissy looking.
At about hour 4 I said, "Let's do something. I'm bored." So 20 Questions ensued. D's first person for me turned out to be Slobodan Milosevic. I tell you. Later: "I spy with my little eye something that begins with 'P'." "Poop." "Yep." It was all around us. Later D made up a story to amuse me about Mole and Badger going to find the Caverns of the Mole Queen. I think it will come out serial fashion, during the slow bits of this trip.
We ate our yummy sandwiches (from Jean) - apple and sausage and apple and PB. I was despairing towards the end. I was just so tired and, most of all, bored, and in constant pain. Trudge, trudge - archaeological sites barely to be seen and we didn't care either way.
Finally at 5PM (we started at 9:30 with no real break, even for lunch, which we ate while walking) we closed in on KS. A sheep stampede outside the village and cow-herding by a sheep dog were about the only real excitement of the day.
The YHA is in a converted Methodist chapel, with the dining hall set in the pews. We have our own funky little room, with high ceilings and tiny windows. We had no luck with anything open pre-6PM so we sat around in a pub until we could finally get some burgers and pudding. We saw the Mystery Group again - they were staying at the pub we were eating at. It appears there was some room mix up, but we didn't catch the details.
Mom and Dad called the YHA while we were away - Tom, the receptionist told us and emphasized that it wasn't urgent. "The cats are dead!" I said, when I heard this.
A nice, hot shower and now to bed. D is already asleep with his light on.

YHA Kirkby Stephen

Day 7 - Kirkby Stephen to Keld: Bogs and Monsters

12 miles, 6 hours, 2 shoe changes
Accommodation: YHA Keld

We slept at 9PM last night and got up at 8AM this morning! As Devin says, "It was a righteous sleep." We had a slow, leisurely morning for once - didn't have breakfast at the YHA since we thought we'd look around a bit. So we broke bread at the Pink Geranium, a nice enough tea shop. I was so hungry by then I decided to go for the Full English (but veg, this time) although I had sworn off the whole F.E. thing the day before - especially with all the salt pork and sausage!
Then we went to the library to check our email. Our cat sitter friend emailed us that our cats were fine: "under covers and under bed." He also added that he "didn't have too much respect for people who only walked partway across England." Checking other email, we learned the strangest and most shocking news: a friend's husband had been fatally stabbed in a robbery. Words fail me. It was a sad and bizarre thing, so discordant with our peaceful and beautiful surroundings. . . . What can one really say? I thought maybe I could offer some sort of commiseration since our family had also suffered from an act of random violence - but, then, Patrick survived. . . We both thought about our friend on and off all day.
The first part of the walk was very dramatic - espeically in contrast with yesterday's interminable farmland. We got up to Nine Standards - some say the English built them to look like giant warriors on the horizon in order to scare off the Scots. We tried to take a picture of them from far off - but they wouldn't show up on the camera! Like the Loch Ness monster. Me: "I swear, Cap'n, there were huge warriors, I just couldn't get it on film!" D: "Yeah, McPhee, I've never heard that one before." Up on the hill it was bloody windy - as in fear-for-our-lives windy. We ducked around one of the standards and munched on our Cornish pasties - bought from a lovely bakery this morning, the Bread Shop in Eden Valley, which also sold cottage made jams, etc. Mmmm.
Then a miserable climb down. Miserable because it was very boggy and we had to put our boots on and now my right ankle is so sensitive that each step in my boot is like absolute torture. I chucked the boot wearing when the bogs petered out a bit - though this obliged me to make superhuman leaps at points across the bigger bogs. Still footsore. Sigh.
Trudge, trudge, trudge - but definitely better and shorter than yesterday! We finally (after a little rain and hard concrete road) got to the road by the Beck and walked by some lovely falls and fields, with rabbits!
YHA Keld is very nice, comparatively, in terms of accomodations. D and I have another bunk room to ourselves, overlooking the tiniest of tiny villages that is Keld. Lovely food, too - leek and chicken pie baked to perfection. We sat with a lesbian couple whom we saw at Kirkby Stephen last night. They are the first of "our kind" we've talked to this trip. We had some laughs about our trudge, the BAD food at Ennerdale (where they stayed also, 1 night ahead of us). Unlike all the other Brits we met, they live in London and like it. I guess for a young, hip couple that's normal (vs. all the fell runners, &c. we've met!). They're both high school teachers and live on a boat in W. London! It was fun chatting with people who felt the same we do re: tiredness, the unrealistic expectations of Wainwright, e.g. steepness of "low" routes, blisters and whatnot.
The YHA guy is a hoot. When the desserts came out he had a comment for everyone. D & I were having fruit salad (feeling a little scurvyed by the English diet of meat and meat). "Do you want ice cream with that?" D: "No, thanks." YHA: "Good boy." Then to the women: "You ordered sticky toffee pudding - do you want ice cream with it?" Woman: "Is it warm?" YHA: "No, ice cream is cold."
Now it's Tiger Balm and Bed Time. I am bit anxious about the boot wearing, since my ankle makes it near impossible. Hopefully I can get away with trainers tomorrow.

The teeny village of Keld - view from our window
The joys of laundry!

Day 8 - Keld to Reeth: Juxtapositions

11 1/2 miles, 5 hours, 2 lovely small villages
Accommodation: Walpardo

This morning we had breakfast at the YHA Keld - we ate with an older woman doing the Pennine Way (Keld is where the 2 paths meet). She attempted the C2C some years ago but quit at Reeth - said it was just too difficult and that the Pennine, though much longer, involves less strain. Seems odd to me that one would quit after climbing the fells and two long slogs (Patterdal-Shap, Shap-Kirkby Stephen). We also sat with an older man who said (according to D, I didn't hear this part) he's going around saying goodbye to all his old friends in the countryside. Seems sad. The woman alerted us to the shutting down of UK airports because of a terror plot involving liquid explosives. What a world.
We headed out along the road and soon turned off to the little village of Muker. It was so incredibly picturesque, along the river with its back to the hills. We went to the Post Office for a card for our friend and asked where Swaledale Woolens is. "The woman coming in can tell you," said the postman - as the woman was the shopkeeper. I love small villages. She led us back to her shop, full of yarns, woolen goods (knitted by Swaledale folk), and sundry local items. Apparently, when the lead mining industry shut down the villages put their heads together and decided to start this cottage industry! It's such a famous shop that Prince Charles visited in 2000 - there was a photo of him with the owner up inside the store. We bought some baby booties as gifts and exited to wander the village just a bit more.
The village was very small - though bigger than Keld. We got the impression that many of the people there at the time were holiday makers - there was a Lotus parked in front of a cottage! The shopkeeper, when asked, told us that she estimates the permanent residents to number about 40! I wonder if I would enjoy living in such a place. It certainly was beautiful - reputed to be one of James Herriot's favorite villages.
After heading back to the trail, things were pretty uneventful - pretty dale and field and then a tempting walk by a teashop in Gunnerside. We caught up to the lesbian couple at a vague bit on Stedman's map - to go through a field or not? We took one way and they another. Of course, Devin was right, as he usually is with guessing about Stedman, and we struck the right path eventually. When we met up with the women later they told us they wasted time retracing their steps - agonizing when one's feet hurt.
We wound up walking along the moors - dark brown downs with purple heather and tearing cold wind. No wonder Heathcliff was such a grouch. We also saw some grouse (grouses? greese?) running about - and a lot of flattened, dessicated rabbits. No clue why. It was kind of terrible, like a sickness, or, more likely, carniverous cows on the loose, stamping down on poor bunnies and then sucking their flesh dry!
The last few miles to Reeth were a little stressful: not only were we pounding our sore feet on pavement but cars kept whizzing past us where there was no footpath. It was a bit shocking to be where there was so much traffic. Finally in Reeth (well, it was only a short walk, but prolonged in feeling by stress and the expectation that it would be short) . We headed straight for the Reeth Bakery, of which Steddy (as we call him - the 3rd in our traveling menage a trois) sang many praises. It was good - pies of local Swaledale cheeses and a yummy "Victorian sponge sandwich". We bought some rolls (made with local, organic flour) and cows cheese and headed off down the street to our B&B.
Reeth is centered round a village green and it seems everything is within close reach. Our hosts were standing outside the house, gardening, along with their 4-month old kitten, when we got to their doorstep. They were a jolly, chatty set, a couple in their 60s-70s, seeming to enjoy life, which they conveyed as leisurely, full of comedy, and whimsical. So nice. We were given a sunny room and a lovely bathroom with a sloping roop and skylight of the blue, cloud-dotted sky. By the hand-held shower head, about 4 feet up from the ground under the sloping roof, was a sign which read, "This shower is for hair washing. Do not try to stand under it 'As you will not fit.'" Hee.
In our rest time I read to Devin from the Reeth & District Gazzette ("The Local News Magazine for the Two Dales of Swaledale and Arkengarthdale") - a charming newsletter of village doings. I found it such a refreshing whiff of "olden times" that I packed it with my luggage for home.
I went out to look at some gift shops but they were closed (closed W & Th!) and the couple, Ann and Tony, when I got back, were fixing a funny bug character to a 2nd story windowsill: "We like giving people little surprises. Look at our dinosaur." Sure enough, they had placed a plastic dinosaur at the top of a chimney pipe.
"And a squirrel," I added, for they had a squirrel in a shutter box.
"I thought it was a rabbit," said Tony.
"No, it's a squirrel, with a nut," says Ann.
"But it has big ears."
What funny, lovely people.
For dinner we headed to the Buck. A sort of doleful affair as we checked email before and looked up the news re: our friend. The details were gruesome and made the whole world seem a horror. Especially with the addition of the news coming in about the foiled terror attack, supposedly aimed at CA, NY, and DC. I wonder how our flights will fare next week.
But, on a note of hope, on our way out to the Buck from Walpardo, the sun was shining in the misty rain and a huge double rainbow spanned over Reeth. Tony came out (and his cat) to get a picture of it (just Tony, the cat did not have a camera at hand). A reminder of God's covenant with all humankind. We must continue to believe in God's goodness, and learn in this world of such deep violence but also such simple joys. The terror attacks and looking at rainbows with a dear old couple and their cat.
Back in our room we watched a fine specimen of smutty British reality TV: "Fat Beauty Contest." The kitten came to play with us a bit before bed.

Not a great picture of the grouse - but it does capture their absolute silliness

Day 9 - Reeth to Richmond: The Shock of Noise

10 1/2 miles, 3 hours, 1 very mistaken map
Accommodation: Emmanuel Guest House

This morning the B&B kitten came to explore the breakfast room and was shooed out. "That one's a hooligan," said Ann, "If he doesn't watch out we'll serve him on toast someday." She went on to praise her past mellow cats and tell how the current one doesn't mind being sprayed with water when he's misbehaving.
After breakfast we set out again - this time it was a short, pleasant trek through farmland and forest and finally the suburbs of Richmond. It was actually quite a miserable shock to be in such a big town. We had tea upstairs in a teashop overlooking the market square and everything felt morose, with all the crowds and cars. I don't know what getting back to the States will be like!
But then Richmond Castle was a lot of fun. We went to see the exhibit 1st (as Steddy wisely told us to do). One display was very moving - the graffiti ofthe Conscientious Dissenters of WWI who were garrisoned in the castle. They suffered prison and forced labor for over a decade because of their conviction. "Thou shalt not kill," they wrote on the walls. There was also an interesting numismatics display with an "opposition medallion" minted against the Walpole tariff. We wondered if it was part of an alternate exchange system being set up as this would be intriguing and possibly useful for D's studies.
The castle was great - clambering up old stone towers and peering over battlements, imagining the Keep during feast days, and all the stuff of adventure and childlike fascination. I liked being able to climb all over the place - inside, especially, and enter back rooms and staircases.
Then to Emmanuel Guest House - Stedman led us wrong (we haunted the same intersection for about 20 minutes, looking for the place) so we had to call the hostess and she met us halfway to walk us to the house. Apparently she had notified Sherpa about this (though this did not benefit us at all) and hopefully Stedman will revise his book for the next edition. The place is nice, though we'll have to miss breakfast the next day - leaving at 7 for Osmotherly!
Nap & shower and then to dinner at a Taste of Thailand. Really great Thai food, actually, and the place is run by Thais. We had Pad Thai (I think of it as the litmus test for any Thai restaurant) and duck and banana fritters/bananas in coconut milk. Mmmmm. So nice for a change of pace. On the way home we stocked up on provisions - Lucozaide (of course), chocolate, and crisps. The lunch of champion walkers!
Back here we're preparing to sleep soon for our early start. Tomorrow: 9 1/2 hours for walking and over 23 miles to Osmotherly. Frightening, but we're hoping for the best!

Outer wall and battlements of Richmond Castle

Day 10 - Richmond to Osmotherly: The Marathon

26 miles, 10 hours, quad muscle deterioration
Accommodation: 4 Belle View Cottages

From Emmanuel Guest House we set out at about 7:30. As it turns out, I think we psyched ourselves out for the long haul to Osmotherly because it wasn't nearly as bad as to Kirkby Stephen. First off, we both had our trainers on, which did a lot to alleviate pain and lighten our feet (but not our load since we still carried our boots in our rucksacks). It was nice to leave the big town and get back to farmland, too. Secondly, there was a lot more variety to this part of the journey - we passed several "rabbit metropolises" (as Stedman labels them on his map) and sent 10 odd rabbits running away at a time. We also got to see some agricultural farming - something new since all we'd seen was livestock. We walked through a potato field (we could see the potatoes poking out of the ground) which I'd never seen before, and also a great golden field of grain. It was really very beautiful.
There were a few unpleasant bits - walking on busy roads with no footpaths and feeling stressed about being run over, peeing by a patch of stinging nettle and getting my hand stung all over. But we trudged on and on until Danby Whiske, where some folks call it a day. We had lunch at the White Swan - just measley sandwiches. Going on, we saw a funny - and exceedingly weird - set up of signs and props: "Be-Told, A TROLL lives under the Bridg and Has Been Known to EAT CHILDREN" &c. And then, of course, we come up to a paper-marchier troll, bucket of custard - child included - and pie with the requisite child's legs sticking out. All this right before the bridge.
On and on we go. Startled a(nother) snoozing C2C dog who was with 2 walkers. She immediately began barking at us. "Shut up, you miserable dog!" says her owner, "Sorry, she just woke up." We got up into the Cleveland Hills finally, and were wandering about Arncliffe Woods and then some more farmland - getting a bit desperate (after 23 miles!) to know if we were on the right track since Steddy hadn't mapped Osmotherly out for us. Finally into the village and (after a couple inquiries at a pub) down to 4 Belle View Cottages. And Anne. Oh Anne, she is something else. Very warm, mind you, great hostess, which makes all the difference (as vs. Glebe House) so that I did not mind that our "B&B" was simply a room in someone's (very cluttered) house. She gave us a welcome with tea and cake in her funny manner - can't put my finger on it. Just a very old-fashioned lady with a high English voice - like Dame Edna but more turkey-like. We got in about 6pm and she said, "I worried for you! What would I do if you didn't turn up?"
We headed straight for the pub after settling in ("That's what I would suggest - after a shower, you might not get up again! Richmond is really too far - Sherpa should really not book all that distance apart!"). Ate at Queen Catherine's (according to Stedman the only pub named after Catherine of Aragon) - I had lamb liver and onions and D lamb shank, all over yummy mashed potatoes. I figured maybe the liver would help restore my woefully deteriorated body. My quads by this time just plain hurt - not in a sore or achey or strained way but in a way that suggested my muscles were breaking down. This was after 26 miles (and 100+ miles before that!) after all.
Back to Anne's (a hellish walk downhill) and to bed right away after the shower/Tiger Balm routine.

Day 11 - Osmotherly to Clay Bank Top/Great Broughton: Finally Time for the Waterproof Pants

15 miles, 6 hours, 2 waterproof shells, 2 waterproof pants, 6 ziploc bags, 2 transparency covers
Accommodation: Ingle Hill

We had quite an alarming (and, upon later reflection, quite comic) wake-up call. At around 7:15 I heard the phone ring. A moment later I hear Anne, in her turkey-like English soprano ringing out cries of "Telly-phone! Telly-phone!" I sit bolt upright in bed, having registered that the call is for us. I struggle to put my glasses and pants on. Meanwhile, Anne continues to cry out, "Telly-phone!" and begins pounding on the door.
"I'm coming!" I yell.
"She's coming!" Devin yells.
"I'm putting the phone down in front of your door!" Anne yells, pounding again on the door.
"Okay!" We yell out.
"Telly-phone!" she cries again. I think she continues her alarm of "Telly-phone!" all the way down the stairs - I picture waving her arms about.
I finally pick up the phone and, wouldn't you know it, no one's on the other end. I go downstairs to tell Anne this. "Did they say who they were?" I ask.
"No," says Anne, "But it sounded like a young man, and there seemed to be children in the background!"
I'm telling you, this woman is mad - in the most saintly and lovely way possible. I go upstairs and get back into bed. After we ponder for a while, we decide it could only have been my dad. So I call my dad's cell # in China with D's cell phone. It was my dad, just checking up. All in all, a very funny episode.
From there we began our way to Clay BankTop. Not really a promising start - it was drizzling so we put on our rain gear. An old man passing us on the way to the village: "Pretty grim, isn't it?" At the center of town there's a stone table where John Wesley is reported to have preached from (we've been in Methodist country since the Dales) and while we were taking a picture of it a Japanese woman begins calling to us from the doorway of the walking shop across the way. It turns out she was saying "ohayo-gozaimasu" to me. We went in the store - turns out, she's married to the (white) owner of the shop and they both thought I was Japanese. Other (white) people from the village arrive at the store and when they see me they ask her, "Friend of yours?" Hm. I suppose in a village like Osmotherly I should just shrug.
Anyways, we walked through a pretty wood in the light rain, coming across the Insane British, out for a walk on a wet Sunday morning! Then came the moors - two up and down climbs in the bitter wind and the incredibly wet white mist that kept all views strictly out of sight. It was miserable, and we were freezing. 2 American women were on the path also, but unlike us they didn't have rain shells on - instead, they had ponchos, a bad business on the incredibly windy moors. The ponchos were flapping violently and blowing up over their heads. I told D I wouldn't be surprised if I saw them fly past me, screaming.
At the bottom again we (and the 2 women and the Rugby couple) stopped at Lord Stone's Cafe for a much needed pot of tea and scones, along with some of Anne's elaborately packed lunch:
1 ham sandwish
1 cheese and relish sandwich
1 devilled ham sandwich
1 homemade fig bar
1 tiny golden lemon cupcake
1 almond layer cake piece with jam
2 cherry tomatoes
So funny and good, like Anne. Anyway, it was torture to put all our wet, supposedly waterproof, rain things on again. Off we went to 2 more up and down moors. It was insane - wind worse than ever, perhaps worse than at 9 Standards, slippery wet stone steps, impenetrable mist. And locals out for a hike! "Probably some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise, at night, in eel infested waters." We were even more soaked by the time we got to Clay Bank Top.
The most frustrating thing was we couldn't get an answer at our B&B for a pick up down to Great Broughton - 2+ miles away and not mapped out for us. Miserable. It was pouring rain by now (on the moors we were in the clouds, now we were under them). We had no choice but to trudge in the rain on the dangerously trafficked mountain road to Great Broughton. I was ready to scream. We met up with the Rugby couple in the village and commiserated a bit.
Finally got to the B&B - the son-in-law let us into the garage to take off and hang up our soaked-through rain gear. He explained that they were gone to Whitby for a luncheon to celebrate his father-in-law's 80th birthday. Well, one can't really argue against that, right? Once we were sorted out, the hostess - Margaret, had us down for tea and jelly roll and scones and cookies!!! in their garden room - they're avid gardeners. Too bad it was wet the whole time we were there. She was lovely, and so was Len, the 80 year old and her husband. They chatted with us and we wished Len a happy birthday. He ended up telling us a lot about Dianne, their daughter who died of cancer at 45. I'm not sure how long ago this was, but it was very sad as he seemed quite fixed on it. Dianne seemed quite an interesting person. Traveled everywhere and nannied for Danielle Steele and then for Jerry Hall! They had pictures of her with Jerry Hall up in their dining room.
Dinner was at Jetminer's Inn - it was okay, sort of a letdown after all the raves I read on the C2C forums. I had really looked forward to the traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding in Yorkshire - but it was just okay. We did split a strawberry and sherry trifle with loads of cream and custard. Mmmmm. And we had a good laugh about Anne. It's good to laugh. Especially when one is physically worn out.
Back at Ingle Hill Len had some old friends over for more birthday celebrations (his daughter and son-in-law and grandchildren had gone home) and he made us each have a glass of port & lemonade with them, and Margaret insisted we have a slice of birthday cake each. They were so sweet - the hosts, of course, but also the port and cake!

The forest outside of Osmotherly - the last picture we took that day as the rain fogged up our camera.

Day 12 - Clay Bank Top to Glaisedale: The Moors as Interpreted by Erasure - Or, The Never-Ending Story

15 miles, 6 hours, 2 bandaids and 1 ft of duct tape
Accommodation: Ashley House

This morning was a bit rushed - Margaret told us her daughter would need us ready by 8:45 if we were to get a ride up to Clay Bank Top - this at 8:30! We scrambled and she did take us up - after saying goodbye to Margaret and Len, both of whom hugged and kissed us! They are certainly treasures, old fashioned at its best. Mandy, their daughter, drove us up at breakneck speed - like a true native of the place. I thought we would both hurl after wolfing down our Full English Breakfast.
And then the Moors. Urra Moor, to be exact:

Urra Moor
Got me wet
Now I'm angry at you,
Urra Moor,
What's a Coast to Coaster
S'posed to do?

This to be sung to the tune of "Oh L'Amour", composed by Devin.
It was misty and interminable - though not then quite as windy or wet, so tolerable. And the purple heather was pretty. We trooped along into Forever, since we had no sense of what lay in front (or behind, for that matter). To pass the time we tried singing some of Solas' Irish ballads, which was a hilarious failure, especially when Devin did the fiddle part. With swollen feet and aching legs at least we can still laugh.
Lunch at Blakey Ridge's White Lion - along with everyone else within a 10 mile radius as the White Lion IS Blakey Ridge. Saw the Rugby couple and the American women - they all greeted us as if they were waiting for us: "They made it!" And the Mystery 3 reappeared and sat next to us. I'm certain the girl is NOT married to Mullethair Meathead, as I've chosen to call him now. She sate on the same side of a table as him - but had her plate in the far corner, crouching as far away from his as possible. The Mystery continues...
Back on the road, the wind blew straight at us in enormous gusts so that aerodynamics actually came into play. It was impossible to walk fast with our arms at our sides so D invented holding his hands behind his back while I discovered that if one held one's hands in prayer at the chest but with the fingers pointed forward one could get on pretty well. Ridiculous.
More moor. And more moor. I finally put on my trainers despite the puddles since my ankles couldn't take anymore. Finally we descended into Glaisedale - a village lovingly tucked into the sides of a lush green dale. Really very lovely. And the Ashley House is lovelier still. A three-storey house, with Margaret and John - friendly and caring. It was the perfect combination of warmth and professionalism. The house doesn't feel like someone's home so much as a lovely inn - and one with long, deep tubs at that!
We came down to tea and teacakes soaked in butter. Our room is lovely and lacking English fussiness, and with windows looking across at the houses nestled in the trees on the opposite side of the valley. Dinner was at the Arncliffe Arms. The Moon and Sixpence, which Stedman had on his map (or as D likes to say, the Spoon and Girdle) shut down 3 years ago - I say because its name wasn't burly enough, unlike King's Arms or the Buck. Lovely place - saw all our friends there. Had a brilliant fish and chips - Shap and it were both great, cod as it should be, and then we shared a lovely sticky toffee pudding. But even though lovely, not the perfection of the Traveler's Rest and Pub.
Tomorrow: our last day. 7 hours to RHB!!

The view across the valley from our room
The Ashley House - our favorite B&B on the C2C

Day 13 - Glaisedale to Robin Hood's Bay: The Day of Fond Regret

19 miles, 7 hours, 1/2 ft duct tape
Accommodation: YHA Boggle Hole

We are finished! Ready to get a long night's sleep after 192 miles!
Well, this morning had a perfectly wonderful (English) breakfast at the Ashley House - in the lounge, and Margaret came to take our order and told us she'd "put the boy to work" - John came in and said hello with an apron on. Then Margaret put on some classical music for us. That's a first. We decided this was our favorite B&B - although we've certainly met some sweeties on the way.
Margaret and John chatted with us as we put on our boots - told us we had to look at Beggar's Bridge, built by, according to John, "a buccaneer, really, a pirate." Margaret:"Not a pirate! He just went to seek his fortune." John: "Just a nice way of saying he was a pirate. Freedom Fighters/terrorists, it just depends on what side you're on." They were lovely and sent us off.
We did take pictures at Beggar's Bridge, then through a wood, through Egton and Grosmont - sleepy little villages. We did see Egton Manor - a grand old stone estate on acres of green, something one sees in Austen movies. Donkeys lay on the grass, snoozing.

Beggar's Bridge, Glaisedale
Egton Manor

Also saw a lovely steam train huffing and puffing and hissing at Grosmont - which is where they filmed Harry Potter's platform 9 and 3/4! Bought some licorice toffee, which helped us up some steep streets.

Grosmont Station

Then into Little Beck Wood - really green and jungley, almost. We saw the famous Hermitage, carved out of rock - full of echoes and just the place for meditation. Falling Foss was beautiful, but it mostly exacerbated our urge to pee.

The Hermitage

Could it be the Hermit?

At Falling Foss. Aren't we cute? But really, we're just thinking: where, oh where, is the next walker-free place to pee?

And then up and up onto the Moors. Ah the Moors. This time they weren't misty or windy, but they were very boggy, so I was forced to change to boots and we trudged on and on. At least we got a good view of Whitby Abbey against the sea in the far distance.
As we got close to our final destination it seemed every trial got thrown our way, as a last test of sorts. Very boggy ground - at some point we had to jump across bogs in a valley full of them ("Who built this place?" I said without thinking). I had to throw my stick and pack to Devin and then nerve myself to leap over a particularly deep one.
Then through lots of stone and mud with the Motherlode of Animal Crap between two hedges - all achingly downhill. Then concrete walking, up and down through Hawsker, to jarr our shins. Finally we were rewarded with a terrific view of the North Sea and cliffs and pounding tide - and the cry of seagulls again!
We had a thoughtful sea cliff walk, thinking of all the things we've learned - from what stiles and kissing gates are to the joys of small villages and the goodness of varied items in a packed lunch! I think the greatest thing I've learned is that even a hobbit's life is hard - being in the story is harder than one thinks. Tolkien never really describes sore feet and aching knees, but they're there, along with the fear and desperation of the journey. I thought things would be as the Shire all along - tranquil, idyllic, golden. And they were - but there were equal parts pain and enduring suffering and despair. These were not "fun" - but they were also a part of what made the adventure an adventure - not just a lying about in leisure.
Even learning of our friend's husband and the planned terrorist attacks were part of this - reminders that a hobbit still lives in a world where Mordor and its works survive. The pain one feels - emotional but also physical - as an adventuring hobbit is against the pain inflicted by Mordor, or should be so that one should learn to embrace one's pain and make it another part of the long victory over evil. I believe it is a victory, in any case.
So I hope to keep all the landscape of the Lakes and Moors and Dales and Seas within me - through the pain and fun of what lies beyond. Maybe this will give me courage.
But back to the story! We did finally wend our way down through the lovely narrow streets of Robin Hood's Bay and to the sea. It was an emotional hello and goodbye - hello to the other coast and goodbye to our adventure. The North Sea was grey and somber, maybe reflecting a bit of our mood - as opposed to the dancingly golden Irish Sea that beautiful morning we headed out with such joy and hope in our hearts.
We stood in the tide and were still for a while. And then we realized the tide had really started coming in! So we threw our rocks (D claims we are upsetting the balance of the earth by moving these pebbles from coast to coast - yes, but very slowly) and made our way to the Bay Hotel and Wainwright's Bar and wrote in their Coast to Coast guestbook. We were happy to see Johann signed just a day earlier, and also Richard, the young man we met at Ennerdale YHA as well ("It seemed like a good idea at the time"). Old friends, they feel like now.
Then puzzled out how to get to Boggle Hole YHA - we decided to go along the coast and began a frantic scramble to beat the tide (by this time our feet were totally numb). Finally we asked a guy where Boggle Hole might be: "You've passed it by a bit." "Oh! We didn't even see it - we were trying to beat the tide." "Well, take your time - I think you'll make it, you have about 2 hours."
Found the YHA and immediately ordered our dinners (kipper pate, and the worst pasta ever - overcooked and apparently they haven't discovered salt as a crucial culinary element). We ate at our own table and the dining room was full of families with small children, so it felt a bit different than the other YHAs.
Now we are in our bunk room - tired and aching and ready to sleep it all away. What an adventure.


Below: the Closing Ceremonies, as outlined by Wainwright and walkers.

Dip boots in the sea, get your pebble from the Irish Sea and toss it in!

Smile for the applauding crowds

Excursion to Whitby Abbey - Another Abbey Great Harry Sat On

Long short, Henry VIII, in becoming the world's most notorious divorcee, told the Roman Catholic Church where to go and then began destroying its remaining vestiges in England. The ruins of the abbey at Whitby, on the coast of the North Sea about 20 min. north of Robin Hood's Bay, are still absolutely fantastic. I think all the open sun and blue sky and seagulls are actually probably better than the original dusty cloisters and chambers. Here's my evidence:

Beyond the ruins lies the sea, sparkling below the cliff wall.And here is the view from the bridge of Whitby Harbor:

The quaint (and highly touristy) streets of Whitby: