Saturday June 25 – Reeth to Richmond (12.5 miles)

It was heavily overcast when we went to the dining room for breakfast. The guesthouse offered the usual full breakfast, so we left quite full. The people we saw at breakfast seemed to the think warmer weather was in store, and we hoped that they were right.

We met the other 4 in front of their hotel at Fremington. Our route began by following along the river. Slowly the valley narrowed and we began to ascend the gentle hills on its left. At one point we passed into some woods, and the trail became composed entirely of stones. Although the sun didn’t appear, the temperature was getting warmer.

At the top of the hill, the scenery opened up. We made our way around the small town of Marrick, and then across several large fields before reaching Marske. Surprisingly we saw none of the folks we usually did one the trail. They were either ahead of us, or using a different route.

The next major town we found was Marske. There we found a pleasant old church, and after exploring that, everybody was happy to stop at a tea-house with a nice garden and get something to drink. The establishment was partly garden seating, and partly indoor restaurant, but the interesting thing was that the indoor seating was essentially surrounded by glass. Probably a good place to be, except on sunny days.

A short distance past the town we crossed a large field, and found a good spot for lunch. However, we were only about halfway through when it began to drizzle. Everybody packed up their stuff immediately and bundled into their raingear. The previous days had made us a bit skittish, I guess. In any case, we continued shortly after that. Our route traced along a hillside above the river. From it we had a view that increasingly mixed countryside with signs of suburbia. In the hills were the farms. At the bottom were car parks, and several large warehouse-like buildings.

The rain that had threatened disappeared quickly but the moisture did not and the last climb of the day was sweltering despite being under a dark canopy of trees. When we did emerge at the other side of the forest though, we were treated to a scene that included the sizable town of Richmond and its castle, amidst numerous other towns and the rest of the countryside. It was a pretty sight.

Descending to Richmond took us past first large, relatively new houses, then the community garden, and then the dense town center. After the small towns of the previous week, Richmond was a metropolis and we needed several sessions with the map to situate ourselves. Our accommodations were in the relatively upscale Frenchgate Guesthouse, and after dropping our packs their, Sassan and I went out to explore the town.

Defended on 3 sides by the Swale River and perched on a fairly steep hill, Richmond was ideally located for a medieval town. The citadel and its defending walls were in excellent condition, and positioned such that one could see them from most of the town. We followed pathway that lead on a very pleasant walk around the walls of the citadel, offering views of the river below and the castle above. In the central square, we paused in a food store and finally managed to get some local food – ewes milk cheese (or as others insisted on calling it – used-milk cheese).

In search of something slightly different, we opted for dinner at an Indian restaurant. There we also discovered the difficulties of coordinating dishes among 7 people. Fortunately, nobody was too picky and we ordered enough food for a small army, which proved just about the right amount for all of us. The most notable attribute of the restaurant, other than it being completely full of non-south-Asians, was that the bread (nan) was served in enormous strips hung vertically off huge hooks.

Friday June 24 – Keld to Reeth (12.5 miles)

We arose to blue skies. Breakfast was simple but filling. We managed to get all of the luggage packed well before the van showed up. When we said goodbye to the guesthouse and its owners, their dogs and cats were frolicking around in the front yard.

After meeting the others in the center of town, we decided on the day’s route. Rather than follow the low route along the bottom of the valley by the Swale river, we would take the high route through the Pennines and Britain’s old mining areas. We began by crossing the river and ascending. We passed a number of pieces of derelict farm equipment. Mark tried to drive the tractor he found half buried by the trail, but the missing gearbox proved in insurmountable obstacle.

The trail next traversed a subsidiary valley, leading us down past an old mining operation. Several stone buildings still stood in varying degrees of disrepair next to the creek. Then we climbed up another hill onto the broad shoulder of the ridge. We were not especially high up, but the views across the valley and its neighbors was expansive. Along the ridge we found some odd wooden and stone structures that we eventually realized were for grouse hunters. Farther along, we saw actual grouse, though they were less than pleased to see us.

Continuing down from the ridge, the trail broadened into a dirt road. We took our lunch outside an old shed, enjoying our views of the valley. The road took us down fairly rapidly after lunch, and by 2PM we were crossing a highway. There, in the middle of the Yorkshire Dales, with a pleasant afternoon sun shining on us, we lay down on the grass for a siesta. We probably could have spent all afternoon there, but one member of our group started flinging small objects the others. So after identifying the culprit, folks were up and we prepared to continue.

The hillside that we were traversing grew steadily larger. After a surprisingly steep stream crossing, we saw a large number of sheep bunched up in the distance. Soon we perceived a farmer in a tractor was behind them, attempting to herd them into a lower pasture. On each side of the farmer was a sheep dog, attempting to keep the sheep at the edges from peeling off. We watched for a bit.

Continuing our descent back to the Swale, we soon reached a decent-sized town. Almost all of the houses were stone, and the gardens were clearly well tended. In front of one house was a vintage automobile – a Triumph from the early 1960s. Even the phone both was impeccable. Still, after we had walked for 5 minutes and reached the end of town, we realized that this was not in fact the town were supposed to be in. We had descended the last hill prematurely.

So we followed a little path by the river. We soon met two people with a baby and two dogs. They appeared to be trying to teach the dog to swim, but the dog was more interested in getting anybody near him wet. We continued on our way. After half an hour, we emerged in a slightly larger town, and then on a town square where the remains of a farmer’s market was being put away. We had reached Reeth.

Having found a convenient pub at the edge of this square, Mark, Bob and Chris were happy to pause and enjoy a few pints. I was happy to let my feet rest and soak up the sun. After an hour or so, we split to go to our respective hotels. As soon as I had checked in at our hotel, I realized we’d lost S. A text message confirmed he had continued walking on to the next town. So I had to determine our location, and text directions back.

For dinner C’s group had arranged to eat at the Bridge Inn at Grinton. Indeed Chris and Mark were wondering why they couldn’t have spent the night there too (it had space available). We went to join them, enjoying a nice walk that took us past the local encampment of the British Caravanners Club. Dinner was good, although we were soon reminded that it was a Friday night by a very excited and somewhat loud group of 15 or so people at a nearby table. Faced with superior vocal cords, our conversation diminished somewhat. When we left the inn to return to the Arkleside Guesthouse, it had begun raining again.

Thursday June 23 – Kirkby Stephen to Keld

Things did not look wonderfully different in the morning. The sky was still gray, and my boots, in spite of heavy use of the hair dryer, were still excreting water. Our relaxed breakfast was interrupted by the news that the luggage van was there to pick up our luggage. Frantic packing ensued. Fortunately the van dropped by the other hotels first, giving us a chance to put things together and nothing was forgotten.

We met the others in front of the hotel at 9:30AM. To protect himself from the rain, Bob had a large rain poncho that looked not unlike a sail. With some work, he succeeded in securing it. We set off in the direction of Keld under heavy drizzle.

As usual, the day began with an ascent out of the valley. The first section was on road and we passed numerous other hikers on the same route as us. At the top of the first hill, we hit a substantial junction. The guide-books had warned us of a choice of different routes of varying degrees of bogginess. We opted for the summer route, but quickly discovered that it was nearly impossible to distinguish official established routes from use trails. We took what we thought was the driest way, and headed up.

Surprisingly, the weather actually improved as we climbed, and while the clouds didn’t lift, the rain stopped. At what seemed to be the high point of our trail, Chris suggested a detour to Nine Standard Riggs. I was interested but nobody else seemed to be, so the two of us split off in the direction of the ridge. The Nine Riggs were in fact not too far away, and after 20 minutes we reached them – 9 large rock monuments allegedly erected by the ancient inhabitants of the land. We had an interesting view across the valley too, and back to Kirkby Stephen.

After admiring the view, we saw another front of dark clouds to our north and decided we didn’t want to spend the next downpour on top of the boggiest summit in the Pennines, so we started down. We followed a trail, but a combination of bog and erosion meant the trail frequently degenerated into small mud bowls and ponds, and it required constant vigilance to avoid slipping. My boots were still wet from the previous day, so I soon gave up trying to avoid stepping in puddles, and just tried to avoid the mud where possible.

We aimed for the main road that we could see below. Imagine our surprise then when we reached the road and discovered the other 5 taking a snack break barely 100 ft. away. We took a snack break too.

We only followed the road for a short stretch. Then we left with the trail, climbing another hill and soon reached a pass. At the other side was the long valley of Birkdale, where the bog gave way to pasture. Soon the sun had come out again and we took a pause to enjoy the view and divest ourselves of excess raingear. Bob took a nap in the sun and we succeeded in continuing almost a quarter of a mile before he noticed we had disappeared.

The first farm we came to was at the edge of a wide stream. Tea and dessert was advertised so we sat down, and were quickly greeted by a friendly lady and her equally friendly little white dog. After we ordered, the dog amused himself by climbing up on the table and looking for food. Meanwhile, the two children, age 5 or 6, were having a grand time running after each other and the little boy was whooping with delight as he tried to prod his sister with a large rhubarb leaf. The sign in front of the farm said: Careful: free range children.

As we enjoyed our tea at the Ravenseat Farm, the blue sky again gave way to dark clouds. We didn’t get too far before the rain began once again. When we passed some stone sheds, we briefly considered whether it would be worth sheltering there, but the rain began to flag and when we turned the corner onto the valley of Swaledale, we could again see the sun.

The Swaledale was a pretty little valley indeed, and we took our time descending. The river had a series of little waterfalls and the banks were lined with rocks, grass and flowers. Just after reaching the road, we reached our accommodations, the Keld Guesthouse. As the rain was starting up again, we hurried indoors and the rest of the group hurried one. The Guesthouse proved a pleasant building with a few of the guests already arrived. We dried off, situated ourselves, and after a short chat with the proprietress, decided to wander off to town in search of dinner.

Dinner was had at the Keld Lodge, essentially the only restaurant in town. The lack of choice was no setback though – the poached salmon I had was delicious and the lodge proved a cozy place from which to watch the afternoon shadows lengthen over the valley. We saw a few of our fellow coast-to-coast hikers as well. After dinner we took a leisurely walk through town, admiring the new cultural center in its 17th century building. We met Chris and Mark on the road as we headed back toward the guesthouse, but the midges were beginning to swarm, so we said a quick good night and dashed indoors.

Wednesday June 22 – Shap to Kirkby Stephen – 20 miles

Most of our things were dry when we got up for breakfast, save for the boots. I tried not to have the full English breakfast, but largely failed. The weather was excellent when we met the others in the center of town. After a brief pause at the Coop market for some lunch materials, we were on our way.

Our trail took us almost straight east from the start. The terrain was the flattest we’d seen so far, with no major mountains or steep hills within view. After 20 minutes, we reached the M6 motorway. Happily there was a pedestrian overpass for us to cross on. The trail led us through the pastures in the gently rolling hills and we made good time for the first part of the morning. I took advantage of the rainless morning to exercise the camera some.

Around 11:30AM, we bypassed the town of Orton in favor of a scenic country lane. When we found a farm advertising tea and desserts everybody was happy to take a break. There I ordered my first English cream tea. The desserts were pretty good too. Just around the time we sat down it had begun to rain, and we took shelter under a conveniently-placed awning.

We resumed our walk just as the rain stopped, passing among numerous farms and across field after field. To our north, a dark cloud seemed to hover, but for the time being it gave us no trouble. We took a couple of pauses for snacks but tried to keep a good pace to stay on track for our destination. As a result of the hurry, we ended up on the wrong side of a stone wall around 3PM. Unable to find a turnstile or crossing point, we descended down to a gate, where Mark explained Alfred Wainright’s approach to crossing barbed wire – place a jacket on the fence first, so that if anything gets damaged, it is your jacket and not something more important. We crossed the gate without incident.

We enjoyed lunch on the other side of the fence, but once we had finished, the black cloud to our north had moved to more or less occupy the entire sky. Under threat of rain, we hurried up the hill. First came a slight wind, then a few drops, then a few more, and by the time we were nearly at the ridge, a downpour was in progress.

The rain did not let up as we began our descent on the other side of the hill toward Kirkby Stephen. The fields we walked through rapidly turned into ponds with every little stream suddenly swelling to twice its normal size. One little stream that we delayed crossing had become so wide by the time we tried to gain the other bank that we had to go wading.

The final indignity came near a dairy farm. There the trail used an underpass to cross the railroad. The underpass was dry enough but at the other side we were faced with about 30 cows staring at us. The only path they left us was a deep brown pond that smelled freshly fertilized. Still, if you are going to pass through a muddy pond full of cow poop, best to do it while it’s raining heavily. The rain cleaned the smell and anything else off our boots in no time.

We reached Kirkby Stephen a little after 6PM. The rain which had abated slightly was back to its torrential best. Bob, Sassan and I wished our friends a good night, and ran for our hotel. The Black Bull did not unfortunately have a drying area, but with a generous donation of newspaper and liberal use of the heater and hairdryer we managed to mostly get dry. Dinner we ate downstairs in the pub, happy not to have to face any more rain for the day. I had fish cakes which were excellent, but I would have been happy with anything that was warm and cooked.

Tuesday June 21 – Patterdale to Shap – 16 miles

Breakfast was a simple but substantial affair at the hostel. After we had deposited our luggage in the lobby, we began our walk down the main road toward to the White Lion. Already it was drizzling. We stopped at the general store, which proved quite well equipped for hikers. The prognosis for the day’s weather wasn’t looking too good.

We started off once again a little before 10AM, having been slightly delayed by the process of purchasing sandwiches (packed lunches) for the day. Our trail skirted the town and after a short while we were steadily ascending in the generally easterly direction of Kidsty Pike. As we went up, the fog came down. Once we were firmly ensconced in a thick bank of fog, the rain began. Then came the rain.

With visibility limited to 20 feet and rain coming down at all sort of inconvenient angles, the walk became primarily a matter of keeping in eyesight of the person in front. We climbed a fair amount, but thanks to the wind and cold nobody was interested in taking a break. Once we were near the ridge, we met several other groups. They didn’t look any drier than we did. We did make one stop after a junction, and waited nearly 10 minutes for the other half of the group to rejoin us. They had taken a wrong turn and nearly headed back toward Patterdale.

We reached the high point of the day, Kidsty Pike, around noon. There was no view. A few people put on rain pants, but I didn’t both as I was already thoroughly soaked. Descending from Kidsty Pike my visibility was further reduced by rain on my glasses, but somehow or other I managed to keep within eyeshot of the group. The weather did slowly improve after we began our downward walk.

Eventually the rain did stop, and we were greeted with a view of the Haweswater Reservoir, at the bottom of the next valley. There was a road on the far side of the reservoir, but on our side, there was only a trail and an occasional fence. We stopped at a junction just above the reservoir and had a quick lunch. Naturally, it began to rain again as we were finishing.

The walk around the reservoir appeared from a distance to be a flat one. This of course proved to be an illusion, as the trail proceeded to climb and drop continuously as it skirted boulders, forests and whatnot. By the end of the 4 miles around the reservoir, my sodden feet were beginning to get quite blistered. Still, the views were quite unique, including the dam at the head of the valley, and the fog lent everything an air of mystery.

Past the head of the dam, the terrain flattened out. Steep valleys and ridges turned to gently rolling hills, and the rocks and boulders were replaced once more with rolling grasslands. Far to our east, we could begin to make out roads and villages. The sun too decided that this would be an appropriate point to make a reappearance.

Our route to Shap passed through a bewildering array of fences, turnstiles and unmarked junctions. Fortunately, Chris and Mark had good maps and we did not end up having to make any detours. After a particularly nice meadow, we proceeded alongside a small creek and found ourselves face to face with the ruins of an old building. This proved to be Shap Abbey, a great church establishment in the Middle Ages that had fallen afoul of Henry VIII’s feud with the Catholic Church. Some parts, particularly one of the towers, were still intact, and we spent a pleasant half hour exploring the remains of the building and soaking in the afternoon sun.

The final 2 miles were fairly uneventful, save for a pause in the middle of a field where Mark found a sheep stuck on its back with its legs in the air. Once in such a situation, sheep apparently cannot right themselves, and are liable to die of thirst if not assisted. With one quick movement, he grabbed the back of the sheep and rotated it to its feet. The sheep seemed a bit shocked by the whole proceeding, but was happy enough to resume its normal routine.

We reached Shap after 6PM. It proved to be not so much a town as a single street lined with shops, houses and small courts, and stretching over a mile in length. Thus it took almost 20 minutes for us to reach our hotel, The Kings Arms, more than twice as long as the rest of the group took to reach theirs. Aside from being right next to the main road, it seemed a good spot, and we were happy to see that they had a good drying room.

For dinner we all met at the Greyhound Pub, a place heavily recommended by the guys we’d met at the youth hostel the night before. The Greyhound was actually rather upscale for a pub, but nobody complained. In an effort to enjoy something local, I had a lamb burger for dinner. It was a good choice. We also saw a couple of folks we’d seen on previous days hikes in the bar. When we left the pub to return to our hotel, it was raining again. We ran the ¼ mile to the Kings Arms.

Monday June 20 – Grasmere to Patterdale

Nobody was in too much of a hurry in the morning. The weather looked nice, with no sign of the previous days’ rains, save for a few puddles. Breakfast, like dinner, was a significant affair. I had conventional fare, but most of the group decided to try haddock. When we set off a little before 10AM, the sky overhead was clear and blue and it was actually feeling a touch on the warm side.

We followed the main road out of Grasmere for about half a mile before turning off. The road was full of cars on their way to or from Grasmere. The trail took us up through hillsides covered in bracken and to the right of the valley that led to Griesdale Tarn. As we climbed, our view of Grasmere and the surrounding valleys expanded, but so did the tiny clouds overhead. It took nearly 2 hours to reach the tarn, by which point the blue skies had largely been replaced by gray.

At the tarn, the group split up, with Bridget, Michelle and Sassan taking the southern route and Chris, Mark, Bob and I heading to the north side of the source of Goldrill Beck. After the tarn, our trail immediately turned into a series of steep switchbacks. At the top of Dollywagon Pike, the ridge broadened as did our views. We could see Helvellyn, England’s third highest peak, just up the ridge ahead of us. The trail there was a gentle traverse with a small ascent near the end.

From Helvellyn, we had an excellent view of the Lakes District. Below and before us were the Ullswater, Patterdale, and the sharp edge of the Striding Edge (ridge). Behind us were Grasmere and numerous other little towns, as well as several lakes. To the west we could just make out the coast. To the northwest, we could even see a long cape of land that Mark indicated was part of Scotland. It was quite a sight.

We ate our quick lunch on the eastern edge of the peak, staring down at Striding Edge, and admiring as people seemed to climb straight up the near-vertical hillside to the top of Helvellyn.

The immediate after-lunch descent was precipitous. The trail did switchback, but it was still a steep and rocky way down. Once we were down the top 100m, we were at the beginning of Striding Edge. There one had a choice to climb along the ridge, a mass of class 2 and 3 rocks and boulders with considerable exposure, or to follow the narrow trail that yoyod up and down between gullies and cliffs. I tried the ridge for a bit, then opted for the trail. The rest of the group stuck to the ridge.

After ¼ mile the ridge slowly began to broaden. We all took the trail from that point. The clouds in the sky had ceased to grow and the sun actually returned when we crossed the ridge for the last time to get our view of Patterdale. Getting down to Patterdale took a decent amount of time, and as Chris and I were stopping for photos, Mark and Bob zoomed ahead. When we reached the bottom, flower-filled pastures had replaced the steep hillsides and boulders we had seen above. The sun was also out again, and the air was warm and full of insects.

The last stretch to Patterdale took us in and out of a small wood, across a bog and finally down onto the main road. It wasn’t hard to find Mark and Bob – they were seated at an outdoor table next to the White Lion Pub & Inn enjoying a few pints of the local ‘Black Sheep’ ale. I explored Patterdale a bit, before joining them to wait for the others.

Patterdale proved yet another small town, with one pub, one hotel, one general store and a youth hostel, but not much else. It was situated on a hillside slightly above the Ullswater, with views down and across that lake. When the others arrived after a pleasant but uneventful trip via the other ridge, Bob, Sassan and I left to go to the Youth Hostel where we were to spend the night. This was a much larger affair than the place we’d stayed 2 nights before, and we were lodged in a large common room with a dozen beds. While we were unpacking and organizing two gentleman we’d seen before came in, and we learned they were doing the hike east-to-west (opposite us), but doing the legs from west to east, using two cars to transport themselves and their gear. A complicated arrangement.

For dinner, we rejoined the others at the White Lion. The place was almost completely full and after a few pints, everybody seemed quite lively. Having not quite learned my lesson, I had vegetable lasagna which seemed biased heavily against the vegetables and in favor of the cheese. We walked back to the hostel around 10PM and I had no difficulty falling asleep.

Sunday June 19 – Longthwaite to Grasmere (8.5 miles)

When we awoke for breakfast, it was raining. It was still raining when we set off from the Honister Youth Hostel for Longthwaite an hour and a half later. We managed to avoid walking along the main road down from the pass, instead descending via a hillside trail. While the route looked obvious on the map, it was a little more complicated in practice, and when we saw a small town below, we immediately took the first path that looked to take us down the hill. But the hamlet we arrived in didn’t appear to have our friends’ accommodation in it, so puzzled, we continued on. Half a mile later, we arrived in the correct town.

At the Borrowdale Youth Hostel, we found Michelle and Mark, but Bridget and Chris were off looking at the ancient yew trees nearby, so we waited a bit a the hostel and watched the rain falling. It was almost 11AM when we set all set off from the hostel for Patterdale. It was still raining.

Our route took us down through two other tiny villages. In one, we found an open shop and bought some cheese (not local, but it was the only thing they had). Then our trail took a sharp right, to beginning ascending one of the subsidiary valleys. The landscape consisted of sloping fields, occasional trees and more than a few streams bounding down from the hills above. Most striking however were the stone fences that criss-crossed the seemingly otherwise untouched hillsides. The sheer amount of effort required to put together just a small section of these fences was hard to wrap one’s head around.

The trail took us steadily upward. Michelle and Mark were ahead of us, preferring not to take any pauses given how cold the rain was making things. We followed, with occasional pauses. The trail gradually left the right bank of the Langstreth Beck which it had followed, then climbed steeply toward a pass. With the rain and low-lying fog we discovered the pass wasn’t really any such thing, and there was another ascent through what was effectively becoming a bog to reach the actual pass. All of us were cold and quite wet when we arrived at the saddle around 1PM. Michelle and Mark were finishing lunch just on the other side.

Since the rain had mostly stopped, we took our lunch break on the pass too. Indeed, we saw a few beams of sunlight break through the clouds on the valley below. After lunch, we began the long descent toward Grasmere. The valley was fairly wide, and we followed the trail down as it crisscrossed between streams and among boulders. The rain had made things slippery too, so we took our time. At length, the valley began to flatten out and we encountered first sheep, then some dilapidated stone sheds, and eventually a few farms.

We followed the Langdale Beck down toward Grasmere for much of the afternoon. Once we left the upper section, the rocks and boulders gave way to lush pastures full of wildflowers. The steeper hillsides were heavily forested. The trail became a road, and the road deposited us in central Grasmere.

Grasmere was by far the largest town we’d encountered since leaving Kirkby Stephen. The main streets were filled with people, and we stopped in a café for some hot drinks and watched them pass by for a while. Then we headed off to check in at the Oak Bank Hotel. Unlike the previous nights, this was a fairly luxurious affair, with a cozy sitting room and a large dining room. We spent some time drying off and relaxing before reconvening for dinner around 8PM.

Dinner at the hotel was an elaborate affair consisting of 4 courses. I don’t remember quite what I had, but the meal included a sea bass main course, quail eggs as part of the starter, and a pretty good salad. Dessert was nice too. Of course as we were celebrating the birthdays of Bridget and Chris, it was only appropriate to have such a meal on that day!

After dinner, Chris, Bob, Sassan and I took a little walk to see Wordsworth’s cottage. The famous poet had lived in the town for a good portion of his life, and we were anxious to see his home. It proved a substantial building, much larger than the image the term ‘cottage’ signified to me. In spite of the near-darkness, we also managed to locate his grave in the cemetery. After the soggy day and big dinner, we slept well.

Saturday June 18 – Ennerdale Bridge to Longthwaite via Red Pike (16.5 miles)

When I got up at 7AM, things seemed to have returned to normal. Electricity was restored and everybody was getting prepared for breakfast. S, Bob and I had stayed in the ‘bunkhouse’ portion of the farm, essentially a large room with a dozen beds in it. It had worked out quite nicely really.

Breakfast was the real deal. While I didn’t quite have the traditional ‘Full English breakfast’, it was still more than enough – toast, marmalade, hash browns, poached eggs, sausages and several other things I must be forgetting. Then we had to repack our bags for the luggage service before setting off. The proprietor of the farm, despite the long night (the electrician had come at 1AM, and he had been up again at 5), was quite friendly and philosophical about the whole thing. We learned that the farm included not only sheep and crops, but a riding school and the horses we’d seen on the hike the day before. He was evidently used to long days in the summer!

It was nearly 10AM by the time we had begun walking down the hill toward Ennerdale Bridge. This time we made no stops, continuing past a stream and an old mill to a trail on the south side of the Ennerdale Water, a large lake occupying most of the narrow valley we were to walk through. Unlike the previous day, there was little sign of civilization once we left town, and the trail skirted boulders and small stands of trees as it steadily traversed around the lake. We passed Robin Hood’s chair which afforded a nice view of the valley.

Beyond the lake, the trail continued up the valley, through a forest under the management of the local forestry council. We didn’t see any wildlife, but a few hundred yards from their office we did meet first a chicken and then a rather friendly cat. It was a little after noon and at this point the group split. Bridget, Michelle, Mark and Sassan opted to take the standard route, while Chris, Bob and I decided to try the high route, via Red Pike and the ridge. The weather was cool and mostly overcast, but not overtly threatening of rain.

Our route immediately began climbing steeply for the ridge. The trail passed through a combination of ferns and bushes, and we saw a decent number of sheep as well. After nearly an hour, we left the bracken for grass and reached the ridge. We had occasional views, but a low fog was blowing by as well. We encountered a good number of people on top of Red Pike. We couldn’t see too much because of the fog, so after a snack break, we continued along the ridge. Through gaps in the fog we could see down both the valley of Ennerdale and the adjacent valley containing Buttermere.

The ridge walk was quite rocky belying the impression I had had of English hills as gentle and rolling. We passed 2 other summits, pausing for photos on each and reaching an elevation of more than 800 meters before making a very steep descent down more than 300m only to begin climbing a set of jumbled rocks and hills known as Haystacks. In a few places the trail gave way to boulders and we had to simply haul ourselves up on them.

The view from the top of Haystacks was quite expansive, including two valleys, several long ridges and a great deal more. Our trail continued along the ridge, past several little tarns before finally leaving the ridge to cross the watershed and climb the next ridge on the left toward the remnants of the old slate mine. We rejoined the main trail near an old structure built entirely from flat rocks, and after reaching the top began our descent following the same route as the now dismantled tram line to the mine.

It took about half an hour to descend to the slate mine, and our timing was exactly right, for the rain that had been threatened for much of the afternoon had finally arrived. We ducked into the Honister slate mine’s gift shop for a bit before the half of the group headed for Longthwaite began their last leg. Bob, Sassan and I remained as we were staying at the adjacent youth hostel, a few hundred feet away.

The Youth Hostel Assocation’s building was a well appointed one with a good view of the surrounding area. We had (for a price) gotten our own room. Checking in involved a slightly bewildering array of choices, from what dinner meal we wanted to have, to what our breakfast was to be the next morning (and of course when). Still, once we were settled it proved a comfortable area. Our room had a view of the hillside and we could admire the sheep as they wandered to and fro methodically clipping the grass with their mouths.

In spite of the complicated procedures, dinner was actually a very simple affair. The food was decent, but it was clear that everything was being more or less prepared the same way, which made all the fuss doubly puzzling. I went to bed shortly after dinner. None of us were feeling sufficiently energetic for an after-dinner walk down the hill to Longthwaite.

Friday June 17 – St. Bees to Ennerdale Bridge (14 miles)

We awoke at 6AM after a shortish night. It was already quite light out, thanks to our northern latitude and we quickly finished packing, leaving one bag behind and setting the other down in the hotel lobby to be picked up by the luggage service. After a short wait in the sunlight by the bus stop, the Penrith bus arrived and 5 minutes later deposited us at the train station at the far end of town. Soon we were passing rapidly through the Cumbrian countryside, headed north on the 7:40AM train to Carlisle.

We arrived in Carlisle just before the next west coast-bound train left, but we didn’t find the right track until it after was gone. So left with an hour to wait, we walked through the pleasant old town in search of a bakery. Breakfast was had at the train station café. Finally around 9:30, we boarded the train for St. Bees.

As we headed south and west toward the coast, the weather got progressively worse. Morning sun was replaced by darkening clouds. The seashore looked beautiful and dramatic, but before we had reached St. Bees rain had started again. We did receive some encouraging words from a fellow passenger who had come down for the day from Edinburgh wearing shorts.

Once we had left the train at St. Bees, we bundled into rain gear, and after asking for directions to the coast, headed straight along the main road up a hill. This proved a mistake, as in addition to encountering a fair amount of traffic, we apparently bypassed the first section to the hike. We didn’t realize this until after nearly an hour when we met some fellow hikers. The arrangement was to meet the rest of our group (who had taken the bus from Kirkby Stephen) above the beach, so we decided to follow the trail in the opposite direction as our route, in hopes of finding them.

We crossed a number of fields, passed through the little town of Sandwith and after some debate as to which way the trail went, reached the sea just above a large quarry. There, to our relief we found the rest of the group. After retracing our steps to the main road we continued eastward. The rain slackened in the early afternoon, so we had a brief lunch in a field within view of the rail line before taking the trail onto the route of a dismantled rail line that now served as a bike path. We met several other groups along the way beginning the same hike as us.

At length the route took us through the edge of Cleator Moor and then left the town and fields to climb steeply up a wooded hillside for the first major exertion of the day. We reached the top of the hill around 3PM and were afforded wide views of the surrounding area as well as the sea. Our break was cut short by a sudden outburst of rain, driven into our faces by the stiff wind.

The descent was surprisingly steep, but when we reached the bottom of the next valley, the rain had stopped, and we were treated to snacks prepared by Chris and B’s mother. Then it was up another little valley where we passed a large group of horses before turning off the main route to arrive at a large farm where we would spend the night.

The first priority, as would become routine over the next 2 weeks, was to get dry. Once this was accomplished, there was dinner to figure out. The English contingent of our group had reservations for dinner at the farm. The other 3 of us had not, so we decided to walk down the hill to the town of Ennerdale Bridge. We wound up at the Fox and Hounds Pub in the center of what was a very pleasant, but quite small town.

The pub was a popular spot. In addition to a few other hikers, there were plenty of locals. There I learned that in a pub one must order at the bar and that unlike American bars, pubs actually have a fair selection of food. I had lasagna, which was good save for the fact that nearly half the dish was cheese! Bob said the beer was quite good too. Just as we were planning on leaving Chris and Mark arrived in search of a drink, having finished dinner at the farm. So we hung around for a bit. Mark was interested in seeing what the town’s other pub had to offer, so before returning we had a wander through town, and everybody had another pint at the Shepherd’s Arms. There was still plenty of light as we trudged back up the hill to the farm, well after 10PM.

I was in the restroom brushing my teeth a little while later when the lights went off. We quickly discovered that the power for the entire farm was off. It turned out that the power strip that Sassan had brought along as a way to charge camera batteries and cell phones had a surge protector in it, and rather than protecting against a surge, had caused one. Not only that, but the power at the two neighboring houses had also been disabled. When I went to bed soon after, the proprietor of the farm was arguing on the phone with the electric company. It had been a full first day.

Wednesday June 15 and Thursday June 16 – Getting to Kirkby Stephen

As with many trips I’ve been on, this trip started out late and in a bit of a hurry. Last minute errands lead to last minute packing, so Sassan and I didn’t leave for the airport until less than 2 hours before our flight to London was to depart. We figured SFO wouldn’t be too crowded at 2PM on a weekday afternoon. We were wrong.

After several false starts that had us waiting in line at the wrong terminal, we finally found the correct luggage check-in counter, and were greeted with a line of approximately 500 people also waiting to check in their luggage. Clearly simply waiting was not going to work, so I found the nearest airline representative and told him our flight was going to leave in 20 minutes. He wasn’t especially sympathetic, but after he had successfully made his point about how we should have known better, should have gone to the right terminal and so forth, he did check in our bags for us. We rushed to the security line, got through reasonably quickly, and ran through the terminal to the gate just as the PA system was announcing last call. We were the last two people onto the plane.

The flight itself was comparatively relaxed. A few hours in, the clouds below cleared up and we were greeted with a nice view of the Great Plains. Closer inspection showed that a number of rivers had expanded beyond their customary boundaries, engulfing fields, staining the landscape a muddy brown, and submerging major roads in impressive fashion. I napped fitfully over the Atlantic, watched a singularly stupid movie, and finally awoke to see the southern portion of Ireland pass below. We arrived at London’s Heathrow airport around 7AM local time.

We found Bob without too much trouble at the coffee shop in the neighboring terminal. Heathrow was big enough that it required a 10 minute monorail ride just to get from one terminal to another. From Heathrow we took the London Underground (the ‘tube’) across town to Kings Cross Station. It took nearly an hour to pass through the 20+ stops in between. Kings Cross proved a busy but surprisingly small train station that bore little resemblance to the version in the Harry Potter movies (later we learned those were filmed at the neighboring St. Pancras station). It was raining outside and we had a collection of heavy luggage, so we waited in the train station until just after noon for our train.

From Kings Cross, we took the train to Leeds. It was a fairly fast train and in a little more than an hour we were deposited at the station there. In between, we were treated to various bits of England’s towns and countryside. It was raining fairly insistently when we left London, but the weather improved as we headed north. At Leeds, we transferred to a much smaller train. Soon we were passing through gently rolling hills, treated to beautiful views as we passed from one little town to another. At one point, the ticket collector, noticing our cameras, told us of a scenic viaduct shortly ahead. He was right – it was quite a sight.

At length we arrived in Kirkby Stephen, our destination for the night. Our first discovery was that the station and town were about a mile apart. So we sat in the café at the lovingly restored station (a ‘heritage’ station, part of the corresponding ‘heritage’ railway line) and drank tea while awaiting the bus into town. The bus dropped us at our hotel, a pleasant establishment called The Kings Arms which also featured a restaurant and bar.

After a brief rest, we set out to explore the town on foot. Chris and the rest of the group hadn’t arrived yet, so we made it down the main road as far as the brewery before turning back. Imaging our surprise when halfway back to the hotel a car pulled up alongside us with none other than Chris and Bridget inside. We greeted them and Michelle and Mark (who had by then also arrived) at their B&B and after some deliberation elected to eat dinner at The Kings Arms (it was recommended in Chris’s book). The 7 of us enjoyed a good meal at the restaurant. We made a plan for the following morning as half the group was going to the start of the route with the luggage bus while Bob, Sassan and I were taking the train. Then, at long last, we succumbed to jet lag and headed for bed. It was past 10PM GMT and the sun had still not yet set.