Day 17 -- Danby Wiske to Osmotherley, 10 miles

Nature provided another pleasant day for walking in the countryside. At a railway overpass, I came upon Geoff and Dave, who said they were former railroad men, watching the signals down the line in anticipation of an oncoming train. I had met both of them previously. They are completing their final stage of the Coast to Coast, Richmond to Robin Hood’s Bay.

I quickly launched into a discussion of trains, drawing upon my extensive knowledge of railways acquired in the 1950s when my Lionel locomotive chugged around the Christmas tree. I must have impressed them, because they let me walk with them a good part of the morning.

After we stopped along the trail for a morning coffee break, Andrew came along, and I joined him for a short walk to Ingleby Cross, where he and I reached the pub just in time for another break. As we prepared to leave the pub, Normand and Marie-Helene arrived, so Andrew and I extended our break. The four of us were ready to leave, when Leo, Lynn and Charlotte arrived. Having already had enough breaks for the day, I decided to move on with Andrew, Normand and Marie-Helene. We continued on as Geoff and Dave arrived at the pub for their second break. I’m beginning to understand why walking is so popular in Britain, and it has very little to do with actual walking.

The Mt. Grace Priory is one of those heritage sites that dates back many centuries – this one to the year 1400. When not actually breaking, the British people visit these sites to remember how people once built large stone buildings between their work breaks.

Despite all my breaks, I finally arrived at my destination. It was too late in the day for another break, so I joined Geoff and Dave for happy hour, after which we went to dinner and developed solutions for all the world’s problems. I don’t remember all the solutions, but I think some of them involved locomotives and Christmas trees. 

Day 16 -- Richmond to Danby Wiske, 14 miles

Before discussing today’s hike, I should report on the performance at the Georgian Theater last night. The program was entitled Legend of the Hammond, so I knew it would have something to do with an organ. The Hammond organ was invented in the mid-1930s, but really came into its own in the 1950s and 1960s when music was written expressly for it. Because jazz and rock comprised most of the music of that era, that''s what was written for the Hammond. Friday's performance featured the organ, accompanied by drums, two acoustic guitars, and a vocalist. I wasn’t a contemporary music fan back then, but I recognized most of the music along with some of the artists whose works featured the Hammond organ: Frank Sinatra, Janis Joplin, Joe Cocker, and a few other names I can’t now recall after today’s 14 mile hike. Anyway, the performance was enjoyable, and I shared intermission with a nice couple in the next box, Ian and Catherine. Small though the theater was, the music sounded great, to the extent that rock music ever sounds great. Thanks to the hosts of the Old Brewery Guest House, Lisa and Bryan, for encouraging me to attend.

This morning Bryan offered me additional duct tape to mend my boots, but as I thought the external mend would not hold anyway, but that the internal mend would, I declined to mend them any further. I did take several wraps of the tape for future use. (I carry duct tape wrapped around my first add kit, because I mostly use it on my feet, like real athletes.)

Everyone I met on the trail agreed that today’s weather was the finest since the walk began – blue skies, sunshine, not a drop of rain, and temps in the upper 60s F. The footpaths were dry and the footing firm.

Richmond Castle

Sonja on Ginger

Church at Bolton-on-Swale

Shortly beyond Richmond, I met Andrew, and he and I walked together the entire day. Andrew is one of those walkers who glides along the path, never seeming to be affected by terrain, footing or obstacles. I’m a good walker, too, and I probably glide for 6 or 7 miles, but after that my stride deteriorates to something between a stumble and a controlled forward fall. As a result, he kept pulling away from me – until we met Charlotte, who you’ll remember that I first met near the Nine Standards.

Charlotte travels with a cute little Teddy Bear, like Jack Frost’s Homer Simpson and Daryl May’s Hobson. (Long distance walkers are an odd bunch. Some of them even carry Irish Sea rocks.) Anyway, Charlotte’s bear, Adventure Ted, has had quite a history – so much so that I had to get out my note pad write it all down. AT has been to Australia, Germany, France, Greece, Guatemala – and even spent a night in jail in Thailand. (He was kidnapped and recovered by the police, but wasn’t reunited with Charlotte until the next day. At least that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.) I couldn’t very well write all of this down while carrying hiking poles, so I handed my poles to Andrew, who couldn’t very well glide away from me while holding my poles. So Andrew, Charlotte, AT, and I all walked (or in my case, stumbled) the rest of the way together to Danby Wiske. 

Adventure Ted

"When you reach the fork, take it."

Day 15 -- Richmond

I spent today constructively and educationally. Constructively, I repaired my boots; educationally, I toured an historic theater in which I will attend a performance this evening.

The upper of my right boot has started to split. The sole still has plenty of tread, but I’m not sure why the upper has weakened. It’s possible that I caught the upper on a nail or barbed wire that caused a slight tear; or more likely, my feet are moving faster than my boots, and have started to break out. It’s tough for manufacturers to make boots that move as fast as my feet.

It really isn’t possible to repair the boot, but with the magic of duct tape, I have attempted to reinforce the upper to slow further tearing. I know the fix would work in dry Utah, but I doubt the tape will hold in wet England. Still, the uppers need last only six more weeks and 450 more miles to complete their task.

 

In any event, these boots will be retired at the end of this walk, and will not be returning home with me. I suspect that the US agricultural inspectors are rooting for the boots to last the entire walk, because if I buy new boots, the new ones will be coming home.

My private tour of the theater was led by a charming guide named Pat. I can't remember everything she said, so I'm making up a lot that follows.

 

Pat

 

The Richmond Georgian Theater dates from 1788, and is one of several built throughout northern England to accommodate roaming performers, but is the only one remaining. Aside from updated engineering to comply with fire and safety regulations, most of the theater retains its original construction. Some parts that were lost forever as the building evolved to other uses over the centuries, were lovingly restored as accurately as historians could reconstruct from information known about other lost theaters.

 

I’m told that all stages slope towards the audience. In a small theater, the slope is very pronounced. But even large stages slope, especially in Utah where productions involve water.

 

 

The little theater originally held as many as 400 people. But over-indulgence in beer and ice cream now limits the occupancy to 200. If I wear my boots to tonight's performance, there will be many fewer. 

Day 14 -- Richmond

I was supposed to walk to Reeth today, but the hotel where I had a reservation was double-booked, so I was bumped. Bed and breakfasts in the U.K. charge by the person rather than by the room, so it is likely that I was bumped in favor of a two-person booking. With no other accommodations available in Reeth, I opted to say at the same B&B in Richmond where I was scheduled to stay on Friday. I planned to walk to Reeth, then take a bus to Richmond.

 

Keld
 

The bus service in Swaledale (where both Reeth and Richmond are located) is poor. There are three buses between Reeth and Richmond each day. Each bus is a mini-bus holding 16 passengers; reservations are required for the afternoon bus. While I may have been able to make reservations for the afternoon bus, I wasn’t sure I could arrive in Reeth before it left, so I decided to take the morning bus from Keld all the way to Richmond, and spend the day there.

Richmond is a delightful market town, with ample restaurants and services, an historic castle, a lovely river walk. Janet and I had already visited the castle in 2012, so today I walked a pleasant 4 miles along the River Swale.

 

Bridge over River Swale 

Along the way, I stopped at “The Station,” a former railway station that was closed in 1969 with the dismantling of unprofitable railroads by Richard Beecham. What had become a derelict building has been restored to commercial businesses as such buildings often are. It was after the lunch hour, so I stopped at The Angels Share Bakery that recently had won a top award for its “Cumberland pie.”  I had a nice discussion with the owner/baker, Alex, and Sam, who was serving the customers. The pie was delicious, but it disappeared too quickly.

 

Cumberland Pie

Alex and Sam

Outside, Yvonne and Mike were celebrating the completion of a walk with ice creams, a British tradition possibly second only to quaffing pints.

 

 

Resuming my loop walk, I passed St. Agathas Abbey, yet another monastery dissolved by Henry VIII.

 

 

Continuing along the river, I eventually returned to my B&B, whose garden is occupied by a weather frog.

 

Day 13 -- Kirkby Stephen to Keld, 14 miles

Elaine, the hostess at Bollam Cottage B&B, recommended a route to the Nine Standards different from that recommended in the Coast to Coast guides. Her route crossed several pastures, and passed through a lovely wood into Ewbank Scar, a striking rock formation through which Ladthwaite Beck cascades. Her recommendation required some time-consuming route finding and careful map-following, but was worth every bit. About the same length of the “official” route, her route substituted about 2 miles of scenic footpath for approximately the same distance of road walking. Thanks for the recommendation, Elaine.

 

Ewbank Scar

Where Elaine’s route joined the “official” route, I met John and Charlotte, who were walking separately, but happened to be at the trail junction at the same time.

 

Charlotte; John

While talking with them, I saw several approaching walkers whom I mistook to be Dennis, Lynne, Dave, and Sara, but who turned out to be a group of ladies from California and Washington. They have been hiking together, on and off, for about 40 years. Unfortunately, one of their friends, Patti, was unable to join them this time, so they carried her image with them. We all (except Flat Patti) chatted as we hiked up to the Nine Standards.

 

Julie, Cheryl, Tricia, Flat Patti, Donna and Maggie

The Nine Standards are 9 large cairns that have adorned the ridge east of Kirkby Stephen since time immemorial. Nobody knows who built them, or when or why they were built.

From the Nine Standards I followed a very boggy ridge approximately 2½ miles, with a cold wind blowing incessantly. A feeling of isolation permeates one’s being atop the high, exposed, featureless moor; to the far horizon in every direction I saw no one else the entire time – not even sheep. Except for the ever-present water, I might as well have been on the moon.

After more than an hour, I reached a crossing path on which Andrew, Normand and Marie-Helene were walking. Andrew and I are kindred spirits: he is an Australian, solo walking 500 miles in England and Scotland this summer. Normand and Marie-Helene are Canadians, living in Montreal. I had briefly met them last night at dinner with the Ullswater steamer group, but hadn’t had a chance to speak with them.

 

Marie-Helene, Normand, and Andrew 

Normand is a meteorologist working for the Canadian government. I asked if he had heard of my brother-in-law, James Holton, who was a professor of atmospheric sciences at the University of Washington. As if we had been transported to the scene from Romancing the Stone in which Juan discovers that author Joan Wilder is outside his compound's gate, the following dialogue ensued. I am absolutely not making this up.

“You know James Holton?” he responded.

Marie-Helene joined in, “Holton?? He knows James Holton??”

Normand continued, “I read his book. It’s a classic of meteorological science. I keep it on my desk. I met James Holton some years ago at a lecture he presented to Canadian scientists.”

When I mentioned that Jim had died 12 years ago, Normand said that he still uses the 2^nd edition of Jim’s book to study for competitive exams necessary for promotions. He observed that Jim’s book is somewhat dated, but it’s apparently still the best thing out there for its subject matter.

Jim had walked the Coast to Coast a few years before his death, so we were traveling in his footsteps.

Jim Holton

Andrew, Normand, Marie-Helene and I continued on and met up with Leo and Lynn at Ravenseat farm, where writer Amanda Owen maintains a primitive tea room in an old shed. We stopped for tea and scones as the rain started falling. The sun was shining when we left a half hour later to walk the rest of the way to Keld.



Tea time
Lynn, Leo, Norman, Marie-Helene, and Andrew

Lynn and Leo

Day 12 -- Orton to Kirkby Stephen, 13 miles

At breakfast this morning, Sara mentioned that she had seen a hedgehog yesterday. That, in itself, was not startling because virtually every walker sees hedgehogs. But they are always flat, two-dimensional things that have become one with the road. Nobody has ever actually seen a three-dimensional hedgehog, until yesterday.

Universal practice in scientific communities requires that new discoveries be named after the discoverer.  So it’s only right that Sara’s discovery be named after her. Of course, it would be confusing to name the hedgehog Sara – poor Dave wouldn’t know who to accompany if, for example, he and Sara were invited to dinner. So to avoid confusion, Sara’s hedgehog will henceforth be known as Sarah, the “h” signifying “hedgehog.”

 

Sarah  (Image by Sara Watkins)

It is commonly known that walkers can be a jealous lot, and as soon as the others at breakfast learned about Sarah, they wanted their own hedgehogs. And so off they went, all pretending to be walking to Kirkby Stephen, but each secretly searching for his or her own hedgehog. So engrossed were they, that they lost track of where they were. That’s when things got interesting.

 

The search begins

Dave and Sara
 

Dennis

Lynne

Dave, Sara, Lynne, Dennis and Lynn

 

 

With a lot of pointing and misdirection, Dennis tried to get the others to go where no hedgehogs could be found, hoping to save the prime territory for himself. Harry and Leo took off on their own to find more lucrative hunting grounds. I wasn’t so much interested in finding hedgehogs, as finding the fastest way to Kirkby Stephen for a beer. Meanwhile, Lynn and Leo were surreptitiously texting each other directions to good hunting territories. Dave stayed at the back hoping that the commotion of the other walkers would chase a hedgehog his way, while Lynne wondered whether hedgehogs could read maps better than we could. And through it all, Sara just strolled on smugly, comfortable in the knowledge that Sarah will go down in history as a highlight of this group’s Coast to Coast walk.

Day 11 -- Shap to Orton, 9 miles

Over the past week, I’ve been accumulating considerable weight in coins given as change for purchases in markets, pubs, train stations, etc. Rather than pay for last night’s lodging with currency, I decided to pay as much as possible with coins.

British coins come in denominations of £2, £1, 50 pence, 20 pence, 10 pence, 5 pence, 2 pence, and 1 pence, distinguished by different colors, shapes and thickness. After breakfast, I sat in my room and meticulously counted out £10 in coins and the rest of the room charge in currency. I was able to use all my coins but for 17 pence – which I saved for later in a zip-lock bag. Back downstairs, I handed to Margaret, the innkeeper, several currency notes, and began counting out the coins. “That’s not necessary. I trust you,” she responded. But I continued to count. “Five pounds, eight pounds, nine pounds fifty, nine pounds seventy, nine pounds seventy-five, nine pounds eighty… nine pounds eighty… nine pounds eighty…” I frantically searched my pocket for a buried coin that wasn’t there.

“That’s close enough, it’s only 20 pence.” Even though 20 pence isn’t what it used to be -- what with the Brexit exchange rate decline -- I wasn’t about to short her by 20 pence. I quickly ran up to my room to see if perhaps I had dropped the coin on the floor. I hadn’t. “It’s OK, really,” she continued. Then I realized I probably put the coin with my 17 pence saved for later. I opened the zip-lock bag, but it’s only contents were the 17 pence. I gave her that.

I also had in the bag my “lucky” euro, a coin I found on the footpath the first day. I gave it to her. “That’s not a euro,” she said. “Well not a whole euro, but it says 50 cents,” I replied. It’s got to be worth more than 3 pence. “Don’t worry about the 3 pence,” she replied. “I don’t know what coin it is, but it’s definitely not a euro,” she continued.

“Well, in that case, I won’t give it to you. After all it is my lucky coin.”

 

Maybe she’ll find the 20 pence coin somewhere in my room, and that will be her lucky coin. If she does, it’s OK with me that she keep my 17 pence that I was saving for later.

Today’s walk passed over the noisy motorway by footbridge, through several muddy pastures, and climbed into limestone country. As I got farther from the motorway, the heavy roar of tyres on wet roadway gently receded, being replaced by the rhythmic slosh-slosh-sloshing of water inside my boots with every step. The rain finally stopped, but by the time I reached Orton everything below my knees was covered in mud.

I’ll give my pants an extra-good washing today. Who knows, maybe I’ll even find that missing 20 pence coin.