After a long morning
detouring around the River Kent, Grange over Sands was reached shortly after
lunchtime, and it really was very impressive; grand houses in a beautiful
setting. Alex sat a while there eating a hot pie beside the duck pond. Bustling
with a great variety of wild fowl, many of which were unfamiliar to him, it
seemed that something elegant and unique paddled past every minute. Nearby
Flookburgh, after seeing a factory shop, he succumbed to temptation and went in
and bought himself a renowned local Cartmel sticky toffee pudding to enjoy
another day, burying it deep in his rucksack for the time being.
After passing a group
of students on a geography field trip in Cark he took a left turn, intending to
walk through the grounds of Holker Estate. Aware that the Cumbrian Coastal Way
branched inland at this point, he was soon proved correct in assuming that
there was no right of way along his chosen route. Not so easily discouraged
though, he just jumped a gate into a field on his left when he needed to avoid
a farmyard, and then crept through amongst the sheep over by the railway line. He
rejoined the track on the far side of the buildings and kept a low profile as
farmhands passed by intermittently on quad bikes all the way to Low Frith.
He made his own way
along the isolated estuarine shoreline past Hazelhurst Point, but soon needed
the help of a bridge to cross over Skelwith Pool without getting his feet wet. A
good track led on then to the boundary of Roudsea Wood National Nature Reserve.
Once he'd gained access, he was pleasantly surprised to glimpse his first deer
of the year in the twilight there. A succession of duckboards carried him over
some very swampy ground and he had to trust that they'd eventually lead him out
of the woods, because he had no idea where he was now with the light fading
rapidly.
By the time that he
emerged into the car park it had started raining and he soon found himself
taking shelter outside Natural England's nearby site managers' base. It was
built upon a raised concrete platform, and with an overhanging roof too, it
offered a dry patch on the east side almost a metre wide that he could tightly
squeeze up into out of the weather. With little other choice, this was going to
have to be his doss for the night. His sleeping arrangement was formed of five
more layers on top of the dead leaves on the concrete. At the bottom a bright
orange plastic survival bag acted as a ground sheet underneath his mat. Next
was the bivvy bag, with all dry clothes gathered in the head end to make a
pillow. Finally, there was his sleeping bag, including a cotton liner for
important insulation and cosiness. He piled the rest of his belongings next to
a supporting column and covered his boots with his rucksack. The last thing he
did before brushing his teeth and settling down was leave his sandwich box a
few feet out in the open to try and harvest some rainwater for the morning.
*
As soon as he was
awake he stood up and started packing right away. He kept his food bag handy
though, because he wasn't going to rush his breakfast whilst it continued to
rain. It must have already been about nine o'clock when he heard the sound of a
car approaching, so he swiftly got the last of his things together. Somebody
who worked on the reserve had just arrived, and as he walked over he noticed
Alex there in the process of finishing tying his bootlaces. 'Can I help you?'
he asked. The way he intoned his surprise however it sounded more like he meant
it as a direct challenge in the vein of, 'What are you up to here?'
Before today, he had
always managed to slip off unnoticed into the morning whenever he'd slept out
somewhere a bit inappropriate, however he wasn't overly concerned about this
confrontation because there was nothing left out now to suggest that he hadn't
arrived himself just a short while earlier. To the man's question, he simply
replied with a muted 'No.' and volunteered no further explanations as he
fastened his bum bag and then shouldered his pack. No other questions were
asked, and he was quick then to just put the scene behind him.
A mile away, he
crossed the River Leven at Greenodd and then joined the near peak traffic flow
of the A590. He could have avoided the town of Ulverston by taking the coastal
way, but his curiosity was piqued because this was where his roommate in
university came from, and he had heard a good deal about the place. It was very
interesting to see for his own self after many years, and so, once satisfied
after a quick foray into the town centre, he returned to following his
predetermined route.
The majority of the
distance to Sea Wood was covered on good footpaths and quiet lanes. Once again
though he was forced back onto the main road as the tide appeared to be blocking
safe passage along the sands. It was a fair consolation then that the extra
height brought him high quality coastal views, all the way through Baycliff,
and down into the tiny village of Aldingham. He took in the peaceful
surroundings near to the church eating his lunch, until he was ready for
another long, but gentler, walk to the southwest.
Somewhere on the open
stretch of Roosebeck Sands he temporarily lost his map as a gust of wind caught
hold of it and blew it into the slowly retreating sea water. A sudden turn of
speed was needed for him to cover the distance and grab it before it was gone
forever, as another wave came rolling in. It was only an A4 printout of this
area, which he was almost finished with, but he did like to keep them all for
future reference, and luckily, the plastic sleeve had prevented the ink from
running on this one. In total, this was sheet number 10 of 256 that he had
printed out on his home computer using fancy Memory-Map software, thus saving
him the hassle of needing to carry a large amount of full size folded maps at
any one time.
With Morecambe Bay
now nearly completed, he walked the kilometre long causeway leading to Roa
Island. He was a bit sad though to find out from a sign there that he was too
early in the year to be able to get a ferry across Piel Channel and onto Piel
Island. Feeling slightly down for the return walk, a knowing comment from a
passing newspaper deliverer back on the mainland quickly turned his mood around
again. 'My bag's heavy too, but at least it gets lighter the further that I
walk.' The older man said with a cheeky grin.
The stunning natural
beauty all around, so satisfying through the earlier part of the day,
progressively whittled away now as he had to pass: gas terminals, a power
station, and then sewage works on his way into the large town of
Barrow-in-Furness. After walking through the imposing docks there, he made a
brief return to the open sea for the first time in four days, on Walney Island.
He would've liked to have explored the island more fully, however it was
getting late and he still wanted to get back across the bridge and beyond
Barrow before the day was out.
To avoid the busy
main road out of town he chose an alternative higher route, taking him up past
the golf club, and then, in complete darkness, down and along a quiet lane to
Roanhead Beach. All too near to the car park, he decided to take his chances
sleeping partially hidden from view behind a shed. Later, the time must have
been somewhere near 10 o'clock, and he was close to drifting off, when the
noise of a car arriving brought him back to full alertness. For the length of a
long half hour he lay there motionless, secure in his bivvy, listening to the
feckless voices and accompanying car stereo playing close by, silently willing
them to move on. Until eventually, they got the idea, driving away back to the
comfort of their own homes. Leaving him in peace once again for the remainder
of the night.
*
The Duddon Estuary brought the next major detour to be made, and it was
sizeable enough to keep him occupied for most of the day. As he set out it was
low tide and there seemed to be nothing else but sand all of the way across to
Millom. Attempting to make the direct crossing was never a consideration that
entered his mind though. The vast bulk of Black Combe was now looming large
several miles to the northwest; however, the view of distant fells, which
surely would have been spectacular, was spoilt by ominous looking low cloud. A
good many miles of the estuary were easily accessible via the coastal way, and
with visits into both Askam-in-Furness and Kirkby-in-Furness the morning soon
flew by.
It was stubbornly
piddling down with rain by the time that he got to Broughton-in-Furness, so he
went into the 400 year old Old Kings Head Hotel and bought himself a glass of
fresh orange juice. To pass the time for a while he picked up an encyclopaedia
of British places they had. He took it over to his table and let it fall open
on a page near the middle, which happened to be at the start of ‘L’. Lambeth
was first, but it was Lampeter on the facing page that he was drawn to. This
quiet town, deep in Mid Wales, is where his family come from, and even though
he was heading north up to Scotland now it was somewhere that he also planned
to visit as his walking tour neared completion in the autumn. Strangely, he
felt at this moment that something was telling him that he must get there at
all costs; even if he needed to make large sacrifices, he just had to make it.
After crossing Duddon
Bridge, long winding flood banks provided the route into Millom, where he
called into the supermarket to eagerly stock up on provisions. He took the road
along to Haverigg for quickness, and then, after buying a postcard there, continued
on amidst the dunes past the prison and the wind farm. The welcome sight of the
sun setting into the sea greeted him as he stepped out onto the (very empty)
nudist beach, which he then followed as far as Silecroft car park. Where, he
found a much more peaceful corner than the night before to shelter away from
the weather.
*
Today was the first
of March, Saint David's Day or Dydd Dewi Sant, a national day of celebration
all across Wales. However, as he followed the Cumbrian coast mile after mile
further northward, the theoretical view back across the water to the Snowdonian
skyline became ever more blurry in his mind's eye. It had started out as
another rainy day here, in this, one of the wettest parts of England. It wasn't
until he reached the River Esk, after passing by Eskmeals Range, that the
weather started to show any improvement.
Upriver, the rapidly
rising tide prevented him from crossing over a ford near to Hall Waberthwaite's
idyllic churchyard, and as he stepped onto the A595 main road, the water was
barely half a foot away from spilling over onto the path. He continued on,
passing through the grounds of Muncaster Castle, now well progressed on the
north side of the river. Where the route split into two he chose the high level
path, as wet feet looked very likely with the other coastal way.
After an enforced
rest stop to give contrary high tide waters time to retreat, he entered
Ravenglass. A smart village in a pleasant site where three rivers: the Esk,
Mite and Irt converge, just before flowing away into the Irish Sea. For most of
the day, even through low cloud and rain, the Sellafield Plant up ahead had
still been visible, ever present as a monster in our midst. He was thankful
that he didn't have to pass any nearer, as he was now about to take a sharp
inland turn.
He proceeded
northwest out of the village, headed deep into the Lake District National Park,
and through an awe-inspiring landscape which was voted as Britain's favourite
view by a recent ITV poll. He could have stopped for the night at the grand
Wasdale Hall Youth Hostel, but opted instead to walk on alongside Wast Water
with towering hills all around, as the last of the light faded. He found the
Wasdale Head Inn nestled away up there much to his liking, but being still
early in the year it was missing the throng of fell walkers toasting their
day's efforts up in England's highest mountains.
It was long dark by
the time that he left the bar. There was nowhere obvious he could see in the
immediate surroundings that he would be comfortable to bivvy down for the
night. There was just one other place he could try a few hundred metres away,
St Olaf's Church. When he got there he was fully prepared to sleep outside in
the yard, but thought to check whether it was locked up anyway as the night was
set to be quite cold. He applied pressure to the latch and the solid wooden
door swung open gently to grant him admission into the cosy chambers within.
*
The moment he awoke
he was up and packing away, making sure to leave a small offering of thanks in
the donations box to appease his conscience just before leaving. There was no
sign of anybody else about around the village. That wouldn't last long however,
so he was quick to disappear up into the hills. He made short work of climbing
the path to Sty Head, and once there, took less than a minute to decide that it
would be prudent to abort any attempt to tackle a mist covered Scafell Pike
today. A short way down on his descent to Styhead Tarn he crossed paths with
the first other human being of the day. Spying him using a hi-tech Jetboil
stove to heat up a brew on a boulder a dozen metres away, Alex couldn't decide
whether he was an early bird day walker or also another overnight camper.
The walk onwards
through to Borrowdale next was a delightful surprise, as a brief spell of mid
morning sunshine brought all the colours of the valley to life. Unfortunately,
he found this pleasure short lived. Low cloud and persistent rain soon
returned, and this time it was not shifting. After having spent a couple of
hours road walking, he was then eager to join the Cumbria Way and follow it
through mixed woodland along the west shore of Derwent Water, just below slopes
of the much lauded fell, Catbells.
He was very wet and a
little bit depressed as he drew into the busy Lakeland town of Keswick, but
just a simple thing, a Jethro Tull themed spare wheel cover on the back of a
parked 4x4 brought a flicker of a smile back to his face again for a few
seconds. Into the centre of town, and he found himself walking around aimlessly
up and down the streets, lacking drive and motivation, passing the time
gormlessly peering into shop windows. In one he saw the biggest bar of Kendal
Mint Cake he could ever imagine possible. It was more like the size of a bar of
cooking chocolate! What he needed now was something for his stomach to help
shake off this creeping malaise. He bought himself a venison pasty from nearby
butchers and then took it over to a shelter beside the River Greta to savour at
length.
Leaving town a short
while later, he made the sensible decision to veer off from the high level
Cumbria Way and follow the cycle path instead to Threlkeld. This turned out to
be a very interesting diversion anyhow. The former railway track leading him:
through ancient woodlands, along a walkway skirting a ravine, over bridges, and
through several grand tunnels. The prolonged lunch stop had done him good, and
with some loud music pumping through his headphones, he covered the distance to
Threllkeld in just under an hour.
Still on the cycle
route, he had to follow the eastbound side of the busy A66 for a short way. At
Scales however, he branched left along a quiet narrow lane, and it was all
light work from there right through to Mungrisedale village. He stopped off at
The Mill Inn and sat beside their log fire for an hour with a well needed soft
drink. The rain was falling hard once again when he left there, so he took
temporary shelter in a nearby church porch, only this time he managed to get
himself locked in for the duration of the night.
*
Fearing hours of morning walking wasted, Alex was very relieved to be released
from his captivity before nine o'clock came around. The gentleman gaoler, who
lived in the house just opposite, exclaiming about how this was in fact the
third time he'd had to unlock someone in twenty years of looking after the
place. Breathing in the sweet air of freedom again outside, he soon forgot his
embarrassment as he toddled off on the open road running along the eastern
limit of the mountains.
He was in quite
desperate need of liquid refreshment by the time he reached Caldbeck around
midday. A bottle of milk with a quick rest stop and he was all set then to get
going again. In leaving the village he rejoined the Cumbria Way, but a mile
further on, one erroneous turn left him quite disorientated at the confluence
of Cald Beck and the River Caldew. He had crossed a bridge and then followed
the southern bank for some way, until he came almost completely back round on
himself in a full loop. One quick look at the map showed him the obvious
mistake he'd made, so all he needed to do put it right was backtrack across the
river once again.
Alternating between
the long distance path and country lanes, he continued downriver through the
whole of the afternoon, slowly drawing nearer to the border city of Carlisle. His
route took him through the well kept grounds of Lime House School south of the
large village of Dalston, before a long cycle path march then inevitably
completed his convoluted approach into the suburbs. He was quick to pick out
Dixons Chimney on the skyline up ahead, knowing that it marked the day's walk
almost an end. The summer previous, whilst setting out on a cycle tour, he had
also passed below its neck-craning height of almost a hundred metres. A four day
ride which took him through the heart of Northwest England and all the way back
home to North Wales. It was because of this prior visit to the area that he had
chosen to cut inland amongst the mountains during the past few days instead of
sticking to the coast; being one who never likes to go the same way twice.
This final complete
day in England was proving to be the wettest so far, and the night ended up
being even more so. He called in at what he mistakenly thought would be a youth
hostel, only to find out that it was actually open just during the summer
months; otherwise being run as a place for student accommodation through the
rest of the year. Heading back out into a downpour, he acted on advice he'd
received that the cricket ground on the other side of the River Eden should be
a good place to see out the night. When a passing member of Edenside Bowling
Club happened upon him there vainly studying his map, he kindly offered the
doorway of the club to sleep in. It ended up being just as wet as anywhere else
though when the wind changed direction. But did Alex care? Not in the
slightest, because Scotland was coming!
No comments:
Post a Comment