Across Cumbria day 8 Somewhere to Bowness on Solway

Monday 17 August 2009

I left wherever it was at about half seven. Nobody was up. I marched the lanes towards Wigton. A pig was enjoying her breakfast. Local beef cattle ran about daft in the fields. We all enjoyed ourselves.

After a few miles, I achieved Wigton and rang Brian. We made arrangements. I went into a café and asked for breakfast and tea. Six quid said the man. It was a very very big breakfast.

A few miles later, Brian appeared with a bottle of plonk and a sausage butty. I save most of the butty for later as I was still stuffed.

A few miles yet later and Brian turned up again with his girlfriend Gilda, who’s backdoor key I was presented with and told to help myself to tea and the use of the bath – which I did.

I plodded on through Kirkbride and past various nature reserves and bramble-lined lanes and finally into Bowness on Solway. A group of kids with sulky teachers and an aggressive dog scowled at my greeting. I visited the muddy beach and sat about for a bit amongst hadrians Wall walkers just starting or just finishing.

The King’s arms opened , so I let myself be embraced. After a beer and a couple of whiskies, Brian and Gilda turned up again and I had another paddle.

15 Miles today and 400 feet of uphill.

And that was that. Worra cracking walk. It would have been better with some summer weather. The high level version, carried out all the way, would have been superb. I’m going to have to have another go at it.

In total, the distance was 80 miles with around 15000 feet of uphill. The high level version would be about the same distance but with a lot more climbing.

The rules of the walk are these:

1) Start at Silecroft
2) Finish at Bowness on Solway
3) Walk all the way
4) There shall be no other rules. This is a rule.

And what of the dehydrated food? Once I’ve considered that, and on some rainy day in the near future, I’ll write something about it. But generally, I was impressed. I only ate either commercially available dehydrated or RME food or energy bars for dinner and breakfast and I suffered no ill-effects, windypops, nausea, or anything else. A banana came as a bit of a shock afterwards and much of it tasted failry similar to the rest.

But its OK. You can live on it for a while.

More of this later anyway.

Thanks to Brian for the encouraging noises and post-walk transport around Cumbria. And for the sausage butty.
Thanks also to Gilda for the tea , bath, pizza and instructions as to which café in Wigton to visit.
Thanks to Martin for the visit and the weather forecasts
Thanks to Genjii for the other meteorological stuff and the general interest
Thanks to Maggie for rescuing me from the Miners Arms in Nenthead
Thanks to Mike and Netty for the company and the Beach Boys Greatest Hits
Thanks to the secret location for letting me camp.
Last words – Backpacking types who’ve not tried this one before should seriously consider it. It’s a cracking walk. But take your time. This is no place to rush.

Across Cumbria day 7 Lingy Hut to Somewhere Else

Sunday 16 August 2009

We kind of all got up around half seven-ish and brewed and stuff and we were on our way by just after eight, I think.

The climb up to the top of High Pike was uneventful, but Netty’s (snigger!) rucksack cover disappeared towards Galashiels from the summit. And we descended easily enough – just frightening a few horses with our rucksacks. There was some kind of riding-about event going on.

Ultimately, we turned up at Caldbeck and parted company – they towards the fleshpots of Dalston and me to the only fleshpot in Caldbeck that was open – the tea room and basket shop.

I'd enjoyed the company, though, even perhaps as I wasn't too sociable at night and fell asleep by about nine... But they didn't complain to me, though.

In the teashop, I now considered both a corned beef sandwich and the problem of wild camping the next night on the flat bits of Cumbria that begin near Wigton. I spotted a couple of likely places on the map and marched off to investigate. The sandwhich received fatal damage, I have to report. Strange food. Not dried or anything....

The first had good water but was very wet and boggy and exposed, and it was raining again…. Raining yet again….. it was bloody raining again… AGAIN..

Ahem – and the second was in a pasture with some sheep but was nicely sheltered and had better water than the other place. It was now heaving down.

I will have to be slightly circumspect about where I ended up because the people who let me camp there don’t want anybody else asking about it. But it had a toilet and a tap.

Brian texted me and we spoke on the phone. He’d been in Caldbeck when I was in the tea room. He couldnl;t find me, though. We arranged something for the next morning.

I slept well, apart from some kids whispering outside the tent “There is somebody in the tent” “There’s a man living in the tent” and “Hello? Is there anybody in the tent?” They went away after I explained that I was making coffee. They seemed quite satisfied with this activity.
9 miles, 900 feet, twenty seven thousand gallons.

Across Cumbria day 6 Threlkeld to Lingy Hut

Saturday 15 August.

The LDNP forecast had arrived half a day late and continued in a blustery, spatterry kind of way all night. The little beck by the campsite started raging (something about Chelsea beating man United recently or something. Apparently they wuz robbed…) Anyway, it got very deep and brown.

I determined not to set off anywhere just yet, and brewed and dozed, eventually abandoning all hope of dry socks and packing up and leaving – about elevenish, I think.

The traffic levels on the A66 indicated a general evacuation of Cumbria was going on. It took me ages before I could dash across the road…

I took the path past the Blencathra centre – an old mine road that leads up to the Cumbria Way coming out of Keswick and then to Skiddaw House. I lost the strap of my walking pole at one point.

And then, whilst crossing a footbridge, the clip on my platypus tube caught on something and the mouth-bitey thing fell off into the raging waters and was carried away. I swear I heard it scream in despair. The pressurized contents of the bag formed a beautiful and slightly oirnate fountain, most of which went down the back on my neck. I could tell, somehow, that perhaps it was going to be one of thoise days.

The staff at Skiddaw house were hiding behind the sofas and had locked the doors. They were pretending not to be in, but there was a giveaway smell of woodsmoke.
I could see their boots and there was giggling, I think.

I splashed on, along the Cumbria Way. The becks were surrounding the footbridges. My waterproof socks had each gathered a couple of pints.

I though I might camp at the point where the CW hurtles off up the hill to Lingy Hut but the warning signs said that if I tried that trick (“sunshine”) they’d be sure to call the cops and have me struck off or strung up or otherwise dealt with harshly.

I set off towards Lingy Hut. On the way down, coming towards me, that is (cos I was going up…!) came Mike and Annette who, during the subsequent interrogation, revealed that they had been up on the tops and had suddenly formed an opinion that they weren’t in the right place at all and they’d better give it up for a safer route to Caldbeck around the bottom.

For some reason, they then formed the opinion that I had persuaded them to have another go. So we all struggled off through the squishy bogs and heather and emerged damply on the plateau around about the same time as it stopped raining.

Annette, who turned out to be in charge, then declared that they would have an adventure and spend the night in Lingy Hut.

Which is what we all did.

It was very breezy and my whisky supply evaporated somehow.

Its not a bad spot, but it does have plenty of “ventilation”

I did point out to Mike at one point that his pet name for Annette was also the term for an outside loo in North-east England. Netty, as he called her, and Mike were devastatingly over-equipped. This resulted in a comfier night for this pair than you would normally expect.

Various visitors called during the evening. It got quite busy.

9 Miles and 2200 feet

Across Cumbria day 5 Dunmail to Threlkeld

Friday 14 August.

As I said just now, it did not rain overnight, nor, in the morning did it pour. It was very cloudy, though, and in view of the90% chance of rain, I put on the waterproofs and stomped off over Dunmail Raise and down the paths and forest roads high above Thirlmere, and, later, in increasingly unrainy weather, during which the tops cleared of cloud, along by the lake itself.
I visited a tea garden, the signs of which declared it to be “Open” to walkers and cyclists. Promising arrows lead me through their collection of turkeys, geese and ducks. But it wasn;t open. The place was deserted, except for the turkeys geese and ducks. None of these were in the mood to serve tea, though, so I continued along the rather attractive and enjoyable bridleway leading to the Church at st Johns, but not specialy happy that the LDNP weatherline had caused me to abandon my high-level tramp over Helvellyn and the Dodds. I could have done most of it by now, and with clear views. It wasn;t even windy. The forecast was for 55mph gusts.

Bugger.


Then, at last, at 2:15 pm, it started raining. I had the tent up and was brewing up on a campsite near Threlkeld by 2:45. By 3:00 I was, once again, tussling with Kylie Minogue’s troublesome lingerie. I was happy about the rain. See? I could have got wet, there.

Another 12 miles and 850 feet of climbing done.

The Omens (Genjii, Martin, LDNP, local farmer and the scouse couple in the next tent) were all darkly prophet about the prospects for dry socks for the morrow, though. I went to the pub and had some strange brown and frothy liquid which nevertheless had soothing effects on me till about half past two when I had to step out into the storm for a wee.

Across Cumbria day 4 Three tarns to Dunmail raise

Thursday 13 August.

A sparkling morning with a hint of a cloud inversion saw me standing on top of Bowfell with the rare privilege of having the hill all to myself.
Shortly after I reached the top, though, a Dad on half a day’s leave was spending his GBP’s by having a round of the Crinkles and Bowfell. I left him alone to be the only person on Bowfell
I descended to Angle tarn by Ore Gap and traversed the boggy backside of Rossett Pike to Stake Pass where I had a nice chat with a bloke from Guisborough and his two well trained and friendly collies. Another chap turned up and asked for directions to the Langdale Pikes. We pointed out the top of Pike o’ Stickle and sent him on his way. I followed on and the chap followed me from in front, waiting for me to catch up a bit every now and then.
The last I saw of him, he was spreadeagled on an unnecessarily difficult scramble up the Pike. I stashed my pack in a peat hag and scramble up and down again, getting a text from Martin Banfield on the top.
We met a few minutes later and went over Thunacar Knott and Sergeant man before lunching by a beck above Easedale. Martin fed me somewhat on butties and lasagne.
I have no pictures of this encounter as all of my supply of recharged batteries were useless and they all failed to spark up any response from the camera after that little red battery started flashing.
I bought more batterries, plus whisky and beer in Grasmere.
The forecast both from Martin and the LDNP weatherline and from my cloud-predicting text pal Genjii reported 90% chance of showers the next day, so, after Martin had departed back to the temperate climes of Timperley, I implemented a Foul Weather Alternative plan, which involved visiting the Travellers Rest for another think and some minor boozing, and wandered up the road till I spotted a camping spot just short of the dual carriageway by Raise Beck. A good spot with good water and slightly surprised sheep who were under the impression that this kind of thing wasn’t allowed. It was also a really good camping spot if traffic noise soothes you to sleep. (If this is the case, don’t go in for a career as a coach driver, by the way. Just a tip, there.)
This was just a bit below the big cairn on Dunmail Raise which marks the site of the defeat of King Dunmail (brown mail) at the hands of the naughty Anglians in 5 echty – blob. Just goes to prove that if you let your armour go rusty, you just can’t expect any respect from the Anglians.
The position was exquisitely strategic for an assault on the Hellvellyn ridge if the weather proved fair, or a walk down by Thirlmere if it didn’t.
I was in smug mode, unlike King Dunmail, who wasn’t.


Today, I covered 13 miles and 2500 feet of climbing.

A good day with good company, and, in retrospect, probably the best day of the lot.

Just like the path to Threlkeld, it was mostly downhill from here……

Across Cumbria day 3 Gt Worm to 3 Tarns

Wednesday 12 August.

A drizzle spattered and windy start had me navigating through a complicated landscape of bogs and rocky tors. One of the bigger tors is Green Crag. It looks enormous when its having a bit of a loom out of the mist. I managed to get a strong enough phone signal for intermittent texts and my erstwhile weather forecasters, Martin (the other hobo) Banfield and a chap called Genjii who posts on walkingforum, plus encouragers such as Brian the mudman and people who just wonder where I am sometimes, such as the wife. Anyway, the gist of all of it was that the weather would get better and that I should keep going. These contacts became increasingly useful as the weather began to play a more significant part in the progress of this walk. I also discovered that my phone had the LDNP weatherline number on it. I likes a bit of fiction at night, I does.
I found a way across country to the quaking mire at the foot of Harter Fell, and then on up to the summit. The weather was, as predicted, getting much better all the time.
No it wasn’t. It was drizzling and windy and foggy and a bit cold. It was, in fact, ‘orrible.
I plunged on over the bogs and vicious but lush tussocks to Hard Knott Pass, where there were people and cars that smelled like cars do just before their brakes fail.
I climbed hard Knott Fell very very slowly and surveyed the place where Crinkle Crags ought to be if it weren’t under a swirling grey blanket.
The plan called for a climb up to the Crinkles and a walk along the ridge to Three tarns. I didn’t fancy that driving drizzle again and the tortuous heave up on to the ridge , so I plumped for a walk up by Lincove Beck, meeting my first other hillwalkers of the trip – a chap and his son – off to Great Moss for a camp. Bless ‘em… sniff….. And some National Trust footpath workers and their small dog, descending, presumably for their tea.
The mist lifted as I climbed. I got three litres of beautiful fresh clean water from rest Gill and got myself up to Three Tarns where I put the tent up inside a small shelter out of the wind.
I slept well, completely missing an impressive display of shooting stars, apparently.
It was occasionally, and at random, and sometimes suddenly very windy.

8 Miles and 3700 feet of climbing

The score on zer door would now be 22 miles and 7600 feet of uphill. And just 2 other walkers met.

Across Cumbria Day 2 Black Combe to Gt Worm Crag

Tuesday 11 August.

A warm and foggy morning with no visibility at all saw me, or, rather, assumed I was somewhere climbing up to the summit shelter on Black Combe.
As I came down the other side, the mist started to lift a bit and it all became a bit more green and cheerful.
And so I pressed on over Wainwright Outlier country, and a right boggy do it was, in places. In turn, I passed over Whitecombe Moss ( a boggy lump), a swampy pass at Charity Chair ( a very boggy, unstable, wobbly and damp place) then some rocky Tors at Stoneside Hill, Great paddy Crag and Kinmount Buckbarrow, where the drizzle started again and the mist blanked out any view.
Then on to Whit Fell, just under the cloud base. More bogs to Stainton Pike preceded a soggy boggy semi-descending traverse to the road at Brown Rigg, at which point it really started chucking it down.
I traversed the depressing wet grey slopes of Great Worm Crag till I found a flat spot near a gushing stream of what appeared to be cold tea, put up the akto and retreated inside for a bit of a shiver and to get everything on the inside of the tent as wet as it was on the outside.

But despite the weather, this part of the route is just smashing. I saw no other walkers at all. In fact, apart from a couple of cars on the roads, I saw nobody else all day and, it being very late summer, there was no bird song either. So it was a silent walk. Apart from my renditions of a KT Tunstall album that I couldn’t get out of my head.
There were elements of wildness. It wouldn’t have seemed so wild and empty on a sunny day with skylarks and plover. The weather was, perhaps, just right for this kind of thing.

12 Miles and 2700 feet of climbing. Happiness and some episodes of pleasure.

Big black horse…. And a cherry tree…. Dum de dum…

A Walk Across Cumbria Day 1 Silecroft

Monday 10 August.

The first day. The objective was just to get established some way up the Southern slopes of Black Combe and, originally, the plan had been to get the train to Millom and walk the eight miles or so to the hill, put up the tent and pick my toes for the next ten hours.
But No! Once on the train out of Carlisle, I discovered (from the guard’s announcement) that the train stopped on request at various places, one of which was a little station called “Silecroft” Now Silecroft had been the planned original starting point for this walk, mainly because it has a beach and the first “real” hill in the Lake District if you’re looking at it from the South. And, as this was a South-North walk up the high bits of the Lakes, Silecroft would be a much better start.
So I informed the patient train guard (about four times, just to be sure) that I would get off the train at Silecroft, which I did, and, thereby cut my first day’s walking down to a paltry (not poultry, which is chickens), two miles. Yes folks, that’s a full two of your Queen’s miles. I fully expected this to be achievable, which it was. There was quite a bit of uphill, though, just to make it a bit energetic.
My first camping spot, on a broad grassy platform with a fab view of the sea and the Isle of Man, was much too windy. So I plodded uphill and found a less windy one with a good water supply about 150feet down the hill.
And so, in drizzle and a hurtling gale, I got into the sleeping bag, had dinner (more of which somewhere later, possibly…) and drifted off to have yet another tussle with Kylie’s bra strap.
At some point, I became aware that the tent had lit up in a bright and orange kind of way and it occurred to me that a sunset might be going on outside.
And it was.
Apologies to the lady runner who appeared suddenly out of the mist to find a barefoot and half-clad eejit ooo-ing at the sun having a final pink sizzle into the Irish sea.
The rest of the night passed flappily and with the occasional hiss of light drizzle.
Day 1 2 Miles and 1200 feet of uphill (including visits to a spring for water)

Perhaps not the most energetic start.

Silecroft has a beach, a campsite, a pub and a railway station, though, so it’s a good place to start a walk such as this.

I should have started at Millom but didn’t (Quick note by the way to those who use the word “of” in this context – as in “I should of started at Millom” Look guys, use the verb. Its “I should have, You should have, He should have, We should have, You should have, they should have.” You should of made a note have this by now. Don’t do it again, has you it?

Arkengarthdale with the Backpackers Club

The man from the garage said that there was a hairline crack in the thingy, and that this made the other thingy think that it was driving on ice and therefore, applying the abs thingy whenever I put my foot on the brake and if I was to give him £65 he would stop it doing it for me. So I did.

And there was then nothing stopping me…er actually, I should rephrase that – I was free to join the backpackers club jamboree and group shivering event at Arkengarthdale, so off I went wiv me new brakes.

It was dark when I got there, so putting up the akto was its usual putting up a tent in the dark challenge, and I seem to have been introduced to one or two very dark-looking people with lights on their heads. So I went to the Red Lion and, it would seem, most of them followed me. The takings of the Red Lion soared. I met various people who’s names I will resolutely fail to remember, cos I’m useless at that sort of thing, and I seem to have already been acquainted with one or two others. There were TGO Challengers in the pub, so we could talk about Glen Feshie and stuff like that.

After, apparently, sleeping in my tent for about 9 hours, I got up and went for a walk.

I think you’re supposed to team up with other people, but I didn’t. I think I may have been mildly berated about this later on. I’m not sure, though. It was very mild for a beration. (Is beration a real word?)

Anyway, I climbed Calver Hill, which has a cairn and some grass, much like many other hills I’m sure you will find. It also has a fairly good view of Swaledale. It was perishing cold and windy, though, so I didnlt hang about. Instead of hanging about, I went off towards Gunnerside Gill and met another Backpacking Club chappie with his little dog, and, later, three other backpacking club chappies without dogs who were heading for the upper reaches of Gunnerside Gill, and who did the mild berating and invited me along. But, I’d decided where I was going to camp and I sort of thought it might be fairly sheltered out of the increasingly lively wind coming from the general direction of dahn sarf. It did occur to me that as Gunnerside Gill runs North-South, it might actually funnel this wind through my scanties during the night, but I gave the thought notice, informed it of it’s right of appeal within three weeks of receiving my letter and dismissed it forthwith, sending a colleague along to supervise the clearing of it’s desk.

This was a mistake.

I put the tent up within the walls of an old (an ex-) peat-drying store and settled in for a bit of a snooze. I was awakened very shortly by the flapping. This flapping got more and more flappy over the next couple of hours and, eventually became, what can only be described as “frantic”. This continued all night. I weighted the tent pegs with big rocks and cooked my tea and drank my whisky and dozed fitfully. Every now and then the frantic flapping increased its franticness to levels which would have it locked up under the Mental Health Act. Psychotic. Unreasonable. Windy.

Sometime around dawn, it all stopped. Quite suddenly. I formed the opinion that it had either tired itself out and was now sleeping peaceful-like in it’s cot with a dummy in, or that the wind had changed. The very next interesting thing was a sort of zipping/swishing noise. This happened several times. I looked out to investigate and found that it must have been the snow sliding off the slick fabric of the akto.

Sunday was a day of short but fierce little blizzards of snow and hail. Luckily I had my back to it. I walked through the desolate area of mine spoil on the moor to the west. This gives a fast and direct route to the final heathery slopes of Great Pinseat and this back down to Arkengarthdale via an interesting and rocky hush.**

Reeth for soup and tea, then home.

But what of the Backpackers Club? Well, they’re very friendly and welcoming and may have been a bit miffed that I went off on my own. I’m not sure. Anyway, maybe next time I’ll join a small gaggle. The ones I met were walking at roughly my own pace. I might follow them next time.

Possibly more walkies tomorrow. I have a sandwhich and a Plan A and a Plan B.

**Do we all know what a hush is? Shall I explain? Or not? Hmmmmm?

A little wild camp

Just got back from a really loverly wild camp at Blakethwaite Bottom in the middle(ish) of the Howgills. Its a cracking place for the camping - vast areas of green sward available and a nice view to boot.

I met R Kidd at Cautley and he walked with me from Tebay over Uldale Head and then continued on his way back to Cautley. We did try to launch the toy..er..model helicopter he got for Christmas, but it wouldnt play and had to remain ground-bound

The sun streaming into the tent sheltered me from the nithering northerly blowing up me flysheet and so, instead of exploring The Calf and Simons Seat , as planned, I dozed off in the sun..

Had a quiet, but breezy night with me cheap scotch, a Bill Bryson Book and an MP3 player, only interrupted by a bladder emergency at 3:30 am. Finally came out of the coma at 8:30 this morning and wandered off over Rispa Pike for an eight item all day breakfast at Tebay services.

So, a record 19 hours of not moving very much, other than to eat, drink, pee, or change the page.... There were vague indications of the proximity of the M6 and West Coast main line and Warcop artillery range....

And my LEDs-in-a-bag lighting system worked fabby whizzily more of which, possibly, in another post)