Day 11: 16 July - Fylingdales Moor to Robin Hood Bay - 13 miles

I had a restless evening. Sleeping in the bivvy bag has not always been comfortable because of the heat but last night it had been incredibly warm. I felt like the meat in a roasting bag that has been placed in the oven; I was faced with the choice of opening the bag and letting in the midges or sealing it up and lying in stifling and sticky heat. By 4.30 in the morning I had had enough and got up, watched the sun rise and readied myself to go. I had only a few miles left and I thought I might as well get to Robin Hood’s Bay for breakfast. I finished my traverse of the moor which became quite boggy towards the end, parts of the path being on raised wooden platforms, and soon came out onto country lanes. High hedges and trees, more cultivated than anything I had seen for a while, and white wooden signposts were clear indications that civilisation and hence the end of the walk were approaching. I followed the lanes down to a caravan park and to the cliff edge walk that is the last couple of miles to Robin Hood’s Bay.


At the town I headed down the steep road that led to the rocky bay and here I threw my pebble that I had collected from the beach 11 days ago into the sea. It was still early and I sat for a while looking out to sea, nothing in particular on my mind, and then decided it was time for breakfast.

I ended up halfway back up the hill from the bay as the one or two places by the bay were either not open or for residents only. It was then time to work out how to get back home. I headed to Scarborough on a local bus, found that trains from there were slow and expensive and ended up on a bus to Leeds. It was a local bus, with regular stops, including York, apart from when we headed the 70 miles down the motorway to Leeds. I did not care as I was sat in a seat near the front and using my pack as a pillow, dozing gently. From Leeds I was able to get to London and finally from there a coach to Corsham. I ended my coast to coast with a late night walk home from the coach stop spurred on by the thought of a night in my own comfortable bed.

Day 10: 15 July - Clay Bank to Fylingdales Moor - 28 miles

At 7 in the morning two hungover men drove back to Clay Bank where Shaun dropped me off and by 7.30 I was back on my journey. From here the route followed a flat track through moorland, the path of an old railway line that served the industry of the area. After about 7 miles of steady, flat walking I reached the Red Lion pub, sitting in splendid isolation at the head of a moorland valley. I immediately realised that I had been there before, I think when I had visited the nearby Fylindales radar site some years previously. I had arrived too early for lunch but rested for a while over a cup of coffee in the cool darkness of the pub before heading off along the empty road that followed the hill line to the head of the next valley. A white cross marks the point and a tin has been placed there for walkers. Tradition has it that you place something in the tin for other travellers and take something away for yourself. It is mostly sweets and the like and I obligingly placed some sweets in it and removed a couple for myself.

The landscape was dry and brown as I moved on under a clear blue sky along the high point of the moors. I left the road and caught my first glimpse of the sea on the horizon but this was soon lost as I followed a long straight descent down into the Esk valley and a return to civilisation. After over 3 miles I entered into Glaisdale and carried on down to the river and along the bank through welcome shaded woods. I happened upon a pub which seemed to be a good place to stop for some food. Again I was torn between carrying on in the heat of the day or finding somewhere to spend the night. But it was still early and so I pressed on along the valley to Grosmont, a somewhat bigger town and the home of the Yorkshire Railway. It was a steep climb on the road out of Grosmont and back up onto the moors in the early evening. I passed a number of bed and breakfast places which were tempting but there was still a fair bit of daylight left and I was now on day ten and wanted to finish by the following day at the latest.

As the light began to fade I headed across Sleights Moor and into the next valley. It was another walk along a river bank under woodland and in fading light. Once I broke out into the open - Fylingdales Moor - I decided it was time to find somewhere to spend the night. I was on a quiet lane and a flat field lay to one side. I decided that this would be my place for the night and I climbed the fence and made myself at home for the evening…

Day 9: 14 July - Live Moor to Clay Bank - 6 miles

I had originally hoped to get to Clay Bank last night where Shaun was to collect me and take me to his house at RAF Leeming for lunch, dinner and a good night's sleep (and I expect, a few beers too....). However, as Shaun was not now picking me up until midday today I was now in no rush; I had left myself only about 6 miles to do this morning.

I awoke in mist, unable to see the few hundred yards across the Coll which I needed to traverse. But the path was well defined and I had map, compass and an insanely detailed guide book (it included where things like benches were along the route) so I had no fear of getting lost. So after packing I set off.

It is amazing how a night's rest - even a not too brilliant one - revives the body. My walk weary feet no longer had the tenderness on the soles that a whole day's walking induces and I stepped out with confidence again along the paths.

There is not a lot to say of the route. It went up and down a hell of a lot to the point I thought I must have been transported back to the Lake District. It was hot work, even in the morning haze. On the map it looked dramatic, high points with likely scenic views and long parts along craggy ridges, but in reality I saw none of this because of the thick mist. After a steep descent I made the road where Shaun would collect me, a high point in the middle of nowhere that cut across the route. I had 4 hours to kill.

Now although Clay Ridge is an end point for a day's walking there is nowhere to stay there; it is just a high point on a road. So people tend to get picked up here by their Bed and Breakfast or hotel and dropped off again in the morning. After an hour here, by which time the sun was coming out and I was laid out in the lay-by, my rucksack as a pillow, (my mum would be so embarrassed) the cars and minibuses filled with walkers began to appear. People were dropped off in their ones and twos and in one case a dozen Australians. It has come as a surprise to me not only the huge number of people doing the walk but the international flavour of those people. I met a group of Australians on my first day (a different group to this) for whom the focus of their trip to the country was to do the walk. There are large numbers of Americans too; the whole thing is much more popular than I had realised, thinking before I started that it was the objective of the occasional idiot like me.

I passed a friendly word with the groups as they passed and in between dozed in the warmth of the sun. As well as coast to coasters a couple of families set off and an older woman who told me of the delights of geocaching. She was off to find packages hidden in the hills I had just left. She was back an hour later, her success written upon her face. Shortly after Shaun appeared as promised and I was taken the few miles to his house at RAF Leeming. Sitting in the car I had a noticeable sense of how nice – and how strange - it was to move around without the use of my feet.

Shaun, Suzie and myself spent time in the garden sunning ourselves in the warm weather and drinking cider which was followed by a superb and welcome roast pork lunch. In my tired and weary state, especially after the drinks in the heat, it was nice to be with friends who place no demands upon you and simply allow you to relax. It was a memorably pleasant day, I had my washing done (a blessing for me as my limited amount of clothing had become quite dank from continued wearing in hot weather, and also a blessing for whoever I ended up sitting next to on the way home in the next couple of days). The evening was rounded off with red wine and dinner until finally I took my clean and tired body off to a fresh and comfortable bed in readiness for tomorrow and the rest of the walk.

Day 8: 13 July - Bolton-on-Swale to Ingleby and to Live Moor - 22 miles

I awoke and left by 5.15. There were two reasons: firstly I had spent the night on the edge of a plantation and did not want to be there if anybody arrived to work; and secondly, having heard it was to be the hottest day of the year I wanted to get some miles in during the coolness of morning.

This part of the walk is said to be the most boring of the route. However for me - walking in the still calm of the morning, the sun low on the horizon ahead of me and with mist sitting over the fields while the day began to awake - it was magic.

The walk was straightforward, mostly along road and through farmland and fields. The most notable part was crossing the four lanes of the A19 - heading to Middlesbrough some ten miles north of me - to get into Ingleby Cross. I had now done about 12 miles and it was still early so I headed straight for the pub to ponder my next move. I had to wait for an hour outside before the pub opened, chatting to a couple of woman doing the walk and waiting for a lift to somewhere. Pub open, I had a baguette and, torn between stopping and knowing that because it was still early I should move on, worked my way through three beers. Eventually however, I made the decision I knew I should and headed off.

From here it was off into the countryside again, up into an area of pine forests and some short but steep climbs up onto open moorland once again, where again it was a period of false summits. Tomorrow I was being collected by a friend a few miles east of here to pass the day with him and his wife and decided it would be nicer to spend the night on open moorland rather than press on to the road so I looked for a suitable night stop as the day advanced.

I set my bag down near a large cairn with a view across to the north. As the evening drew in I sat with by back to the cairn and looked out over the glow of Middlesbrough on the horizon and occasionally the sounds of civilisation rose to meet me in the still evening air; a dog barking, the indistinct noise of voices and the gentle drone of traffic. I had only 6 miles to walk tomorrow to Clay Bank and a minor road where Shaun would collect me for a day’s rest before pressing on so I settled down to sleep knowing tomorrow would be an easy day.

Day 7: 12 July - Reeth to Richmond and Bolton on Swale - 18 miles

Despite the dire warnings I found the accommodation at the Black Bull fine. The only criticisms I could raise were that the bathroom had a bath but no shower and - shock horror - the fittings were in avocado.

The damage so far to my body has not been too bad: there’s a bit of tingling on the skin from the sun but generally I have managed to keep it protected; I have chaffing on the hips from the bag I am carrying; a couple of toe nails are nearly off from the impacting of my boots (especially downhill); and of course there are the blisters. This morning, in the cleanliness of the room, I decided it was time to redress the feet which I have left alone until now since there have been no recent problems. Unlike a couple of day ago they felt tight this morning as I walked around my room. The sore areas are protected by blister plasters and then covered by tape. While this will not encourage them to heal it does prevent them from getting worse and allows me to walk with little discomfort. However, they do weep a fair bit.

I left after breakfast and headed out of the village. The landscape has changed over the course of the walk. First it was mountain and then moor and now it is becoming a quintessential English countryside walk: fields and woods and pasture, the smell of elderflower in the open field, wild garlic in the hedgerows and fungi in the cool dank woods. The day was spent largely in the Swale valley, in part walking alongside the river then crossing green pastures full of cows and then sheltering from the sun in cool and shady woodland. As the walk took me higher up the open Swale valley there was the lift of a cooling breeze in the heat of the day and the views of the river below me, glittering in the sun.

I was in Richmond by 2.30 in the afternoon and stopped for a rest, some lunch and copious amounts of water at a small cafe before pressing on. I was not sure how far I wanted to go from here as this was the 'book' stop for today but I made a mental decision that I should get to at least as far as Catterick Bridge some four miles away. The route continued to follow the river Swale although now it was wider, shallower and - despite appearances - no doubt dirtier. After an hour, and feeling weary, I rested on a tree shaded path and lay there drifting away while looking up at the canopy above. I was within a mile of the A1 and Catterick Bridge at this point and could hear the gentle drone of the traffic to the east.

Eventually I got myself going again, under the A1 and into the Yorkshire countryside. I was now following lanes rather than tracks, farmland and small villages lending evidence to the fact I was now closer to civilisation. On the map I had seen a wood along the route some three miles away and decided I might bivvy there for the night. Tomorrow could be a 23 mile leg and the extra 3 miles or so tonight would make a dent in this. I passed through the tiny village of Bolton-on-Swale and outside one of the small cottages chatted to an older man tending his garden. I asked him if there were any pubs further along the route thinking extra effort for a decent bed, a beer and a meal might be worth it. Unfortunately there were none in the hamlets I would be passing through but he kindly invited me into his back garden and we shared a beer together before I pressed on. My faith in human kindness has taken a big boost.

I am now in my bivvy bag at the edge of a wood in an isolated point along the route, having followed a straight, narrow and quiet road east. The sun is setting and the sounds of birds and other wildlife surround me as another day draws to a close. I will let sleep help my body recover overnight before a long day tomorrow.

Day 6: July 11 - Hartley Fell to Reeth - 17 miles

I awoke surrounded by mist and after a fairly good sleep, despite having to contort myself between grassy tussocks on the ground where I had lain. Camping gear packed, compass out, I set off again with a view to making Keld in time to have breakfast and having a quick wash before Penny turned up.

The next three hours were fairly uneventful. The moor crossing became a bit frustrating trying to pick a route through the bogs and tussocks but by the time I hit a track that took me to the Keld road the sun was up and the sky was blue.

I arrived in Keld, a tiny place of only a few houses along a couple of lanes down to a river. A chat with an aging local in one of the first houses about walking trips (he gave me some tips on the Santiago de Compstella walk that he had done a few years earlier) and then I headed to the very nice Keld Lodge a few doors down – empty as all the overnighters had now departed – and where I ensconced myself in one of their rooms and relaxed over breakfast. I mentioned to the owner as he served me why I was there and he made a few light-hearted comments on my appearance and general state for a first-time meeting with a lady.

An hour later Penny turned up and we made our introductions. We would walk today from Keld for a relatively short 12.5 miles to Reeth and from where Penny could get transport back to Keld. The route would take us high above the River Swale and through hills scarred by Yorkshire's lead mining past; old fallen ruins dotted around the quiet hillsides. We walked under blue sky and up narrow valleys carved by small becks feeding the Swale until we arrived at the ruins of Blakethwaite - a series of now ruined industrial buildings but which were clearly once impressive - sitting at the head of a narrow valley. We lunched here by the waterfall that no doubt once powered the site and then pressed on up onto the Melbecks Moor, a scarred moonscape of a place.


We ended the day with a long gentle descent along an old track down into the valley and entered Reeth via leafy footpaths. The day done, we sat in the sunshine and shared a beer in one of the pubs; it is a tiny place largely spread around a couple of greens. Penny had missed the last bus so we shared dinner at the pub and Penny managed to get a lift from some firemen there back to her car while I went off to find somewhere to spend the night. A couple of possibilities were mentioned in the book I had, but one in particular was to be avoided….and - no surprise – turned out to be the only place that had a room.

Day 5: July 10 - Shap to Hartley Fell Rig - 26 miles

It was oh so nice to wake up refreshed, to walk around without pain and to have a nice breakfast to look forward to. Last night at dinner I had met a girl who was running the route (we had been the only two dining in the hostel) and this morning a group of four older women and a young lad, all walking it. We shared a few thoughts and memories and then I finished packing and tried the boot test; would putting on my boots revert me back to the limping cripple I was yesterday, despite how great my feet now felt? After a few steps I knew this was not going to work well as my heels were pinched and my toes squashed, bringing back unwanted memories of yesterday. It would be another slow day unless I could sort this. These boots had been stalwarts for many years with no problems, in all sorts of environments and all sorts of terrain. The only thing I had done for the trip was to put in new insoles. Surely that would not make so much difference? I took them out and tried the boots again......bliss. I had not noticed the difference the insoles made when I had set off four days ago with fresh feet but now it was clear. The only risk was that without insoles my soles would take a pounding, but as things were this would be so much more preferable to the alternative.

I strode off with new purpose, more the man I knew myself to be when walking. Out of the village, across some fields then a footbridge over the M6 - a noisy change to everything I had been experiencing until then - and back into rolling countryside. Today's target was Kirkby Stephen some 20 miles away and in my new positive frame of mind it would be a cinch.

As I approached the fells on the far side of the motorway I knew for sure I was back on form. Groups of walkers ahead of me became objectives to catch and I strode out, caught each one in turn and overtook them; I knew I was making good time and feeling fine and as positive and energetic as I had on my first day.

I made the first 10 miles in 3 hours and in total solitude, having got ahead of anyone I had seen in front of me. Much as I would like to have kept that pace for the next 10 miles it would not be so. As I approached Ravenstonedale Moor, the second of three moors I would cross today, I knew I was slowing, although I was still faster than on previous days and doing an acceptable pace.

People think that when you are tired then you simply slow down physically. But it is not quite as straightforward as that on a long walk. Your tiredness affects your mental stamina - your ability to push on despite things being challenging - and it is your failing mental stamina that then affects your physical performance, making it harder to push through pain or maintain a pace when faced with a little adversity. I knew this was the battle I was fighting as I headed into the moor, up its gentle incline with heather and gorse as far as the eye could see and the hill rising in front. From the map I knew that as I rounded the top of the moor I would be over halfway across it and would then be focusing on the next part of this leg. As the hill rounded out to my front, and having been walking for what seemed an age, I strode up expectantly but another hilltop appeared before me.  Disappointing but hey, strive on to the top and then it would be downhill from there.

But it was not to be. False summit after false summit would appear and I was slowing down physically and becoming less focused mentally: it was a chain of thinking that told me I was not over the hill so I was not halfway so I was not about to begin the home leg so I was no closer to finishing the day. A wave of negativity..... The result is you slow down, you feel the twinges you have until then been able to mask and you have to push yourself to keep going.

I had this same problem over the final moor - Smardale Fell - which led to Kirkby Stephen; a series of false summits on a path over featureless moorland until the point - at last - when I arrived at the end and looked down on the last two miles towards Kirkby Stephen, hidden from view behind a green rise and some woodland. Maybe it is tiredness coupled with a desire to finish but these last couple of miles in each day seem to go on, feel the slowest, and it felt an age before I finally walked onto the Main Street of the town, the largest I had seen for a while but hardly massive. A local pointed me to the town's Co Op store where I stocked up with juice and some food.

I was then faced with a choice: should I try and press on or not? Despite the fact I had been tired on arrival, the fact that I would be pushing on further than planned would give me a big positive mental boost and so would be easier to accomplish than you may think. I needed to be in Keld some 10 miles on by mid-morning tomorrow - something I could still do if I left early enough in the morning - to meet Penny, the daughter of a friend.  I had spoken to her but we had never met and she was planning to walk with me the following day. I had effectively walked halfway across Britain and got myself dirty, hot, sweaty and rather smelly for a blind date. Not quite the way I would normally have aranged things....

But first I definitely needed to eat and I had unfortunately arrived at that awkward time of 4.30: too late for lunch but too early for dinner. I would have to wait until something opened for I was definitely planning to sit down somewhere in order to eat. So I passed time sitting in the sun of the town square, finalising plans for tomorrow with Penny and enjoying the break, until I noticed the curry house a stone's throw away was now open. It was not necessarily my top choice but it was still only 5.30 and where I now sat was the main route from town so it was too convenient to ignore.

A while later after my food (and probably unwisely a couple of beers) I found myself following the river out of town and then striding on a road uphill into the moors once again. I felt reinvigorated and although in my mind I was wondering if I would make it all the way to Keld before sunset, in my heart I knew I would probably stop soon after the climb which would be about a third of the way and would bring me to the mysterious Nine Standards Rigg, nine stone sentinels of various shapes but all about ten feet high sitting in a line by the summit of Hartley Fell. Their original purpose is unknown but they are believed to be old border stones.

Achieving the Nine Standards was another slow climb; they seemed so close and over the brow of the hill yet once again I was faced with false summit after false summit. It was as if some giant god of the Druids would pick them up and move them to the next hill top each time I was approaching for they didn't seem to be getting any closer...

Eventually however I arrived, took the obvious photo of sun setting behind the sentinels given the time and then headed off across the moor again. I had now passed from Cumbria into Yorkshire and crossed the watershed of the walk; from the summit of Nine  Standards Rigg all rivers I would now see would eventually flow

eastwards to drain into the North Sea rather than to the west. I was now crossing the Pennines - the backbone of the British Isles - but it was really a plod across a massive peat bog with no clear path; it was time to get the compass out. As the sun went down behind me I squelched my way through the boggy bits and picked my way through the grassy tussocks but I knew I would spend the night somewhere on the featureless and peaty moor that spread out before me.

An hour later I had made the decision to stop for the night. I had set out my bivvy bag as the day darkened and dined on a couple of breakfast bars. I was about halfway to Keld now, an easy walk for the morning to have a decent breakfast and then to meet Penny.

Day 4: 9 July - Angle Tarn to Shap - 11 miles

Despite not being by standing water the midges still managed to seek us out last night; not too many but it doesn't take many to annoy you. Again I spent quite a while trying to find a good balance between being sealed in the airless, claustrophobic cocoon of my bivvy and sleeping bag - and by doing this being protected from the midges - or exposing myself in part to them but getting the benefit of fresh air on this warm and close evening.

I'm not sure what time I got up, it was light and it was early. Allan was in a makeshift bivvy; no sleeping bag and only a plastic sheet for protection; I am not sure what to make of him and his approach to this walk; whether he is ill prepared or it is force of circustance is hard to tell from our conversations. We packed our things and left on an undulating path that took us past the Tarn, which was crowded with tents.  Some of these people were no doubt those that had walked past our bivvy site at intervals throughout the night.

It takes a little while to get going in the mornings; the legs seem fine but the pinching of the toes and the smarting of the blister disrupt your walking significantly until you get into a rhythm, after which the sharp pain becomes a more acceptable dull throb and things get easier. However, every time you stop you have to go through the same painful process again, working through the initial stinging of the blister to the dulled pain that a few steps of walking induces.

In this manner I limped along the trail. It promised to be a clear, hot day again although at first we were protected from the heat by the lie of the land. As we headed east though, over some marshy terrain and towards the climb towards Kidsty Pike - the highest point on the walk - we were once again in the sun's full glare. A long way below the full length of Hawswater stretched out before us gleaming in the sunlight and it was to its shore that we now needed to descend.  Firstly though, we took a rest at the peak; it was once again proving to be a slow and tiring day.

After our break at the Pike we descended the 2600 feet to the shore of Haweswater, a steep and bone jarring descent that proved tough on suffering feet. It was slow work and we felt we deserved our rest by - and drink from - the ice cold waterfall just off the path at the bottom. It was then time to move on, this time along the shoreline of Haweswater itself, another long and seemingly never ending slog for quite a few miles along a path that was not as flat as a walk along a shoreline should have been. It was slow work with tired and aching feet, worse than I would have expected. Allan was still with me and suffering too, but keeping with him was never the sole reason for my lack of speed.  The strange thing was that I felt fine physically yet everything seemed to take forever.  I can’t help but think that the heat and the lack of decent sleep and food for two successive nights was affecting me in some way; if not manifesting itself physically, then maybe affecting my mental stamina and ability to push myself as hard as usual.

After having made very slow progress along the lakeside we pressed on through woods and fields along a river bank to Shap Abbey. It was beautiful countryside in beautiful weather, but at the time it was largely lost on me as I internalised my thoughts and weariness; there is a mental aspect to coping when tired and maybe, here and now, I have just lost my ability to exploit that skill.

I had sorted a room at a lodge on the edge of Shap (not that Shap is very big), and I would be alone this evening as Allan had been picked up by his wife just a mile outside the village. I looked forward to solitude, a nice room and cozy bed. This and the promise of a cooked dinner kept me going as I limped into the town. The place is so small that at first I wondered what I might find there but the lodge was comfortable and they provided dinner so I did not have to go out. I met a couple of other people doing the walk.  Having laboured here with my pack it was noteworthy - to me at least - that all of them were making use of the transit service that supports most people, taking all but what they need for the day from one stop to the next; from a brief conversation I had with a man on the second day as I ascended to High Stile, only two percent of people are self-sufficient, carrying all they need for the trip themselves.

Day 3: 8 July - Greenup Edge to Angle Tarn - 11 miles

The setting may have been idyllic but the sleep was not. I dozed on and off throughout the night trying to find some satisfactory compromise between sealing the sleeping bag up to keep out the midges and having some air get in.

I arose in the clear cool air of another bright day and tidied up. It was a steady walk up out of the coll with the constant sharp pain of my blister accompanying every step. It was then downhill more or less all the way to Grasmere, a tiny Lakeland town of small cafes and tourist shops. It took considerably longer than I had hoped – it was quite a boggy route despite the dry weather - but I arrived, made a visit to a camping shop for a compass (I had lost mine somewhere in the previous two days) and then to the CoOp to stock up on water and supplies. I was then about to look for a cafe in which to have breakfast when I was accosted by Allan. He had not made it as far as he had planned yesterday and had spent the night about two miles further on than me. It had been pleasant to spend some time with Allan on the first day but he now seemed to want my company more than I wanted his. In fact I had hoped to be on my own for large stretches of the walk and certainly was not planning to spend extended periods with just one person. Nevertheless, it was hard to dismiss his company at this point and there would be opportunities to take alternative routes later on…..

We shared breakfast in a small but decent café and then headed off. Narrow lanes soon took us out of the village and to more open ground where we hit the open fells and began a steady climb up to Grisedale Tarn. At this point I was planning to once again take the 'high route' which would take me from the tarn and up Helvelyn before looping back to the main path.  As a result I would be without Allan who once again was taking the lower route. But much as I wanted the solitude I recognised just how tired I was and that tackling Helvelyn would be hard, maybe dangerous. It has surprised me just how tired I am after just over two days but the combination of the heat, carrying a heavy pack, not sleeping well and not managing to eat properly in the evenings is taking its toll. And of course the blister doesn't help....

Hopefully things will improve as I head out of mountains and into flatter land but for now I am faced with hills and precious little accommodation; it is limited on this route in the Lake District and additionally most is booked. Anyway, nights of wild camping are my preferred option in the early stages of the walk as this allows me to choose my distance for each day.  Walkers following the ‘official’ route are faced with few accommodation choices and their location very much dictates your mileage for the day; some days you need to walk long distances while others require a walk of only a few miles.

We walked around the tarn and down the Grisedale valley on the opposite side: long and gently descending, you could see the track following the valley down to Patterdale. It was straightforward but it seemed to go on for quite a while. The book I have of the route says the scenery detracts from the gentle but long descent but I felt too tired now to notice the beauty of the surroundings. I was being overtaken by almost everybody - which is not like me - as I shuffled along feeling like someone well beyond my years.

We followed the track out of Patterdale and up onto the other side of the valley, stopping by a small brook some 500m from Angle Tarn under the shining sun. As I write this I feel too weary to throw myself into the things I need to do; I need to sort out my foot, get out my sleeping bag and sort out something to eat but I find myself just lying in the sun with no enthusiasm to do any of these things. I hope I am not too tired to sleep….

Day 2: 7 July - Grisedale to Greenup Edge - 16 miles

I am sitting at the head of a valley with a 3 mile descent to Grasmere trying to decide whether to spend the night here or press on just a little further. It has been a hard day and the valley head is winning over...But given that the sun is shining, the sky is blue and I am in a bowl of green grass with only the sound of burns, birds and the breeze for company I think moving from this idyllic spot would be just silly.

Yesterday I had a much needed good night's sleep despite there being six men in the same room. The day started with a hearty breakfast and I headed off along the forest track with my companion from yesterday, Allan - well I did for the first 300 yards. At this point Allan continued along the forest track while I speared off to the left, directly up the hill to take the alternative 'high route'. It was a steep climb but after a good night's sleep and being properly fed and watered I got to the top without too much difficulty but with a sodden t-shirt from my exertions.

I was treated to a great ridge walk in clear weather over Red Pike, High Stile, High Crag and Haystacks, all well-known features on the ridge (when you can see them!) but it was a bit 'up and down'. I was ok with the up but some of the down sections were very steep and were hard on my legs. On top of that a blister I had developed was beginning to smart and I was feeling some heat on the rear of the other ankle too. I know I was slower than I wanted to be and I am clearly not the mountain goat I once was…

I made it across the tops to the slate mine museum at Honiston where there is a cafe which had a mug of tea with my name on it. It is the nature of hill walking that people actually talk to each other, find out destinations, ask what each person is up to. Through a couple who I spoke to I knew that Allan had been in the cafe 2 hours previously; they had spoken to him there. I had my tea and a bite to eat and chatted with another couple I had bumped into yesterday then pressed on down Honiston pass and through a couple of villages before taking a path upwards into the Greenup valley. It was now late in the day and I was weary, not as bad as yesterday but it was still a slow slog up to the head. My legs are not too bad and my feet, though aching and smarting a bit, still have a few miles in them. It is my whole body that seems to lack energy and I find myself looking only a few yards ahead while walking. In part I think the heat – the skies are clear blue and the sun is beating down – has worn me out, but the blister I have developed is not helping either. Whatever, I feel unusually tired for the miles I have walked.

So here I am, looking to spend a night under the stars before an early start tomorrow and breakfast in Grasmere followed by heading up Helvelyn and on to Patterdale.

Day 1: 6 July - St Bees to Gillerthwaite - 20 miles

The day started...well, I'm not exactly sure when the day started; that point was lost somewhere in the cramped and sleepless confines of the bus, watching night turn slowly to day over the edge of the Lake District.

I arrived tired but grateful to stretch my legs at 5am in Carlisle bus station, a loose description for what seemed nothing more than a small car park. The city was asleep other than the squawking of seagulls in the bright blue sky. It was another two hour wait before my train to St Bees and the start of the walk.

The small, two carriage train duly arrived and we shunted slowly around cliff edges and along the sea line stopping at interestingly named local stations that Beeching somehow missed until, an hour later, we arrived at St Bees. A short walk to the Post Office to get a couple of hot pies and then it was a pleasant stroll to the beach a mile away along gentle flat roads. I washed my hands ceremoniously in the Irish Sea, chose a pebble to escort me on the trip and to drop off in Robin Hood's Bay (as is customary) and then headed up the hill to get to the cliff path. There were a few groups already milling around and as I would soon discover, others already en-route.

This was the perfect start; everywhere was blue sky, blue sea, white hulled yachts with white triangular sails, looking like childish drawings, keeled over and dotted around the water two hundred feet below. The path wove its way along the cliff edge and all around me grass meadow with buttercups and grasses waved in a cooling breeze. I could take 180 miles of this I reckoned. But off course it was not to be.

The path slowly curved around to head east, meadow was replaced with fern, dank and heavy in the air, and then by narrow lanes. By this time I had bumped into another single walker - Allan from Preston - who would spend the remainder of the day with me and we plodded along through village and meadow and road heading steadily east and towards the first climb of the walk: the imposing (from a distance at least) Dent. We started the ascent on a bit of a low point (geographically of course, but I mean mentally) since we had been led to understand there was a tea shop in the tiny village that lay at the foot of the hill and we had planned a stop there prior to the ascent.  Sadly we were misinformed and consequently missed out on this small morale booster.

A steady climb up through pine forest and out onto windy Dent Fell led to the descent towards Ennerdale Bridge, the 'recommended' first night's stop over fourteen miles on from St Bees. Despite the fact I was now beginning to suffer from tiredness (a combination of lack of sleep and lack of food in the previous 24 hours) Allan and I had agreed to press on past Ennerdale. But first we had a refreshment stop in the first of the two pubs in the village.

We left the village and continued east. What followed was a lovely walk around the edge of Ennerdale Water although we were both suffering with sore feet and tiredness to enjoy it fully and wandered heads down watching the path and trying not to trip and stumble. We are now in a youth hostel eight miles further on from Ennerdale Bridge and feeling revived after pasta and copious tea. Tomorrow I head high over the hills while Allan will press on along the low route.

5 July - To Carlisle

There is nothing like setting yourself a challenge and walking the coast to coast seems to be something that might comfortably fit that description. However, as I now know, the challenge is not so much that you are walking from one side of the country to the other and if tired have no great flexibility to stop, but is more about the need to rely on British public transport to get you there and back: you need to start at one side of the country and end at the other and somehow find your way to and from home between them. So it's a bus to Bath, a bus to Bristol and then a bus to Carlisle before finally catching a train to St Bees in Cumbria. But the local bus to Bath doesn't have the timetable on the internet or at the (not so new) bus stops round the corner. And the non-stop bus to Bristol arrived and left from a different bay to that signed with no announcements and no one to help, and the slow local bus I was then forced to catch as a result broke down (although it did ultimately limp manfully into the station at Bristol). But eventually I was on the bus to Carlisle, although once again lateness and changes caused confusion and if it were not for a young guy I had been talking to alerting me to the unannounced arrival at a different bay I would have missed that too.

The Coast to Coast Trail

The Coast to Coast walk is a long distance trail covering some 180 miles traversing Britain from the west coast to the east. It starts at St Bees Head in the Lake District and finishes at Robin Hood’s Bay on the east coast of North Yorkshire. It was originally described by Alfred Wainwright - of Lake District walking fame - in his 1973 book A Coast to Coast Walk and some three decades later had earned itself the status of the second-best walk in the world in a 2004 survey.

Despite its popularity the route is unofficial in that it does not have National Trail status and is largely unmarked. It follows footpaths tracks and minor roads and takes the walker through the Lake District, across the Pennines into the Yorkshire Dales and finally into the North York Moors. As such it covers some of the most beautiful parts of Britain.

When I first heard of the route I had no idea of its popularity, only that it was about a twelve day walk that followed some of the most beautiful and remote parts of the country. I was also aware that following the ‘official’ stopping points on the route would dictate your daily mileage; centres of population and hence accommodation can be few and far between so while some days you might walk fewer than 10 miles on others you have to face a walk of over 20 miles. For my part I wanted to be a little more flexible so elected to carry enough equipment to allow me to wild camp in between the normal stopping points if I wished. Other than that I had no plans for the next few days, no pre-booked accommodation and no pre-determined date to finish.