Only it wasn’t winter. It was March, almost Easter; supposedly early spring – a time, I’d supposed, of primrose lined paths, sparkling sunshine and hosts of daffodils.
But in Northern England this year, March was decidedly still winter.
Wainwright’s Coast to Coast is a tough walk; tougher still to complete in twelve days and tougher yet to complete with a forty pound rucksack on your back.
From above Eagle Crag looking down into Langstrath, Cumbria
Start throwing in day after day of snowfall and walking into an unremitting, scouring Siberian easterly and it could be brutal.
Climbing out of Borrowdale
Each day brought new trials and obstacles – from steep Lakeland passes to navigating through low visibility on paths covered in snow, following cairns buried in snow and looking for landmarks and way-markers hidden by falling snow.
Pat in a ditch – won’t be the last time.
I didn’t walk alone all the time; I met up for several days with another coast to coaster (hi Pat).
“Gee Ma, I sure is having fun”
We staggered up to Nine Standards Rigg together (the highest point on the Pennine section), blundering about in another whiteout and that ferocious wind;
Pat trying to stay upright
a wind that got even stronger up on the Yorkshire moors; that horrible, relentless, flaying, snowflakes-in-your-eyes, difficult-to-stand-upright-in damnable East Wind.
We did get one good day which helped remind me why I go walking at this time of year.
On other days too there might be a fleeting moment of sunlight.
Once or twice, I even saw that most inconstant and fickle of companions – my shadow.
But too soon we were slogging it back up into the snow line, freezing cold and blizzards where visibility was down to thirty yards and we were navigating by compass.
Wading through snow, uphill with a rucksack is very tiring. (Should you have wondered).
On most of the 23 mile day’s march from Richmond to Ingelby Cross, there was no snow.
No snow, just mud. Lots of mud.
I saw plenty of wildlife including hares, deer
One of two I saw
and red squirrels (though you’ll need a magnifying glass to see it);
dippers in the Swale
and red grouse on the Moors.
On St Bees Head, I saw two birds I’d never seen before – guillemots
and razorbills.
And I also saw, of course, the free-flying macaws of Kirby Stephen. Surreal, huh? (The Guardian explains why).
Stonethwaite, Borrowdale
I stayed in charming villages and hamlets,
The Hermitage, Shap
at some excellent B&B’s (special mention goes to Jean at The Hermitage, Shap, Matt at the Keld Lodge, Keld and John at The Manse, Reeth),
The Lion Inn, Blakey Ridge
and collapsed in warm, gemütlich pubs that, frozen as I was, had me weeping in gratitude on arrival.
North Yorkshire Moors Railway, Grosmont
I saw splendid man-made things
Localized frozen sea spray
and weird,
alien things.
There were cruel steps and stiff climbs,
Squeeze stile, Swaledale. Might as well just put a sign up – “No Fat Thighs Beyond This Point.”
gates, kissing gates, stiles, ladder stiles and squeeze stiles beyond count,
and those seemingly infinite, arctic North York Moors;
moments of “I can give up now and be home in time for tea”
and others of “Marvellous. Simply, Bloody Marvellous.”
But mostly I immersed myself in walking across a beautiful England, conquering one cooked breakfast after another, carrying all that I might need, wondering what I might have for supper and
looking about me
and staring.
(As it isn’t a nationally designated path, way-marking on the C2C is non-existent in places. Thankfully, people have improvised – bottom right requires a Geordie accent)).
Apparently 10 000 people from all over the world start the C2C each year – how many complete it, I don’t know. Pat and I (and all the B&B owners and various walkers and others I met) didn’t know of anyone who had walked all of it this year and we were the first of 2013 to sign ‘The Coast to Coast Book’ at
(Left) Pat and his wife, Sue at The End
Wainwrights’ Bar, Robin Hood’s Bay.
As well as signing The Book, tradition dictates that you dip your boot into the Irish Sea on setting out from St Bees and dip it again into the brine at RHB. Tradition also requires that you pick up a pebble at the start, carry it all 200 miles and
Me hurling
then hurl it into the North Sea – a bit pointless really but actually quite satisfying. Unfortunately, as Pat did neither of these latter two requirements, I had to declare his C2C effort null and void. Strict I know – but tradition is tradition.
Do I regret walking the C2C at this time of year? During the coldest March since 1962? Nope, not for a moment. It was physically the most challenging … er, challenge that I’ve ever done; the total cumulative ascent is equivalent to climbing Everest (according to my guide-book). It was Northern England showing off at its wildest and rawest. The satisfaction of completion was immense and, significantly, Pat and I had the paths, fells, moors and mountains mostly to ourselves. A rare honour.
Heck, I even got to see daffodils.
Do I rate the C2C as the second best walk in the world (according to one survey of ‘experts’)? Well, I’ve formed an opinion but I’m not going to tell you what it is.
Walk Wainwright’s Coast to Coast yourself and see what you think.
oooOOOooo
A more detailed account of this walk appears on my other blog – ‘The Walking Gardener’
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From up on the drive, the Priory in its own snow-covered, frost pocket.
The east lawn unsullied by a gardener’s footprints.
Unloved (by me) conifers looking better than at any other time of the year.
Apart from the occasional blackbird alarm call (and the crunching of snow under foot), the gardens were silent;
the surrounding fields and woods too.
