The Lazy Cherub Enigma: Wainright Coast-to-Coast

Showing posts with label Wainright Coast-to-Coast. Show all posts

Monday, 1 June 2015

Wordsworth's Wonderland

After the Honister Hell experience we were in desperate need of some “leisurely walking". The next few days were deemed relatively easy at around 15 km each. We had now officially entered the Lake District and things went from hell to heaven in quickstep.

Day 3 – Borrowdale to Grasmere – 15.5 km.

We bade our farewells to Mrs. Jackson and headed out for Grasmere. I had been looking forward to this day since as it meant arriving in the land of Wordsworth’s inspiration and the real possibility of a good latte. This area consists of tiny hamlets and endless waterfalls – no doubt due to the prodigious rainfall. It is picturesque and completely beguiling. So much so that you forget that this is, after all, the “Fells” and before you know it you guessed it – you’re climbing. It was a gradual ascent until we hit Greenup Edge. As you might expect it lives up to its name – it’s green, it’s up and there are a lot of edges. This is another one of those rock climbing hill walks no one in England admits is boulder scrambling for two hours. Half way up we get shoved aside by a distinguished older gentlemen wearing an MEC pack. This man is on Seal Team mode. Ken calls out: “Hey! MEC! You must be Canadian!” He replies, “Yes. Vancouver!” and then promptly burns past us. Not far behind is a young boy and his mother. Up ahead is a couple that has been doing the Coast to Coast with their dogs – wiemaraner/greyhound crosses. At one point, it appears the husband is going to have to fireman carry each dog up over the ridge. Keep in mind; the Coast to Coast is billed as “completely dog friendly.” Eventually, bruised knees and all, we reach the top and so begin the descent or, as we have come to call it – “bogging.” Gorgeous scenery, amazing waterfalls, wet, soggy grass and mud plus or minus a treacherous rock path or two. We see distinguished Seal Team Vancouver guy lounging like “The Most Interesting Man in the Word” on a scenic outcrop taking in the valley below. Dog couple are regrouping because wife has blown our her ACL. Young boy and mother approach Ken and she says, “You look strangely familiar to me….” Turns out, she is an anesthesiologist at the Royal Columbian Hospital (Vancouver, BC). Ken does locums there every summer. Distinguished Seal Team (DST) Man is her father and the three of them are doing the Coast-to-Coast and then onto the Pennine Way. We commiserate together on how we all seriously underestimated the weather and terrain while DST Man forges his own path (literally) into the valley. As we approach Grasmere we see a sign pointing to “Poet’s Walk – Cream Tea and Cakes.” You had me at Poet’s Walk and you had the young boy at cakes. So of course we take the diversion. Walk starts out not so good. It’s a giant clear cut filled with machinery and marred with the scars of previous slash and burn removal. We promptly dub this the “Poet’s Walk of Despair” and determine this must be the place all poets go to when gripped with depression and addiction issues. Suddenly, we come upon an opening into a wooded glen and bam! – MAGICAL WONDERLAND!! It was like the Garden of Eden. Flowers. Trees. Ponds. Small deer running past. Owls staring down at you. A plethora of songbirds serenading you. Every woodland creature congregates here. I am sure if we waited long enough we would see wood nymphs and centaurs. We did stop for tea and cake (well, coffee and chocolate brownies) at the Lancrigg Hotel where I find sitting on the shelf of the “leave one take one” book exchange a first edition copy of Alfred Wainwright’s “Coast To Coast Walk.” I was, after all meant to find this place. Lancrigg was the summer lakes home of a certain Lady Elizabeth, esteemed friend of Wordsworth, married to a doctor (who was the surgeon on the Franklin expedition and besties with Charles Darwin and Charles Dickens). She entertained every summer the likes of Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, Mary Shelly, Robert Burns, Wordsworth (of course!) and was an avid supporter of women’s rights, anti-slavery and putting an end to child poverty. So really, I was just coming home.

Day 4 – Grasmere to Patterdale – 15 km.

Grasmere ah Grasmere. The place oozes poetic inspiration. Wordsworth said “It is the prettiest place on earth” and he has no argument from me. When one conjures up images of the Lake District this is the place that comes to mind. Wordsworth was only here for 9 yrs. but during this time he proved to be at his most productive. But enough about Wordsworth. Let’s talk about why you really come to Grasmere – GINGERBREAD. Beside St. Oswald’s church where Wordsworth is buried is a tiny shop selling gingerbread. You want to buy ALL the gingerbread. There was a line up to get into the store and since it is so small we didn’t have time to look. We panicked and only bought a small package of this magical stuff. Ken and I had only ever had gingerbread in the form of those desiccated gingerbread men of Shrek fame so we had made this purchase merely on speck and extreme tourist pressure. Then as we strolled through the churchyard looking for Wordsworth grave we ate ALL the gingerbread. This gingerbread is crack. Wait - it’s better than crack because crack isn’t gingery and gooey and has buttery crumbles all over it. Basically, if you go to Grasmere you want to buy gingerbread – A LOT of gingerbread. The other big plus of this place was trekking supply shops. Grasmere has pretty much figured out exactly what a walker will desperately need and graciously supplies it at reasonable prices. For me it was trekking poles because by now my knees were very unhappy. For Ken it was a waterproof map pouch because getting on the wrong path is far easier than staying on the right one. Then it was off to Patterdale! The walk begins with a forgiving ascent to Grisedale Tarn where once reached, you can look back onto a Beatrix Potter wonderland of foliage and sheep. We did not opt for going any higher (been there done that) and instead opted for the Grisedale Valley route. Other than wind it was great weather yet brisk enough to have us appreciate how much it would suck if the weather turned (which it does at the flip of a switch in these parts.) Had a Whitnail and I moment with a massive bull who was sleeping right on the path. He wasn’t about to move and we were afraid to. After about 15 minutes I figured if he wasn’t bothering to get up then how much of a threat could he be. Well – once we started walking past him we found out. Arrived ungored in the village of Patterdale, which consists of the Patterdale General Store on one side of the street and the White Lion Pub on the other. We were staying at the White Lion and this was our first ever stay at a public house experience. It was kind of stereotypical in a way. Pub is run by a big-breasted “mature” woman. Room was very small, clean and basic. Place was empty when we got there. We showered and came down an hour later. Suddenly the place is PACKED with people. Kids, dogs, hikers, biker, farmers. I mean it was loaded to the rafters with people. There were a bunch of military guys who where doing some machismo weekend hike marathon going on about how the “sausage bags” in their kit were useless. It would have been interesting to eavesdrop more on their debate but we needed to get to bed early. We had another long day ahead of us and Ken needs his beauty sleep before he tackles another Wainwright fell – or a randy bull.

Getting curious at Lancrigg

Fresh fell streams

Gingerbread - you know you want it!

Ken carving out his memoirs

Beware the masked lamb...

"THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH THE SOUND OF MUSIC!"

My and my red squirrel bestie - The indomitable Mrs. Jackson

Pastural Bliss

Last chance to call home!

"What ewe looking at?"

Stonethwaite - Home of all Red Squirrel lovers

Can it honestly get any greener?

Down in the valley

Behold! The gingerbread master!

Thursday, 28 May 2015

And So it Begins...

So here we are – the start of another journey – Wainwright's Coast-to-Coast. A bit of back story to all of this: Alfred Wainwright was a curmudgeonly cat loving fell walker who wanted nothing more than to walk in places no other human being treads. After tackling the Pennine Way and getting trapped in a bog he decided 1) Never ever doing that again, and 2) I’ll just make up my own damn long distance walk, thank you very much. And so it was in 1971 “AW”, as he is affectionately known, set out from St. Bees with his pipe and sketchbook to walk across England from one coast to another. Along the way he met a lighthouse keeper who was one of the few people EVER to be allowed to walk or even be near AW and he flirted A LOT with farmer’s wives and innkeepers. He may have written a sonnet or two, composed an opera, and figured out cold fusion because if AW is known for anything else other than his walking obsession, it’s his enormous intellect and ability to think deeply.

Our journey in AW’s footsteps began in St. Bees. A quiet little town on the west coast of England. The train ride up from Lancaster was an experience in itself. It was a 2-car train circa 1950 that for the first 45 minutes was packed with people who seemed to be heading to a party of epic proportions. After that, the train was pretty much empty except for me, Ken, Professor Snape (Seriously – a retired prof with the last name “Snape” was heading to St. Bees for the walk) and a family straight out of “Deliverance.” We spent the night at the Albert Hotel in a room done up in lovely 1973 décor sleeping in a bed with coil springs. For those of you who remember beds like this, it’s pretty much like sleeping on bouncy rocks. And then it was, the next day – TIME TO START WALKING!

Day 1 – St. Bees to Ennerdale Bridge – 26 km.

Coastal weather is notorious for being extremely good or extremely bad. As luck would have it, we had an extremely good weather day to begin our trek. First stop – the beach at St. Bees where you dip your toes in the Irish Sea and take a rock for good luck (and on completion, you toss said rock into the ocean at Robin Hood’s Bay.) After an hour of distraction due to all the interesting rocks and just general giddiness we finally began to trek up the cliffs and into the fells. For the most part, the walk was great – even terrain, a stop at a pub. At this point, the only let down was the pie shop at Cleator was out of pies so no Steak and Kidney pasties to kill the bonk! At around kilometer 20 we reached a small forest and promptly went the wrong way into the woods almost never to be seen again after being eaten by red squirrels. This meant a half hour of bush whacking following the GPS signal until we met up with the trail again. Yes, we COULD have back tracked and YES, Ken could have trusted me when I said “I’m pretty sure the trail is this well-manicured gravel path and not that deer run into oblivion” but then where would the fun be in all that? Now back on the trail we are greeted by the most beautiful green fell bespeckled with sheep and black lambs. Dent Hill lives up to its name – it really takes a Dent out of you. Let me say that after 20 km of walking, a hill that NEVER ENDS is not how you want to end the day. Every time we reached what we thought was the top we were greeted with “Shit. It just keeps going.” The descent was steep on scree and gravel. My knees and ankles were not pleased. Finally get done with the Fell from Hell and completed our last few kilometers in pastoral bliss. Stayed the night at Thorntrees run by Rosaleen and Billy and I made a pig of myself eating lamb shanks and root vegetables at the Shepard’s Arms.

Day 2 – Ennerdale Bridge to Stonethwaite – 27 km.

I almost have no words for this day’s trek because we are still traumatized. You know its going to be tough when your B & B hostess packs you a lunch with enough sandwiches, chips and Snickers bars to feed a small army. That said, the day started out much like the day before – sunny and the promise of no rain until late afternoon. And let’s face it, we are still feeling a bit cocky about how we mastered Dent Hill the day before and did not, like another couple, end up wandering the ridges for an extra two hours before making our way down. Even though this section is said to have the most rainfall of any place in England, we were certain we could manage. How bad could it be? It’s not like a monsoon. No, it's not. It’s worse than a monsoon. We had no rain until we hit kilometer 16 at the Black Sails Youth Hostel. By then the wind had really picked up and you see and feel a storm rolling in. I was so looking forward to a cup of tea but the hostel snack shop isn’t open yet for the season. I had to take solace in the Bollywood music blaring from the backpack of a group of mountain bikers who had stopped for a smoke break. We ate lunch looking up at Honister Hause – an epic ascent of 1000 meters STRAIGHT UP on rocks. Yep – we ate ALL THE SANDWICHES. Then we started the climb. And then the rains started. And then the hurricane force winds started. So imagine you are in a wind tunnel getting cold water from a fire hose blasted at you – that’s our life for the next 3 hrs. Holy mother of god. I have never been so wet and so cold in my life. Ken said he was less wet and less cold when he did the Antarctic polar plunge. Visibility was pretty much zero due to the pelting rain. Neither of us had trekking poles – BIG MISTAKE. We reached the “Haystacks” and understood exactly what AW meant when he said, “This is a desolate and lonely place.” He also said “There is no such thing as bad weather just bad clothing.” F you AW. You could be in a full body condom survival suit and still get soaked to the gills. Now at the top we were in gale force winds. On the plus side the wind was at our back. On the down side – you are going down that hill whether you want to or not. Came to the slate quarry and seriously thought about hitchhiking into town. Decided at this point we could take a short cut and save a whopping 1 km from the trek and get into our B & B. Stopped to read map to figure out short cut. Another BIG MISTAKE. Stop moving and you stop generating body heat. Stop generating heat you begin to go hypothermic. The last 3 km was pure survival instincts and pretty much an out of body experience. Finally made it to our B & B – Knotts View – a 450 yr. old inn run by the indomitable Mrs. Jackson. Mrs. Jackson is like the matron of a posh girl’s boarding school – no nonsense and tender at the right moments. “Right then! Before you get in the house strip off ALL those wet things and get them on the hooks outside. Once they stop dripping I’ll get them in the kitchen to dry.” Everything we had on was water logged. We were so cold we could not stop shaking. We were told in no uncertain terms to not hang anything wet in our rooms – especially on the heater. Then Mrs. Jackson yelled “ROBERT! GET OUT HERE AND MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL!” Out came Jim Henson/Robert who is about as nonchalant and jovial as Mrs. Jackson is stern and commanding. Robert took our bags to our room and then I stood in the shower for an hour and tried to regain feeling. After that, Mrs. Jackson was AWESOME. She was so kind and nice to me! She would hug me and ask if I was OK or needed anything. Wanted to make sure I had enough hot tea. The next day all our clothes were warm and dry – even our boots that we literally poured water out of when we got there. Ken was raving at breakfast at how with the simple use of a fireplace and newspaper (Robert kept restuffing our boots with newspaper to get the moisture out) our boots where dry as a bone. This in turn pissed off the table of British walkers whose million-dollar leather boots were not so fortunate. But you know, Mrs. Jackson is a red squirrel lover. And squirrels take care of their own.

Kilometre 1 and I make you dip your toes in the Irish Sea. 310 to go and 27 until a lamb dinner and a warm bed. The start of 18 days of blisters and bliss on the Wainwright Coast to Coast trek. I never said life would be easy or boring with me!