Grasmere to Patterdale

Monday 8 September 2008

(Walking Distance: 9 miles)

Tongue Gill & the Vale of Grasmere

Waterfall, Tongue Gill

Grisedale Tarn

Dawn & Lesley, "The Canadians", Grisedale

Striding Edge

Grisedale

Nearing Patterdale

Breakfast at the Glenthorne was reminiscent of meals in a Youth Hostel – but the food wasn’t as good. I half expected to be asked to give a hand with the washing-up.

I ate with the Canadians, sharing the table with an ancient, half deaf, couple. The lady reminded me of Jilly Cooper’s imagined granny: upper class, talkative, likeable and scatter brained. Dad’s Army were also staying. They confirmed the details of their adventure above Black Sail and admitted to have been rather shaken by the experience: the terrain was proving harsher than their Cotswolds training ground.

Breakfast was late and slow. It was 09:30hrs by the time I left Glenthorne and, after a saunter through Grasmere, was on the Patterdale track beside Tongue Gill by 10:00hrs. The weather was fine, dry and clear, other than occasional mist drifting on and off the high tops.

It’s a long pull up to Grisedale Tarn along the good, clear and, unusually for this trip, dry path. I’ve been on this track many times over the years, on more than one occasion being under-flown by RAF jets, but it is always a grand parade.

I sat at the tarn for a break. For a few magical minutes I had the place to myself, before being joined by a Geordie lad out for a morning’s exercise from his current home in Penrith. I was on my second cup of strong, tepid instant Nescafe before being joined by the Canadians. Inexplicably they declined my offer of a cuppa: obviously British Columbians don’t know good coffee when they see, or smell, it…

We debated which route to take to Patterdale. Although I didn’t fancy Helvellyn and Striding Edge, a walk along the St Sunday Crag ridge had seemed appealing from the comfort of my armchair. The day was now fine, clear and dry, not too hot with only a light breeze: perfect conditions for a high level walk. Off we headed down the valley.

I had never appreciated the extent of the rivalry, not to say animosity, between Canadians and Americans; it makes the competition between the English and, err, well…I guess most anybody else, seem positively friendly. To my ear, and I suspect that of the majority of British people, North America accents are just that: North American. To take the issue of nationality beyond doubt Dawn and Lesley had large Canadian flags sewn to the top of their rucksacks.

Living near the border with the USA and having to make frequent visits across it, the random vagaries, not to say ignorant bloody mindedness, of Homeland Security personnel in recent years has done nothing to improve the assessment of their neighbours.

I wandered ahead before Ruthwaite Lodge and took the wilder path on the north of the beck. The valley route might not be as grand as the high level alternatives but it’s still a tremendous walk. Where the path joins the one to Striding Edge I met an elderly Australian (that is to say older than me) resting beside the track after climbing Helvellyn. We walked together to Patterdale; strangers enjoying a few moments of companionship in a shared enjoyment of the hills.

I beat my bag to the White Lion. I was in Patterdale well before 15:00hrs, enjoying the luxury of a long, cold drink whilst quietly perusing the papers. It had been wet over the past few days apparently; flooding in Gosport…

I was back in the bar for a very tasty trout supper by 19:00 hrs. I was beaten to the table by the Canadians, the Aussies and Dad’s Army. The Aussies compounded my guilt by extolling the quality and grandeur of their visit to St Sunday Crag.

The weather forecast for tomorrow was for yet more rain. There was some debate as to which route to take. Dad’s Army were adamant that it would be foolhardy to go over the High Street ridge – the fright above Ennerdale was still fresh in their minds – everyone else decided on the high route and agreed to meet at nine.

Accommodation:

The White Lion Inn
Patterdale
Penrith
Cumbria
CA11 0NW
017684 82214

The White Lion room was cramped, scruffy and expensive. The pub, company and supper were excellent, but the chef obviously wasn’t working in the morning when the breakfast was, at best, adequate.

Rosthwaite to Grasmere

Sunday 7 September 2008

(Walking Distance: 9 miles)

Eagle Crag and Greenup Gill

Far Easedale Head

Easedale

Easedale and Helm Crag

The breakfast was the best so far: both for the food on offer and the company.

The Aussies, Christine and Peter, were staying at Gillercombe. They’d been walking with their daughter and her husband, who were also over from Australia and were walking the first few days before taking off to Ireland. They’d also met up with English friends who were accompanying them today. They’d had a good day yesterday with no real problems.

Three Californian ladies, half of a party of six, were also staying. They were a wonderful source of gossip.

It seems that the Israeli lads were struggling yesterday and the American ladies had had to help and encourage them along the trail. Apparently one was taking a bus today, whilst the other intended to walk to Patterdale. No more was heard of the Israelis, so they probably jacked it in.

It also appears that Dad’s Army had gone astray yesterday at Black Sail; wandering up to, what sounded like, Tongue Beck to Gillercombe Head in the thick mist. A momentary breach in the cloud eventually let them get their bearings and head back down towards the Honister Pass.

Today was the fourteenth anniversary of the start of my first Coast to Coast walk in 1974, with Rita and American friends, Larry and Laurie Lofton and their baby Lita.

For the first time in the walk the day started fine: misty on the tops, but dry. I left at about 09:00hrs and met the Aussie party and the Canadian ladies, Dawn and Lesley, for the walk up Greenup Gill. I dropped behind before entering the cloud on the approach to Lining Crag and continued alone.

It also started to rain but it lasted just long enough to climb into waterproof gear, before dry conditions returned and the clothing was peeled back off again.

Lining Crag is steep, almost a scramble, with the restored path today doubling as a waterfall. The view from the top was none existent.

The path from the top of the crag to Greenup Edge disappears for a fair distance into ground too wet for the formation of a trod. The route is marked by cairns, but they were too well spaced in today’s conditions: when a cairn was reached its successor wasn’t visible through the gloom. By a combination of using a compass bearing to get the general direction, looking for traces on the ground of previous walkers (not an infallible tactic: they might have been lost) and peering into the cloud for the next pile of stones, I gained the summit of the pass and the much clearer track without mishap.

These little triumphs of navigation do increase one’s hill walking confidence mightily.

I’d considered taking a circuitous route to Grasmere from here, via High Raise, Sergeant Man and Blea Rigg, but the conditions ruled that out. On I went, still in thick mist, down to a very boggy Wyth Burn and back up to Far Easedale Head.

Here I paused, had a coffee, devoured a battered turkey butty carried thus far from Ennerdale Bridge and made the second navigational decision of the day. The route over to Helm Crag, along the ridge to the north of Easedale is glorious – one I’d taken with Rita on our second C2C. With the cloud still thick I headed down the valley, itself a magnificent though occasionally boggy walk, towards an early finish and Grasmere.

Once committed, after the loss of a couple of hundred feet, the cloud cleared leaving blue, almost cloudless, skies (but the prospect of an afternoon off in the village was still welcome).

I was pleased to note that I’d had no foot or back problems thus far and that my pace and stamina were better than I’d anticipated. Too early to gloat, but I might save my deposits and finish the walk yet.

Despite dawdling I was in the Glenthorne Guest House by 14:00hrs; some time before my bag was dropped off by the Packhorse service. After laundry duties and a shower I turned up for the establishment’s traditional afternoon tea and cake in the lounge, but soon made my excuses and escaped to the village.

Grasmere was at its touristy best. I whiled away a pleasant couple of hours pottering in the shops, galleries and church. I wondered, not for the first time, where the residents of places like Grasmere bought the essentials of life – washing powder and potatoes. Paintings and sculptures are there aplenty, but toilet rolls…

Whilst buying an Alan Bennett (I’d omitted to bring any none C2C reading) I bumped into the Californians and spent a few minutes exchanging notes and gossip – it was the last time I saw them, they had a slower schedule from Patterdale onwards.

Later I met up with the Canadian ladies, Dawn and Lesley. They were also at the Glenthorne and had walked the ridge route: they’d set off in mist, but were rewarded by clearing skies and the splendid views. We ate together at the good, but expensive Jumble Room.

I’m getting used to early nights now. I was in bed with the book by ten and snoring sweetly by eleven.

Accommodation:

Glenthorne Guest House

Easedale Road

Grasmere

Cumbria

LA22 9QH

015394 35389

The Glenthorne is a slightly unusual spot: a Quaker establishment with comfortable, en-suite accommodation and drying and communal rooms, yet with a hostel-like feel. The breakfast reinforced the collective feeling, with a queue forming in the hall waiting for the breakfast bell and cereal course. The remainder of the meal was indifferent.

Ennerdale Bridge to Rosthwaite

Saturday 6 September 2008

(Walking Distance: 14.5)

Ennerdale

Ennerdale from Loft Beck

Haystacks and Dubs Bottom

Two further guests had arrived late at The Cloggers last night. Two Israelis, in their early twenties, had turned up at 20:30hrs after spending the best part of twelve hours walking from St Bees. They’d been carrying over-heavy packs and navigating, not too accurately it seems, from a guide book. Still, they were young, fit and cheerful.

The weather forecast wasn’t good but proved accurate. The only positive spin was that it would be even wetter in the Northeast.

The walk started at about 09:00hrs accompanied by lashing rain and strong winds. It stayed that way much of the day. I strode out of the village with Dad’s Army (the blokes from Cheltenham) but gradually pulled ahead: the waterproof hood, noise from the elements and my incipient deafness weren’t conducive to conversation.

I took the less demanding path along the north shore of Ennerdale Water and made reasonably quick progress along the valley. The views to the high fells were limited by mists but Steeple Rock was impressively displayed. Ennerdale is not as heavily forested in the past and is much more attractive for it.

I’d been looking forward to a break at the Black Sail YHA but it had been taken over for the weekend by a private party. I’m not sure why I still pay the YHA a subscription; their new commercial ethos seems at odds with that of the organisation I joined many years ago. They’ll soon have all those unprofitable hovels in remote places sold off to finance nice, big, shiny, city hostels.

I sat outside during a lull in the rain eating my apple and banana.

Climbing up Loft Beck, still ahead of the pack, I found that the old loose, slippery path has been improved. It is now a much easier, if no less steep, proposition. It lead into the wind and mist below Grey Knotts, with only occasional views over to Haystacks and down to Buttermere.

Honister Hause has a café at the slate mine. It has a mixed clientèle of hikers, passing motorists and tourists taking a tour of the old workings. I sat chatting for half an hour to a car-borne, elderly New Zealand couple, eating my sandwich and supping my tea, whilst watching an ever expanding puddle of water drain from my clothing and spread across the slate floor.

Despite the fun I eventually went back into the rain. In any weather, however, Borrowdale is superb. It must be the most beautiful valley in England. On the bridleway down to Seathwaite I was passed by four mountain bikers heading down the hill at speed. I walked passed the group 100 yards later, just before where the path was blocked by a recently fallen tree. They were repairing a mangled and punctured wheel (or were they fixing water wings?).

I was first in at the B&B, arriving by 16:00hrs. Mrs Dunckley, no stranger to the needs of wet walkers, had my sodden clothes dried before I’d finished showering and a pot of tea and cake organised in the lounge shortly afterwards.

I wandered into the village in the evening for a tasty trout at the Scafell Hotel before another early night.

Gillercombe

Stonethwaite Road End

Rosthwaite

Cumbria

CA12 5XG

01768 777602

Gillercombe is a great B&B. It offers a warm welcome to comfortable rooms, has an efficient drying and laundry service and is reasonably priced.

St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge

West Top, Dent Hill

Friday 5 September 2008
(Walking Distance: 10.5 miles)

Breakfast at the Tomlin was good. A kipper set me up for the day.

There were two couples in the dining room. I’d already met the Aussies, Peter and Christine, on the landing between the bathroom and my bedroom, whilst clad in a rather fetching damp towel. The sight had, surprisingly, failed to put them off their food. Another couple, from the Kirby Stephen area, were heading for the Gillerthwaite YHA, but were taking a more direct route than the one suggested by Wainwright.

Whilst walking the few yards to the seafront bus stop it began to rain. The rain eased for half an hour the following day, but didn’t entirely stop for the next 34 hours or more.

I was deposited at Sandwith for the soggy and intricate 5 mile walk across already saturated ground to Cleator. In fair weather the outline of the western fells adds a sense of anticipation to the walk across the old industrial belt, but today the views were limited and grey. Staying with the cycle track along the abandoned railway delays the short acquaintance with Moor Row, a somewhat sad relic of a more prosperous time.

Cleator, not by any measure a pretty spot, has an optimistic, friendly feel, typified by the Three Tuns and a village shop selling everything from delicious pies (bugger the diet) to the combe that I’d forgotten to pack. The pub was hard to leave. I was the first customer of the day and the coffee and chat were good. On such a mucky day it was easy to believe that some C2C expeditions got no further than the front bar.

Despite having climbed it before Dent Hill was a bit of a shock. Its 1155 foot summit might be modest, but it is a sharp, unrelenting thousand foot climb. It marks the entry to the Lakes and the more demanding terrain of the next few days.

Even in the murk the views from Dent were extensive, although the tops to the east were covered in mist. Recent tree felling has made it a doddle to find the overly steep path down to bonny Nannycatch; a total contrast to the country on the other side of Dent.

I meet my first walkers along Coast to Coast path in Nannycatch: a couple from Chicago who, like me, were just beyond the first flush of youth. They were labouring under immense packs, which they’d dragged from their overnight camp at Moor Row and were heading for the former, but now closed, campsite at Ennerdale Bridge. It appeared that they’d made the classic error of anticipating the “walk” to be a rather more sedate affair than “trail” with which they were presented. Following a damp night in the garden of the Fox and Hounds at Ennerdale Bridge they headed for the nearest station to catch a train south.

After several visits to the area on this occasion I actually found the Kinniside Stone Circle, a modern(ish) sham monument. In truth it wasn’t really worth the search.

I got to Ennerdale Bridge a bit too early to go directly to my digs, so stopped off at the Fox and Hounds for a snack and to allow some of the water to drain from my waterproofs. I was met in the bar by Dawn and Lesley, a couple of feisty and entertaining ladies from British Columbia. They’d made short shrift of the first day and were organising accommodation for the middle section of the walk, whilst harassing Air Canada for the delivery of a lost bag.

I’d booked into the B&B by 15:30hrs and luxuriated in a hot shower and a snooze before venturing out in the evening to the Ennerdale Bridge fleshpots. I had a fair meal at the Sheppard’s Arms and a chat with a couple of retired chaps from Cheltenham in the Fox and Hounds. One of the men somehow reminded me of Arthur Lowe; despite being not at all pompous I couldn’t help but think of him as Captain Mainwaring.

Accommodation:

The Cloggers
Tom Butt
Ennerdale Bridge
CA23 3AP
01946 862487

The Cloggers is a grand, good value, little cottage run by a pleasant elderly couple. The bedrooms are a good size. Although there is a shared bathroom there was no undue competition for the facilities during my stay.

To St Bees

Thursday 4 September 2008
(Walking distance: 7 miles)

The start at St Bees

St Bees beach

South Head

The first step

Coastguard Lookout, North Head

St Bees Lighthouse

 

The drive, with a friend, from Bridlington to St Bees took about four hours, mainly in rain. The journey was uneventful, only the A1 bridge over the River Swale at Catterick Bridge hinting at later travels.

We arrived at St Bees at lunchtime in improving weather. By 14:30hrs I’d booked into the Tomlin Guest House, said my goodbyes to John, my lift, and was ready for a walk.

There’s a morning bus from St Bees to Sandwith. I figured I could walk a circular route following the C2C route to Sandwith, before using a back road and footpath to return to the lodgings. I could then return to Sandwith by bus the following morning, rejoin the route and get a head start for the walk to Ennerdale Bridge.

The afternoon had brightened considerably, with the Isle of Man visible out to the west. After the ritual boot dipping I set off up the path to South Head. There were good all round views with the western fells making a fine array to the east. The path, however, was wet, muddy and slippery. This didn’t present too much of a problem on South Head, where exposure to the cliff edge is limited, but would make the traverse of North Head interesting.

There were a few people enjoying the unaccustomed sunshine on the cliffs, but none on my mission - they'd have left the coast much earlier in the day.

At North Head Snaefell and Man faded into the haze, although the hills of Galloway, across the Solway, came clearly into view. Here discretion proved thge better part of valour: I avoided the slippery path along the more exposed cliff of North Head, instead heading inland along the lighthouse access road into Sandwith. Later conversations proved this to have been a good decision: quite a few walkers had found the combination of deep, slippery mud, cliff and air more than a little daunting.

A quiet lane through Rottington and a field path to the beach soon brought me back to my digs at Tomlin.

St Bees is a pleasant but unspectacular spot. But for Wainwright it’s unlikely that it would attract many visitors from outside the area. It has a fine church, a small public school, several pubs, the Platform 9 Restaurant and the dire Seacote Hotel.

I ate at the excellent Platform 9 and visited the pubs and hotel, without finding anything to distract me from an early night.

Accommodation:

Tomlin Guest House
Beach Road
St. Bees
CA27 0EN
01946 822284

The Tomlin is a good value, basic but comfortable B&B. It has a kipper option for breakfast.

Got Back Wednesday

I finished the walk, blister and injury free and on schedule on Wednesday 17th. I've not been able to post since I got back - Talktalk is having a problem accessing Blogger.

It was a terrific walk and a great experience, despite a very wet start across the Lake District and saturated ground throughout the route.

I only managed a three or four pounds loss on the weight front and I've got a greatly enhanced appetite. It would be ironic if I gained weight in the long term.

All the gear performed well, except my expensive Meindl boots which are shot: the sole on the heel of one boot is starting to become detached and a line of stitching on the same boot's upper has failed. Although the boots are over a year old they've done less than 400 miles - at 33 pence a mile they're proved more expensive than if I'd driven the distance. I've have a whinge to Meindl via email, but I'm not anticipating any proper redress - it would be nice to be surprised though.

I'll be posting a page for each day of the walk over the course of the next few days. In the meantime the photos are on Picassa.

Ready for off (?)

Well, I’m more or less ready for the off. It’s the last day at work tomorrow and, despite the gremlins conspiring to set eleventh hour cripplers, I’m hoping for a mid-afternoon flyer.

The baggage is ready for the pack, the maps and guides are sorted, the boots are clean and the lift to St Bees is arranged. Using the C2C Packhorse service simplifies the task of preparation with far fewer constraints: just bung life’s little luxuries (shirts, pants and socks) in the bag. It’s much easier than back-packing proper.

I should be in St Bees by early afternoon on Thursday, so hope to walk the first four miles to Sandwith before tea. If I do, I’ll catch the morning bus back to Sandwith on Friday, making for an easy first day to get into gear (I googled for the local bus timetable).

The preparations seem to have been reasonably successful.

My feet and boots are now on speaking terms. After lots of experimentation with various types of walking socks, footbeds and the like, the combination that works best is liner socks matched with low-tech Odour Eater inserts (when I think about it I used a similar permutation on the Pennine Way some years ago). It also helps my toes enormously if I stop every five or six miles to take my boots and socks off and air my feet. Not a pretty sight for passing innocents, but effective.

I was chastened by last year’s sciatica attack, but haven’t had any worrying twinges of late – walking was recommended to improve back health, but I was cautioned against compressing my spine carrying too heavy a rucksack.

My weight remains stubbornly at around 14st 10lbs, but I feel much fitter than I did a couple of months ago. It’ll be interesting to see which wins out, big breakfasts and pub suppers or the increased exercise. I’d like to think the latter, but guess it will be a draw.

As a concession to ageing I bought myself a pair of Pacerpoles. I’ve used a single trekking pole for years now, but only recently tried twin poles; and Pacerpoles at that. The handles are of an unusual design and call for a completely different technique. I’ve just about mastered them now, although it’s not recommended to get too close when I’ve got them fully deployed or when I’m attacking a stile. I’ve not actually tripped over them of late and they do seem to help on longer walks. They exercise the upper body too.

The weather forecast doesn’t look too promising for the weekend. It seems my wet weather gear will be getting an outing. I still hope to try one or two of the more adventurous alternatives, but only if the conditions are suitable. I was rather hoping that September might tilt the rainfall statistics back towards the average. We’ll see…

I don’t have the technology to post on a daily basis during the walk but will catch up when I get back.