1. C2C - April 2015

Well, we’ve started our three and a half month trip away from home in our van with the only two definite points of ‘the plan’ being the cross channel ferry each way.   Quite enough planning by our usual standards I think.  There are of course lots of indefinite ‘like to do’ stuff, some of which has now been ticked off because we started in England.

This trip will be much less of a rich experience than our backpack ones because we are pretty well self-contained with our own transport.  We’ll meet far fewer locals, they’ll be no bus station fun and games and even the other travellers we meet will almost certainly be of the less adventurous type.   Caravan Club members some of them  –  nuff said ?  So while I’ll do my best to pick up and write what I think will be interesting things, there will be fewer of them and so I shall write these notes less often.

Our main ‘like to do’ was to finish walking the 200 mile Coast to Coast route through the Lake District, across the Pennines, Yorkshire Dales and North York Moors and naturally we began by going to Shropshire.  The Long Mynd, Stiperstones and Wenlock Edge are lesser known but beautiful walking areas where we hope to get ‘match-fit’ for long distance walking, having not done any real walking for months.

Settled near Church Stretton with great views of the hills bathed in sunshine we realise that this is a fairly depressed area with the town a contender for Charity Shop Capital of the World.  It’s surrounded by lovely moorland walking without going too far north if you want to avoid the west country moors and it was almost deserted.  It was still part of the warm sunny April weather we were enjoying but it was clear that we needed the practice, being slow and tired after a modest 9 or 10 miles on fairly undemanding terrain.  So we had three days of walking here in the warmth, a day driving north to a site near the Coast to Coast and then in at the deep end, 15.5 miles across the Pennines.

A Coast to Coast Walk was what the instigator Alfred Wainwright, the famous Lakeland walker, writer, artist and curmudgeon called it because he felt that people should sort out their own route, but of course people like order and so it is invariably now The Coast to Coast.  The walk is often signed C2C which is quite neat as it runs from the Irish Sea to the North Sea.  Heather has her pebble, picked up at St Bees Head in the west and destined to be hurled into the water at Robin Hood’s Bay when we finish.  The signing is sporadic.  Unsigned in the Lakes where the Park Authority doesn’t like any signs, well signposted in some places and poorly elsewhere.  The problem of course is that you don’t notice a missing sign so wits have to be kept alert.

Our normal system is to park as close to the end of a day’s walk as we can and take a bus (preferred but usually very awkward) or a taxi to the start.  Taxis are also sometimes difficult because they’re often tied up on school runs when we want them.  Walking away from the vehicle is an emergency measure only because buses may not run when expected or even when scheduled, there may not be a phone signal and we also miss out on a fresh cup of tea and cake in the van as soon as we finish.

Following the warmth and clear views of Shropshire it was a bit of a shock to wake to rain and low cloud for our first day,  that 15.5 mile walk across the backbone of England.  We have the proper gear for whatever the weather throws at us but we missed out on the views and had to use the compass a bit on the moors in the mist.  This is a well used route but there are places where the path is indistinct or there are a number of alternate routes on the ground in front of us.  It was cold, very windy and damp, there is no cover on the moor, not a tree or bush and in this area not even any useful rock outcrops, so a nice sheltered place for lunch was unlikely.  Then we found a hut, the only hut of the day, unlocked with tables and benches just when we were resigned to standing with our backs to the wind in order to eat lunch.  It only stopped raining twice for the whole walk, once when it hailed and the other when it was snowing.  The tea and cake in the van at the end was very welcome and we’d only seen two other nutcases all day.  Looking back at this landscape several days later from the east we could see the whole range covered in snow.

We finished the day in upper Swaledale, a beautiful part of the country which was bathed in sunshine for our second day, the sun which we were now to enjoy for some days to come.   We’re in the part of Yorkshire which last year hosted a couple of Stages of the Tour de France, some sort of bicycle race.  Everywhere we looked along the roads and in the villages were yellow painted bikes on walls and in gardens.   Later in the week when we got to the North York Moors we were in the middle of the 3 day Tour de Yorkshire (de not of) and the riders missed seeing us twice by half an hour or so.  The place was bike mad, lots of people out, loads of cyclists on the road and bikes galore again as decorations.  H saw one on a sharp bend propped in a hedge with a pair of dummy legs stuck in the hedge with it. 

Many of the houses here are made with local stone so once a little weathered they look more as if they’ve grown rather than been built and the ones which are falling to pieces look as if they’re being absorbed back into the landscape.

The C2C is reputedly the busiest long distance path in Britain but we see few people although I guess in July and August it would be different.  Still, at 200 miles long there could be a thousand people stretched along it who would never see each other.  Even when we do meet people they are as you would expect going in the other direction and we approach each other at a closing speed of about four to five miles an hour.  Sometimes a few words are exchanged, sometimes just one so as I said earlier the experience of meeting people is a lot less and the anecdotage count is zero.  If we were walking as most people do (and we’ve never met anyone who does it like us) we would be in the pub in the evening, possibly staying in the same bed and breakfast places and the common experience of walking the same route would naturally open up topics of conversation on something other than the weather, even with us Brits.

Down south in Dorset, our primroses were starting to go over as we left and bluebells were coming into their own.  This far north they’re not just later, many bloom together, so we see primroses, cowslips, bluebells, wood anemones and red campions all in full bloom at the same time.  The woods have much more dog’s mercury and wood oxalis than we’re used to and the great sweeps of oxalis look magnificent even though individually they’re modest little things.  On the moors we see and hear lots of Curlews and there are good numbers of Lapwings and Oyster Catchers on the tops.  Naturally there are lots of Red Grouse (just like the label on the whisky) and absolutely no raptors at all.  This may be a coincidence but is almost certain to be the illegal activities of gamekeepers who even when caught are only fined a small amount or given a suspended sentence.  I’d give them a suspended sentence but it would be a different kind.  Chiffchaffs are well represented.

After five days we’ve covered about 65 miles, leaving the Yorkshire Dales National Park and crossing the flat Vale of Mowbray to climb up onto the North York Moors.  Apart from the odd word to a fellow walker, we’ve only spoken to taxi drivers (once a day), supermarket checkout persons (once every few days) and campsite receptionists (most days).  Oh, and each other of course.  Few roads cross these moors in places which are convenient for us so we have one 20 mile day which went much better than we thought, taking just under 7 hours including all the stops.   This makes me think that we are ‘match-fit’ and we now have about a further 20 miles to the finish which we decided we’d do as two walks.  Finishing the first day by an astonishing 12.45 we ate the lunch we’d carried in our pack in the van.   Shall we do the final 8 miles today or not was our question.  We decide not.  The forecast for the following day is heavy rain and wind but it might be wrong.  It wasn’t.  Our direction is east and the rain, encouraged greatly by a strong wind is directly in our faces and it stings.  The final section of 3 miles or so is on the clifftop and the wind is strong enough to bring me to a standstill once or twice.  It is the most unpleasant weather we’ve had all week.  H is carrying the bag, the extra weight might keep her on the ground.  When we reach the end at Robin Hood’s Bay we look like drounded rats.  H heaves her pebble into the water and we go into the pub for lunch and a drink where someone asks me if we came by sea.