Hello Pete and Ruth here
 
We are raising money for St Giles Hospice which is based in Lichfield and who provided excellent care for Dad during his illness as well as a lot of support for Mum too. What we have decided to do is raise money through sponsorship of a two-week trek along the Wainwright Coast to Coast walk.  Your support is really important to us. It's easy to donate online with a credit or debit card - just go to our JustGiving page:
 
http://www.justgiving.com/John-Gawthorpe
 
Pete's son, Tom is joining us for the whole two-week walk, as are many friends and family.  If you would like to join us in a leg of the walk and raise some sponsorship for the charity along the way then please contact Ruth on ruth.gawthorpe@hclibs.com and she will email you the route and accommodation table. We'd love your company along the route, however short or long a distance you would like to walk.
We start at St Bees on Tuesday 11th May and we stagger into Robin Hoods Bay on Sunday 23rd May.  That’s 13 days of walking!  Surely that deserves your support?

Each day that we walk we will leave a blog here (that's a diary for those technophobes amongst you) to keep you up to date on the state of our feet, a report on the days events, a bit about the hostelry we are staying at and where we are with the charity totaliser.
 
Donating through JustGiving is simple, fast and totally secure. Your details are safe with JustGiving – they’ll never sell them on or send unwanted emails. Once you donate, they’ll send your money directly to the charity and make sure Gift Aid is reclaimed on every eligible donation by a UK taxpayer. So it’s the most efficient way to donate - I raise more, whilst saving time and cutting costs for the charity.

So please dig deep and donate now
Thank you.
Pete and Ruth

Many Thanks
 
Ruth Gawthorpe

 

Pete pressed the wrong button when trying to update the page and discarded everything! However it was probably due to be updated anyway but don't tell him! He's feeling suitably guilty.

 

Saturday 24/4/10 saw the Beeston and Toton Sycamore Cricket club's. (BaTs) charity cricket day organised by the Secretary Dennis Wright and Treasurer Bob Daykin. All proceeds were pledged to this appeal and what a day we had.

36 players turned up. What a turn out. Poor old mum and Ruth were making cream teas for England. Tony Beck ate 8 scones! (he wasn't able to bowl in the second game). Jason Catchpole charmed his way through security into the kitchen to uncover the ample supply of lager hidden by the tea-ladies, chilling in the sink (the lager that is, not the tea ladies). There was a raffle with tickets sold on the day and at our sponsors The Manor Bar and Restaurant at Toton for the week running up to it. People were so generous no more so than Jim and Barbara Hamilton. They won first prize in the raffle, 4 tickets to Alton Towers. Jim greeted this news with, "I went there once years ago, I felt sick for a week!" 

The tickets were given back by Jim and Barbara to be auctioned off at the end and after a lengthy battle between the young pretenders, Dennis, Andy and Lash and the eventual winner, Lesley of the Manor, they went for £140. Another kind offering from the sponsors and bought as a gift to her barmaids for a day out. Nice lady.

The other two items auctioned off were as a result of one of Pete's colleagues,  Mel. She managed to acquire two signed cricket shirts. One by burly England all-rounder Alex Tudor (cricket officianados will know Alex scored 99 not out on his England debut before injury sadly cut short his professional career short) and the other by Mark Ramprakash who non-cricket officianados will know from Strictly Come Dancing. Both were hard fought for. One of only two people big enough to fill Alex Tudor's shirt, Phil Haywood, won that battle (thanks to Paul Smith for pushing the price up).

Jason Catchpole, fueled by the lager secured earlier, then crossed swords with Paul (not keen on umpiring) for the right to own Mark Ramprakash's slightly used shirt. Jason finally got it for £100 looking like there was no limit. He did use his young son Hayden to do his bidding, an advantage over Paul who battled hard until eventually he had to give in. (thanks to both).

There are so many I'd like to mention but if I went on I'd be bound to miss one out so let's just say  thanks to all who participated and donated through the day.

Well done all!

 

THE BLOG.

 

Day 1, Tuesday 11/5/10, St Bees to , 14 miles.

Apologies for not updating last night, but weary feet and an insatiable thirst prevented such intricate operations.

Walkers; Pete, your leader, Tom, his beautiful assistant, Ruth, CEO, and Pete Shaw and John Sails, a couple of cops.

Weather; Glorious! Constant sun from sunrise to sunset! Unbelievable.

What a start. The not so famous 5, (no dog or ice-cream) started the journey. It ‘s always a journey nowadays isn’t it?

Pete and Tom went to dip a toe in the as is the traditional start to this walk. A rogue wave gave them a little more than they bargained for, but they soon dried off. Another tradition of selecting a pebble from the beach at St. Bees to transport to the beach at was observed although Pete and Tom decided to pick each other's pebble to carry, to test their fairness. Tom mistook the word 'pebble' for the similar sounding word 'boulder' but after some begging from his father (and the threat of a long walk home) he agreed to swap it for something a bit smaller. Niceties out of the way we set off.

We started with a surprisingly tough walk along the cliffs around St Bees Head which unfortunately provoked a leg injury that the CEO already had. Luckily the newly appointed Chief of Medical staff, Ruth’s son Alex, was on stand by nearby and was able to take the ‘Mayday' mobile phone call. Alex, his man Friday Carrie and the prodigal daughter Evie (her of the frown) sprang into action. Ruth was abandoned by the other determined walkers at a suitable pub in Sandwith, which to Ruth’s disappointment was shut! I'm told she was soon rescued. A day of coffee shops and pubs followed for Ruth. Not so the intrepid, now 4.

Luckily the terraine got easier for a while and we stepped out, all in good spirit until we actually saw the hill, nay mountain, they call Dent Fell. On the map it was there. The figures of 352 clearly marked but that meant nothing until it was in front of you! And the path didn’t meander up it. It just went straight ahead to the summit. Amazingly we all made it though and no-one moaned, not even John!

Pete Shaw clearly thought it was a test of some sort and set an awesome pace. Tom was the only one who could keep up. John and I decided a more reasonable pace was more appropriate and told each other a story about a tortoise and a hare we once knew, which made us both feel better.  We made great time and landed in before 4pm.  Evie, Alex, Carrie and the rescued CEO, were waiting for us with a beer. Most welcome. The Shepherds Arms was better than we feared having read the less than complimentary 'trip advisor input', although there was a foul smell which wasn’t eminating from Evie’s nappy but did appear to be coming from the sewers including the waste pipe running through our toilet.  Pete S. and John meanwhile had a country pile to themselves just down the road, as their fellow patrons had recently cancelled. Had they heard of their potential co-habitants? Anyway they ended up with 11 bedrooms!  Dinner at the Shepherds Arms meanwhile was dreadful, beer was good, breakfast was scrummy.

 

Day 2, Wednesday 12/5/19, to Rosthwaite, 14 miles.

Walkers; Pete and, now chief navigator, Tom.

Workmates fled back to Nottingham telling anyone who'd listen that they would have loved to have walked another day but didn't have their respective wives permission!

A fairly uneventful day followed. The weather was again perfect. We set off late but at pace. The early parts were fairly level alongside Ennerdale Water and so we strode out beginning a daily challenge of overtaking as many fellow walkers as possible. We bagged 45 victims today!

When we got to the Black Sail Hostel at the top of the Ennerdale valley the terraine changed drastically and we climbed 400 meters up a rather steep flight of ‘steps’. Tom set the pace and kindly waited for his Dad to catch up now and again (thoughtfully smoking a roll-up as he did so). Both had legs of jelly by the time we got to the peak, but what views we got. First back down Ennerdale over the lake we'd just walked along, and back to the Irish sea, and then soon afterwards down through the two lakes in the Buttermere valley and again to the sea. We guess that will be the last time we'd see sea water until hopefully making it to (still 168 miles to go).

Then a lovely descent into Rosthwaite and the B & B that time forgot, The Royal Oak. Lovely in many ways, the gong sounded time for dinner, ready or not! Someone had also chosen what we wanted to eat as well as when. Luckily I liked what arrived. I hope everyone did!  Ruth, who is still suffering the effects of trying to do the coast to coast in her high heels, thinks that this is the hotel where people come to die!

Day 3, Thursday 13/5/10, Rosthwaite to , 8 miles.

Walkers; Pete, Tom, golden boy Alex, (Ruth’s son), and Carrie, his wife, Uncle Roger, dad’s brother, Auntie Maggie, and cousin Sarah, 32 years, slim, attractive, doctor, GSOH, non-smoker, own car, house and teeth, unattached seeking same, preferably male. All applicants will be thoroughly vetted by Roger and Maggie (humiliating but worth it).

Stowaways: Evie, the prodigal one!

An eventful day! The support vehicle failed to start. The dead battery being due to a light being left on in the car. Ruth stayed behind to await the RAC man who revved her up and got her going. Meanwhile, Tom and Pete, Alex, Carrie and Evie left Rosthwaite in search of . Evie gave Grumps a good few frowns as is her general reaction on seeing him. At this early stage of life it is not certain whether this indicates puzzlement or disapproval. Hopefully she will begin speaking soon so she can explain. It was a very steep climb to Greenup Edge which was difficult enough with a rucksack containing extra clothing and rations let alone the Stowaway. Carrie managed however much to the admiration of her lesser able male companions.

Thanks to modern technology contact was made between Alex, the support team in Borrowdale, (Ruth and the RAC man) and Roger, Maggie and Sarah who were doing the days walk in reverse. We all met near the summit and despite Uncle Roger having recently had a knee operation, they insisted on finishing the ascent before we all continued together back down into Grasmere. Aunt Maggie and Uncle Roger set a cracking pace for the young ‘uns, devouring sausage rolls and energy bars on the hoof. Sarah had the usual response to being introduced as a doctor and made many spontaneous diagnoses (a bit like being a policeman but less animosity). We found a fabulous hostelry for after walks drinks in the Red Lion in the village.

Town Head Farm is just outside the village, about a 1¾ mile walk, and was the CEO's chosen place of residence. It’s a lovely old farm, circa 1700’s and, at last, Ruth was happy as she was given toiletries and a hairdryer.  It seems this is a rare treat in the where hostelries are not in the habit of providing the basic things my girl needs such as shampoo, towels which can wrap around a 38c chest and a glass of Rose. Town Head thus got Ruth's vote.

What a great night out we all had! The Gawthorpes descended on the Travellers Rest and did the Steak Menu, which Sarah can repeat from memory.  The Cricket boys and girls having travelled up from Nottingham after work, turned up well after 9, but still joined us for a few bevvies. Good effort much appreciated!  Night, night, sleep tight.

Day 4, Friday 14/5/10, to Patterdale, 8 miles.

Walkers; Pete, Tom, Roger, Maggie, Dennis and Pam Wright (cricket buddies), Mike and June Webber (Pam’s parents), Tony Beck and Jason Catchpole (more cricket buddies) and Alan Rowbotham (Ruth’s brother in law), and Jane (Alan’s sister).

Non-runners/Shoppers; The CEO (still suffering from injury provoked on day 1), her sister HRH Faith Elizabeth I, Sarah sporting a knee injury and a burning desire to do Grasmere’s gift shops, Carrie, fresh from a throwing up bug and requiring a bit of retail therapy….and Alex (someone has to carry the bags).  Oh and the Stowaway – who is a little cutie when she is not in the vicinity of Grumps.

Late start as Tom and Pete were as disorganised as usual. HRH doubled up as photographer - a la Lord Snowdon presumably.  Off up out of back via the lovely Town Head Farm (keep it a secret – it’s far too nice to share) and out into the hills.  June spotted the Travellers Rest and decided that was a good idea so doubled back.

Jason set the pace, racing up a demanding hill like a springer spaniel dressed for the part in trainers, jeans and a fleece.  Not ideal for the dreadful weather conditions. The first rain of the trip so far. The group split into Fast and Faster.  The fast team led by Mike, ably assisted by Den and Pam.  The Faster group led by Tom, henceforth known as Red Leader.  The hard work paid off as the Faster Group descended into Patterdale and then into the pub.  Mike’s group arrived to the sound of applause an hour later but soon caught up on the celebratory drinks. 

Only two shoppers made it to Patterdale, Sarah and Ruth.  HRH retired to her castle "The Inn on the Lake" and refused to mix with the riff raff Gawthorpes. Carrie, Alex and Evie also decided that a cosy fire, wine and chocolates at their cottage in Borrowdale was a damned sight more attractive than a night with the Gawthorpe clan who seem to be gaining a reputation in Cumbria for a raucious night out.  Tonight this was compounded by the arrival of Pete's lovely daughter Lucy and yet another reason to celebrate.  (Honestly, all I could hear all night from my Auntie Maggie was “Let’s have another bottle of that ”).  Sarah meanwhile entertained us with the stories of her childhood.  We particularly liked the one where she got bullied by the kids at her primary school (in Derbyshire!) for pronouncing GRASS as GRARSE. 

The hostelries.  Well, at the White Lion you get a lot of chips.  We slept in broom cupboards and had the eqivalent of a rain forest shower in the drought season.  Redeeming features were a nice breakfast and Sticky Ginger Pud. 

Maggie, Roger and Sarah had booked in at Norah Batty's house down the road.  They reported what appeared to be a lovely view from the sitting room window – but it couldn't be seen because of the cobwebs. Sarah set her father the challenge of extracting a smile from their landlady, Nora, before they left the following morning. This he apparently managed but by means unknown!  All this with a dodgy knee. Much respect uncle. 

 

Day 5, Patterdale to Shap, 15 miles.

Walkers; Pete, Tom, Alan R., and for the first bit, Roger, Maggie and Sarah (still single)

 

Non-walkers; CEO, HRH Faith, and Lucy. A clothes shop owner's dream team! Off to Kendall, Lucy driving at speed. Ruth paid for handbags, HRH paid for lunch and Lucy enjoyed mixing in such circles.

Back to glorious weather so Sarah’s knee felt better and worth another try. Unfortunately, and conversely, the early steady ascent up to Angletarn Pikes showed up Tom’s Achilles heel, which turned out to be his Achilles heel, literally. His right one that is.

Gawthorpes Roger, Maggie and Sarah baled out by The Knott to return to Patterdale as they needed to return home. A great effort from them, and we are all very grateful for their support.

Pete, Tom and Alan ploughed on, and maybe unnessecarily climbed over the summit of The Kott, instead of the more conventional route around it. Pete, now only temporary leader, was too busy telling his pilgrims about the history of the Roman ‘High Street’ the highest Roman Road in Britain, while walking up it, to realise that they shouldn’t have been walking up it at all. Alan used his knowledge of astrology, confirmed by the compass he won from a Christmas cracker and his recognition of the approaching Lake Windermere and behind it Morecombe Bay to announce that we were now travelling due West. Apparently not ideal for a West to East Coast to Coast walk! Another look at the instructions revealed a phrase previously unseen that involved the words ‘take an abrupt left hand turn.’

About turn was ordered and to save time taking what looked like a suitable short cut to rectify matters proved to be the second mistake of that journey leading to a very narrow ridge traverse and steep and rugged descent along Riggindale Crag. Ideal for someone with a grumbling Achilles heel!

With a few miles to go and the kind offer of a lift from Alan’s brother-in-law Jed, Tom reluctantly gave in to the pain and was driven on to Shap. Alan, on a strict deadline and running out of time also took the opportunity of a lift from Jed.  Faith, Ruth and Lucy had already arrived at their accommodation for the evening by this time so once the injured soldier, Tomm arrived he was duly plied with a painkiller - Bulmers Cider.

Pete, realising his solitude was his own fault marched on alone. He then walked through what he thinks is the prettiest section of the walk so far, the area from Haweswater Reservoir to Shap called Mardale, arriving at Shap at 6.45 pm.

His spirits were quickly raised by ale and the sight of the best accommodation so far at The Greyhound Hotel and Pub.

Massive sized bed (probably not the correct name), massive plasma type telly, 2 leather sofas, and more toiletries than Ruth could dream of (is that possible).

Brilliant food as well. Definitely one for the ‘revisit’ column.  (Note from Ruth - it was lovely and I didnt want to leave.  We had bathrobes and slippers and our own fire.  Please keep this place a secret)

 

 

Day 9, Wednesday 19/5/10, Reeth to , 11 miles.

Walkers; Pete, Tom, Colleen, Mark Langthorne and Ellie Blundell (a couple of coppers who are, incidentally, a couple).

Tom again awoke announcing his returned mobility and what followed was the best cooked breakfast of the trip so far. The venue was the Arkleside Country Hotel and the food was exceptional!

At 9.30 am we met with Mark who introduces himself as from God’s Country () and his partner Ellie who saves time by stating where she is not from!

They had left at 5 am, arrived in Reeth at about 8.30 am and waited in the car while we had the cooked breakfast to die for.

Mark had discarded the idea of wearing his recently acquired sturdy full ankle support Berghaus walking boots (designed for exactly what lay before us) and had instead chosen a well worn pair of soft leather boots that looked more appropriate for ballet than for trekking.

‘Fit like a glove these do’ he announced, obviously pleased with his choice. This antiquated footwear clearly required similar socks and sure enough the ‘Langthorne’ coarse hair stockings, passed down from eldest son to eldest son over generations, were in place. They went well together but not necessarily for what lay ahead.

Ellie and Mark intended to walk with us to today, Wednesday and then return to Reeth on Thursday to collect their car and so needed to carry what they would need over the two days. Hence their rucksacks were voluminous and of a weight to match. I’m not sure the kitchen sink was necessary though.

We all set off fresh and full of confidence.

Soon a second pair of socks was required by Mark, who by now had nicknamed himself as a donkey. I think this what a reference to the luggage he was carrying rather than any other characteristic either mentally or physically that the name would suggest. Any clarification there Ellie?

Anyway a second pair of ‘Langthorne’ coarse hairs were added in an effort to compensate for the softness or the ballet shoes and on we went.

We stopped for a bite to eat on a hill overlooking Swaledale. God’s country wasn’t a bad description. It was a great view and we all questioned why we live in built up areas. We had no good answer, just laziness I guess, (note to self, stop being so bloody lazy!)

Then Ellie began to reveal what Mark had been lugging around. Along with the kitchen sink was all the food from the kitchen cupboards. A vast array of food.

‘It’s got to last two days thah knows and a packhorse needs fueling.’

I couldn’t help thinking that if the packhorse wasn’t carrying so much food then he wouldn’t need to carry so much food to fuel the food carrying. But I didn’t say so.

Despite the obvious discomfort neither complained, were great company and appeared to enjoy themselves. I hope that they did.

All of the climbing done we were on the easy descent down into when it happened. We’d already passed the sign announcing our entry to the outer limits of the town when I suggested that instead of walking along the tarmac road there was an alternative footpath through the upper edge of the field that ran alongside which would be easier under foot. Seemed the right thing to do. What I had forgotten to take into account had been mum’s imaginary longer right leg syndrome (LRLS). There had been numerous stumbles during the journey so far when even anything over the size of an ant dropping had got in the way but she had always regained her balance until now. On this occasion both thumbs were hooked into the shoulder straps of her rucksack, both relieving the pressure on her shoulders and preventing her from breaking her fall should the inevitable fall occur. And occur it did. I was leading as is my way on this trip and so was not a witness to what happened but only to the carnage that followed.

I heard a thud behind followed by a motherly,

‘Oh fu*k!’

I turned and had to agree. ‘Oh fu*k’.

Her glasses twisted and scratched were on the path by a small rock, possibly the one responsible, while mum was rolling into a marshy area alongside. She came to rest and was quickly surrounded by four concerned co-walkers. There seemed to be four sources of the blood that was pouring from her muddied face. At first I was impressed by the bright redness of the blood and silently hoped I had inherited the apparent efficiency my mother had in the blood oxidation department.

‘Are my glasses alright?’ she cried.

‘They’ve faired better than your face!’ I thought but managed not to say.

Thankfully it all looked a lot worse than it was. There was a graze to her forehead and a graze to her right cheek. She had a nose bleed which soon stopped with the help of the toilets rolls in the packhorse’s luggage. Finally, she had a nasty gash on the bridge of her nose caused, we believe by her glasses which appear to have been the first point of contact with the ground. Luckily I’d had the foresight to purchase and carry a first aid kit. It having not been used before, as with the tradition of a persons first deer kill, needed to be 'blooded'.

On this occasion however the victim was ahead of the game and had already blooded her own forehead (and the surrounding landscape) so no further daubing was required. The wounds were quickly tended to and newly appointed head of medical services, Dr. P., recommended a visit to a local hospital for further attention. Mum, in true British up and over the top spirit, told me not to be so stupid, it was only a flesh wound, a scar there would give her more street cred and by the way, ‘Are my glasses alright?’

I then adopted 'optical technician' status and bent said spectacles back to approximately the right shape (I could do nothing for the scratches or the flesh tightly embedded in the hinges).

We then walked on to tourist information office and were redirected to the local hospital that, thankfully, had a minor injuries clinic. Two butterfly stitches latter and we were in Wetherspoons having a medicinal beer.

Later the five of us met up at an Italian restaurant and shared a very pleasant meal.

Day 10, Thursday 20/5/10, to Ingleby Cross, 23 miles.

Walkers; Pete and Red Leader, Tom.

A very long day! Long in distance, long in time and pretty short in interest. Mostly across the Vale of Mowbray. A strange day really. Much of the route was through idyllic little villages with pretty village greens and sleepy little pubs. Lovely if that is what you are after. A beautiful place to live I should think. If however you are looking for dramatic scenery to spur you on through a 23 miles trek to get you from the Yorkshire Dales to the North Yorkshire Moors you would be very disappointed.

Anyway 9.10 am to 5.10 pm (8 hours) did the trick. A hard slog but in fantastic weather conditions. It wasn't just a route march however. We stopped at a pub at Danby Wiske for a pint of something cold. 10 minutes later we were up and running again. We did have what the book described as ‘possibly the most hazardous part of the whole journey’ towards the end, which was crossing the A19 dual carriageway! A very busy road.

We finally made it to Ingleby Cross and to the Bluebell Pub for a welcome pint of bitter. Having booked our table for dinner we decided to make for the shower which was sadly in another location completely. Who booked the accommodation?

Our B&B was half a mile back the way we had come and as we approached Somerset House Farm the noise of the farmyard animals was drowned out as the drone of the A19 got louder and louder! At last we got there. ‘The accommodation or the A19?’, I hear you ask? Well both actually. The Southbound carriageway ran through the foreshortened front garden of the B&B. Funny how the accommodation has got less luxurious since the CEO returned to work!

Quick showers and mutual assurance that the traffic will die down later and we were back at the pub for dinner.

Tom spotted ‘Parmo’ on the menu which he told me was a delicacy recommended to him by a couple of his student friends from Middlesborough. Should I take culinary advice from a student from Middlesborough? Well I did and two portions were ordered and duly arrived. It was a huge breaded chicken escalope with a liberal layer of molten cheese on top. Cheese on toast, I like. Breaded chicken escalope, I like. But both? It must be a North-East thing.

Anyway, well fed and knackered we were back at the Somerset House road side café by 9.30 pm. Inside it was sweltering, outside it was still rush hour. So windows open to start with and when the noise overwhelmed the temperature they were closed and sleep soon followed. This was short lived when despite the good quality double glazing, the traffic, which had not stopped all night, entered its next rush hour at about 5 am! I think the carriageway had encroached further into the garden and maybe into the room by then.

An excellent full English at 9 am bolstered our spirits if not our energy levels.

  

Day 11, Friday 21/5/10, Ingleby Cross to Clay Bank Top, 12 miles.

Walkers; Pete and Tom.

Only 12 miles, a nice easy day we thought, but a net ascent of 775 metres the biggest daily climb of the whole trip! We went through some lovely forest roads surrounded by bluebells, both the indigenous English variety and the much more showy and invasive Spanish version (lots of bling, no substance). Various options to the route were detailed in the book but usually followed by a term along the lines of, ‘However the main route ploughs on straight ahead over the summit of the next hill!’ Well there’s no decision to make at that point and I think Tom knew it. Whether it was male bravado or my purist spirit in following the Wainwright devised route, only only.  Onwards and upwards.

When we reached the penultimate summit Tom commented on an odd looking cloud of what looked like smoke hovering over the next ridge, the last obstacle left for us to clear for the day. They’ll be burning the heather I guessed but said with typical Gawthorpe authority.

Finally we made the last ascent and only had the short descent to Clay Bank Top where Bob, the landlord of the at Chop Gate 4 miles down the road was due to meet us. It was then that we discovered my confidence of the cause of the odd looking cloud was misplaced. It was not smoke at all but instead was a massive cloud of greenfly! We had heard the previous evening that there was a problem this year with a lot of greenfly but what we walked into was no less of a shock. It was horrible. They got everywhere! The lights went out and we were covered in them. All over our shirts, in our hair, eyes, mouth and nose. We had to cover our faces up and walk blind hoping that we would leave it as quickly as we entered it. We walked down into the valley and it just kept getting worse.

We found Bob in the car park trying to repair the damage the swarm of greenfly had caused to his car!

He had broken one of the windscreen wiper blades on his green car which he told us had started the journey to fetch us as a blue car, now covered in a greenfly puree.

‘You think its bad here, wait till you see what I’ve just driven through!’ he said.

True enough, having given up trying to unclog the wiper mechanism, we drove deeper into the cloud, which had apparently arrived the previous evening and showed no signs of leaving. Two working windscreen wipers would certainly have helped to clear the mush away.

Thankfully as we got a bit lower it thinned out and so by the time we got there we managed our daily post walk beer outside the pub.

Ruth, the CEO is back with us so the accommodation picks up!

The has had some bad press over the last couple of years but having been recently taken over by Bob the balance needs to be redressed. Bob had had his retirement set up having bought a place in , but his business partner tempted him back to pub problem solving with this little gem. He made an unexpected visit to the then suffering business and found the lights in the lounge turned off and in the bar the only light being provided by a regular patron who was systematically feeding a tree trunk into the open fire! No wasted energy on chopping it up into manageable pieces for this pragmatic local Yorkshireman. ‘It’s code, put tree on t’fire lad.’

On our arrival the greeting was equally warm but much more to the approval of the health and safety executive and sincere. The rooms were small but cosy and well equipped and it was quiet! Oh, it was so quiet. I woke up in a cold sweat at one point. Why couldn’t I hear the A19 any more? Who had cut my ears off? And why?

Eventually I worked it out. Those thirteen years of expensive education proving its worth once again. It’s because we are now elsewhere I concluded and overslept!

The food was lovely too and there was a large and varied choice. The CEO, generally a good judge of meat, seemed very happy with her portion of prime beef.

All in all a pleasant little set up and another for the revisit list. Maybe once the greenfly have flown!

Day 12, Saturday 22/5/10, Clay Bank Top to Glaisedale, 18 miles.

Walkers; Pete and Tom.

The weather once again is fantastic. So far I’ve worn an upper second layer only once, day 4, as we walked through the clouds, and even then I was warm. Yesterday and today the legs have been out! Those who have seen the Gawthorpe legs will understand our reluctance to unveil them (the CEO tells me that Red leader has been fortunate enough not to inherit this characteristic). Today the comfortable warmth on my calves from yesterday’s exposure has been upgraded to painful first degree burns. Tomorrow, weather permitting, I’m going for full sunstroke. Maybe an application of sunblock would be sensible. CEO is on the job. I hope the chosen product doesn’t include some sort of glitter effect! My fellow Coast to Coasters wouldn’t approve. Well most of them wouldn’t and those that would are not those whose approval I seek.

Today we got our first view of our ultimate goal, the icy waters of the North Sea beyond . ‘We’re going in when we get there!’ Tom announced. ‘Are we bugger as like!’ I thought but joined in the joke and told him I would if he did. Surely he was kidding wasn’t he?

The CEO had kindly returned us to Clay Bank Top, to continue the journey after breakfast. With the swarm of greenfly largely dispersed, we quickly climbed up out of the valley and joined the , another long distance walk that weaves through the Cleveland Hills, (one for the future maybe!)

It led up to what remains of a disused mineral railway track, which we then followed for 5 or 6 miles. It was very flat and initially easy to walk. It was of cinder and stone composure and was described by the book as the easiest sort of walking, but it was surprisingly unforgiving on the feet. We found ourselves walking on the much less even grass verges alongside of it just to relieve the aching feet. The book told us that when we eventually left the old rail-line near the mountain top pub, the White Lion, we should ‘pause and offer a silent word of gratitude to the men who unwittingly made part of our journey easy and comfortable to follow’. I’m afraid the phrase we silently didn’t utter was closer to ‘good riddance’. The pub however was a very welcome interlude. Tempted, as I was, to have a refreshing beer, it was half way through an 18 mile walk and so we both managed to restrict it to a pint of something cool and soft.

Next we walked along the high ground to pass firstly the head of Farndale, and then , both beautiful looking valleys (or Dales if you wish, boyo) before heading along Glaisdale Rigg and finally into Glaisdale itself. As we went along the ridge we had a view into another dale synonymous with the previously mention Mad Mick.

For those of you who know Mick and even those who have just seen him, you will know, or suspect at least, that he likes his food! Furthermore his favourite must be the full English breakfast. Those of you as in touch with modern popular music as myself, will recall a recent ditty by the Kaiser Chiefs that contains the lyric ‘I predict a riot’. Mick however prefers to sing along with the slight amendment of ‘I predict a fryup’ and he is rarely wrong. So it came to mind as we looked past Fryup Lodge and down into Great Fryup Dale.

Finally we approached the only to discover that two of the three pubs shown on the maps, were now closed. Fortunately we had agreed to meet the CEO in the one remaining pub, The Arncliffe Arms, where several of our fellow Coast to Coasters were staying. Less fortunately this meant that we had to walk past where we were staying, a much classier joint called the Red House, (remember the CEO was in residence) and another ¾ of a mile to the hostelry. The pint of Teakston’s XB tasted that much nicer when it came! The second wasn’t bad either. Transport soon arrived for the weary two in the form of the CEO’s golden chariot now fully charged and we arrived at The Red House, a beautiful 18^th century farm house, owned and ran by a local sounding man and his clearly American wife. We had the top floor to ourselves which consisted of two double rooms both ensuite. The toilets had notices warning us not to flush any foreign objects away as they fed into a septic tank. We assumed they referred to a large vessel designed to temporarily store raw sewage rather than the landlady who owned it, as the Cockney rhyming slang would suggest! (Septic tank – Yank)

We showered, changed and then walked back to the pub! There was nowhere else to eat and we all needed further liquid refreshment, so the chariot was of no use. The CEO looked a real bobby-dazzler in her little cream and brown puffball frock and matching hiking boots.

A bottle of wine and a very tasty feed later, we made the final ¾ of a mile walk back to our digs and to bed! Another long day and one to go!

Day 13, Sunday 23/5/10, Glaisdale to Robin Hood’s Bay, 18 miles.

Walkers; Pete and Tom.

A hearty breakfast at a huge farmhouse table with the other guests, a couple of Antipodeans, nice boys, before setting off on the final leg.

The CEO gave us a lift to the Arncliffe Arms (we had already walked this stretch three times) and she then went ahead to to prepare for the grand reception party.

Tom and I bagged our first two fellows walkers of the day earlier than usual when we passed Bruce and Bruce, the nice boys, (possibly not their real names) before leaving the village, and so the day went on.

It was another unseasonably warm day and the gifts from the CEO the previous evening, a clean T shirt and glitter free sunblock, were much appreciated.

We got to Grosmont quickly and then marched up the steady climb to Sleights Moor, the last ascent of the trek worthy of a mention. Again we saw the early on in the day, looking deceptively close but no warmer than it did the day before. We also saw signs for only 6 ½ miles away but knew we still had 11 miles to go to complete the walk. Alfred Wainwright must have had a slightly sadistic streak! Tom wondered if he had been on drugs!

We then lost all of the ground we had just climbed by dropping into Little Beck and followed the stream through the valley, a very pretty wooded area that was a welcome relief from the sun. We emerged from the woods, crossed another stretch of moorland and finally reached the coastal path. Job done you would have thought, but no, still 3 miles to go!

Tom kept saying, ‘I am you know!’

‘You are what?’ I asked,

‘You know what.’ He replied.

I did of course. We were both wearing swimming shorts and had a pebble to deliver.

We walked down the beach road, another knee wrecking descent, to be greeted by the CEO outside the Bay Hotel, the traditional ending point of the walk. Hands were shaken, backs patted and photos taken, but we were not quite finished. A few more yards took us onto the sand. Rucksacks and boots were removed followed quickly by clothes. We were both relieved to find our respective pebbles from St Bees beach, collected only 12 days ago. This was it then, Red Leader was determined and I was daft enough to follow.

We ran across the sand and into the and as soon as it was deep enough we dived in and under. My god it was cold! I’m used to swimming in the sea in in August and that takes your breath away but once you’ve gone under it’s not too bad. Not so in the in May!

Having gone under I jumped up again expecting the pain in my legs, submerged in 12 inches of ice cold water, to subside. It didn’t at all. It got worse. Pebbles were launched into the salty abyss and I was off and running for the safety of dry land and refreshment. Tom was hanging around either.

Fortunately the sun was still shining brightly and the relief was almost instant. We quickly warmed up and within minutes we were supping a pint of choice outside the Bay Hotel provided by the ever attendant CEO. Mine was Courage Directors and tasted pretty good. Tom’s was Strongbow and the CEO was on the Rose (not a pint but still a large glass).

We were getting some funny looks from the other jubilant C2Cers who seemed puzzled by how wet we were. I was going to explain why but then I wasn’t sure I would be very convincing so I just let them wonder.

During the next two pints and 30 minutes or so we were really able to contemplate what we had managed and how grateful we were to so many people whose support both physically, mentally and financially we had relied on and been fuelled by.

Once relatively dry we needed to move on.

Next the grand reception party!

We got a taxi back to (sorry about the damp patches, only sea water I promise) and to the apartment above the Dolphin Inn, with views right over . Everything smelled of fish, which normally would have been a worrying sign but here it seemed right and I was looking forward to what was due to come, a fish and chip feast in !

First, however, was a glass of bubbly on our sun terrace, again overlooking the harbour. We toasted each other, all of those who got involved and, of course, absent friends. There were a couple of family toasts of course! (yes soles are!)

Now we were ready for the feast.

We went to Mister Chips, recommended to us by the taxi driver who claimed she didn’t like fish!

Unfortunately the restaurant part was shut so it was to be a take away supper. Suits me as we had a harbour view. The list of fish normally available was impressive. The rather shorter list of what was actually available was less so. Two cod and one haddock were ordered. No cod left we ordered two medium haddock and one large haddock for Red Leader. Only medium haddock left so we had 3 of them. Luckily they had no shortage of chips or mushy peas.

We hurried back to the penthouse above the Dolphin and the food was everything I had hoped for. It tasted so fresh you’d have thought it had been caught that day!

Then that was it. It’s all over.

A strange feeling. I thought I would just be relieved that I’d done it but I’m already thinking of what next!

So watch this space.

Thanks again to all who have contributed in any way. I think my dad would have been proud of us all.

 

Update 9/9/10.

New target of £4000 almost achieved (99%).

Many thanks again.

Some will remember Red leader's injury half way through the main walk which has left some unfinished business for him. To that end the team are returning up North to complete the task.

On Friday 17/9/10 Pete, Ruth (CEO), Tom (Red leader, now blond!), and Colleen (scarred but undetered) are driving up to Naddle Bridge at Burnanks by the Haweswater Reservoir dam. From there we will set off from the point that Tom was picked up on day 5 of the main walk. We then cover the 6 miles to get to the Greyhound at Shap where we are staying Friday and Saturday, (coincidentally the CEO's favourite accomodation of the whole C2C walk).

Friday evening we will be joined by two of the cricket boys Jason Catchpole and Tony Beck who are kindly escorting the lovely Lucy. They are travelling up from Nottingham straight after work so will probably arrive very thirsty. We will be prepared for that eventuality!

On Saturday, well rested, we will walk the 20 mile stage from Shap, via Orton, to Kirkby Steven and then on Sunday, the 12 miles from Kirkby Steven over the Nine Standards to Keld.

Then Tom can also say that he has indeed walked from Coast to Coast.

We drive home Sunday evening and back to work on Monday.

We will update the blog as we go.