Ennerdale Bridge to Seatoller

The stats

• Day 2 - Ennerdale Bridge to Rosthwaite - 14.5miles (23km)

The verdict

The muscles are decidedly stiff on rising this morning but hopefully the pain will subside once we get walking.  Breakfast is wonderful and on checking out and collecting our packed lunches we reconnect with our fellow Coast to Coasters in front of our accommodation for some photos before we set off.  

There had been some debate over breakfast as to whether we should take the path along the north shore or the south shore of Ennerdale Water.  We conclude after a few conversations with 'locals-who-might-know' that the south shore is more likely to be waterlogged from the other night's storm and while the north shore mightn't be as scenic, there is apparently one magical spot from where you can look down the full length of the lake and which alone makes the north path worthwhile.  This seals the deal for us (that and a phobia of reliving Stanley Pond) so we set off walking the north path.  The Minnesota Ladies choose the same route while others in our party opt to go by the south path.

Looking east down Ennerdale Water

The weather is absolutely glorious and we are rewarded with breathtaking views of the lake.

Views over Ennerdale Water

Maybe our eyes are deceiving us but as the views over the lake are so clear, we think at one point that we glimpse the bright yellow jacket of our fellow Coast to Coaster over on the opposite shore.  

The path along the lake shore is easy walking and while it sometimes meanders into scrub, at least it is on the level.  Once we reach the end of the lake, we strike the broad gravel track that follows the River Liza.  While it's a superb track and easy gradient, it is quite a slow and laborious trek and we feel a bit weary by the time we reach the Black Sail youth hostel.  It is understandable why it has the reputation as the most remote youth hostel in Britain.  It is so far removed from everything yet sits proudly in its clearing at the foot of the mountains.  

The common room is deserted when we arrive.  We settle down for some refreshment in the cozy surrounds and tuck into our packed lunches.  It isn't long before we're joined by the Minnesota Ladies and not far behind them, the large Californian walking party.  Dad admits to some discomfort on his heel thinks he has a blister forming - probably a consequence of submerged feet and walking in wet boots yesterday.  We make do with some blister bandages from the first aid kit and hope for the best.

While we were indoors at Black Sail, the sky has clouded over and by the time we emerge, the temperature has dropped enough for us to don our jackets.  The Californians take the lead when we leave Black Sail and we can just see them in the distance as we strike the path uphill. 

Heading uphill towards the Loft Beck stairway

Dad crossing one of the many becks along the path

It is not until we reach the stone stairway that takes us over Loft Beck that we really appreciate just how tough this walk really is.  It is only with frequent pauses along the ascent to catch our breath that we manage the impossibly wearisome and steep climb.  No amount of training in Perth readied us for this... I keep thinking that maybe I should have been doing Jacob's Ladder or Mount Street several times a day.  I am not sure how Julia Bradbury managed to look so effortlessly elegant while she climbed these steps but I am wheezing like a diesel engine by the time I get to the top.  As we are climbing it begins to rain so by the time we reach the top and wait for slower members of our party to catch up, the rain is coming down quite steadily.  

Fortunately it is easy to spot the cairns marking out the path although I am incredibly glad that we bump into a fellow walker at the supposed ruins of the old drumhouse for the slate tramway.  It is a most indistinct feature which we would otherwise have walked right past and it is only thanks to this first of a number of opportune 'right-place-at-the-right-time' meetings with a helpful guide that we take the turning off the path here and follow the right route down the tramway ramp to the Honister mine.

It is a very very welcome cup of tea once we reach the slate mine and the cafe is abuzz with visitors as well as walkers tired from Loft Beck and keen to shelter from the rain.  After a short break we feel recharged and resume our descent into the valley.  We are more fortunate than our fellows given that Seatoller is nearer than Rosthwaite/Stonethwaite where others are staying.  It means we have to make up the distance tomorrow but after an exceptionally tough day, our thoughts don't extend beyond our most immediate needs: a shower, a nice meal and a comfortable bed!

Seatoller House delivers these comforts in spades along with an excellent drying room which we make use of immediately.  It is a slightly strange arrangement where we have our own private bathroom but it's some way down the hall from our bedroom.  Not that it matters much I suppose.  To our delight we discover that dinner is included in our stay and at the designated time we repair to the common room to await the dinner gong.  We take our seats at one of two large oak tables in the dining room.  We are the only walkers staying here the night but the house is otherwise full of visitors.  At our table we meet a group of old school friends who meet here religiously every year before scattering to the four winds again.  It makes for very entertaining dinnertime conversation to accompany our indulgent 3-course meals.  While the rest of the diners return to the common room after dinner for coffee, fatigue gets the better of us so we three make our excuses and return to our rooms to rest aching limbs and (in Dad's unfortunate case), dress blisters...

St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge

We wake to news that overnight storms have washed away sections of the railway track, that no trains can get through to St Bees and that parts of Cumbria are under 6 feet of water.  It's not a very encouraging start to say the least.    

Headlines the day we commenced the Coast to Coast from St Bees

Breakfast is a delicious but slightly subdued affair as we take in the pictures on the news flashing up on the TV screen in the breakfast room.  Our hostess is gracious and chatty and we also meet two other Coast to Coasters who are due to start the walk today.    

Breakfast over, we pack our things and leave our cases in the hall to be collected and transferred during the day to our night's accommodation.  The Fellowship regroups and for the 1km stroll from St Bees to the start of the walk, Veronia is our companion.  The road is wet and the air is heavy as we pass by workers with earthmoving equipment repairing flood damage in town from last night's deluge.

Our intrepid Fellowship with St Bees Head in the background

When we reach the beach we find that the bridge marking the traditional start of the walk has been washed away during the night and we are forced instead to detour through the caravan park.  It is here that we say our goodbyes to Veronia and under leaden skies we make our way uphill along the path fringing St Bees Head.

The start of the Coast to Coast walk

The stats

• Coast to Coast Walk - St Bees to Robin Hood's Bay - 191miles (304km)
• Coast to Coast Walk (West section) - 82miles (131 km) which is 'our' walk over the next 7 days
• Day 1 - St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge - 14miles (22.5km)

 

The verdict

The wind is fierce as we walk along the coast and the ground is wet and slippery although there is a well-worn path through the coastal vegetation.  On the horizon we can see shafts of sunlight illuminating the Isle of Man like some mythical Avalon.  The clouds still hang menacingly above our heads but there is nothing more than a light drizzle.

We pass and greet a number of other walkers going the same way who, in the days to come, like our breakfast companions, will become our walking fellows.  For now we concentrate on the path ahead and it doesn't take long before there are a couple of harmless tumbles - enough to convince Dad it is time to take out his walking poles.  As agreed previously, one is lent to Ross however as I am keeper of the map I opt to keep my hands free and rely on my own balance (or lack thereof).  The hairpin path around Fleswick Bay takes some navigating as there are torrents of water rushing down from higher ground.  As the path turns inland there is finally some relief from the biting wind and the sun at last starts to break through the clouds.

The trail is uneventful until we descend into a meadow towards Stanley Pond.  Seated on the ground are two young Americans, both shoeless.  They are just completing the C2C in the opposite direction and tell us the 'pond' is actually a 'marsh' thanks to last night's storm and no amount of Gore-Tex in the universe will keep feet dry.  My heart sinks.  Ahead of us in the distance we can see a guided walking party (herein known as 'The Californians' the same way we become known among our cohort as 'The Australians') picking their route through the Pond.  As there is no other easy route around, we cast our fears aside and go for it.

The Americans weren't kidding.   It's not just a marsh but a shallow lake.  The water comes up to mid-shin and despite trying to aim for tufts of vegetation and walk on flattened reeds,  our feet just sink into the soft squelching mud.  At least trouser legs can be rolled up to keep them dry but sadly the water just pours into our boots and our socks are soaked through.  When we reach the other side we join some fellow walkers in immediately removing our boots to tip the bog water out.  We sit for a while to try and dry our feet - fortunately we have brought towels and spare socks but it still means putting dry feet back into wet shoes. It isn't a nice feeling.  At least we managed to keep our balance as we hear a member of the party before us was unfortunate enough to fall into the water.

When we finally reach the village of Moor Row, the shoes come off again and are left in the sunshine to dry while we stop for a welcome lunch at the cafe on the main street.
  

The aftermath of Stanley Pond - drying our feet at Moor Row

It is a welcome break but we press on before we get too comfortable.  We tramp through farmland and must pass through a field of cows outside Cleator.  It is the genesis of my cow-phobia.  While Dad and Ross soldier on ahead to the stile at the bottom of the field I get left behind as I try to avoid a wide area of mud.  In my naivety about farmyard protocols, my diversion brings me close to calves and the cows get very restless.  First very vocal and then they start to herd.  In a large field with over 20 animals all grouped together baying loudly, it is very frightening.  The gentlemen realise something is wrong and turn back to fetch me.  All of us then beat a hasty retreat to the bottom of the field.  I am so relieved to get over that stile.

We need to pass through a farm to reach the path to Dent Fell but a friendly(?) farmer guides us on a shortcut through farm buildings to the path.  We end up walking along the path for a few hundred metres before something tells us we're going the wrong way.  There is some debate before we turn around and retrace our steps.  In the opposite direction we find the correct path and strike uphill through the forest.  The slope is muddy and waterlogged and we often need to detour well behind the tree line to avoid the morass.   It is hot and tiring walking uphill and when we finally break into the open, we are confronted by even more slope.  At this junction we meet with a large party of fellow Coast to Coasters and we continue our slow uphill journey together.

Heading up Dent Fell

It is our first taste of Lakeland slopes and the view from the top certainly makes the effort worthwhile.  In the brilliant afternoon sunshine we can see all the way back to the coast over the patchwork quilt of fields we have just walked through. 

My valiant Dad reaching the summit of Dent Fell
with views of the Coast behind him

We continue with our new walking companions all the way to Ennerdale Bridge, first descending the steep slope on the far side of Dent Fell.  We're a diverse group of walkers - some locals and a party of three lovely ladies from Minnesota (check out the Trekking Trio Adventures - their great account of the full C2C walk).

The descent from Dent Fell

As our party walks along the valley floor, what may have been gentle becks yesterday are now raging torrents which must be long-jumped over or in one case, so deep we must clamber up onto a stone wall (apologies) and precariously walk along the jagged top until we can bypass the torrent.  We meet a local out walking her dogs.  She is wearing a pair of wellies and I look longingly at her boots - I have never coveted a pair of footwear so much in my life.  

The shadows are starting to lengthen when we finally approach Ennerdale Bridge.  We are all exhausted and the footpath fringing the road into the village seems interminable.  The Shepherds Arms Hotel is such a welcome sight.  Our host is so accommodating he even carries our suitcases up to our room.  The room and bathroom are newly refurbished and comfortable.  There is even a tray in the room for our muddy boots.  All we really care about when we arrive however is washing ourselves and then our clothes which we do.  Ross then sets about speed drying clothes and boots with a hairdryer before we go downstairs to join our new local friends and the Minnesota ladies for a welcome and hearty dinner.

We drag our exhausted limbs back up the stairs and in my mind I question whether I will even be able to haul myself out of bed in the morning let alone walk what is supposedly the toughest day of the journey.  Lights out early and it is a night of delicious sleep punctuated only by delirious dreams of wellington boots.

  

Please state the nature of your emergency...

Jet lag is finally just a past inconvenience as we rise at the more respectable time of 6am.  We have our last breakfast at 'our' Patisserie before making our way to Euston station for our 10:30am train to Carlisle.  The next few hours are spent in luxuriously smooth and indulgent travel as we leave London behind and speed towards the north.  

This is it.

Months spent preparing on training walks, daily walks to work and numerous hard slogs back home up the steep misery of Mount Street, research and bookings made through Contours, and last minute shopping trips to Macpac (all essential of course:o) all culminate here.  We're on our way to the start line and the walk begins tomorrow.  While Alfred Wainwright's book is still the definitive guide, we will be using a different Wainwright guide, this one by Martin Wainwright (no relation - what are the chances?!) updated in 2012.  I use the train journey to study the guide and maps for tomorrow.  It still seems a bit surreal to be honest and ever so slightly daunting to think we'll be walking at least 22km tomorrow.

The Wainwright guide on the Coast to Coast, which started it all...

We change trains at Carlisle for the much older, slower and cramped train to Barrow which stops at St Bees.  It is a very warm afternoon and the coast is bathed in brilliant sunshine as the train wends its way south, stopping at various stations along the way.  We are delayed outside Whitehaven for over 30 minutes due to a problem with the track.  It is prescient perhaps of what is coming.  As it happens we will be one of the last trains to pass along this track for a few days after tonight.

When we finally pull into the station at St Bees we see a familiar face.  My Dad is there to meet us together with our lovely cousin Veronia who has been showing him around sites in the district that are significant to our family history.  They take us to our B+B for the night which is conveniently right next door to the station.  Unfortunately we then have to haul cases up stairs to our room on the top floor but as we are also to discover this will be de rigueur over the coming weeks.  Our room at Stonehouse Farm is comfortable, bright and airy and we use the time before dinner to get our gear and backpacks ready for tomorrow.  

We have a splendid dinner at the pub next door with Dad and Veronia.  Dad explains why he hasn't been in contact since arriving in the UK.  His mobile phone purchased in Australia designed 'for seniors' combined with the SIM card he purchased on arrival in Manchester has a tendency to call emergency numbers only.  Despite best efforts to contact Mum back home and me in London, the phone kept putting him through to 999.  In a panic he had to hang up every time his call was answered with 'please state the nature of your emergency....'  He has now given up in case he should be arrested for making vexatious calls or triggering the loud siren the phone is also capable of sounding when tampered with.  It's too funny.  Fortunately we will be travelling together for a couple of weeks now so the phone can safely be switched OFF.

We while away the hours in the comfort of the pub with good food and company.  The setting sun dazzles through the large french doors.  It's a glorious evening.  If the weather holds like this the walk will be perfect.

Later that same night...

As we turn out the light for bed, the first heavy drops of rain start splashing against the skylight in our room.  The sky is inky black but later there are flashes of lightning and the discrete little drops become sheets of continuous rain.  We keep waking up during the night to the sound of rain and tempest.  We don't say anything.  In the land between sleep and waking, in our safe and warm positions under the bedclothes and separated from the start of the walk by a few hours, we have only our own thoughts which turn over and over in our heads ... 'shit, I hope this rain stops before morning, what have we signed ourselves up for?!'

Greenwich

There are mercifully no dancing neighbours this morning but it is another 4:30am start nonetheless courtesy of jet lag.  Patisserie Valerie is becoming our usual breakfast haunt and we return there before meeting Amanda and travelling to Greenwich, the world heritage site, home of the Cutty Sark, Greenwich Meridian and hallowed flagstones trod by Kings and Admirals.

Cutty Sark

The sun is shining and it's warm as we walk around the Old Royal Naval College buildings.  The beautiful late-18th Century neoclassical interior of the Chapel is particularly beautiful. 

Chapel ceiling - Old Royal Naval College Greenwich

A day out from the opening ceremony of the Paralympic Games and Greenwich as an Olympics venue means that vast swathes of area are fenced off and we cannot access the Queen's House and we must also first pass through security to access the National Maritime Museum.  We're also forced to divert around Greenwich Park to get to the Royal Observatory.  It is a small inconvenience however for the great privilege of seeing and experiencing such valuable history.

We return to the waterfront for some lunch before bidding adieu to Amanda as we each head off on our respective adventures tomorrow - she to Europe and Ross and I to the Lakes!

Our last evening in London is a quiet one.  Except for dinner at a restaurant close to our hotel and raised eyebrows at some of the insanely expensive gear on sale at nearby Selfridges (including watches the cost of a small planet), we keep to our room and force ourselves to stay awake until a more reasonable hour.

We have been in the UK for two days now and I still haven't heard from my Dad.  I'm hoping he is safely installed in Manchester where he intended to recover from his jet lag before starting on the walk.  In any case we will be meeting him tomorrow in St Bees.

Paintings, pasta and Piccadilly Circus

Jet lag wakes us up at 4:30am or at least keeps us awake.  We're actually woken up by the occupants of the room above who sound like they're dancing around the bed or at least making sure they step on every square inch of wooden floor board while they shuffle from one side of the room to the other, around and around, creaking, shuffling and squeaking all the way.   

It means we're out early and can enjoy a leisurely breakfast close to Trafalgar Square.  A rather serious looking hawk provides some amusement at its choice of perch when we meet up with Amanda.  

This bird means business

At 10am we're through the doors of the National Gallery and spend a few blissful hours (well for me anyway) drifting through the rooms and soaking it all in.  Have a look at the small sample of the collection available at Google Art Project, it's magnificent.

It's raining when we leave the gallery so we drift slowly towards Covent Garden, window shopping along the way (or real shopping as the case may be when Ross discovers GAP)... It's lunchtime and we stop for a splendid meal at Jamie's Italian.  Oh this is the life - it's a Monday and we're having a long lunch in London - in London dahlinks!  I think I'm starting to relax.

Our mission for the afternoon is to find Amanda a waterproof jacket for her European tour.  We search through the Covent Garden markets but it's not until we reach Piccadilly Circus that we find that elusive style/cost combination that is just right.  

Fatigue is starting to set in again so we say our goodbyes and Ross and I return to the hotel for a quiet night.  Or at least that's what we hope when we go to bed at 8:30pm that our upstairs neighbours won't be dancing the samba again in the wee hours.

London

The Heathrow Express gets us into Central London before the Tube station has even opened and when we reach our hotel at 7:30am, we are far too early to check-in.  Ross and I leave our bags and venture out onto the street.  It is a clear sunny Sunday morning and Oxford Street is only just starting to stir.  We wander the quiet streets for a while but the fatigue is starting to set in so we haunt the pavement outside Patisserie Valerie until it opens for breakfast.  It is a slow wait at the hotel until 10am when we can finally access our room and have a welcome shower and some sleep.

In the early afternoon we arrange to meet Amanda close to her hotel in Bayswater but on the way there we get swept up in the crowds and chaos of the Notting Hill Carnival.  It's a buzzing throng of excited young people, colour, drums, costumes, police, music, floats, street drinking, and mounds of litter.  We find Amanda and together follow the crowds around a few blocks, stopping to view the floats and trying to hear our own thoughts above the din.

The sights, sounds and smells of the Notting Hill Carnival

In the end jet lag wins out again and we say our goodbyes with Ross and I making our slow way back to our hotel on foot.  Tube stations are closed so it's easier to follow the crowd as it snakes its way past Hyde Park towards Marble Arch.

We retreat inside our comfortably dusky room with its four-poster bed and plush couch.  Despite our best efforts to stay awake, blissful comfortable uninterrupted sleep claims us at 7pm.

...The first day of the holiday

Feeling decidedly mañana this morning so I don't give a second thought to putting my packing on hold while Wendy and Bill stop by for coffee or Adam, Flo and Ella drop by later on to say hello.  Plenty of time... flight isn't until mid-afternoon after all.  For a week I had been gathering my belongings into little piles to go into my suitcase but even so, my nightmare is realised when I am still shoving things into my suitcase at 12:25pm when we are due to leave the house at 12:30pm.  This is the first, and hopefully last time, I leave everything to the last minute.  I get into the taxi flustered and stressing about the hundred things I've probably forgotten.  Funny how even though you're travelling to another first-world country, you feel compelled to bring every last item of your own toiletries in case you should (gasp!) run out of toothpaste or shower gel during the trip.  

We meet my dad at the airport as his flight is at the same time albeit on a different carrier. My mother tasks me with the important responsibility of keeping an eye on him while we're away.  It starts with repacking his bags in the departure lounge to reduce the number of items he needs to carry.  I inherit his raincoat which I must now carry to Cumbria before it can be reunited with its owner.

Finally wheels leave the tarmac and we're on our way.  

21 hours later after innumerable movies, in-flight meals and snatched moments of restless sleep, crying babies, claustrophobia and general malaise, the pale dawn light of a London morning heralds our arrival.

The night before...

After a 13 hour day at work and a record late finish of 9:30pm I came home exhausted and without any will to pack whatsoever.  The last few weeks have been intense and having to find a 'replacement' to act in my position for the next four weeks an added burden.  Having to organise papers for a corporate planning day (which fortunately I won't be here to minute:o) was another extraneous task I could have done without. 

Hence the late night, gnawing on nuts and whatever other stray snacks I could find in my desk drawer in lieu of a meal, compiling papers and uttering 'this is ridiculous' as the office progressively emptied until I was the last one there and the hours ticked by.  There have been too many late nights this week with long days at work followed by evenings researching online and booking B+Bs for later in our journey....but I think everything is organised now.  I left work satisfied I'd left everything in order and got home satisfied all the bookings had been made for our holiday.    

Too tired to think or feel excited about not having to work for the next four weeks.  Fatigue has robbed me of that 'WOO HOOOOOO' moment I should have felt when I shut down my computer and the elevator doors closed behind me.  Maybe it will sink in tomorrow.  

Eagle View Walk (John Forrest National Park)

The stats

• Distance - 16km circuit
• Grade - classed as 'medium' to 'hard'
• Estimated time to complete - 5-6hrs
• Actual time taken - 4hr 45mins (with half hour stop for lunch)
• Resources - WA Top Trails website and Department of Environment and Conservation Eagle View Walk Trail guide
• Cost - $11 national park entry fee
• Tip - Doing the walk clockwise gets most of the ascents out of the way early on!

The verdict

One more week before we head to the UK and undertake the Coast to Coast walk for real.  The Fellowship was finally restored today for our final training walk as my Dad decided to test his rehabilitated foot on what would be our longest and most challenging walk yet.  Our thinking was, if we could best this we'd be able to handle C2C no problem...

On arrival at John Forrest National Park we marvelled at the explosion of colour.  The wildflowers were out in their full glory and the trail was dotted with splashes of yellow, pink, white and vivid purple. 

The riot of colour along the Eagle View Trail

With our collective knees strapped we headed to the ranger's office to register and then set off on the circuit.  The trail was well marked but the guide was helpful and is recommended.   

The path fringed by wildflowers

The gradient was in the most part manageable however there were steep sections and the track varied from easy to rocky and uneven.  The walk was varied and interesting in its passage through numerous habitats including riparian, woodland and granite outcrop.  Don't forget to stop and (see) the flowers!  Having said that we probably would have completed the walk faster had I not been stopping every 10m to look at flowers!

Rough track

Finding a suitable spot for lunch also took a bit longer than anticipated as the fallen log had to be 'just right' but we got there in the end!

The gentlemen at lunch

All up a fabulous walk which did test our fitness.  The good news is we did it in good time and dodgy knees/feet held.  It was the perfect season for visiting John Forrest National Park and the walk trail is a definite must-do-again next spring.  

Cumbria, here we come!