again, graciously allowed me to accompany them up and over the Nine Standards, the infamously boggy section of the walk, which I wisely skipped in 2007 because of the rain. It was exciting to make a real attempt.
How bad was it? Ian's pole was eaten by the mud (he was able to retrieve it), I sunk into an invisible hole to above the knee and fell flat on my face into a stream. Tanya, despite her achiles tendon pain and broken arm (hidden from view in the photo) managed to get through the boggy traps unscathed. It was a marvel.
It must be said, though, that not for Ian, neither Tanya nor I, not to mention a few others, would have gotten by so easily. A shoulder, a pole, whatever it took, there he was at the ready to help. And here is is at the Nine Standards, on the throne of glory on his 67th birthday:
It was tough walking. Actually, we descended to the road sooner than was part of the official route, but didn't have the whatever-it-takes to go back up again to search in the bog for the remains of the "red track." We did well enough.
The Nine Standards are important enough to get their very own sign:
Speaking of signs, some help and others do not:
The Dales are James Herriot country, so you know that animals, large and not so large, rule in these parts. You can see how they live:
and a closer-up:
Having crossed the watershed, which separates the river flow from the Irish Sea to the North sea--maybe that is not expressed quite right, we are now officially more than half way to Robin Hood's Bay.
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