Aug 28+29 Ribblehead and Hawes

The Yorkshire Dales are storybook pretty:

A sink hole; you do not want to fall in:

Local residents:

And their friend:

 The highlight of today's walk was the Ribblehead Viaduct, build c. 1850.  Even in the rain and mist and from a distance, it is impressive.  Note that the arches are not symetrical:

Closer, where you can note more easily that the arches are not symetrical:

No one has heard of the Richmond Way Walk, not the B and B people, not anyone I have met, nadie.  There is not one sign post for it.  Yet clearly it was a major route (see photo), granted by road or train, not through hill and dale.

Cottage, but nor where I stayed.  Where I stayed was gorgeous:

Reached said gorgeous B and B about 11:15....it was only about 11 miles.  Key and instructions left at door.  Looked forward to a cozy afternoon and an opportunity to take care of a lot of logistics.  There was no phone signal.  There was NO WI FI!!  No, it is not that the password had not been left, there was none.  Guess what I had to do?  Read!  It was nerve wracking until it became almost relaxing.  There was one other guest, a man, mid 60s or so, an arrogant bore.  He was patiently explaining to me that the Romans built roads to move their troops and such.  Te digo, "Salve atque vale hasta siempre, Señor!"

Sheep in the mist and rain:

 View, mist and rain dissipating—for five minutes—from Pennine Way section of today's walk:

Wee passageway:

Arrived in Hawes and went to cheese factory.  Stone press for pressing out water/whey from cheese. (the miniature model looks more convincing):

Watching cheese being made is not a wowzer experience, but it did make me realise that the reason cottage cheese is high in protein is because it still contains a lot of whey.  Now I don't have to ponder that anymore.

Also visited a place where they make rope.  The first thing you see are huge bobbins around which the fibres are spun, then there are machines that twist and pull and stuff.  Who figures out how to make these impressive machines?  

Hawes is a cute little town with two, yes, two grocery stores.  B and B owner, Wayne by name, helped me "get sorted" with my route to Redmire, which I will be doing after the Herriot Way.  That section had been haunting me since forever.  Now I am actually looking forward to it....if the weather is good, it ought to be a mighty fine walk!

August 26+27 Ingleton

Long (23 miles), wet, cold, windy, challenging day.  I was really worried about the first part of the walk:  where to cross the river, and later, where to cross back again.  Those issues turned out not to be problematic but lots in between was hellish or at least difficult. There is no waymarking for this route, and, as I think I recently said, but it does bear repeating, the instructions are useless and the gpx data too scant to be at all helpful unless you sprout wings and go as the crow flies.

Tossed camera in suitcase as weather report was muy malo, and though the day started out comfortably, a couple of hours in, the promised rain and wind did arrive.  I was not dressed warmly enough, so was freezing until 3:30 when a low battery signal on the GPS forced me to take off my pack in the middle of a cow dung filled field to change the batteries.  Since the rain was light at that point, I used the opportunity to put on more clothes and felt much better for the last hour of the trek. Yes, lots of high grass, broken stiles, fences and tall gates to scale, barbed wire to climb over, muddy slippery paths that made you fear you might end up in the River Lune, diversions due to landslides, but no rerouting information provided—hands too cold to even open packet of hand warmers—hands almost too cold to push button on GPS.  Thank God I had entered my own data; it saved the day, that and the fact that there was 4G reception so I could use the map on the phone.

So here is a long day:  You are picked up at 6:00 a.m., to be taken to the start point, about 1 1/2 mi. from B&B, which, under normal circumstances I would never do, but a bad weather day that is 22 miles without any errors at all—(from my mouth to God's ear)—is not a normal day. Finally, you arrive at destination B and B at 4:30.  It was a pretty good walk, actually, just overly long and weather made navigating a real kotz in tuchas (pain).

Next morning, with instructions from Sue, B and B proprietress, off to do the 4 1/2 mile circular walk around Ingleton Falls, which are nothing short of spectacular.  Desafortunadamente, still shots of waterfalls are, well, you know, nothing like the real thing!  No movement, no roar, no spray, no thrill!

 Then walked about 1 1/2 miles up the miserable B 3265 or whatever numbers come after the B, a shoulderless wretched road with cars flying past, to get to White Scar Cave. There was a lovely way to get to the cave from the waterfalls trail over a long, stepping stones crossing and then up some fields, but the water was too high to use the stepping stones, so it was no way or the highway.  Got to the ticket office five minutes before 1:00 tour, and lucked out with the tour guide. (I think I may have developed an allergy to tours.)  Anyway the caves were excellently interesting, only no photos to show to convince.

The caves made me think about outer space.....the amount of time for a stalactite to grow one centimetre, the amount of time for any of those geologic formations to form (!) is so huge that it is hard to actually imagine in the way that it is hard to imagine the distances (and time) out there in space.  OK, so it is hard for me to conceptualise those things, which is one reason out of about two hundred why I am not a physicist, astronomer, geologist, or speleologist or many other things!

August 24+25 Lancaster

Took an early train from Carlise to Lancaster, and the very very nice Mr. James Gray let me check in at 9:00 a.m.  His divine property is about a mile or so away from the city centre, so I took a taxi from the train station to get here.  I mention this mundane fact because it is, need I say, uncharacteristic of me, but when I have a backpack and a heavy suitcase, and the walk is up hill, I give in to common sense.  En route, I asked the driver about fares from Hornby to Ingleton, destinations I have to get transportation to and from, and during our conversation about buses and taxis, said cabbie alerted me to the fact that this coming Monday is a Bank Holiday, which creates havoc with all forms of transportation: this runs, but that doesn't and the other thing runs on a Sunday schedule and so on.  This was so distressing that I could not think, so upon entry to my luxurious room, I had three oatcakes with peanut butter and jam, and then went out to take in the city. After my thought processes had realigned, I decided that since both segments are short—some 12 1/2 and 9 miles respectively—I would do the two day walk in one day.  Then I will have a jolly nice rest day on which I will go out to play.

I know some children who would not even think to ask whether this cake is edible, though in California it might carry a carcinogenic warning:

This is the Ashton Memorial. It was built by Lord Ashton, a linoleum magnate, as a tribute to his second wife.  To his third wife, he did not build a memorial.  Anyway, tomorrow, I am going to see what it houses.

Huh?

Maybe not so dangerous:

Second day in Lancaster went to the park that houses that big memorial, behind which is a little zoo of sorts.

Log hotel (for insects) because every creature needs a place to live or go on vacation:

Meerkats getting a bit of sun:

Big Bunny:

Bunny's friend looks a lot like doggie:

Fine dining for a butterfly, and enough for teeny little insects:

Inside the birdhouse:

Fish and a turtle swimming together:

It was market day in Lancaster, so the city was hopping.  Bought some delicious cheese, a loaf of bread that looked more promising than it tasted, went to a couple of art galleries, one of which was quite fine, managed to get worn out watch band replaced, visited a museum, the kind that reminds you how hard life was back in the day, picked up some salmon and grapes at M&S, then returned to B and B to review map for tomorrow and curse the horrible instruction book—e.g. of horrible: "With some luck, you might be able to find the stile in the electric fence." (Guess who is not following that route?)—and begin housekeeping chores of which there are many on these walks.  Oh, washed pants that smelled like ten kinds animals!

August 23 Carlisle

Last stretch of Cumbria Way started out pleasantly enough, but the last several miles were like the last several miles of Hadrian's Wall: excruciatingly dull: flat and on asphalt.  This is demanding walking, physically and mentally, and really makes you want to call a taxi, especially when it is raining, but it would be even worse in the heat.

Some pretty moments on the way:

A bridge in a tenuous state of repair is better than no bridge at all:

Waterfall god?

In Carlisle, I visited the Guildhall Museum, built 1407. Very little of the 15th century structure is preserved, but the lady at the desk was more than eager to explain the many layered building technique:  brick, a layer of woven twigs, then a sort of plastery stuff and to finish it off, a coat of lime.  The "nails" were thick, round pegs inserted into holes of approximately the same size, where they would expand to fill the space (one hoped).

Loom, not from 15th century but pretty darn old:

Finally stopped at Tullie House again where I learned the origin of the word bereaved. There were these fierce bands of raiders, called reivers who, in the dark of night, would plunder and often murder their victims, ergo, to be their victim was to be-reived.  They also kidnapped and demanded protection money. They were very bad, and caused much terror throughout the countryside.

And that was the end of the Cumbria Way and a last night in Carlisle.

August 20, 21+22 Keswick and Caldbeck

"Most people don't do the walk to Keswick in one day," says the guide book, "this is due mostly to a lack of accommodation in Great Langdale," (or maybe some place else).  I think the reason is that the quoted mileage is 15.5, but it is really over 18, and that is too many miles, especially if it is raining—it was—and if you want to stay awake for the production at Theatre on the Lake, which I most assuredly did.  That Theatre on the Lake is nothing short of a national treasure.  Not only is it right on the shore of Lake Derwent, and not only are there sheep grazing in the meadow on the non lake side, but the theatre is elegant in every respect.  The men taking tickets and those showing you to your seat wear tuxes.  It is that elegant.  The production, Jeeves and Wooster in Perfect Nonsense, was hilarious and brilliantly acted.  What a joy! 

Even though I was in a hurry to reach Keswick, the scenery was so compelling that not stopping to take just  a few photos would have been close to sinful:

Tell me that these magnificent walls do not outdo that built by Roman soldiers, AND they are for a more sproductive purpose:

Enough stones left over to make a bridge:

Famous sculpture en route to Keswick:

In Keswick (rest day) is the Derwent Pencil Museum.  The process for making a pencil is, as you can see, quite involved:

There was much to be learned at the museum, but the most signifiant little exhibit was of this man, whose name I do not recall, who, apparently, influenced the character of James Bond.  Inter alia, he figured out a way to make a map on non rustling tissue paper, fit it into a hollowed out pencil, then got someone to design a mini mini compass that would fit under the ferrule holding the eraser, and get said map-and-compass-pencils to prisoners of war and other people to help effect escapes and such.  Of course, his work was very hush hush.

Lake Derwent:

Between my very nice B and B and the theatre was a beautiful park.  This sculpture is reminiscent of the boar of the other day, only this one has no mud and it is not of a boar:

Our friend, the red squirrel, again:

Today's walk, from Keswick to Caldbeck, has two versions.  The fifteen mile version goes over the highest peak in the area, and the eighteen mile version, which is 19.36, is the low route.  In bad weather, one is discouraged from taking the high route.  The weather was bad.  The low level route was nothing to sneeze at in terms of challenges and length.  What was not shrouded in cloud and mist was gorgeous, but weather too bad and distance too long for picture taking.

Oh, on this route, there is a small section of a field one has to cross that used to have, and maybe still does, a buzzard that periodically attacked walkers, so I was prepared to do battle with this creature by waving my poles.  But the guide book was published in 2011, so maybe Mr. Buzzard is dead or he was hiding out to escape the rain.  In any case, he did not show up.

Tonight I am in the most luxurious Bed and Breakfast ever.  After a long, wet, windy day, oh, how good that feels!

Aug 18 and 19 Ulverston+Coniston

Actually, some of these photos belong to yesterday's circular tour of Ulverston, but weak internet and weird photo-loading issues made putting things together  correctly very annoying, so just take a 24 hour journey back in time, and, oh, never mind, does it really matter?

A view
:

Go through the falling down gate:

Letter box built into a wall, but, unlike Flat Stanley, do not have to go into letter box:

Chink in a hedge. Do not have to go through that, either, but it did make me think of Bottom, who, granted, did not actually go through any chinks, but the word so belongs to him and to Pyramus and Thisbe and all that:




A narrow aperture. Do have to squeeze through that:




Sir John Barrow—founding member of the  Royal Geographical Society—monument on Hoad Hill in Ulverston.  Very famous.  Not a lighthouse, but built to resemble one, as opposed to that other tower that looked sort of like a lighthouse sort of like a windmill and sort of like dovecote.  Anyway, this one is way bigger and it is really windy up there on that hill:

First view of Lake Coniston:

Mini cairns, built at low tide, no doubt!

Sheep that look like Dalmations:

See, there are lots of them!

Sad story of today. For the first time ever on any walk, I turned back.  Reason: the path was flooded  out.  Now, had it not been raining, and had I not made arrangements with a taxi to pick me up at a particular time in a particular place to bring me back here—for such is the B and B arrangement—and were I able to get a phone connection to let taxi lady know at some point that I might be delayed, but, alas, there was way of getting in touch with her en route due to there being "no service," I might have had the sense to think about whether I could find an alternate route to hook up with the path further on.  But I did not think of that at the time, AND even if I had, I would have worried that the extra time needed to do that might delay me for the rendez-vous.

So I sadly came back to town and headed up the Old Man of Coniston, which is actually a dandy climb, but about 2/3 up, barrenness and the rock structure and the wind and the rain and the cold, and the fact that not another soul was there just gave me a bad feeling, so I abandoned that effort, too.  Came back to town and bought a double scoop of ice cream.

But here is what the river looked like on the way up:

There was a little museum across the street.  I did like this boar best of all the exhibits: