Grandma Goes Coastal: August 05+06 Rothbury and Kirkwhelpington

Eager to start this 18 mile day early, so out the door and up the hill at 5:45. Looked at GPS, saw that it showed a route different from one I had waymarked, but, since I was on it, thought I would simply proceed and connect with the other route after a few miles. How do you know you have made a bad decision until you get to the point at the river where you must cross only there is no bridge? You don't. So I had to walk all the way back to the beginning—but that is not all—got tangled in some brush, no, too tall for brush, just awful stuff because by taking a public footpath I thought I could shave off 1/4 mile. Emerged from that attempt scratched, bleeding, stinging, bitten, and annoyed. Oh, and need I say that my socks and clothes were just full of thorns and little green round things that stick and God knows what else. Two hours and five miles later, I was on the path not taken. This is how an 18 mile day becomes 23.30.

The path, at least the section from Warkworth to Rothbury is scantily signed. This led to stoppage for thinking at various field entrances and other path changes, which eats up lots of time. Then, about a mile+change before Rothbury, the trail disappears, fields become woodland—you are along a river— and the overgrowth----over my head, I mean way over. No path was to be seen, though it was identified as a public footpath. I checked my phone and GPS....right on the line....this was almost as bad as the morning's experience, only with lots of whacking I was able to fight my way through, again with the thorns and branches and stuff, in what I hoped was the correct direction. It was like being in a bad movie. And it was absurd because when you do emerge, greatly relieved, may I add, you are on a paved surface. It was a truly bizarre interlude.

Arrived at (sleazy) hotel at 4:45, not caring that the greasyish room (and the wall paper was not really that nice shade of purple as in the photo, a result of the flash, but greyish brown) might have won the worst decor of the year award.

It was a long day. Arms and legs still sting, and also itch from bug bites.

Picture (!):

There are many styles of stiles:

Along a tricky, unsigned BPP area, someone thoughtfully placed a rock, at intervals, on tree stumps or stones or whatever to mark the way:

Back to bridges. Of stones:

or wood that looks like an old door that someone plunked down:

and a two-plank, one rail variety:

Penultimate day of St. Oswald's Way, the continuation of the Northumberland Way, allowing an intersection with Hadrian's wall, was a pretty good walk. Not gorgeous, not dull, little asphalt, enough changes of scenery and navigational nuances to keep things interesting, decent weather until it started to rain. Not fun putting on poncho that doubles as tent in the middle of a field full of bulls who might mistake said garment for a poncho that doubles as a cape, though, for sure it is not red, but do we know whether bulls distinguish colours? They showed a little too much interest for my comfort and they made snorty noises and were humping each other and all; I did not finish putting on the poncho, did not hook up my back pack, I just made tracks.

This was one of those you-have-to-be-picked-up-to-be-taken-to-B and B days, and thankfully, the
last for a while. Owner very nice and accommodating, but I have such a justified fear of seeing "no service,"and then what do you do? Fortunately, a connection was gotten, and Avril drove along just as I was climbing over a gate—clearly could not find proper exit—so she pulled up, I got in, and here I am. She has given me use of her kitchen so that I can make eggs tonight and toast, about which I am very excited. And, since she has to go out, she has also given me use of her office so that I can get wi-fi, which is still too slow to load photos, so that will have to wait until Newcastle tomorrow.

"But," she asked, "Will you let Lotte sit with you?"