Coast To Coast Walk
8th June 1975 to 10th June 1975
We had planned out Wainwright's Coast To Coast walk which, although a great distance, looked interesting and feasible. Everything ready, we caught the coach to Whitehaven and the train to St. Bees.
Sunday 8th June 1975
We had had a bit of a disagreement yesterday with Denise revealing that she didn't really want to do the walk but we nevertheless agreed to set off. Then night was hot and close so that we could not sleep much and by 6:45 a.m. it was so hot that we just had to get out of the tent. We started walking shortly after seven and within a few hundred yards the sweat was beginning to roll down and we had to rest on many occasions. From St. Bees a stiff pull took us up to the cliffs and through fields of cattle along the cliff edge with fine views away to the north with the coast clothed in a grey haze. A long rest near the lighthouse with scarcely two and a half miles gone and then on round the coast and inland to Sandwith for a short sit on a wall in the sunshine to soak in the quietness of this part of Cumberland. Along roads now and country lanes, through the farmyard of the Demesne Farm, square buildings with a coating of thin green moss and on to the farm at Bell House. Here we met our first dogs, they had to be somewhere. We gingerly edged our way past the yapping, snarling, creatures watching carefully as they ran up behind. What is it about someone carrying a rucksack that seems to attack them so? From Bell House a fine lowland vista stretched ahead as we descended to the railway and Stanley Pond, passing a field of inquisitive cattle, and on under the railway to join tarmac once again leading to Moor Row. We were unbelievably tired, hot, and parched and were looking for shop, any shop, to buy some drink. We found one and stocked up, followed the road out of the village and determined to stop at the first available place. Across a stile in and there it was - a flat comfortable field! We lay down, removed our boots, removed our socks and just lay there soaking in the sun and breathing the fresh, clean, air. What heaven just to lay in the sunshine and feel the sensation of life flooding back into tired limbs. We closed our eyes and slept.
An hour later we rose wearily our feet and replaced socks and boots to continue. It felt glorious to have rested so long and pleasant hedgerowed footpaths led us to Cleator, a small mining village with its houses immediately on the street and a path leading to the River Ehen and on up to Dent beyond. Dent being only 1131 feet should have been easy but began to pull on tired legs as soon as we passed through Black How farm and came out to the fellside. Real fellside at last but, oh, what a pull! We rested, rested again, and finally saw ahead the summit cairn where we sat and rested yet again. We could now see the real Lakeland Fells over to the east but still a long way off. Tufted grass on top of Dent gave way to a forest track and then soft green sward descending steeply to Nannycatch Gate and alongside Nannycatch Beck in a beautiful valley with a trickling beck and horses passing along the bridleway. We found a good spot near the stream and sat while we made tea, once again removing boots and socks for air on hot and swollen feet. The valley closed in more and more and we were forced to climb out up a steep bank and onto the road near Kinniside Stone Circle. We could here look back and see the mile upon mile of low-lying land we had walked getting stretching way over to the coast. It was difficult to appreciate that we had walked from as far as the eye can see, a rolling expense of countryside yet only 13 miles separated us from St. Bees. The road led directly to Ennerdale Bridge and we trudged wearily down, legs unsteady, but at least it was now cool. At five o'clock we were at Ennerdale Bridge and sat on the pavement outside a shop and ate ice lollies. Delicious! There appeared to be nowhere to camp nearby, fields with fences all round and forested enclosures, so we pressed on towards Ennerdale Water. Ennerdale Water stretched away to the fells, mirror calm, reflecting the crags and hills around, absolutely beautiful. We could go no further; we found a pitch up away from the lake in the lee of a wall and set up camp. We were exhausted, it was not supposed to be this hard, perhaps tomorrow will be easier. We swatted the midges as we cooked our dinner and then sank thankfully into the soft down to replenish spent energy and, hopefully, refuel our bodies for the morrow.
Monday 9th June 1975
A mist hung over Ennerdale, still mirror calm on a beautiful clear morning, but it was going to be another scorching, energy sapping, day. Starting out was painful, protesting muscles in our calves not wishing more punishment, boots like lumps of lead. A superb but stony track surrounded the lake and led up and round Anglers Crag, rocky and exciting, and then becoming gentle as it found a way through woodland on the southern shore. Streams trickled down to the lake and in places the ground was very wet until at last woodland opened out onto green, walled, fields stretching to the forest that clothed the upper reaches of Ennerdale. A footbridge over the River Liza provided a perfect view of the Ennerdale with Pillar and Pillar Rock prominent and the water below gurgling and tumbling over the stony river bottom. Soon we were on the forest road, the seemingly never ending forest road. The heat had taken its toll again; we felt dehydrated and had finished our small supply of water long ago. There had been no real opportunity to refill the flask and there would certainly be no shops today. Desperately thirsty, we called into the hostel at High Gillerthwaite and, perhaps wrongly, begged a flaskful of cool, fresh water and bought two bottles of drink which we finished outside. The forest road stretched on for miles amid dreary pines, no views, no differences, just mile upon mile of pine, the only diversion being a small break by the river affording a fine view of Pillar Rock. Later on we turned down to the river and made some tea to slake our thirst. My feet were painful, boots heavy but I was determined to reach the end of this wretched forest road and, thankfully, at last we hobbled out of the darkness to the Black Sail Hut, the most superbly situated Youth Hostel in the district. The hut was closed and we sat outside while I removed, quite painfully, my boots and socks. On each heel was a blister the size of a 10p piece but there was nothing to be done but to dry them up, change my socks, and press on. With new socks my spirits were boosted but there was no denying that the heat had taken its toll. I had on my woollen shirt that I could not remove or pull up the sleeves for fear of sunburn. This was a beautiful part of the walk, past the moraines and the ice cool pools and falls of Loft Beck and then a steep climb up beside the beck. Denise strode on ahead but I climbed slowly, desperately lacking in energy. The view behind was superb, bright blue sky, scorching sun and the sheer magnificence of the Lake District. At last the top of the beck, levelling out at about 1800 feet, led to a plateau alongside Grey Knotts and down to the Honister Pass. This bit looked easy now, downhill all the way! Easy it might have looked but with tired legs the downhill was as hard as the up. The descent to Honister Pass was unbelievably steep considering it was supposed to be the 'easy' path to Great Gable. Socks down around the ankles, we staggered on, onto the road and then on the old toll road, stony and rough but preferable to the car-ridden tarmac only a few yards away. Denise found a heart-shaped stone on the track - possibly an unfinished arrowhead? - adding interest to the final part of the day. At the Seatoller I could go no further, the muscles in my calves bursting with pain. Hot, parched and so, so tired we found a convenient site and thankfully rested. The will had gone; there was no way I could go further.
Tuesday 10th June 1975
Another morning but I had resolved to abandon the trip. Ironically, Denise was quite prepared to go on and tried to persuade me to try a little further. My heart was no longer in it, I was shattered. There would be regrets but in this heat it was just not possible. A valiant try but not this time. Perhaps another year? We walked to Rosthwaite and took the bus to Keswick and then to Carlisle and home by train in a compartment where the heat had defeated even the air-conditioning system - a terrible journey home after a disappointing journey on foot.