At breakfast today we had snail. I know what you're thinking, but you're on the wrong track, we weren't eating snail, it was falling from the sky. For the uninitiated, snail is not, in fact, a biblical precipitation of molluscs, but rather an indecisive mixture of snow and hail. It's just as nasty as you'd expect it to be. Fortunately, by the time we'd munched our way through the usual mountain of bacon flavoured cornflakes, the weather gods had made their minds up, and we emerged to be pelted by tiny, sharp, ice pellets. Which was nice.
We elected to take the low level route today, in part because of the weather, but also because the Swale is a pretty river with many waterfalls and quite a bit of wildlife. Mike sometimes has a one track mind, and has been known to stop dead on the path if he sees an interesting bird of the feathered kind (I am apparently not allowed to comment on his behaviour if he sees interesting examples of the 'other' variety). He will, if pressed, blame a misspent youth for his avian expertise, and his grandfather for his knowledge of doubtful rhymes about them.
These random perambulatory cessations mean that apart from having been perforated in a variety of locations by the pointy ends of his walking poles, I have learned something. I can recognise a curlew by its call, skylarks by their flight patterns and grouse by its flavour. No-one told me this trip was going to be educational, damn it! The accompanying picture here is of a pair of Oystercatchers in the Swale. As far as I can tell, the Swale doesn't not actually support Oyster kind, so quite what they are doing there eludes me.
What we have missed, as a result of forsaking Wainwright's preferred high route for the riverside is a whole bunch of industrial architecture, beginning with the ruins of Crackpot Hall. This was not named after a bunch of loonies who lived there, though that would be more interesting than the real story behind the name, which I have already forgotten. Mike's rather unkind comment was that in spending several days walking with me, he'd seen quite enough old ruins, thank you very much. He'll probably regret that later, it's his turn to buy dinner at the pub.
It was so damp today, even the sheep were trying to hide. We finally arrived in Reeth in the mid afternoon, cold and damp. My waterproof and breathable jacket being wetter on the inside than the outside - a feat which I don't understand - and fell gasping and shivering into a tea shop. Tomorrow, we hope, will be a dryer day.
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