On looking out of the window this morning, the clouds from yesterday were a lot higher, and we could see the ridge that we'd walked to get here. Blimey. And indeed Gosh. The picture to the left doesn't quite do it justice, but it'll give you an idea. High moors, heather, and more ups and downs than a week's plot line on Eastenders.
Grouse, too, and I don't mean from the Grumbler either. The little bird from the whisky bottles is by far the most prevalent bird on these moors. You can't walk more than a minute or two without one of the little buggers exploding out of the ground cover and whizzing, no more than three feet high, like a squawking clockwork dervish shouting it's hoarse cry of "Go Way,Go Way!". Most of the time, it's not a problem, but every now and then one will appear right next to you, just when you're contemplating the scenery. I don't scare easily, but at least one of these wee beasties has startled me almost enough to be grateful I have more than one pair of walking trousers.
The hotel we stayed in last night offered us a lift to the point we left the trail to walk down to Great Broughton, but that would have meant jumping straight out of the car into the first (and only) climb of the day, so we politely refused. When this epic journey finishes (barring disasters in the last two days) we are determined to have been from one side of the country to the other on foot, and without having used any other transport. No more than two minutes out of the hotel we ran into Phil, with whom we walked all of today's stage. He seems to be in exactly the same kind of luddite frame of mind. It's a nice feature of the walk that we keep running into others that we have seen on and off throughout the adventure.
The curtain of cloud was most definitely following us, lending weight to my thoughts yesterday that some Tolkeinish wizard is watching with evil intent, but we managed to get as far as the OS trig point on Urra moor before it caught up with us. Phil has been walking this on his own while his dad meets him at various points with fresh clothes and provisions. Today, Phil's son, and a couple of mates are setting out from St Bees to ride the three day bike version of the coast to coast, and his missus and others are already waiting in Whitby (nearby Goth capital of the world!) so there's gonna be quite a family get together when they meet on the East coast. He was kind enough to take the picture here.
Not much to say about the rest of the walk, another misty tramp across the moors as far as Blakey ridge. As an avid watcher of the sixties/seventies tv show "On the Busses" I'd been hoping that we'd be greeted by a miserably inept bus inspector, but it was not to be. However, as soon as we walked into the Lion Inn, which is the only place to stay for miles, we were greeted by at least six other people on the walk. So tonight promises to be a pleasant evening.
Seventeen miles to Littlebeck tomorrow, and a good chance of rain. Internet willing, there will be another moistened missive at the end of the day.
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