A wobbly Coast to Coast path - Rambling Pete's Way 2010
Day Nine: 25th June
Weather: Overcast all day long…but dry again
Route: Dufton to Rosgill - 16.6 with 2276Ft of ascent
Ayee karamba - what a calamitous start to the day. I set the alarm as usual but had the phone thing in silent mode. The net result was an hour late departure and my toes sniggering at me. I think the landlord was a bit peeved as I’d said breakfast at eight, not the nine o’clock that I stumbled down the stairs. But at least he asked which way I was going and gave me the inside line on some of the paths I would be using and advised that it would be ok and clearly posted.. He was proud of the fact that he had put a rope up to help traverse a section of river bank that had collapsed. There was a distinct change from the limestone of yesterdays walk, marked by the red hill of the Permian (I think) Dufton Pike. This and the adjacent fells must be conglomerate or something similar to stand so proud – almost like a gateway to the Pennines. Cross Fell had a misty top again but everything else was clear. The initial route out of Dufton took me along a small valley of Mill Beck and around the corner to Park Farm, and then out onto the floodplain of Trout Beck and onwards towards Long Marton.
It was a glorious peaceful start to the day and although it was a low level walk it provided a nice contrast between the Pennines and what was to come in the Lake District. It was mostly pasture and crops today, but even the famous coast to coast has its flat days. The buzzards were out and about crying when chased by the crows, I walked out of the floodplain, under the viaduct and into the village of Long Marton – another unremarkable place, but quiet and neat. I walked through the houses and out onto another lane, seemingly inhabited by lots of free range hens pecking around on odd bits of ground. I passed by a couple of dog walkers but didn’t meet many people coming my way. I climbed another old railway embankment – I’ve met a few on this trip – and there was a sign saying the A66, but with my eyesight it looked like a path to Ass. Surprisingly it didn’t take long to cross the A66, and it was very busy just before and just after I crossed – that’s Karma for you. Beyond the road was another farm track alongside a field full of golden wheat, which was planted over the site of an old roman fort, so nothing to see here. I crossed another floodplain and on towards Bolton – not The Bolton. There were plenty of stiles into the fields, but strangely not so many out of the fields. I crossed over the River Eden by an old sandstone bridge and walked into the village of Bolton.
There was a lovely small church with some interesting gravestones and an old statue set into a wall. Judging by the plague of bluebottles someone had been bad – probably it was the occupant of the grave with the skull and crossbones. The old statue on the wall was of a woman with arms together in prayer – unfortunately the rock is so well weathered that it look like a large pair of breasts – maybe I’d been eating too many fruit pastilles. Through the village I turned off the main road and passed by a small allotment full of Jemima Puddleducks – very comical and some good pictures on the big camera – see the flora and fauna at the end. A lot of the windows have plastic bags hanging in the corners swaying manically in the breeze– it took a while for me to realise that these were to deter the swallows and house martins from nesting. Up through more pasture beyond the village of Bolton village I was up on a ridge, with the Pennines behind me and the Lake District in front – I thought about the challenges of walking there and I’m looking forward to it tomorrow. There were plenty of flies as I moved along, with more and more cattle grazing – I had a few chases today, but always got to the gate or the fence first – frolicsome bullocks mostly, but some of the cattle later on were well hard.
From Bolton onwards it was a mixture of cow and sheep pasture with the occasional bit of roadwork thrown in – the route was working out pretty good so far and I was quite pleased with myself. As I walked through the fields to Kings Meaburn I had to divert around a large field of particularly arsy cattle – the biffa bacon family of bull, heifers and their offspring. There was no way I could be bothered going through there so a quick look at the map took me down a lane and around them. Once more I had trouble with the footpath disappearing and even a roll of mesh wire directly across the route. I helped the farmer out by rolling it back up for him – I’m sure he’d thank me for that. I passed by the pub, although I was mightily tempted, I cracked on down the lane to Kings Meaburn Mill where the vegetation looked very lush and was reflected superbly in the still waters. From the ford it was a quick walk through some more meadows, past the mill and uphill through yet more meadow with lots of rambling roses in the hedgerow - delightful to walk along, but quite energy sapping, this high stepping through the long grass at the field margins. I crossed through a copse and then down to Low Moor farm where I was chased by a large herd of very young bullocks – but again I got to the gate just before they did – timing is everything. The farmer’s wife had a good chat and told me about a recent court case which found against the farmer (£2 million) in a case where a vet was trampled, despite being told to let the dog off the leash – it’s no wonder that some of the farmers are so against walkers through their fields.
I walked on the road for a little to Sleagill, a small farming hamlet, and then made a long steady ascent to Threaplands, a run down old farmstead. Behind me the Pennines were receding into the distance and the lakes ever nearer – I spotted Kidsty Pike in the distance, and as I walked through the fields I came across the most bad tempered bullocks of the whole trip – they were a decent size as well. As usual I took the easy option and walked through the next field – the look that they gave me – deprived of their fun. When they spotted me at the other end of their field they made a last dash for glory or should that be gory – how I laughed from the other side of the gate. Then it was more road work as I approached the noise of the M6 I passed by an alpaca farm at Train Riggs – they were recently clipped of their wool and looked a bit stupid stood there staring at me. Once I’d crossed over the M6 I truly felt I’d arrived in the Lakes – it really is noisy though. As I walked down into Shap, I wasn’t very impressed by the village and was quite glad I’d decided not to stay here. Shortly out of the village was the Boggleby standing stone – big and impressive, then down the lane to see the small church at Keld, then right turn to the north west towards the finish of the day in Rosgill. I passed by Shap Abbey below me on the C2C path and watched a procession of walkers on their way to Shap for the night – too much company for me and I shall count up how many I pass tomorrow. There was much evidence in the old stone walls of boundaries from the abbey grounds .I stayed high up the valley side and walked through yet more meadows all the way to Rosgill. The view ahead to Kidsty Pike was calling, and I could see the typical Lakeland landscape ahead – I thought about my walk from East to West and as I looked out towards tomorrow’s hills I knew I had saved the best until last. Even though it was mainly through fields and lanes today, it was still a satisfying walk.
Looking back from my path to Rosgill
