Day Four - Seatoller to Grasmere

Neither Lauren nor I were the least bit worried about today.  We have an interesting strategy that no one else we’ve talked to would endorse; don’t read through the maps the night before because they might scare you.  We prefer to be surprised at how awful the terrain is rather than worry about it the night before.  Makes perfect sense to us!

In our happy ignorance about what the day had in store, we set out from Seatoller Farm to Grasmere and had over a mile to go just to get to the official start of the day’s walk by our guide book’s measurements.  That’s fine.  We’re iron women so what’s one more mile?  We set off early and had gone just a couple of miles along Stonethwaite Beck (another stream) between stone walls when we were overtaken by our British guy team.  We were actually IN FRONT of them for once but it didn’t last long.  They were very happy to see us heading out again and told us that there was a bet among our loosely knitted group that Lauren and I would soon quit, pack it up and head home with our tails between our legs.  Apparently, our British counterparts were each betting on when exactly we’d quit.  Oh really?  I do love a challenge.  Thankfully, Lauren is more pig-headed than I and there’s no way on God’s Green Earth that we’ll quit.  Their betting game only made us more determined to kick ass.

Our friends briefly went over the plan for the day and told us how proud they were of each of us.  We thanked them for the hundredth time and said goodbye (again) and wished them well.  I am very sad to say that we never saw them again.  Their pace was far quicker than ours and in a day’s time, they were two towns ahead of us.  However, we do know that they’ve told EVERYONE along the walk about us and when we arrive in town, we are often expected.  They continue to watch out for us from afar and it gives great comfort.

We continued to make a steady climb up Lining Craig, Greenup Edge Pass and Helm Craig with no relief in sight.  The sun was out and the bugs were too.  Sheep shit was everywhere and the conditions were perfect for Lauren and me to become Super Bitches.  The C2C gods were still watching over us and kept the bitchiness at bay…. At least for now. 

We climbed and climbed and climbed past gorgeous waterfalls of all sizes.  When we finally made it up and over the ridge, we started the long descent into Grasmere.  Although we’d been walking for hours, the village was nowhere in sight.  The last three miles or so into Grasmere were pure torture for us.  Our feet and shins and knees and hips were on fire and every step was painful.  I felt so guilty for putting Lauren through this.  It was hell and seemed like the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.  We hobbled into town, grunting and moaning in pain.  We found our way to the Lamb’s Inn, walked through the door only to find Owen tucked into a steak pie with a pint.  He joined us after he’d eaten and we talked about the next day.  Lauren and I were giving serious consideration to getting a lift to the next town because of the extreme pain we were experiencing. 

Owen went over the next day’s walk on his map and encouraged us to sleep on it and decide in the morning.  He said that the walk from Grasmere to Patterdale was a mere 8 miles and a very easy walk compared to what we’d already done.  We told him we’d decide in the morning although I was ready to take a bus. 

We had to set off from the pub early because our farm was more than a mile from the pub and we weren’t sure how to find it.  Long story short, a stranger called the farm on our behalf and our innkeepers came to pick us up.  We showered and fell into bed hoping never to experience anything like this day again.

Day 3 - Ennerdale to Seatoller (Another Farm)

We rose to an early breakfast knowing we had a 14 mile day ahead.  Remember that until now, Lauren’s never walked more than 5 miles at once.   We found ourselves seated with the two British gentlemen that we’d met the night before.  We had a very nice breakfast conversation about their holiday adventures in the western U.S.  Then one of the farm dogs came dashing into the parlor, put its front paws on the sideboard and licked out of the “clean” cereal bowls and then pissed on the floor.  Lauren and I promptly decided we weren’t having cereal.

We ate and bade adieu to the Brits.  We promised to be careful and we wished them a safe journey.  Lauren and I were the first of the overnight guests to set off to Ennerdale.  We went the wrong way.  After only a few hundred yards, I decided to actually look at the map.  Lauren never complained about my poor navigation skills but we agreed that before a decision is made regarding which direction to go, we should both consult the book and agree.

We did a quick course correction and headed back in the direction from which we’d come.  By the time we made it back to the farm, our British guy friends were heading out.  They said something remarkably British such as “All has gone well thus far, right?”.  I honestly explained that Lauren had taken a wrong turn at the get-go but we were now just fine.  They quickly described the route to make sure we knew where we were headed and they quickly left us in their dust.  This was becoming a routine.

The first stage of this day was lovely.  A shaded walk between two stone fences, lots of wildflowers and a nice sun.  We made it through town and after another couple of miles, we were facing Ennerdale Water (a beautiful lake) and we had a choice to make; take the north route around or the south.  Our innkeeper George from the night before (I could write pages about him alone) suggested that we take the north route because its shorter and more safe.  Sounded reasonable to me so that’s what we did.  The first couple of miles around the lake were simply beautiful; a mostly shady stroll on a dirt path by the water’s edge.  We stopped often for water and “bathroom” breaks.  I’ll spare you those ugly details…  and they were ugly.

Suddenly the path was gone and Little Sacajawea was scrambling over boulders, hopping from spot to spot.  Mind you, I was carrying a lot more weight in my pack than she.  I made sure that I always had more to carry because she’s just a baby and blah blah blah.  Little pisser is fast.  Next time, she carries all of the water and rain gear and first aid and change of clothes and packed lunches.

The path was gone but I blindly followed Lauren who was in her glory.  She loved that part of the walk and I was simply praying that neither of us would be hurt and that we’d make it around to the other side of the lake.  We came to a clearing with a picnic table and decided to drop our packs and have second breakfast.  As we were enjoying our cheese sandwiches and water, a cute British couple came into the clearing.  They were out for a walk around the lake and we told them about our coast to coast adventure.  We talked longer than we should have and probably lost a good 40 minutes there but they were so nice and so interested in our adventure.  We packed up and followed them out of the clearing but soon, they too, left us in their wake.

We finally made it around the lake and found ourselves on a track of chunky gravel that went gently uphill.  Gently, that is, until you’ve been walking it for hours and hours and hours on end.  It became hot and buggy and there was no end in sight.

I won’t bore you with the boring details of the next many miles.  Suffice to say, they sucked.  Each and every one of them.  We walked and walked and walked without making any progress it seemed.   We finally made it to Ennerdale Youth Hostel just before my bladder burst open all over the English Countryside.  Lauren and I sat on a sofa, took off our boots and tended to our blisters for a bit.  Before she fell asleep, I forced her to get her boots back on and we were off again.  Our sweaty clothes were starting to dry and we were chilled as we set off again.  Almost 4 miles later, we came across yet another youth hostel.  Déjà vu.  The same scene repeated itself and we pushed on again.  About 3 miles later, we found ourselves at Black Sail Youth Hostel where Lauren made a cup of tea and I began to worry about catching a serious cold.  I was wearing all of the layers I had available but I was still chilled.  The tea seemed to give Lauren a little energy and we set off again.

Not far from here, the British couple for whom we'd taken some photos on the cliffs of the Irish Sea on Day 1, came up behind us.  They were so impressed that we were still plugging along.  While Lauren and the wife talked, the husband showed me his map (a real one) and explained about this and that and where not to go and so on.  After more words of encouragement and big smiles, they were gone and soon out of sight.  I was surprised to learn that the wife had told Lauren that we had become "celebrities" on the trail and that we had several groups of people looking out for the mum and her 13 yr old daughter.  What a wonderful feeling that gave us!  Complete strangers were passing information about us from town to town, looking out for us, ready to help us should we need it.  We will never understand this phenomenon and never be equipped to repay the kind generosity of our walking mates.  My heartfelt thanks to each and every one of them.  May the wind be always at their back and the sun forever gently on their brow.

Although this encounter boosted us for some time, I soon found myself hitting the wall.  I really didn’t care if we ever finished this stupid walk.  I just wanted to lie down and sleep, I didn’t care where.  It was at this most challenging point in the walk that we faced “Loft Beck”.  This is English for “ridiculously steep climb up a mountain, along a river of gushing water with no marked path or seemingly safe climb to the top”.   That’s a no-shitter.  This was an almost straight climb up the sheer face of a mountain with a river gushing down.  I was not confident but we pressed onward because there was no other choice.  There was no one to ask for help and nowhere to go but forward.

Sacajawea went first and was obviously quite happy without a 50lb pack on her back.  She scrambled over boulders and squeezed through crevices while I tried to find the least slippery place to put my boots and pull myself ever further uphill.  About the halfway mark, I realized that there was a man standing and watching us.  I told Lauren that I thought he was waiting for us.  We looked up and he began telling us the best route to climb, telling us where to step and what to avoid. The ascent took well over 90 minutes and not far from the top, I was so scared that we were going to slip (it was wet and muddy and the rocks were slippery) and fall to our deaths that I became paralyzed with fear.  I thought it was over.  I couldn’t move forward or back.  I couldn’t sit down.  I couldn’t move and began to cry.  Lauren calmly talked to me during the several minutes it took to pull myself together.   When we finally made it to the summit about two hours after we started to climb, I looked for the man who’d helped us and I walked right over to him.  “I know you don’t know us but…”, and I wrapped him in a bear hug.  I squeezed him so tightly, he groaned.  I told him that if it wasn’t for him, we’d never have made it up.  He was humble and made some comments about paying back others for the help he’d received during his first C2C attempt.  I was barely listening because I was still hugging him.  This man turned out to be Owen, one of the walkers we met on our first day out of St. Bee’s.

We talked for a few minutes (I’d finally let go of the man) and he was off again at a pace we couldn’t maintain for more than a few minutes.  Within no time, we were alone again and hoping to reach Seatoller very soon.  We were completely spent.

That’s when Mike, Amsty and baby Max made a reappearance.  They cheered us on and told Lauren how proud they were of her.  They tried to make sure we knew where we were headed and I told them that they didn’t need to wait for us.  They were so kind that they would have slowed waaayyy down to escort us into town but I didn’t want to ask them to do that.  We said goodbye and promised to be safe.

About an hour or so later, a couple we’d met at the first hostel out of Ennerdale appeared.  They had a much better map than we did and we really didn’t care to try to figure out where we were going anymore so we just followed them.  When the four of us finally reached Honister Youth Hostel (about 2 miles from our final destination), we decided to call a cab and split the fare into town. 

It was the best 10 lbs I’ve ever spent!!!  We simply couldn’t walk another step.  The taxi dropped the four of us off at the Scafell Hotel.  We hobbled in, ordered pints and fish and chips and within an hour or so we were feeling mostly human.  Pretty soon we were joined by Mike, Amsty, baby Max and father-in-law.  They’d already checked into their rooms and showered.  We still smelled like sheep dung.  They didn’t seem to mind.  We talked a bit and accepted their additional words of encouragement.  On our way out, we ran into our British guy friends and they were so very happy to see that we'd made it safely.  They too offered words of praise and encouragement.  Given the speed at which they walk, we knew we'd never see them again and wished them a wonderful journey.

To make up for cheating earlier with a taxi, Lauren and I walked the 1 ¼ mile to our B&B.  We showered and instantly fell asleep, grateful for our kind and generous compadres.  The C2C gods have been taking most excellent care of two novice walkers for sure.

Day Two - Ennerdale Bridge (Almost)

We got an early start knowing that this day would be our first real taste of the Lake District.  We could see our challenge off in the distance - Dent Hill.  We knew we'd have to tackle it eventually and climb over it to the other side but until then, we enjoyed a leisurely stroll through fields of sheep and horses and the sun was shining.  Another amazing day to enjoy an amazing adventure.

Then the map didn't match the terrain.  Hey!  What's going on here?  We weren't lost...we were just unsure about where to go.  Like magic, Mike, Amsty, baby Max and father-in-law appeared with a real map in hand.  We discussed where to go and when we showed them our guide book, they were taken aback and made awful faces.  They couldn't believe that the book we were carrying was our only map.  They showed us their topographical map and we ooohhhed and aaahhhed at the detail and happily followed them.  We made our way to the base of Dent Hill.

Please allow me to stop here and complain about the dumb ass who named Dent Hill.  It is not a hill.  It is a mountain.  We are pushing for a change to all of the maps of the world to change "Dent Hill" to "Dent Mountain".

Mike and Amsty were careful never to get too far out of sight so that they could make sure we were on the right path.  More than once, they stopped and waited for us to catch up and cheer us on.  The climb from the base to the summit took us about 90 minutes and the view from the top was breathtaking.  We had a 360 degree view of the world and what a view it was!!!  We stood there, mouths hanging open, in awe of what we'd just accomplished when the temp began to plummet and the sky looked unfriendly.  We gave Mike and Amsty our heartfelt thanks and pushed onward in order to make it to the farm before the skies opened.

Mike and Amsty broke out their stove, made a pot of tea, changed and fed baby Max, repacked all of their crap and still managed to catch us and leave us in their dust yet again.  Lauren and I are convinced that they are both part billy goat.  Nothing could slow them down.

It turns out that the descent of Dent Mountain proved harder than the ascent. We didn't see that coming. It was very, very steep and in no time my shins were on fire and my toes were so crushed into the toe box of my boots that I thought I'd never uncrinkle them again.  Mike and Amsty hollered back to us that it would be easier on our feet and legs if we zig-zagged back and forth across the slope.  Their advice was helpful and after 45 mins or so, we finally made it to the valley floor.  When we looked back behind us, we couldn't believe that we had actually made it down that slope. Unfortunately, Mr. Camera was still on strike so you'll have to trust us on this.  It was unbelievable!!

After a couple hours of a fairly flat walking along Nannycatch Beck (a little stream) among the sheep, we began a slow climb out of the valley yet again.  Just out of the valley, we found Low Cock How Farm, where we spent a very nice night.  It's not actually in Ennerdale Bridge - it's about a mile and half shy, which means that we would have to make up that distance the next day.  Since we arrived so early in the day, we had the chance to look around the farm, meet some horses and make friends with a few dogs.  It's a working farm with all of the smells one would expect...thankfully we were pretty tired.

It was this night that we met two charming British men also doing the walk.  They were doing it in only 12 days and had done various parts of the walk on several occasions.  They were professional walkers and sort of kept to themselves.  They weren't rude by any means but...they knew they were out of our league.  We also met "the old guy" who had set out that morning from St Bee's on his own.  Turns out, he's 80 years old and is doing the walk all alone.  I was pretty impressed to say the least.  We sat by the fire and watched a football game with him (soccer).  He drank about 10 cups of tea in 3 hours.

So, our evening was consumed sitting by the fire eating pizza that we had delivered.  (That in itself was unbelievable.)  The old guy didn't have anything to eat so Lauren shared her pizza with him. We had a nice night and tried very hard to ignore the sun as it came through our sky light at 11pm.  We finally drifted off and had dreams of mountains and pizza.

Day One - St Bee's to Moor Row

After a mostly sleepless night for me (the anticipation was keeping me from a much needed night's rest), we had a filling breakfast and set off later than I had planned. We lingered over tea and toast smeared with butter and strawberry jam.  (I discovered an amazing breakfast creation of buttered toast and bacon sandwiches.  I named it a “bacon butty” only to discover that someone already named bacon and butter sandwiches just that.  Oh well, thank God I’m walking 200 miles because I eat these every morning…)  After pushing away from the bacon butties, it took way too long to figure out what to leave behind and what to take on our backs.  Finally, we were off!

Although its only 8 miles from the start of the walk to our first stop, our hotel was at least a mile from the starting point, so there we were - facing the first 9 miles of The Coast to Coast.  By UK standards, it was a beautiful day, which means we were in several layers and wearing hats and gloves.

We found the coast (another happy moment) and headed for the white foam in which to dip/baptize our boots.  The problem was that the tide was out so far, we'd have had to walk another 1/2 mile just to get to the surf so we cheated and wet our boots in a small tidal pool of sea water.  We decided it wasn’t really cheating since everyone would have wanted us to get moving…it was now after 10am.  We selected two stones each (one to throw in the North Sea and another to bring home as a souvenir) and found ourselves in a lively conversation with two older gentlemen about our walk and where we live.  They kindly offered to snap a photo of us standing in front of the Coast to Coast sign but our camera went on strike and refused to cooperate.  We thanked them for trying, promised to be careful and said goodbye.  We hoped that our nasty little camera’s bad behavior was not an omen of things to come, shoved it in my backpack, and headed for the cliffs.

The next problem was that I couldn’t figure out how to GET to the start of the path.  We could see walkers already scrambling up the cliffs and almost out of sight.  Lauren saved the day by hopping a fence or three and I blindly followed.  We were on our way!  Years of planning and day dreaming and we were really doing it!!

Within minutes we were shedding layers and stopping to catch our breath.  We were sharing our walk with lots of sheep and even a few cows and it was the perfect start to a great day.   The view was…well, stunning would be an understatement.  Never before have I seen such beauty.  Lauren and I were both stunned and our appreciation of the view certainly did slow us down.  Thankfully, she was able to get some pictures with her iPod, which we’ll upload later. (Her computer battery/power cord did a marvelous display of electrical flames in St Bee’s and died a quick death.  Since she can’t use her computer, we’re trying to share mine and after a week of no internet, neither of us is very good at sharing.)

We were maneuvering a sharp, uphill turn when we were passed by a group of three Brits.  The man was carrying an 8 month old baby on his back (no kidding) and was still twice as fast as we were.  Mike and Amsty and their baby Max, accompanied by a father-in-law, were regular characters in our walk for the first 5 days or so.  They were expert walkers with very big hearts and took it upon themselves to babysit Lauren and me through some of the more difficult passages at the start of the walk.  We’ll never be able to repay them and since they were only doing the Lake District portion of the walk, we’ll likely never see them again.  Let us announce here that we are greatly in their debt and we appreciate all of their kind help.

After a couple of hours of walking and being passed by every single person who had set out to walk that morning (and there were several), we stopped at “The Loneliest Bench” to enjoy some lunch that had been packed for us by the bartender at the Queen’s Hotel.  We sat near the edge of a cliff looking down on the Irish Sea as it crashed onto the shore below.  Off in the distance we could see the Isle of Man.  The sun was shining, it was fairly warm and we weren’t lost.  What a great moment to savor.

As we were packing up and getting ready to start off again, another British couple happened by.  We took some pictures for them with the Irish Sea in the background and talked about our plan to complete the walk in 17 days.  They said that they were impressed with our tenacity to attempt such a challenging walk without having done any destination walking before this.  (This means that they thought we were barking mad.) Like Mike and Amsty, they became another cheering squad and gave us words of encouragement every time they left us in their dust.  That was frequent.

After several hours of walking and eventually turning inland, we figured we were only a short distance from the village of Moor Row, where we were booked for the night. We were still in the middle of fields of sheep with no civilization in sight.  This is when we learned an ugly and scary truth:  our guide book’s scale is hosed.  What should have been a ¼ mile stretch was actually over a mile.  We wasted about an hour going back to where “we went wrong” trying to figure out how we missed the turn-off.  I eventually was frustrated enough to say to hell with the book, let’s just follow this semi-path.  45 mins or so later found us back on track and Lauren saved the day for the second time in less than 8 hours.  I was prepared to head off in the wrong direction but Lauren convinced me that she was right and I followed along like a good little lamb.  She was right and we finally stumbled into Moor Row to find our innkeepers waiting for us.

We were shown to a comfortable, en suite room only to discover that our ginormous bag that we’d left in St Bee’s to be picked up by Sherpa (a luggage service) was nowhere in sight.  Long story short, our innkeepers drove us back to St Bee’s and dropped us off at the Queen’s Hotel (where we’d stayed the previous night).  This was when we finally understood the saying that you can walk 5 miles out of St Bee’s and only have gone 2 miles.  We walked 9 miles from The Queen’s Hotel to Moor Row but by car it was a mere 3 miles!!

No matter, we enjoyed a delicious dinner of fish and chips, retrieved our bag, and were collected by our innkeepers and taken back to our B&B.  We showered, watched a little tele and drifted off to sleep.  Well… we tried but the sun wasn’t cooperating!  We are sooo far north that the sun doesn’t set until after 11pm and it rises before 4am.  What????

Aside from the sun’s refusal to turn off its light, we passed a very nice night and I finally fell asleep feeling a sense of great appreciation for being able to fulfill my dream.  A huge thank you to my family for indulging me in this crazy endeavor.

Never Fear, We Are Here!

I'm sorry if you've been worried about us.  We've not had internet since St. Bee's.  The adventures that we've had since then will take days to write but I'll do my best to catch you up but please be patient.  Internet is a rare commodity  As is cell phone signal.  Sheep, on the other hand, are everywhere.

As I type, it is 8 of the clock (in the am) and all of my family and American compadres are still snoring away, drooling on the pillow.  Lauren and I are at the very lovely Brookfield House in Shap.  Penrith, Cumbria.  We are warm, dry and safe and about to go downstairs where Margaret has a pot of hot tea waiting and breakfast will follow shortly thereafter.

Today is a rest day for me and Sacajawea (that's what I call Lauren after watching her scramble up sheer mountain cliffs, hopping easily over boulders to find the path.  More on this later.) so I should be able to post some amazing pictures and tell you about the past week.

Thanks to those of you who've checked in on Dougie.  He says the house is very quiet.  Poor Bear and Boozer must think Lauren and I have deserted them.  We miss all of our boys.  Okay, enough of that.  We're off to tea and bacon buddies!  More later.

St. Bee's

We left a very wet and dark Manchester this morning on a train headed for St Bee's.  We learned a crap load about UK train travel that we didn't know because ... well, we aren't bloody Brits.  I assumed train travel was much like metro travel in DC.  In fact, it doesn't resemble it in many ways other than its sort of a train that takes you from point A to point B.  After that, it's a whole new world.

Being the UK Train Virgin that I was, we hopped on the first accessible car, just happy to have caught the right train.  I was feeling victorious!  I got us from Miami, FL USA all the way to the train that would escort us to St. Bee's, Cumbria UK.  I was proud of myself so far.  Turns out, I was a moron because we were in the First Class Car with Reserved Seating.  "Excuse me, Madame.  May I see your tickets?"  I was not afraid.  I knew I'd paid the right fare and we were where we belonged.  How wrong I was.

"You can sit anywhere but here, Madame.  You didn't make a reservation for first class."  I turned red and told Lauren to follow me as we shrunk off to the next car through an inner connecting door.  We found two seats and although not together, we had enough room and I was actually sitting at a table.  I could see several people in the car in front of us who were forced to stand because there were no seats available.  We soon discovered that we were still in First Class and my seat was Reserved.  Fabulous.

After one stop, a gentleman approached my table and announced to the man across from me that he was in the wrong seat.  He produced his ticket and kindly told the seated gentleman to shove off and get out of his seat, which he had reserved and paid for.  Oh great!  Every time we stopped and people approached me, I silently rehearsed my speech of "Oh, I'm so sorry.  I didn't realize these seats were reserved.  Please forgive me."  After several stressful stops, I finally asked another passenger who told me that I'd lucked out.  The reserved sticker on the back of my seat indicated that the poor bastard who'd booked the seat was supposed to board at Manchester (where we boarded) but never showed.  I could relax in peace and occupy a seat that I hadn't paid for and shouldn't have been in.  I'm convinced that those Coast to Coast gods I mentioned have our backs.  We sat in first class without harassment until we changed trains in Lancaster.  We thank you!

At Lancaster, we had 15 mins or so to catch the next train to St. Bee's.  We shivered and chatted our teeth on the platform until we climbed aboard a much smaller and less crowded train.  The landscape began to change drastically from city scape to green farmlands of large fields of sheep, cattle and horses.  I smiled a lot.  The smell changed too.  From rain to manure.  I continued to smile.  We hugged the coast of the Irish Sea quite often but jagged inland quite a bit as well.  The hills became mountains whose tops were hidden by the clouds.  Lauren pointed and asked if we were climbing stuff like that.  When I answered in the affirmative, she said "shit".

We arrived in St. Bee's and asked some fellow train riders if they knew where to find the Queen's Hotel.  He pulled out his trusty GPS (which hadn't occurred to me) and pointed the way.  He was a moron and I was too for following him.  After quite a distance, we happened upon a lovely gentleman hanging out his living room window.  I hollered "hello" and he replied.  I asked him if we were headed in the right direction for the Queen's Hotel.  He laughed and said no.  Of course not.

After a course correction and a promise to poke our fellow train riders in the eyes should we happen to see them again, we found our destination.  What an adorable old home turned B&B!!  It's full of staircases and hallways and has three lounges, two bars and a great outdoor garden with tables.  Our room is very quaint (read cold.  As in without heat.) with an enormous bath tub that I would love to soak in except I'd be naked and cold when I got out.  Instead, I'll look at it and say what a lovely tub it would be to soak in but I'll never really soak in it.  Again, the getting naked and cold and wet part is a big deterrent.

We walked to the store attached to the post office to buy hats and gloves.  (I told you it's cold.)  We found a lane that looked out over some hills and from behind the stunning Irish Sea was crashing into them....what a gorgeous view.  Lauren agreed whole-heatedly and as she was taking a picture, a lady came into view.  She quickly caught up to us and struck up a conversation.  It turns out that Mary lives at the top of the hill in St. Bee's.  She's 69 and climbs these "hills" every day...hills that we call mountains.  She was holding an arm full of rhubarb that she'd picked from her brother's place, where Lauren had photographed her.  Lauren and I instantly took a liking to her.  She told us how much she loves to meet visitors and spoke of her work at The Priory.  She strongly encouraged us to stop into the Priory for a look-see in in the morning before we head off on our walk.  She asked us to follow her to another place of interest.  Another climb found us at a 6 or 7 ft stone circle with a plaque reading "Pinfold".  Here was a place that Mary and her friends played in as kids.  It was originally used to hold wandering sheep and cattle and when the owner came to claim them, they had to pay a fee to reclaim them.  I asked how old it was and Mary simply replied, "Och, it's old."  She sported a bit of an Irish brogue mixed with her English accent.

She told us what a lovely time we'll have and how happy she was to have met us.  She complimented Lauren's gorgeous hair and Lauren reached out and touched Mary's hair and told her that she too had beautiful hair.  My only regret about our encounter with Miss Mary is that I didn't take a picture with her and Lauren.  I think we both felt like we'd met an old friend.

As I type this, we sit in the bar at The Queen's Hotel.  Lauren is enjoying fish and chips and I'm having chicken and mushroom pie.  I love England!

Foul Weather Gear!

We made it to Manchester at 2:30am east coast time, 7:30am UK time.  We're a little jet-lagged but the view while landing was heavenly.  Everything was soooooo green!

The Coast to Coast weather gods obviously have taken us under their wings because it hasn't stopped raining since we got here and it's quite cold.  Hell, its really flipping cold.  We just watched the evening news and the weather forecast is FOUL!  Lauren and I are laughing but deep down, I'm wondering just what we're in for.  The weather is going to be unseasonably cold and wet (even for England!) and the weather wench on TV voiced her surprise and confusion over the weather that's expected for the next two weeks.  Yep, when we order rainy weather we don't mess around.

Our trip here was fairly uneventful except for my neighbor on the flight to Manchester from NYC who refused to turn off his overhead light until midnight....since the flight attendants came around at 1am with breakfast, it wasn't much of a sleep.  He's not getting a post card or a Tshirt.  

I was surprised to find out how sad I was about leaving Dougie behind.  Of course I knew I'd miss him but I didn't expect to be weepy.  He insisted on parking and coming into the airport to say goodbye and seeing us through security, which was very sweet.  I started crying as I hugged him goodbye.  I was trying to hide it from him and Lauren and the millions of other travelers who were watching me fall apart but I wasn't very successful.  I cried again on the plane when I called him to tell us we were preparing to take off.  I realized how hard it is to be excited about this trip when I know I won't see Dougie for a month.  

He assured me I'd be fine and we'll have fun and we'll talk and so on.  He's right, I know but....

Anyway, we're crashing early tonight because we have to catch a 10:15am train to St. Bee's in the am.  We're gonna shop for gloves and warm hats and we've decided we packed waaaayyyyy too many shorts and Tshirts and not enough long underwear and parkas.  The budget is about to be blown on things we'll never wear again....  until our next walk.  Stay tuned for Ireland!!

I know you're wondering.... the beer is glorious!!  I've had ales and stouts and porters and it's only the first day.  Where are those stretch pants.....?