Cumbria Way Day 2.
Distance today: 22.1 miles.
Total distance: 561.9 miles.
Accommodation: campsite.
Speaking to the owner of the campsite, she said that all I needed to do to get to Keswick was to climb that hill, pointing to High Pike, and then it was pretty much all down hill from there. Easy-peasy. As is fairly obvious by looking at the map of my route, I didn’t start well as I struggled to find the right way out of the village. The next test was interpreting a signpost that was showing the way to Potts Gill. There were 2 alternative sections of the Cumbria Way before Keswick: the longer Western Alternative and the shorter but steeper Eastern Alternative. Looking at the map, I could see that both sections passed through 2 different places called Potts Gill. So which one was the sign pointing to?! Clearly it was all designed just to wind me up. I followed the sign anyway and the answer turned out to be both because the route hadn’t split yet. Now it makes sense.
There’s no denying that the accumulation of navigating frustrations would occasionally get to me. I don’t think it helped that it didn’t take much for me to channel my inner grumpy bollox. If my own mistakes caused me to go the wrong way then I’d give myself a hard time because I think I should have done better. If it was down to bad signage then I think someone else should have done better. In the heat of the moment it was easy to forget there were usually mitigating circumstances. There was the small matter of me never having done anything like this before. My only previous solo ‘multi-day’ hike was the 2 days I spent finishing off the Cotswold Way. Walking 20+ miles day after day, things were bound to happen and mistakes were going to be made. I do regret not honing my map-reading skills before I embarked on this trip but there wasn’t much I could do about that now. As for the waymarkers, I’m guessing most trails relied on underfunded volunteers who were doing the best they could.
There was also the question of what kind of challenge I wanted. Was the physical challenge of getting from John o’ Groats to Land’s End enough? If someone could take care of all the decision-making would I sign up? No, I absolutely would not. 2 words that send a shiver down my spine: organized tour. For me there was something deeply satisfying about solving a problem whether that was by using the maps you had to hand or simply by trusting your gut. And for that satisfaction, I was more than prepared to live with the occasional moment of sweary frustration.
Having opted for the Eastern Alternative and played another game of guess-the-right-unmarked-track, I made it to the top of High Pike and once again found an escape valve for most of my frustration. I am here to say: I love the Lake District. What is it about the landscape that seems to make it unique? I have only been here a few times and it just has its own brand of beauty. There is something about the colours. And the fact that in spite of the drama of the surrounding mountains, very little about the landscape feels threatening. It is undeniably a very special place. It is also one of the reasons I chose this more western route through England rather than the more classic option which takes in the Pennine Way.
And then I got lost again.
I bumped into a woman who had an OS map and she reckoned I would see the Lingy Hut as soon as I got over the brow of the next hill. I didn’t. I carried on in what felt like the right direction and didn’t come across a single clue. Definitely no waymarkers. Eventually, I spotted a road in the valley below and I made a beeline for it. It was actually near a point where the road forked which meant I now had 3 choices. I chose wrong again. I really am not very good at this. I used to pride myself on my intuitive onboard compass but it appears to be broken. In hindsight I cannot understand why I chose the direction I did, other than the fact it was the only one going down hill. The further I walked, the more landmarks I found that could confirm I was going the wrong way but rather than retrace my steps, I stubbornly carried on. When I got to Mosedale, I was seriously tempted to scrap the idea of going to Keswick. I had veered so far east I wondered whether it would be quicker to find a more direct route towards Ambleside and beyond. In the end I decided it was easier to stick to the plan.
Apart from a small section walking next to the A66, the route from Mosedale to Keswick was mainly along quiet country lanes. As habitual as it was to beat myself up over the various wrong decisions, I couldn’t help smiling about the thought that of all places to get lost in, I could do a lot worse than the Lake District.
Do I mention this? Yes, I am going to mention it now because I didn’t at the time. While I was walking, I passed a couple and their young son, sitting down having a picnic on a small embankment by the side of the road. As casually as you like, the man tossed a banana skin behind him. Given the setting and the example he was giving to his son, it just felt wrong. But was it my place to tell him this? Not this time. Walk on by.
And so to the metropolis of Keswick. Significant to me – and one of the main reasons why I persevered in going there – was the fact it had a hospital. Health update: my insect bites were not getting any smaller and all the surrounding area was looking quite inflamed. The Mary Hewetson Cottage Hospital was on the far side of town and everything from it being late Saturday afternoon through to the NHS being systematically run down told me that I was in for a long wait in A&E. You can imagine my surprise when I walked in and found the place completely empty. Not a single person waiting. How is that possible? The doctor saw me straight away and with our extensive combined experience we both reluctantly agreed I needed anti biotics. We chatted about my trip and after apologizing that she didn’t have any money on her to donate, she then scoured the hospital to find me the anti-biotics. It was getting close to 5pm and the chances were I would otherwise have to wait until the chemists opened tomorrow. She also gave me some dressings in case the bites started weeping. I felt a lot better just knowing I should now have what I needed to make things better. God bless the NHS.
The town had 2 campsites pretty much next to each other and I picked The Keswick Camping and Caravanning Club site which was right next to the beautiful Derwentwater. I pitched fairly close to the lake, thinking I would have a lovely view of the sunset from my tent, not realizing that everyone would bring their chairs and drinks down there to enjoy the atmosphere as well. Thankfully they didn’t stay too late. Meanwhile, a couple of hundred yards away, there was a beer festival going on in a huge marquee. A covers band was providing the entertainment and to be fair to them, they had the crowd singing along to most of the songs. No beer for me, but I did have a very tasty macaroni cheese.
