I'm not planning to spend a lot of time or use a lot of words contemplating and analysing the last fifteen days. By setting down my thoughts and feelings each day I think I've already said most of what needs saying.
I will however wrap things up with this short conclusion, again written as soon after the event as possible in order to capture the moment. To do this rather than wait for a more reasoned analysis to form in my head is a conscious decision.
I shall begin with the weather. It was after all a dominant feature of my coast to coast, and anyway not to start here would be somehow un-British. This was supposed to be a spring crossing, but turned out for the most part to be full-on winter. The conditions in The Lakes were extreme. Brutal storm force winds driving blizzard-like snow and deep drifts. The whole country was snowbound, but the high ground took the brunt.
This persisted to some extent throughout the first half, although as the snowfall eased and the drifts froze and settled the world became clear and crisp. Walking and navigating remained difficult but the landscape stopped moving and the relief from snow-in-face meant one could see and think more clearly.
Into the second half the easterly wind became something of a blessing. Always there and always cold and nagging, always against you and on higher ground still disruptive to thought and movement, but now it made for crisp and bright conditions. Any possibility of rain was simply blown away, and there were times in the valleys when it was almost as if spring was trying to break through.
By the end I was quite satisfied with the weather I'd been handed. My memories of the mayhem back in Cumbria had softened with time, and my recollection was of an exciting battle against the elements. Maybe too I'd become accustomed to it such that it was no longer an issue most of the time. I was fortunate to have walked through the better part of two weeks with no rain at all, and more than my fair share of sunny and bright conditions.
The weather of course materially affected the landscape. I have seen The Lakes in winter, but this was the first time I'd lived amongst it. I didn't pay much attention to the beauty of it. I didn't get to stop and look at it and appreciate it's finer points because I was too busy taking it on. I saw it from within and underneath rather than from afar. It was wild and impressive.
Across eastern Cumbria (I think they call it the Eden Valley but it doesn't look much like a valley to me) the underfoot conditions eased considerably to reveal a new moorland world to me. Like the North Yorkshire Moors but less wild and more charming. Heavy wind driven snowfall on the higher ground reminded me that this was still not a place to be messed with.
Out of Kirkby Stephen and up onto Birkdale Common I was taken into a different kind of winter landscape. Whilst the wind howled the land was frozen and still under a perfectly clear blue sky. It was staggeringly and awe inspiringly beautiful. I was alone for this stage and whilst it helped me feel closer to my surroundings I really wished I could have shared the experience.
I crossed into Yorkshire deep in snow and first caught sight of the Swale, hard-frozen over near it's source. I would follow it's course for more than forty miles by which time it would be a wide and mature river. It developed slowly though, from babbling brook underneath the snow and ice to shallow and bubbling over rocks, and it was in this phase that I started my descent into Keld. The land changed quickly from snow covered moor to picture postcard Yorkshire Dales. It was greener and gentler, with the humps and hollows carved into odd shapes. In the middle of this lovely scene lay the tiny village of Keld.
The scene changed only slowly on the descent to Reeth and then Richmond. By now the Swale was bold and full. The riverside paths were straighter and flatter than higher-up although the moorland sections still provided a striking contrast. Here was an opportunity to return for a short time to the wilder winter of previous stages. It was fun to mix the two.
The route out of Richmond was initially pretty enough, still dominated by the Swale. Soon though there was nothing but farm fields and flatness. For miles and miles and miles. Osmotherley is the western gateway to the Cleveland Hills at the northern end of the North Yorkshire Moors and it came as a huge relief. Here was a return to steep climbs, snow covered hills, and rough and rugged moorland.
The scale of the higher ground across these moors is surprising, continuing for some forty five miles from west to east with only the occasional drop into valley. It is a bleak and windswept place. Finally, close to the east coast the route increasingly drops into verdant green valleys, with the conditions here at their most benign. And then, only a mile or two from the finish the coast comes dramatically into view finally and permanently.
The coast to coast is a wonderful route. The many contrasts from west to east are stirring, spoiled only the flat Vale of Mowbray. This is a small price to pay though for the drama either side, and as it is in the line of travel it is really unavoidable.
The weather and resulting conditions were also central to the nature of my walk. Before describing this though it's worth setting a bit of context. I am an ordinary bloke who likes walking in the hills. I am moderately experienced but I'm not there every day. I will give most things ago when it comes to the English mountains and I am no fair weather walker, but I'm not an SAS commando either!
This was also my long distance walking debut. I have done the Lyke Wake Walk (all but two miles) but that is just one very long day followed by beer and rest. Other than this wild camps running over a few days are the most I've done.
I am pleased with myself, and I would say rightfully so. The walk was tougher than I expected but I performed better than I expected. The Lake District phase was more a constant fight agains the elements than a walk. It was sapping physically and mentally but I have rarely felt more alive. Maybe a routine trek across a well known a predictable landscape would have drained me more in the end?
Right through the second half the walking was rarely comfortable, and each day presented a new challenge. Underfoot conditions were stodgy and treacherous, the landscape was disguised in deep snow making navigation extremely tricky, and always always that cold easterly wind in my face. I was never once bored though, and didn't get much chance to contemplate the state of my feet or aching muscles. Maybe it was a blessing.
My biggest concern was accumulated fatigue. I feared I would lack the day in day out energy to do it, that I would become depressed and maybe even unwell. This never occurred and although I did struggle a little in the final couple of days that was more from wear and tear on my legs and feet. I rested regularly, ate well, and used carbohydrate and protein supplements to boost energy and aid recovery.
For the most part I also stuck to the principle of live for the moment, and managed to avoid driving too hard for the destination. This was always a balance and rarely did I fall completely to one side of this or the other. I feel I was at my best in the middle part of my walk. I had started to "walk myself fit" and I was very comfortable that I would be walking every day for a long time. There was no point thinking about the finish because it was such a long way away. This was to be my life for a while.
The terrain on coast to coast is wonderful, with tremendous variation from region to region. Most of the time it gives great payback to your efforts to get amongst it, and I found that this in itself makes the walking less effortful. There is a twenty five mile phase however, between the Dales and the Moors where this is not the case. It is flat and uninteresting.
It may be reasoned that walking on the flat is easier than walking in the hills. Not in my experience. Flat is just dull. It may be physically easier to put one foot in front of the other but it is mentally tougher, and the way I see it long distance walking is more about the head than the legs or feet.
I felt much more energised when there was a challenge or an interest, and this is a view shared by all of my walking partners. Flat can be fast, but you need to prepare yourself mentally for it, you need to work on building in stimulus and interest. Your environment is not going to give it to you.
For all this the most memorable aspect of my coast to coast was the people. Most important were those who walked with me and supported me. It is possible that I could have made it alone, but it is unlikely. My experience on the few stages that I walked alone was that it is OK for a while, but not for the whole stretch, and I would almost certainly not have stuck at the crucial Stage 4 to Patterdale if I had been alone. I see this as the pivotal day, when I showed myself that I could succeed and from this I believed that I would.
I am hugely grateful to all those who walked with me. They all took time out of their lives for my benefit and in doing so became the key to my success. It was also a great joy walking side by side with each of them, and sharing thoughts and ideas in a way that doesn't usually happen in day to day life. I feel that respect and friendships only grew with the shared experience of coast to coast.
It was also my experience that the help and kindness I received from strangers was almost universal. It might just have been my positive frame of mind but I don't think so. With very few exceptions all of the people I stayed with treated me with warmth, and in most cases were interested in my story. It might be argued that they were being paid for this so it was just part of the package. Personally I don't think so. I found the same was true in places I visited, cafes I ate at and people I just bumped into.
I should also mention Suzi at Keswick Cabs, my baggage courier for most of the trip. She is trying to start a baggage transfer business to possibly take over from her taxi work and before the weather turned had several customers booked. Then there was just me, and the added difficulty of getting from remote place to remote place along roads that were treacherous or even closed. Nevertheless she always made it through with my big (very heavy) yellow holdall, and never once missed a drop. She did a great job.
Finally on the topic of people I should mention the other walkers, or rather the absence of them. After Rosthwaite I saw no other coast to coast walkers at all, and there were no footprints in the snow in those places where coast to coasters had to pass. This was confirmed at the B&Bs I stayed at all along the way. Usually my party was the only one there, with all the others having cancelled their entire walk in response to the terrible weather.
I met a man just off the beach at Robin Hood's Bay who having witnessed my feet dipping and pebble hurling guessed why I was there. He congratulated me and told me that he was local and I was the first to arrive on coast to coast for a couple of weeks. The B&B owner in Robin Hood's Bay corrected this slightly in telling me that I guy had finished a couple of days ago. He was a solider.
Coast to coast aside I saw very few walkers of any description, and this is surprising given that I was walking across some of the most popular walking country in the land. There were a few weekend walkers by the Swale near Reeth, and I spied one or two in the distance on the North Yorkshire Moors. There were also one or two walkers sticking to low level paths around the Lakes. I did come across a solo walker on Grisedale Hause. He appeared from nowhere from the top of the hill as an apparition, coming towards and past me. We shouted an exchange of words above the gale and he disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived.
I expected to be amongst crowds, although I am not unhappy to have had the hills to myself.
People I know who were with me during the walk or who have met me since have commented that I have rarely looked so well or so contented. I think this says it really. My coast to coast was everything I expected it to be and then some. I loved living the life of a nomad for a little while, moving from place to place. I loved the road trip experience, the non-walking time and the new routines. I loved the movement, one foot in front of the other over and over, of moving from one place to the next and the next, slowly but surely covering the miles from one side of the country to the other.
It was properly hard work and especially towards the end it took time each day to shake the stiffness out of tired joints and muscles, and those uphill pulls burned. But this was part of the experience. To put it another way, would I have had the same experience if I'd simply driven from town to town, expending no effort?
To others considering something similar, I would say that provided you have the deep down desire to do it, and are prepared to be patient and persistent day after day, then do it. If you're not then don't. This is not for you. You will spend your days longing for the end, and in the end you will resent it.
For me, I can't remember that last time I felt this fit or healthy or relaxed. It has been a truly memorable experience.
So what next?
