Plan was to start before dawn from up the lane at Osmotherley and be at the A19 by 7.00am. I should have been more assertive...
Maybe we would have enough time to get to Osmotherley and recce a coffee stop meet-up point with a 5am start...
...and we just might had the second alarm gone off. But no - no wailing bitch... just a dim flashing light that gradually brought me to consciousness. Nothing from the support in the far corner of the van either - and no response to: 'C'mon! it's time we were going!'
Kettle on. Cereal, Superglue... no time for toast. Where ARE those socks...
Still no response... nothing, not even a grunt... she's expired surely?
'SERVICES 1 MILE'... no, no... we need to be back there. I've somehow gone onto the A19 instead of staying on the Osmotherley road... doh...
'Face it,' she says. 'You don't know where you are.' 'Yes I do,' I reply, '...not where I want to be.'
I swing the Panda round to cut for the A172 and Ingleby Cross. This is a change of plan but will put me on schedule, and I know that if this were a 5 day attempt I've only to come down a broad gravel track through those trees up there anyway...
6:52am
There's a tent behind the Blue Bell - happy campers indeed - fast asleep...
Maybe I could fit in a quick coffee stop with some toast and bacon and eggs - a proper breakfast... but no it's Saturday isn't it... and they don't open till 8 on a Saturday. I should get some tatoos done - opening times - Grosmont... A19 Services... dear oh dear, my organisational skills need honing, nay grinding...
I'm trying to work out where this wind is blowing from... if it's south, which it appears to be, it'll be better than west... but it's so blustery it seems to be coming from all directions. Otherwise, underfoot, the going looks good...
On Low Moor Lane I get a text from the support... she's lost and can't find her way back to the van. I text back a suggestion...
The field of youngsters get a bit frisky at Wray House. A bit of 'whey up!' and 'Giddon,' works a treat - what a load of bullocks.
In fact there's really nothing to write except that the wind is keeping the rain off and should it drop a bit it would be a glorious morning.
I come to the Danby Wiske road at 9am and stop to take a picture of a massive rainbow... good job I did, because as I approach the railway bridge not 20 yds away a large dead branch crashes onto the road ahead and breaks up into convenient sized kickable pieces.
Aye aye, a motorcaravan is moored at the back of the White Swan... something tells me that this is home to the new owners until the pub's finished. A sign indicates they are open in a limited way - good news for Coasters then.
Well, I'm under an hour away from our recce'd coffee stop... and so begin texted negotiations... She'll set off when she's had her breakfast - and not before it seems...
Doh, now I've missed my turn onto the footpath section to Streetlam. There are lots of branches littering the road and I'm wary of impending unconsciousness.
I really want to know where the footpath emerges at Streetlam. Hmm, I wonder if it goes between... CRACK! Bloody hell - fence's just collapsed on me nearly disposing me in the ditch. 'Whistle whistle' - just tuck the jagged bit back together... no one will notice.
I'd planned on pumping up the volume hereabouts but I doubt if I'd hear anything anyway and I leave the headphones be - can't hear the odd approaching 4 wheel drive as it is... 'Sorry missus!' - pah, if it's not sheep, it's walkers...
And so I'm standing at the coffee stop - a wide enough pull in beside the footpath sign to Plumtree and Kiplin Hall.
Next text: 'Where r u?' No response, so I hitch up and onward. Come on, DING DONG you thing!
Nothing.
On the Whitwell corner there's a crackin' crab apple tree - bitter sweet, crunchy, juicy too... bit more bitter than sweet - perfect addition to sweets and sharps for cider making.
Assuming she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere thoughts turn to cider-making and crushing apples.
Before the bend to the wood a sign tells me I'm entering Richmondshire... hmm, Swaledale cheese and cider..?
Into the wood now, and between the trees the wind subsides... but what's this? I have my head down as a small white car slows, engine screaming... that poor little Panda. I signal for her to turn round and trot on to a gravelly pull-in. Yay, 'tis coffee time!
I've read that Mike Cudahy had a chair ready for him... I have to get my own out and put my own kettle on... Still it is her first time and this has taken a bit of, er, negotiating. But no, she hands me a mug of steaming coffee as I redo the Superglue.
Ah, 'tis good an' instant too...
So it takes a full half-hour before I'm on my way and Claire's disappearing round the bend. It's going to be a car park in Richmond - meet up at the garage. What was the response..? Sounded like: 'Your wish is my command' or something...
Well, apart from 3 backpackers this morning and the two guys I've just passed - (dissapproving glances at running shoes... old school maybe?) I've only seen the odd driver and more than a few cows. I like to think of this as the land of pork pies and sausages. Ah, the elusive pork pie. Oh, and here's an approaching couple - Coasters? maybe... thing is if you were to stop and have a word with the oncomers (when they do appear - usually in groups) it can add appreciably to that mile's pace...
Now comes the meadow riverside path - dog walkers with happy chappies, masses of Policeman's Helmet (Himalayan Balsam) and a sudden busy section of road to negotiate at Catterick Bridge, before the first climb of the day - up the bank and rather more steadily thereafter up to Colburn.
I'd expected some wayfinding difficulties on this stretch but a kind old lady points with her stick as I nod appreciatively and the map suddenly makes sense once again. It's up a field and over down to Hagg Fm ruin where the outside toilet miraculously seems to have survived some kind of holocaust... and a whole tree lays on it's side... and then the path is closed ahead, according to a big red sign that states PATH CLOSED. I continue on into Iron Banks to find that the path is being repaired and much improved. Many branches litter the path and at the end is a delightful stretch that meets the river.
Richmond must produce a lot of sewage because the plant here seems to go on and on... though through the trees a carpet of fresh green leaves usher me to the former station. A not-so-friendly greyhound snarls and lunges for my nuts... I suggest to it's following owner that maybe the lead would be in order. He apologises profusely, but doesn't call it back... Bless, maybe it's a rescue dog. No harm done - good job I wasn't a mother with young kids though, eh?
The old man ahead potters along with his walking stick. I greet from behind - the old man potters along with his walking stick. Were it not for the dog I could be invisible... and here's the ruins of a priory. There's a cut through somewhere here... surely? But I'm soon at the road... and what happened to Priory Villas? Ah, there's the bridge... so, I need to be back up there. Beyond the two stables I ask the lady coming down if she's come past the cricket ground. Without hesitation she replies that she has... but I emerge onto the boundary to discover it's not and there's a Saturday game of football on. Football, cricket... they are remarkably similar... are they not? There are two girfriends leaning, watching with feigned enthusiasm... I say girlfriends... could be wives, but somehow I doubt it... hm, serious stuff this football.
Argh! What's this pain in my legs? A hill, Grasshopper, remember? I've sent a text to the support... no response. She'll be half way round the castle no doubt... I'm up on schedule and she's not expecting me yet... hope I don't have to hang around...
But there she is outside the garage.
She points across the road. 'Car park,' she shouts.
I could get used to having support... It's now ten to two... and I'm ready.
There's some cramping as I apply the next layer of Superglue and hope the salt from the crisps with the ham sandwiches will do the trick...
The attendent in the car park toilets is keen - unnervingly so. As I'm drying my hands I nearly get a faceful of deodorant! She thinks I'm sweaty... she thinks I'm spoiling her toilets...
Plenty of kindling litters the way ahead up Westfields... and, oh yes, I noted the Chinese take-away at the bottom - open till 11pm (should manage to get back before closing time then... and a bottle of rose is chilling in the fridge)
These thoughts help me stride out, but what of a damp bivvy bag finish at Cringley Bottom as intended on a five dayer? Well, cross that Surrender Bridge when we come to it... be next year now... and then I'm meeting more approaching Coasters and dodging through storm-damaged Whitcliffe woods.
After Applegarth I stop to take some pics of the erosion that's exposing the roots of the yew trees lining the bank. The prevailing wind a reminder of just how much force whips down the valley.
The way descends at the stone built cairn and with some further cramping, awareness kicks in of the miles covered. I'd suggested a bit of afternoon tea earlier but the support decided otherwise and had headed back to the van to await a call as I get nearer to Reeth. On the hill, aptly named Hard Stiles, there's a pull-in where a cuppa would have given a boost, but I sucked on some water and continued up to the stile that would lead me to Ellers and Marrick which had been another suggested stop...
The wind fair whistled over the hill making forward progress difficult but as I descended to the Landrover collection at Marske Hall (well, 2's a start...) it became more sheltered and then Eller Beck is positively shallow compared to my last view of its turbulent waters back in May 2006.
Continuing past the hay meadow signs I emerge onto the road but vary from my last route by continuing over down the footpath that beyond a few fields joins the route nearer the Priory steps to emerge beside a barn. I don't fall down the steps this time nor do I linger in the hope of a fit waitress at the Outdoor Pursuits Centre. The road section highlights tired feet now but again not the burning sensation of impending blisters. How the Superglue will fare after continuous days out remains to be seen... but Reeth is not far away and a text to the support is off and away... and received. Good sign she gets it, but there's no response. Maybe she's driving over...
There's a tent beside the river and smoke from an open fire. There's a young kid weilding a sheathed hand saw... a joiner's hand saw no less. The campers are looking for wood it seems, but probably aren't prepared to scour too far away. These aren't coasters, backpackers either...
As I reach the bridge at Reeth, the Panda pulls up alongside - normal tickover - she's remembered to push the choke back in! Must say, she's getting the hang of it now... I send her on ahead to the village green. Ah, the orange juice will be good - no time for tea - it's 6 o'clock and there's about an hour of light left...
The little white car is parked just beyond The Copper Kettle:
'Orange juice..?'
'No, I took it out,' she replies.
Luckily I've got some water left and after a few mins I'm off again bound for the infamous Surrender Bridge.
Up past the school a Ding Dong text tells me: 'Im lost tuk last right turn at healulaugh and its a ded end at sum1s drive'.
'Try next', I reply.
Having turned onto the open moor and struggling now into a biting wind, I decide that should I see the car sooner than expected, I'm getting in it!
Doh, I've misread my own mind... Something's not right. The tracks here go off in all directions it seems, and though I've Googled this till my eyeballs ached, I've still managed to descend to Moor Cock and Thirns... maybe I just WAS hoping to see a Panda here... So I've to regain height. The light is fading fast now and I make an error in judgement in not following the gravel track but something that degenerates rapidly into a sheep trod and bog...
It's dark now but I know if I stick with the wall... I struggle through the tussocks and come up to the corner of the wall by the ruined barn. The PetzlE+lite throws little comfort... but I know this has to be right now and turn left. Boot prints confirm a better path and I trudge on into the wind. Not far now. I should have stopped to don the windproof shell but I've pressed on - I'd planned on running some, but my legs just wouldn't go... and now it's too dark to even contemplate anything more that a plod.
Just before the gate stile in the wall I get a 'Ding Dong' - 'How far off?'... and lose signal. Through the narrow gate is the five-day destination and there's a level bit right there that would be good as a bivvy spot. The thought of laying out a bivvy bag sends a chill through my already chilled self! Brrr, I've got a mere half-mile to go... It's well dark now and the low near-full moon behind gives little light to aid the descent and scramble up beyond Bleaberry Gill. Once at the top I can clearly see headlights heading up onto the moor... What the? It occurs to me that I never actually told her what Surrender Bridge actually looks like... Is the bridge obvious from the road? Is that the Panda even?
Turns out that she'd lost signal at the bridge and decided to head higher up the hill... up there for thinkin' or what, ey?
The path seemed to come and go and I decide to head for the moonlit shapes of the smelt mill but it seems to take an age and it's boggy here and there... surely there will be a better path from the mill though. The light on the camera phone adds as much again to the Petzl and then, sure enough, when I can see enough beyond the ruins, there is a better track... and that dim light down there is the interior light of the waiting support...
The road is gated, she tells me. 'I was on the right road, but when I came to the gate, I thought it was someone's drive. So I went back into Healaugh and found a man walking his dog...'
I hadn't realised how chilled I'd become - my hands are numb and it's embarrassing later in the Chinese take away as I shake uncontrollably... even after the warmth of the car's heater on the drive back to Richmond. I should have stopped to put on that wind shell...
(Surrender Bridge - taken earlier by Claire when walking Molly)
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