Jimmy Goanna Rides Again: Day 1: St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge

“Personal Effort”

The guidebook says that most will find this day a bit of a struggle, particularly the haul up and over Dent Hill and onto Ennerdale Bridge.

From my previous experience in 2011 the guidebook is accurate.

So why, after already walking 17km, go over this imposing 342m lump? When to go around it is an easy 5km country lane stroll. Over the top is an additional 250m accent followed by a very steep decent, making it an 8km slog. Oh and the fact that it will be blowing a gale and probably raining.

The answer is the reason for this whole walk.

Wainwright’s intention was simple, “one should have a definite objective, in a walk as in life, It is so much more satisfying to reach a target by personal effort than to wander aimlessly.
An objective is an ambition, and life without ambition is, well, aimless wandering.

Dent

Dent Hill is the first of many fells (definition - a fell - a high and barren landscape feature, such as a mountain range or moor-covered hills) and if nothing else, it prepares me for what lies ahead.

Pardon me, I’ve gotten a little ahead of myself; long before I attempt Dent Hill I left my accommodation at the Albert Hotel in St Bees suitably nourished with Cumbrian sausage, egg, mushroom and tomato, washed down with England’s finest tea and headed down to the beach.

The sun was shining but the biting sea breeze reminded me that this is no easy stroll and I need to be prepared.

I stopped at a bench on the roadside and double checked my equipment, checked my maps, guide book, GPS and supplies needed to complete the 25km to my overnight accommodation on the edge of the Lakes District at Ennerdale Bridge.

As I am walking solo and this is a self-guided walk, that is, it is incumbent on me, to pick the path whether mountain, hill or valley, to find my way across England, personal safety is always on my mind.

For this reason and my peace of mind, I have decided to carry my personal locator beacon (PLB).

This is packed, for easy access, in one of the outside pockets of my backpack, along with my whistle and a backup compass.

All of these three safety devices are not only packed together they are tethered to each other and tethered to my backpack. Three things I do not want to use or lose.

However should the need arise, once the PLB is activated it will summon all the necessary aircraft and professional help to rescue and escort me to the nearest pub.

Hopefully I will not need the services of Mountain Rescue England and Wales.

Pick a stone, any stone

As I walked I was very excited and I again checked my GPS for accuracy and adjusted my pack, the walk to the beach this morning was meant to be invigorating, however I was in a bit of trouble.

I have been having a bit of back pain over the last few months and have had acupuncture and massages to relieve it. Carrying my heavy luggage up narrow stairs has re-ignited my sore back.

Time to stop again and take some Ibrufen and Panadol, I hobbled off wincing with each step.

Tradition dictates that hikers on Wainright’s Coast to Coast collect a stone from the Irish Sea beach and carry it across England to Robin Hoods Bay, where it is to be dispatched into the North Sea. The selection available on the beach is immense in size and number, and for obvious reasons, it is sensible to choose a small stone.

Dipping my boots in the Irish Sea

After collecting my stone and completing the second tradition of dipping my boots in the Irish Sea, which was about 500m further west than I remembered due to the tide, my next objective was to leave the beach to the north, ascend 98m and cross the fields of St Bees Head pass Fleswick Bay and the lighthouse, then turn east at Birkhams Quarry and head off across England

These fields are actually someone’s farm paddocks, complete with livestock and fences, or more common on the west coast dry stonewalls.

In England walkers have right of way across fields and farms and along most private roads, this adds to the charm of the walk and offers a connection with the people going about their day-to-day lives.

This also means dealing with wayward animals, shooing sheep off paths and avoiding the glare of bulls, always alert, tensed and ready to run for the nearest fence or wall at any moment.

I used to wear a red waterproof jacket, for the simple reason that on the odd chance that I had fallen down a ravine I can be easily spotted from an approaching helicopter.

The downside, red makes the bulls very excited. Today I am kitted out in a calming blue. Needless to say I am still on high alert.

Crossing fields also introduces the non-European hiker to stiles; the step stile is by far the most common. The dry stonewall does sometimes offer a more challenging squeeze stile, which is a gap in the wall which you squeeze yourself through sideways. This can be difficult with a backpack on and not the quickest way to exit a field when being chased by a bull.

Then there are the kissing gates, designed to ensure that should the gate be left open it would be pushed shut by livestock trying to get through it from either direction.

A kissing gate in a paddock full of sheep? I am sure there is a sheep joke in there somewhere but I will leave it for now.

After several stiles and kissing gates the fields eventually gave way to the village of Sandwith, pronounced sanith.

When it’s a language you own you can put as many unwanted letters into any words you like.

Then onto the villages of Moor Row and Cleator, not to be confused with Cleator Moor, which is a mile and a half up the road.

Rounding the bend I was headed straight for the Dog & Partridge, it was 10:50, time for a pint? A bit early I thought, so on I plodded.

Just outside Cleator sitting on a pile of tyres checking his map I came across old Roy.

Stopped further up the road a couple from Melbourne was having a bite to eat. They joined Roy and I as we headed off up the lane and over the fields to Blackhow Woods at the base of Dent.

Roy and I decided to take a lunch break on a stack of slate slabs outside Blackhow Farm. We chatted and it turns out that Roy is a Liverpudlian, who emigrated to Canada 39 years ago. He was doing the C2C as a sponsored fundraiser for the hospice that his late wife resided at.

Roy had started an hour before me, he didn’t have age on his side and was clearly doing it tough, I think mentally as well as physically. I noticed he still had his wedding ring on and he spoke with a heavy heart.

Regardless of who you are having lunch with this is the point where the decision to go over Dent or around it is made. Conferring my map and guidebook with Roy I suggested he should take the road just past the farm into Ennerdale Bridge, in the back of my mind thinking I should walk with him. But it was a beautiful day and the view from Dent would be worth the climb so after our brief lunch I wished him well and we parted ways.

Hopefully he pops into the pub tonight and we can share a pint or two.

Climbing Dent

I climbed through the forest and then onto the steep open fell, stopping briefly to take off my jacket and take a selfie.

The climb was hard but worth it.

From Dent I could see back to where I started at the Irish Sea and further west all the way to the Isle of Man halfway to Ireland and then north the southern tip of Scotland.

As I crossed the top of Dent looking eastward the Lakes District opened up before my eyes mountain after mountain.

I can clearly see all that lay ahead. This is going to be good I thought.

The remote valley of Nannycatch is my reward after the very steep decent, hidden beneath the cliffs of Ravens Crag, I walked along the Beck, only accessible by foot and described as a vision of Arcadia-in-miniature, it was a most enjoyable and rewarding walk through this hidden valley.

With the sun on my face and the breeze at my back I had forgotten about that pain in my back and just enjoyed this quiet little valley to myself.

Finally I was on the open road to Ennerdale Bridge, with glimpses of my first lake, Ennerdale Water.