Yesterday
whilst eating my red Thai at the Black Bull I noticed that the place had an off
smell; on closer inspection I found that the smell was coming from my boots.
Sheep
can drop an enormous amount of poo on the trail and it is impossible to avoid.
Not
only was it on my boot soles but on the boot sides and smeared up my legs
Thankfully
as I kitted up this morning in full sun outside Fletcher House I felt pristine.
My
boots were scrubbed clean and gleamed with Dubbin, my clothes laundered and me
sparkling after my lilac bath experience.
I
was off to the bogs.
Leaving
Kirkby Stephen I crossed the River Eden at Frank’s Bridge into the village of
Hartley then again I crossed the river at Hartley Bridge before the arduous
walk past the quarry up Birkett Hill and on to Hartley Fell.
As
the Fell opened up in the morning sun it was awash with gorse, a bright yellow
against the green fields, it reminded me of Australia not the gorse or the
fields but the gold of our wattle against the green of our bush.
And
I realised today was Mum and Dad’s 60th wedding anniversary. Luckily
my phone had reception and battery life so I called home, wishing mum and dad
an enjoyable day.
You have to love technology.
A
little up the road I caught up with an English couple and we exchanged
experiences of our walk.
The
woman asked if I had seen the WOT group, not since they marched around the
Patterdale Hotel I answered.
Apparently,
she said, they went up Helvellyn, as I did.
However
as they approached the drop zone, as I put it, they read the inscription on the
stone plaque, dedicated to a fellow walker who died at this spot, and his dog
who stayed by his side until his master’s skeletal remains were found some
weeks later.
Now apart from the three gladiatorial leaders the rest of the
so-called women on top, broke down in tears and one started vomiting at her
possible fate.
Hopefully
for them no mere men caught sight of this emotional collapse.
Reputations
are made and lost on Helvellyn.
On
we go.
Nine
Standards Rigg is the summit of Hartley Fell and lies
within the North Pennines Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB), and it
takes its name from the Nine
Standards themselves, giant rock cairns, some of which were originally more
than four metres high.
They sit just to the north of the
fell's summit, at a height of 650 m above sea
level, their original purpose is uncertain but one possibility is that they marked the boundary between Westmorland and Swaledale.
Some say they are a faux fortification, constructed
by the Romans that can be seen for miles, an obvious deterrent to would be
marauders.
This
Rigg is the watershed of England, from
this point, rivers flow west toward the Irish Sea and east toward the North Sea.
As I approached the halfway point
of my walk, I was excited, until I see the bogs.
How I remember these from 2011.
But today they were a little
drier.
With the ever-persistent rain on
these peat bogs and the hoards of walkers, not just coast to coasters like me,
but day-trippers and ramblers on short hikes, the ground is susceptible to huge
erosion. So bad, that in some places it is metres deep and any trail impossible
to discern.
To help keep the foot traffic to
a minimum and to ensure you get past these unknown monuments without succumbing
to the mire there are three designated trails.
At waypoint #83 the green route
is the first choice heading south around the Rigg completely.
The guidebook
says if you cannot see the Nine Standards from this point, due to inclement
weather, then do not continue east and take the safe green route, south.
Where is the adventure in that?
It is sunny still so I head east
following the path along a very brown stream and over a bridge. The guidebook
again advises me “that since the bridge the path has become eroded and splits
off into many different paths. The goal, the Nine Standards is clear ahead
however”. What all this means is it’s a free for all, just clamber up through
the bog and make the summit the best way you can.
 |
| Having a snack |
After more warnings in the
guidebook about even worse bogs ahead, I reached Key Junction, at waypoint 94,
a signpost in a huge boot trodden mire pointing the way to the red route south
and the blue route east.
Here there is no difference
underfoot in the two alternate routes, however to try to minimise the erosion,
between May and July, walkers are asked to take the red route
Heading
south the path is hard to discern in parts and becoming wetter and wetter
underfoot, with the sun now hidden behind cloud and the wind blasting my face I
push on.
Finally,
halfway down the rigg there is some respite from the wind and the water seems
to have organised itself into small brooks. Once completely down from the
summit the three routes rejoin at Whitsundale Beck.
Along
the beck I am greeted by a troupe of about 12 Aussies taking lunch and a well-earned
rest. With a few G’days and some see ya laters I again push on to Ravenseat
Farm, a lonely outpost serving tea and freshly baked cream scones.
The
air however was thick with death.
My
tea and scones were brought on a tray to me by Rupert under the watchful eye of
his sister little Annie Blue Boots.
 |
| Annie blue boots |
Eloquently
refreshed I continued along the Beck, the trail was dotted with stone barns
some in ruins. After a couple of miles I dropped down to the road following
Cotterby Scar on my left and made my way to Keld.
Just a
side note today 800 years ago the Magna Carta was signed, this established a basic,
yet unprecedented, idea: that every free man is subject to the law, including
the King.
I’ll
drink to that, a pint of black sheep please.
Daily
Stats.
Distance
19.1km
Assent
717m
Descent
563m
Time
out 4h 27m
Stopped
0h 45m
Moving
average 4.3km per hour
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