St.Bees to Enerdale Bridge, 14 miles.
In September 2000 I walked (with cousin Peter) the 190 odd miles from St.Bees to Robin Hoods Bay. It's now been 10 years since and in the meantime I've added Hadrians Wall (2004 & 2005) along with many of the Wainwrights (35 to go as at Aug 2010).
My C2C diary was never completed but that's set to change and I'm now determined to complete the text. Photos were taken at the time on an old waterproof APS film camera. You'll forgive my early sense of humour. Part 1&2 were written in 2001 - I was younger then.
St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge
Following Wainwrights famous Coast to Coast route involves a certain amount of masochism. It’s better not to remember that if walked in a direct line the distance would be in the region of 100 miles or so but that the walk itself is some 190 miles in length, perhaps a tad more.
As I climbed up onto the cliff path and out of St Bees on a wet, overcast September morning I was also trying not to think about this and also the fact that although the walk heads from east to west, the first few miles head north east and in the opposite direction from the ultimate finish – Robin Hood Bay, a small village on the N.Yorkshire coast. Trudging through mud and getting wetter by the minute I was actually getting further away from my ultimate objective, I put my head down and plodded on.
St. Bees had looked lovely in the sun, the trim rows of caravans, the green fields between the town and the beach, the little main street with snug shops and houses. The sun had been yesterday though and the temptation to stay in bed (we had stopped in Stonehouse Farm, pictured) had been great especially when I looked out of the window but we had a schedule and would be walking from Coast to coast over the next 13 days come rain or shine.
Pete trudged ahead of me now, forging a pace along the narrow path over the cliffs towards Flewsick Bay. Stopping for a brief rest we looked back down for a last view of St.Bees.
The rain started to fall with some intensity and the path was still heading north. Fleswick bay looked good in the coffee table picture book, a little less so in the pouring rain. We pushed on and rounded St.Bees head, trudged past the lighthouse and eventually joined the lane by a quarry and started heading inland. East at last and already my legs ached.
It was Sunday and very quiet. We walked through Sandwith the first village after St.Bees. Many walkers do the coastal bit on their day of arrival and start from Sandwith the following day, it’s a way of reducing the 14 mile length of the first day’s march or to carry on further into Ennerdale before stopping. We should have done this if we had thought about it a little more but as we headed up the main street the rain stopped so we felt a little happier. Besides 14 miles was a pretty modest distance – we would be tackling 20 and 23 mile stages over the next two weeks.
The sign at the end of the village soon brought us to our senses. Actually it was the back of the village name plate. On it some wag had put the letters – Robin Hoods Bay 185 miles. "Nearly there" said Pete.
We left Sandwith and started forging inland towards Ennerdale Bridge, our destination for the day. The ground was muddy but the going was pretty quick and the sizeable village of Cleator appeared in the distance.
We faniced a nice cup of tea and fancied that Cleator would soon service the desire. In happy expectation of snug cafes we started up the main street. Our smiles disappeared, Cleator resembled something from a Lowry painting. Grey terraces lined the narrow streets and there wasn’t a tearoom in sight, one grocers shop was open but it didn’t do teas. To add to the misery it started to rain again.
Although it was lunch time we weren’t that hungry and our first true ascent beckoned – Dent hill stretching up into the mist before us. I reminded Pete that we could simply take to the road we were approaching and walk straight into Ennerdale Bridge and thus avoid this little wet and misty height but somehow a deviation so soon into the walk seemed like cheating and besides, Wainwright wanted to make men of us. We headed on up.
Hunger hit us just after we crested the top though and we spent a few minutes munching pasties in the gloomy forest on the top. At just over 1100ft Dent is officially a mountain but in the mist and rain this green lump seemed little more than uneccessary leg-work before we arrived at our final destination.
We strolled into Ennerdale Bridge mid-afternoon and checked into our hotel for the night, the appropriately named Ennerdale Bridge Hotel. A cheerful proprietor showed us to our room which looked disconcertingly expensive. Whilst Pete watched the Sydney Olympics on the telly I strolled around the village and took in the sights. A little shop doing a nice line in C2C momentos was proof of the walking trade coming in the opposite direction but it was too early to buy celebratory trinkets.
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