Coast to Coast Pt.4 20/9/2000

Grasmere to Patterdale, 8 miles.

Day 4 wasn't nice. Overcast and wet. We headed up by the main road and turned up towards Grisedale Tarn. Taking the higher branch it started to rain while the cold wind was difficult to ignore and colder than you'd expect for September.

With wind whipping across the water and rain lashing down, it wasn't a place to linger. I nearly fell over when Pete decided that Helvellyn should be considered. With Dollywaggon Pike shrounded in mist the big 'un was horribly unattractive but St.Sunday Crag then appeared out of the gloom. Pete was keen but I declined, it didn't seem like an enjoyable day for the tops so we agreed to meet up in Glenridding and Pete headed off up the diagonal path from the tarn.

The rain stopped as I dropped down the long but enjoyable path to the valley floor. In fine weather it's one of my favourite routes and the day was definately improving.

I passed two walkers who were clearly models for an outdoor clothing catalogue. These two were the first people I'd met all day and my awareness at the paucity of walkers was growing. Glenridding was like ghost town but the petrol crisis (remember that?) was now in full swing and cars, let alone walkers were few and far between. It was perfectly possible to stroll down the middle of the main road with little chance that you'd meet any vehicles.

I dropped into a cafe in the village, wrote a postcard and headed off for our B&B, Noran Bank Farm. The working sheep farm is beyond the Youth Hostel on the edge of Patterdale.



Looking back it's true to say that the different types of accomodation and people you meet form the lasting memories of any long walk, aches and pains are quickly forgotten. Noran Bank was memorable. I've since seen that, at the time, it wasn't everyone's cup of tea but it was a genuine Lakeland halt and we liked it a lot. It looks as if it's seen some refurbishment since but in 2000 it hadn't changed in a long time, was run by a friendly old lady and was notably full of stuffed animals. The guest book went back to the mid 1930s.

Dinner involved a trip back to the Patterdale Hotel, the only establishment open. Sharing the bar with (literally) coachloads of pensioners we ate quickly and walked back along the pitch dark, empty road to the farmhouse.