Across the flatlands, the North York Moors and finally the coast.

Day 9 – Richmond to Ingleby Cross 39,46km

We knew that this stage would be tough. It‘s the longest in Wainwright‘s book and most tours break it up into two sections. For no good reason, I wanted us to stick to Wainwright‘s schedule of 12 days. As my friend, Rick pointed out, Wainwright was 65 years old when he devised this route and he had time to write notes and do sketches on the way. Surely we could manage this.

Our plan to have a good night‘s sleep in a B&B the night before, didn‘t work too well. Now accustomed to tents and fresh air, we found our room too warm and the duvets too thick. We didn‘t sleep well and were ready to hit the road just after 6am. We picked up packed lunches from the fridge in the breakfast room and wandered out of Richmond‘s deserted streets in good weather. Soon we were navigating across farmer‘s fields, heading East towards the North York Moors which we could see as a slight bump on the horizon. We had already had a few 30km days, but today we had nearly 40 to do. As the countryside was flat and we could see our goal in the distance, it was the first time I really understood how far you could walk in a day.

The navigation was a little tricky. We were not crossing a National Park with clear valleys and hills, but an area of fairly flat farmland with plenty of gates and junctions which could easily be missed. I missed one fairly early on and didn‘t want to believe it. The twin tractor tracks that I thought was the path gradually became more overgrown until we were thrashing hopelessly through a rapeseed field. When you know the day is going to be a long one, even a minor diversion is a major irritation. I eventually admitted defeat, we tracked back and found the right way. In spite of my poor steering, we made reasonable early progress and after a couple of hours allowed ourselves a breakfast stop, perched on a felled tree. A couple of fit-looking chaps, clearly carrying camping gear, passed us. We waved and exchanged hellos but they soon disappeared up the trail.

The route took us on a combination of footpaths and (mostly) quiet roads. The weather was good – some clouds but it was getting warmer and as the day went on, more and more blue sky. The good weather lulled us into a false sense of security and we forgot about the bogs and struggles of the past few days. But then we were brought back down to earth by a couple of very muddy sections. Wainwright was right when he wrote „don‘t bother to clean your boots in Richmond. There is mud, glorious mud, ahead.“ The mud was frustrating because it really slowed us down. The paths were slippery and uneven. On one nasty section the path was enclosed by nettles on one side and a new, high barbed-wire fence on the other. When you are slipping around on mud with a fully-loaded rucksack on your back, you really don‘t want barbed wire around. I cursed the unseen farmer who had put up that fence. I imagined he really didn‘t like walkers and if he couldn‘t shut down the pathway wanted at least to make it as horrible as possible. We eventually picked our way through and emerged onto a quiet road, where we took a much needed drink-break.

The two campers we had seen earlier also emerged, cursing, from the barbed-wire mud alley behind us. We learned that they were James and George, father and son. They were on a tight schedule and had started a day later than us. James would be turning 50 in a few days to coincide with them finishing the walk and George had just done his A-Levels. George was having a little trouble with an ankle-injury he‘d collected playing Rugby, which was slowing them down a bit so that we could keep up. The next section was mostly roads until we finally reached our lunch stop in the village of Danby Whiske. We had a bit more of a chat with James & George as well as something to eat. Luckily we still had our packed lunch, because the pub didn‘t open until 4pm which was too late for us – we had covered 23km but still had 15km to go.

We also met Dave and his group in front of the pub. He advised us not to try and follow the exact route because the muddy sections ahead were in worse state than he‘d ever seen. We took his advice and stuck to roads, which added another kilometre but probably saved us some time and certainly nerves. (We would later meet others who, pleasingly, confirmed that we‘d made the right decision).

The rest of the walk was uneventful. Farmyards, tracks, gates and quite a lot of tarmac. At one farm we passed an „honesty fridge“ which was stocked with a collection of chocolate bars and fizzy drinks which took me back to the 1980s. I imagine the farmer who stocked this had grown up back then and was on a nostalgia trip. For the Brits reading this, there was R-Whites lemonade, Fry‘s Chocolate Cream, Picnic bars and even a Double Decker. I wasn‘t hungry but Ariane couldn‘t resist the Double Decker. Fuelled up on cheap biscuits, chocolate and E-numbers, she blazed the trail for the final few kilometres.

Before our final goal of the Bluebell Inn at Ingleby Cross, we had one final obstacle to cross. The A19 is a very busy 4-lane road which is to all intents and purposes a motorway which connects Yorkshire to Middlesborough. There is no bridge or underpass, so Coast-to-Coasters have to wait for a break in the traffic and sprint across to the central reservation before doing it all again on the other side. The crossing is next to a service station, where we used the facilities and stocked up on supplies for the next day. We managed to cross without incident. The last thing we felt like doing with heavy rucksacks and 38km in our legs was sprinting, but we surprised ourselves by getting across swiftly and easily. Maybe we had become fitter and stronger.

We were soon setting up camp in the late afternoon sunshine behind the Bluebell Inn. After a few days on the trail, we valued the simple things. A cold beer, plenty of space to set up camp, a hot shower and the promise of a pub meal. James and George soon appeared and we all had a beer together. Later on we were joined by Claire, a South African who was tackling the Coast to Coast on her own. We had seen Claire briefly at a couple of spots on the previous days and Ariane had chatted with her in Richmond. She was also camping. It was nice having a little group together to chat and exchange stories.

That evening, Dave joined us for dinner in the pub and I ended up having one more beer and a bit more food than I should have. We had a strong sense of achievement that evening. For the first time I felt sure that we were going to make it. Until now, there was always the risk of a small injury, illness or even bad blisters putting paid to our plans. We felt fit enough, but when you need to walk between 8 and 10 hours each day a small niggle can turn into a showstopper. Ariane‘s boots had been rubbing and she‘d been constantly adjusting and experimenting with insoles and improvised padding. Finally, she had found a good solution and was pain free!

Day 10 – Ingleby Cross to Blakey Ridge 32,79km

By this stage, we were getting into a routine. We were sleeping longer and better. The perfect evening preparation seemed to be two (perhaps three) beers, a large meal and one Ibuprofen tablet. If I could have a shower before sleeping, this helped too. We went to bed early (always before 10pm, sometimes before 9pm) and were now managing to sleep through until 5am or even 6. I never felt slow or stiff in the mornings, our bodies had learned to recover.

We sorted out our gear on a beer table and packed our bags carefully. James, George and Claire were doing the same on other beer tables. We brewed ourselves a cup of tea but decided on an early start and would reward ourselves with breakfast when we‘d made some progress. We ended up setting off before the others at just after 7am. Although my body felt good, my brain was not firing on all cylinders. We said goodbye to our new friends and as soon as we left the pub beer garden I set off up the wrong road. I quickly realised my mistake and turned us around. As we passed the beer garden again, I was relieved to see James, George and Claire were occupied with packing their rucksacks and hadn‘t witnessed my navigation skills.

We were soon on track and making our first ascent of the day. Today‘s route profile looked long and quite hard, but we were just happy to be on clear footpaths again and not mud-plugging around farmers fields. We were going to be spending the first half of the day on the well signposted Cleveland Way, going over a series of summits on the North edge of the moors with excellent views over the flatlands and the North Sea. The path was good, the scenery was wonderful and the weather was perfect. We made good time and kept delaying our breakfast stop. „Let‘s wait until 9am… Let‘s wait until we find a bench to sit at in the valley… Let‘s wait until we find some dry grass and good view.“ We both felt physically good and optimistic about our progress. In this mood, we didn‘t want to break the spell. Time passes differently when you’re walking. We had originally planned to have breakfast an hour or so after starting, but in the end we stopped on top of Carlton Bank after 12km and about 3 hours of walking.

It was a wonderful spot, and we tucked into our service-station-bought Tandoori wraps as we enjoyed the view. We were soon joined by a friendly dog-walker who immediately guessed we were Coast-to-Coasters. I asked him to identify the towns we could see in the distance. „That‘s Redcar on the coast and Middlesborough in the distance. But you‘re lucky you can see anything! It‘s been a terrible year. I come up here most days and meet lots of walkers. Last week it was all in cloud and you could only just see the path to follow.“ He had some beehives close by which he tended to regularly. It wasn‘t going to be a good year, too much rain and too cold. As he walked off, he left us with one final thought. „You two have ruined my Schadenfreude for the day. I usually meet miserable walkers up here in the rain and think about them when I have my warm cup of tea back home. Cheerio, anyway.“

The next couple of hours were more of the same. Good paths across scenic moorland, punctuated with some rocky descents to keep us on our toes. It was fairly quiet and we only saw one or two other people until we got to a rocky area called the Wainstones. We had fair warning that things were going to change because we could hear it at least a kilometre before we arrived. A large group of schoolchildren was there on a field trip to try out climbing and abseiling. It was so incongruous – all the screaming and chaos you hear in a school playground, on an idyllic clump of rocks in the middle of nowhere. It was hard to stifle the feeling that they were in our playground and I felt a little bitter about it.

After the rocks, we caught up with another group of schoolchildren whose teacher was trying to get them off the moor in order to meet a bus. The kids looked to be aged about 14 to 15 and weren‘t dressed for hillwalking. The teacher was having to hurry them up in order make the bus in time. Her patience and optimism was admirable. She asked a small group of girls how they enjoyed being out in the fresh air. „F***ing horrible. We walked for hours to get a view for about a minute. Hillwalking is shit.“ The teacher stayed optimistic. “Well in two weeks we‘re out here again but we‘ll be having a barbecue down by the river.“ „Well it can‘t be any worse than this shit.“ The cheery teacher then moved her attention to a chubby straggler, heavily overdressed in a thick tracksuit and wellington boots. The sun was out now and it was really warm. He was probably diabetic or at least had to monitor his blood-sugar levels. „Giorgio, have you checked your levels?“ „Yes, miss, I checked them at the top and they were steady.“ „Well, that‘s encouraging. That tells me that exercise and walking is good for you. Maybe you should do more of it.“ Giorgio wasn‘t convinced. „I just want to get off this hill and on that f***ing bus, Miss.“

I was surprised that the kids seemed to be allowed to swear so openly in front of the teachers. Things have changed in the last 40 years, I suppose. Still, I was impressed with how calm the teachers seemed to be and filled with respect for the work they were doing. With some relief on my part, they turned off the track just before we caught them and soon we were back to „normal mode“. It was quiet, we now had one more ascent to complete and then about 10 kilometres along an old railway line track over open moorland. It couldn‘t be that hard.

I was wrong. It was really hard. Walking 10km on even ground isn‘t usually a problem. But if you‘ve just done more than 20km over successive hills carrying a 10kg rucksack, and not really noticed how tired you were because the views were so spectacular, then it‘s a challenge. Once we were up on the moor and following the route of the old railway line, the scenery didn‘t change much. When you are going up and down, you are constantly using slightly different muscles. But when you are just plodding along a flat track, every step is putting the same strain on your body each time. My hips, ankles and feet were aching. Ariane wanted to push on and just get there. I wanted to stop and cool my feet down. I plodded on head down, thinking why was I wasting my holiday to do this. It went on and on.

With about 2km to go, I did take my boots off and gave my foot a quick peat-bog bathing session. It helped a bit, but what helped much more was when we came around a bend and saw The Lion Inn on the horizon. 20 minutes later, I was standing at the bar ordering 2 pints of Wainwright and asking where the camping field was. „You can camp right in the beer garded between the tables if you like.“ „Oh, we like“, I replied.

The Lion Inn is remote pub on High Blakey Moor. Even though the sun was out, there was a cold wind blowing and only one person was toughing it out in the beer garden. At first he thought we were just sorting out our gear. „So, have you got far to go to your campsite?“ He was somewhat surprised as we pitched our tent. For us, this was the height of luxury – perfectly flat ground, a big table for us and our gear. We had 2 cold beers glistening in the sun to make our tent-pitching a little easier. We were also informed that they had a shower we could use.

A little while later, Claire appeared. As she came through the pub gate, Ariane gave her a high-five and knowing look. „You made it!“. We all knew how hard the last section had been. A little later, James and George appeared. By this time we had the beer garden to ourselves and we gave them the good news that they could set up camp right here. We bought each other a beer and exchanged stories about how miserable the last few kilometres had been. George‘s ankle had been giving his some trouble but he‘d battled through. Claire had also “had a moment” on the final stage and only willpower kept her going. But this was soon forgotten as we were all sitting together in the pub eating the famously large burgers. Various other Coast-to-Coasters were staying there and there was a general mood of conviviality and relief in the air. We started to get to know each other a little better and exchanged notes on our experience so far. The places we‘d loved or hated, the people we‘d met and where the best food had been.

We had just spent 10 days walking across mostly empty mountains, hills and moors. The few people we‘d met were either walkers or farmers. The country folk in these regions were friendly but not loud. Often we would be greeted with a nod and simple „ow do“ in deep northern baritone. James was the complete opposite. He was from the South coast, had a pronounced southern accent and was not economical with words. But his energy and enthusiasm and turn of phrase was so infectious that he somehow got away with it. „Mi socks were absolutely mingin‘!“ is an expression that has stayed with me. When we first met James, he was clearly worried that George‘s ankle problems might stop them making Robin Hood‘s Bay as planned and had been pushing George a little, and apologising for George had some typical-teenager traits such as not getting up early. We thought George was definitely not a typical teenager – more like a remarkable teenager. We were amazed that an 18-year old lad would choose 2 weeks hard walking over lazing around playing video games after completing his A-levels. George was a charming fellow and it was a pleasure to have him around. James ribbed him a bit, but was clearly proud of his Coast-to-Coast companion.

After dinner, I decided to have a shower, but could not find my towel. I really wanted a shower, so I hoped there was a hand-drier there or as a last resort paper towels. The shower was one cubicle in the gents toilets at the back of the pub. There was no hand drier, so I took 10 paper towels from the dispenser and locked myself in the shower cubicle. I had a lovely shower. Then I realised I‘d made a mistake. 10 paper towels was nowhere near enough. I should have known – you need 3 towels just to get your hands dry! I couldn‘t hear anyone in the toilets so I cracked the door open and made a (naked) run to the towel-dispenser. I pulled out 3 more paper towels and then it jammed. I had to faff around, trying to find the end of the next towel. A door outside creaked and I raced back to the shower cubicle. Luckily nobody came in, so I made another dash and got some more towels. After repeating this a couple of times and procuring more than 30 towels I was still clammy but dry enough to put on shorts and a t-shirt. I felt good, and slept well.

Blakey Ridge to Intake Farm 29.32km

I had slept very well, in spite of George‘s „Mattress of Thor“. George was sleeping on a lightweight airbed which made a thunderous noise whenever he moved around on it. James had warned us about this, because he used to own that mattress. We teased George about this, probably a bit too much. Thankfully for us all, George enjoyed the deep sleep of a teenager so we hardly heard anything once he was in his tent. I probably woke more people up with my midnight pee-breaks. There is no sound known to man louder than a middle-of-the-night tent-zipper in a crowded campsite.

There was no early start for us anyway, because we had ordered breakfast. The breakfast room was packed with Coast-to-Coasters, including Dave‘s group. You could tell that yesterday had been a hard day by the amount of hobbling going on around the breakfast buffet. It wasn‘t hard to push through and grab a Weetabix.

Claire had told us that she also really suffered yesterday too. The final slog to the pub had been so long and exhausting, that she had taken a moment to sit by the roadside and have a minor emotional crisis. We had a lot of respect for Claire, doing the walk alone and carrying all her kit. I asked Ariane if we should suggest Claire walk with us today – she agreed immediately. They already had a „connection“, as they say.

Claire seemed pleased to be asked, and soon we were marching along the road on our penultimate stage. Ariane and Claire were in front of me, already deep in conversation. I was trying to keep up. I had mistakenly imagined that we would need to slow down to accommodate Claire‘s pace, but the opposite was true. We usually walked at about 4km/h on flat ground. We were now doing at least 5 (which I could see on my GPS watch). The weather was lovely, the going was easy and because we were engaged in conversation, the first 10km just flew by. We were crossing moorland, mostly on good paths, and were kept entertained by grouse that kept wandering across the path, or suddenly flying out of the heather alongside us.

It was still morning when we began to descend into a scenic valley and our first rest stop in the village of Glaisdale. We bought some food at a quaint village shop and had our lunch break on a bench. The official goal for today‘s stage was at Grosmont, just a couple of hours down the valley, but we wanted to go a bit further on to a farm which had a campsite and would give us quite a short and easy final day.

After lunch we followed the River Esk for a couple of hours before we reached Grosmont. We passed a delightful looking pub/café with a garden next to the river, but decided to press on walk right into the village. I had been a little nervous about us walking with somebody else, because after 10 days on the trail you do get into your own rhythm. We were of similar fitness, needed to eat at roughly the same time and we preferred to only take short breaks and plod on. I needn‘t have worried, though, because Claire was great company and seemed to have the same walking rhythm as us (if anything, a little speedier).

In Grosmont we were all ready for a short rest, so we had shandy and cider outside the Station Tavern. From here we had a great view of a steam train manoeuvring and picking up carriages. Well, I had a good enough view. When we heard the train‘s whistle and the booming sound of a steam engine slowly getting going, Claire and Ariane were out of their seats in no time and jogging down to the railway tracks for the perfect photo. I got up briefly, felt my legs and sat straight back down with my shandy. Ariane could send me the photos.

Fuelled with our drinks, we set off on the final short leg to Littlebeck and Intake Farm. We started by following the road out of Grosmont and over the moors. The climb surprised us all. I had been imagining a gentle wander over the fields to our campsite, but this turned out to be hard work. By now the sun was really beating down and it was a hot trudge from almost sea level to 300m. Claire, powered by a cold cider, blazed the trail and we made it to the top in good time before taking pictures next to the „steep hill“ roadsigns.

We were then up on open moors again before dropping down a steepish descent into Littlebeck. The last part of the route was down a tarmac road, which was probably the part of walking we had come to dislike most. It hurt your knees, your walking sticks didn‘t grip and there was no grass to cushion the jolts on every step. But we were soon back in a good mood as we saw a hand-painted sign for „Intake Farm“ as soon as the hamlet of Littlebeck came into view.

We weren‘t quite sure exactly where Intake Farm was as it wasn‘t marked clearly on our maps. We just knew it was in Littlebeck. We followed the sign and I was mentally already taking my rucksack and shoes off. We went around the corner expecting to find a farm. But there was just a small house. Further up the (steep) road was another house. We thought the next one must be Intake Farm. Wrong again. A farmer was driving down the hill on a quad-bike and slowed down to give us some encouragement. „Keep going! It‘s only half a mile up the hill now.“ This was the last thing we wanted to hear after thinking we were there already. But there was nothing left but to plod on, cursing under our breath. Luckily, any ill-feeling was quickly dispelled as this was one of the best places we stayed on the whole walk.

Judith, who runs Intake Farm, answered the door with a mixing bowl in her hand and asked if we‘d like something to drink and some cake. We sat in her kitchen and drank lemon squash (strong enough to take the enamel off your teeth) and tucked into home-made chocolate cake. The campsite was in the garden and dinner would be served in the front room at 6:30pm. If anyone wanted a shower, then it was just upstairs. Outside 6 or 7 farm cats kept an eye on us as we set up camp. The sun was pleasantly warm. We were all just happy.

Because we don‘t like to plan ahead much, I had only called Judith that lunchtime to ask if she had a spot for our tent and 2 people. Claire had sent an e-mail so I asked for her too. I also asked if we could eat dinner and breakfast there. „Well I‘ll see if I can stretch what I’ve got in the fridge, I am sure it will be fine.“

Dinner was amazing. We assembled at a large table and were joined by Jim and Ingrid, an American couple who were staying at the house. Then Judith started bringing in the food: a beef casserole, a chicken casserole, cauliflower cheese, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots etc. etc. The pleasure of eating a true home-cooked dinner after a full day of hard walking is hard to beat. We were all on endorphin overload and hence the conversation flowed. As we finished our main course, we learned that James & George had also arrived. They hadn‘t booked dinner, but Judith had plied them with tea and cake as soon as they arrived.

They joined us for dessert. 2 freshly-baked upside down cakes (remember the mixing-bowl) with ice cream if so desired. James regailed us with stories of the day – they had stopped at the riverside café and also taken a proper tour of the railway museum in Grosmont. George‘s ankle had held up well and they were in high spirits now that there was just a short walk tomorrow. Jim & Ingrid, were delightful. They were older than us, were taking their time on the route and were filled with the naive wonder that Americans tend to have. Judith had put the TV on so that we could watch the England vs. Denmark football game. Normally, I would have watched from beginning to end, but it wasn’t interesting anybody. We were in our walking bubble and had no time for millionaires chasing a bag of wind about. It had been a perfect evening without football.

Day 12 – Intake Farm to Robin Hood‘s Bay 20,21km

We woke to blue skies and were quickly packed and ready to go. But first we all met at the big table for breakfast, courtesy of Judith. Once again there was a huge selection. She must have been up early to rustle up porridge, full-english breakfasts and eggs in every variation for us all. Before we left, Judith popped her head throught the door and made us all join a cringeworthy chorus of Happy Birthday. Today was James‘ 50th birthday. We said goodbye to Jim & Ingrid but hoped we‘d meet them at the end. The rest of us set off in convoy.

Walking is a great way to socialise. At one point or another I got to talk to everyone. Sometimes in a small group or just on their own. We got past the basic stuff of what job do you do onto more interesting things such what music we liked, what we thought of modern life and how we were finding this walk. None of us liked walking down hills, but we all knew it was painful for George. But George kept smiling. James was in a good mood – as he should have been. It was his birthday and the rest of his family were going to meet him and George at the finish. After each tricky section, James would inquire „All right, Georgie?“ George was fine.

We made good progress. The weather was perfect. Sunny but still quite cool and windy. The first part of the walk was through a wood and past a couple of tourist attractions. The Hermitage is a man-made cave which was hollowed out in 1790 (but nobody really knows why or by whom) and a little further on we passed a very pretty waterfall, Falling Foss. James had been looking, without success, for a café which served scones since he started the walk. For a moment we thought his prayers had been answered… but we were half an hour too early and the café next to the waterfall was closed.

We pressed on and soon emerged onto open moorland – which was quite boggy. We were all now experienced in picking a route through the bogs and were soon relieved to see the last of bogs and drop down to the village of Hawkser, which had a pub. What a pleasure to sit out in the sun, enjoying a pint and knowing that we were nearly there.

Soon after leaving Hawkser, we walked through a caravan park and suddenly had a spectacular view of the North Sea glistening in the sun. We had been able to see the water a few times on our walk, but this was the first time it was right there in front of us. We were soon near the waters edge and heading along a cliff top path towards Robin Hoods Bay. Only 5km to go now. One thing we had learned over the previous 12 days was that the route was usually more challenging than it looked on the map. Today was no exception – the path didn’t stop climbing and falling all the way into Robin Hood’s Bay. There were no flat bits. The descents were punctuated with James’ inquiring “All right Georgie?” and on the ascents we pushed on, all now keen to finally get to the finish.

Before long we were walking down into the village of Robin Hood’s Bay. It was busy. The carpark was full of cars and coaches. Schoolchildren were running around and shouting and the narrow streets were full of tourists. The final descent seem to take ages and because the lanes are so narrow we couldn’t see the sea. I felt sure we were below sea level. But I was wrong, we finally went round the last corner and could see the famous Bay Inn where we would sign the book and have a pint. Directly below the pub was a slipway into the sea, where thankfully the tide was in so we only had to walk a few steps. James’ family was there to meet him and George. We said a quick hello but were more concerned with finding our pebbles from St Bees and hurling them into the North Sea as tradition dictates.

Once this was done we could get down to the business of refreshment. I can’t remember being more happy and willing to buy a round of drinks – Wainwright Gold beers of course. We colonised a table outside the pub and soon James was getting the next round in. We were all relieved, happy to be there in the sun and yet somewhat apprehensive about our life without the walk. We shared thoughts and stories. A few other people, including our American friends Jim and Ingrid, appeared and soon there was lots of chat going on. Pictures were taken to commemorate the finish. It was a perfect afternoon. Soon we were saying goodbyes. Our journey was finished but we had one more night under canvas before us.

Weeks ago I had booked us into a campsite just up the hill. Two of my best friends, Rick and Graham, had agreed to meet us there and kindly drive us back to our home base in Leeds the next day. They had actually intended to do the last stretch together with us on the Saturday, but I had got my sums wrong and we had already finished on the Friday! I had made the classic mistake – I knew we needed 12 days and wanted to finish on my birthday on June 22nd. 22 minus 12 is 10. So we needed to start on June 10th. What I forgot is that June 10th was already day one. If you then count forward you’ll find that June 22nd was day 13. We really wanted to do it in Wainwright’s 12 stages so I had to grovel and apologise to my friends – they would have to make do with some beers in the evening and just the one night camping.

Claire was also camping at the same site as us, so we walked up the hill together. We were all a little deflated after the euphoria of finishing. Luckily for us, Rick and Graham arrived at the campsite at exactly the same time as us. Tents were quickly put up and a picnic blanket was rolled out – the boys, reliable as ever, had bought a cooler full of cold beer so we lolled around there for a while enjoying the evening sun and telling our stories. Claire joined us and later on we wandered down to the Bay for some food and a few more pints. We bumped into James, George and family but I think I may have had one too many as I can’t remember much of what we said. In retrospect I was slightly embarrassed because only that afternoon I’d been talking to James about how important healthy eating and not too much drinking was. I failed on both counts that evening.

It’s now just over 2 weeks since we finished the walk and, to use some modern jargon, I still haven’t quite processed it. I do know that I had a wonderful time, felt quite different at the end and lost 5kg of weight. I can’t stop thinking about it and am looking forward to our next “through hike”, preferably next year. I think Ariane feels the same.

Thanks for reading this account – it was long, and it is how I remember it. I will be writing a short epilogue about what gear we took, what I‘d do differently next time and how we felt after the walk. It won‘t be long, I promise.