The rain was hard when I woke, so hard that I didn't even try to take
any photos but packed the camera away in my bag. Mainly it was drizzle
but continuous and the path was non-existent. The moor holds markers
every few hundred meters but no set path or slabs. Its a matter of
constant navigation using compass baring and hoping another white pillar
will turn up to tell you that you'd not made a mistake. To make things
worse the rain had saturated the ground, the water never less than an
inch deep and at times a foot or two. I fell a few times and at one
point twisted my right ankle badly, my left heel much worse making every
footstep horrible.
The moor seemed to last forever and a day,
and it was with incredible relief that I finally reached a road. Here I
stopped and tried to do something for my ankles, the twisted one not
wanting to take much weight while the other one was simply in a lot of
pain. It made me shred tears of frustration, especially when I'd had
such an easy day the day before. I bandaged up the heel, covering the
blister and all the rest of the back of the heel and it made a big
difference. Still I limped along and hated every moment.
The
rest bite of walking on the roads is small and I was quickly back in the
sodden moors struggling to keep my boots from been sucked off by the
mud and my ankles twisting from under me continually. This section needs
to be slabbed before I do it again, stuff the 'leave the moors as they
are' people, bring on the slabs. It must be much worse for the
environment to have people trudging over the bushes looking for less
muddy routes.
Here you have a choice, easier terrain but longer
or more moor land, no path but several miles less. I decided that I was
in pain either way, the shoes were full of mud so I might as well carry
on with the moors. None were quite as bad as Tan Hill but it was hard
and slow going, the entire way with little to help navigate. You work
mainly from a sense of the right route and the compass, and since the
moorland in England is mainly a thin strip its hard to go that much
wrong and its easily correctable as soon as you reach the next road.
There was some difficulty when I reached Baldersdale, I came out
several hundred meters further up the road, at some point having left
the trail, but after climbing over a fence and getting a little stuck
the
mistake was quickly corrected and I trudged onward. At this point I was
walking extremely slowly and with no energy, stopping far too much and
struggling with my ankles. I could have stopped at Clove Lodge campsite
but, walking past, it seemed a deserted farm yard and it was still early
in the day. I would not give up the momentum I'd buit in the last few
days.
Climbing past Hannah's Medow I stopped to read the sign
describing the place. I held little interest but any excuse to stop was
welcomed. What followed was a lot of farmers fields full of friendly and
not so friendly cows. The younger ones were the only ones to show
aggression while the bull was too busy following a poor lady cow in
circles around the field. This section is really a matter of styles,
farm fields, a road, a farm drive, sheds, another field, and another
road. Not the most inspired section and I was in no mood.
Finally Middle-in-Teesdale came into view down the slope from me and
limping I gratefully quickened my pace. No one was at the Dalesview
Campsite reception but following the signs I easily found the empty
camping area and set up. Once showered I lay and rested, cream on my
aching limbs and already decided that I was giving myself tomorrow off.
The next section was 21 miles and I wasn't going to attempt it till my
ankle was better and I had a bandage for the heel.
I spent the
night in the campsite pub, ate their plain but cheap meal and drunk tea
until my electrics were sufficiently recharged for me to watch North and
South on my ipod.
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