Kirby Stephens. Wasn’t that Samantha’s second husband on Bewitched? Anyhow, that’s today’s destination. Thirteen miles of rolling dales, which may be a redundant phrase.
I thought we had left Cumbria for Yorkshire after Patterdale, but apparently that’s tomorrow’s milestone. All this time I’ve been thinking: All Creatures Great and Small takes place in this county; Dalziel and Pasco and Charlie Priest wander around and solve crimes here. But, no. Wrong county. Despite the severity and austerity of the moors, I should still have been thinking bunnies and daffodils.
Once again, upon rising, the sky was deceptively blue. By breakfast time it had clouded somewhat. When we left Orton it was overcast.
I’d like to say the beauty outweighed the “trudgery” of today’s hike -- and it was beautiful -- but I think I’m becoming accustomed to the beauty and now expect more, bigger, better. The Lake District set a very high standard.
In the picture on the right, Jonathan is talking to a young farmer whose land we tramped through. He was shoveling bits and pieces of mud, dirt, or something from one place to another. He told Jonathan that a big machine had been through the pasture last summer and had left big ruts. In order to grow hay this summer, the farmer had to fill in the ruts so the grass could grow on level ground. If the ground is level, he doesn’t harvest a lot of dirt too.
Of course, we saw moors. This time the moors came with horses. Part of the path also belonged to horses walking in an endurance race. Like a relay race for cars, the horse and rider must finish the course during a certain period of time.
It is in the moors that our little group was humbled.
Jonathan decided to take a different route than the rest of us. With a variety of public footpaths and right-of-ways, the choices presented to the walker are often numerous.
We agreed to meet at something called “Bent Farm Camping Barn,” not too far from where we parted. When we reached the camping barn, it was deserted. Jonathan had taken the shorter route (supposedly), so that was surprising. We hung around awhile, but no Jonathan. I left a note on the barn door tucked under a door knocker. (Remind me to carry scotch tape the next time.)
In any event, the rest of us walked on. The wind picked up. West to east is best because the wind is at your back? Nonsense. It was in our face, making us look down instead of up. We also came to an area of steep descent and had to look down. All that down looking made us miss our next course change. This was significant because when you’re traveling through pastures, you have to be able to find the stile or gate that will keep you on the path. Otherwise, you’re trespassing!
We wound up on another public path heading in the opposite direction to where we wanted to be.
Frank asked directions of someone in a car, so he took off by road to Kirkby Stephen, further reducing our little group. Mary, Tom and I found a piece of a trail that took us through more pastures, with interesting and sometimes narrow fence gaps. We broke through to Kirkby Stephens via the oddly named “Bloody Bones Lane.” We laughed at what must have been behind that name until we came upon the bloody bones of a small animal. Someone was trying to make sure that the lane lived up to its name. Other than that creepy reference, the lane itself was leafy and it was like walking down an English lane in a period movie.
Bloody Bones Lane
17th c. church in Kirkby Stephens
We finally found Jonathan at Kirkby Stephen. It turned out he had gotten lost too. Our error-free days of walking had come crashing to an end. Hubris, Tom said, had received payback.
Now here’s the funny story to cap a woeful day. Did Jonathan see the note I left for him, or was he far in advance of us? First off, Jonathan happened upon the ending point of the horse race. It was fascinating to him and he stopped to talk to people. He thought that since the horse race ran along the bridlepath/public footpath, we would come walking by where the horses were. Unfortunately, the end of the race took place just south over the rise from where the footpath turned east. By the time Jonathan realized this, we had already passed by. He hurried to Bent Farm Camping Barn, but we were not there. And there was no note on the door. He ran into a couple of other walkers. They asked him if he was Jonathan. He was surprised that they knew his name. It turned out they, too, had been to the camping barn, saw the note, which had blown away, and conveyed the message to Jonathan.
Jonathan ran (!) to catch up to us, but by this time, we had started down the wrong path. He continued on but then got lost and found himself having to vault over a fence onto a soccer field at one point.
All’s well at the end this time. We have interesting, albeit sad, stories to tell. We were lost lambs today. But now we’re found.
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