Day 15: Victory.

Our final day of the Coast to Coast hike (whoever called it a "walk" should be shot) boasted a review of all the different terrains we had previously crossed.

There were the tiny, windy, stone streets as we headed out of Grosmont.

Followed by a steep, knee-searing climb that returned us to fields and sheep. (After two miles in the wrong direction. See, we even revisited the "getting lost" parts of the trip.)

There was the afternoon glow of Katie's tea break.

Followed by a very muddy trek through the woods.

Again with the Moors. Complete with bogs that almost sucked up Mom's walking sticks. And shoes. And knees. The bogs in this area also had a lovely metallic sheen. Our shoes took on so much water in this stretch that they shot water a foot out of their "breathable sides" every time we took a step for the next three miles. Beks got really good at nailing Katie in the knees.

HOWEVER, after eighteen miles [that day (208 miles in total)], we made it to the North Sea!

Which, for the record, is ridiculously gorgeous.

And was also rather shrouded in mist. This, however, is our first view of Robin Hood's Bay.

She made us hike an extra half mile, in the rain, to put her toes in the "sandy" part of the North Sea. The easily accessible boat ramp to the water did not count.

VIC-TOR-Y!

They were all shiny and new when we dipped them in the Irish Sea fifteen days ago. They are now in a rubbish bin somewhere as they had been baptized in so many different bogs that they had become an incubator for the sorts of mysterious things that cause appendages to spontaneously fall off.

What a journey.

Finis.

Behold, the North Sea. We reached it yesterday after 209 miles of mountains, crags, waterfalls, lakes, hills, bogs, fields, sheep, stiles, more bogs, cows, heath, moors, ditches, still with the bogs, and rain. Lots of rain.

More when we've recovered.

Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Day 14: By All of Us

Beks here. We wandered through mist-covered Moors this morning. By noon, the sun had burnt the mist away, and we were able to see out across the blooming heath to rolling green pastures. We stopped for lunch along a stone path and chatted while we ate packed ham sandwiches, crisps, and Cadbury chocolate bars. Then we marched through two towns, across a few bridges, past more sheep, and into a forest where Kat and I alternately looked for Robin Hood's hideout and secretly wished his gang would ambush us. Another town, a manor house, and one very steep road, and we arrived at Lisvane B&B in Grosmont. One day left til we reach the North Sea.

Katie here. What Beks said--yeah, so NOT how today went. No. Today began with thunderous applause, an obnoxious drum roll, and me tap dancing with Michael Flatley. Then Sarah sat on my head.
Duh, yes. I had been dreaming. 
The day went downhill from there.
Literally.
I don't particularly recall any lush "rolling green pastures" or lovely breaks for "ham sandwiches, crisps and Cadbury chocolate bars." No. This morning included a ghostly fog, gentle rainfall, soggy shoes, murky bogs, trickling streams, and damp clothes. As expected, here follows my stream of consciousness (points to whomever can spot the common denominator): I'm wet. It's misting. My socks are soggy. Mom has stuffed three water bottles in my backpack. Squelchy sheep. Raindrops on roses (and whiskers on kittens). Hoover dam. Noah's Ark. Niagara Falls...
Congratulations, people. The common denominator: water. And we were ten miles out from the nearest village. And the whole earthly realm was utterly FLAT.
And no, I was never properly enrolled in Girl Scouts (thanks, Mom) as a child. Thus, Surviving Nature 101 never made it into my school curriculum. Don't judge.
To be honest, I remember little else about today other than it being vastly uncomfortable. But roughly four (six?) cappuccinos later, it ended beautifully despite my previous complaints.

Rachel here. Today was an incredible day with my girls. Though the weather was cold, rainy, and very misty (I could not see past the cars outside my window), we donned our rain gear, grabbed our lunches, and began the Moffett March--Sarah leads. Katie and Beks follow, and I bring up the rear. Fourteen miles--averaging 3 miles/hour through the Moors. Great trail--the rain abated, and our rain gear came off. The skies began to clear by lunch time. We left at 9am and arrived at our destination by 2 pm. Yeah! I then went to Katie's salon and had my hair and make-up done (want to look good for Dennis on Saturday so Katie is trying some new hairdos and make-up on me--smiles).
Tomorrow is our final walk. I'm already playing "Chariots of Fire" in my head and the theme song from "Remember the Titans" when they score the victory touch down and the little girl screams "Wahoo!" Yes: this is our time. God has blessed, given His enabling grace, and I will forever remember this moment with my girls and be ever grateful to God who gave us strength and protection, and to Dennis, whose heart and money went with me. Thank you all for praying.

Sarah on today.  Veni, vidi, vici.* As set to a playlist featuring Goldfrapp, Bat for Lashes, Muse and J.K. Rowling.**

* "I came, I saw, I conquered" as reportedly said by Julius Caesar after yet another conquest.
** As I type this, the twins are attacking one another in their room.  Beks to Katie - "stop attacking me with bobby pins!"  Katie - "And forgive those who trespass against us..." Beks - "I can forgive you a lot better if you stayed on your side of the bed."  Katie (pleading) - "have some compassion," as she throws herself across Beks' side of the bed.  Beks bails out of bed and throws a pillow at Katie.  Katie - "you're sooooo sensitive..."  Mom came in to check on them.  Katie informed her that she was making too much noise.  I'm leaving now. It's safer.  Somewhere. 

Day 13: We Enter the Realm of Heathcliff

...for those of us who weren't already living there.

Today was a mercifully quick nine miles along the blooming Moors. After nibbling on fresh, hot croissants at Wainstones Hotel, we hiked up to Clay Bank Top and stretched our legs through Urra Moor, Blowork Crossing, and Farndale Moore. After the sun burned off the thick fog, the wind made us wrap bandanas around our ears. We looked like bad imitations of Daniel-san from Karate Kid.  Embarrassing, really.

 

On the trail, we met a grandfather walking the Coast to Coast with his 11-year-old granddaughter.  (He walked the C2C twenty-six years ago with his son, the girl's father.  He said, “thought I may as well do it with this one too.”  Our theory is it took him that long to forget how painful it was.)   

It was also the first day of grouse hunting, and we stumbled upon a field of men in hunting hats, jackets, and ties, unloading on some unsuspecting birds. We hung out with Stella (pictured below), a personable hunting dog, until the hunters gave us the all clear.  Nothing like a few shotgun pellets to put spring in your tired step.  

 A Harry Potter audio book and several windy miles later, we arrived at Blakey’s Ridge, where the 16^th century Lion Inn awaited.  One of Yorkshire’s oldest inns and the fourth highest in England (1,325 feet), the inn is the highest point in the North Yorkshire Moors National Park overlooking the valleys of Rosedale and Farndale.  It is a stone walled outpost against the winds.  Thick beams line the low ceilings, and the downstairs pub is filled with worn red chairs, dark paneled walls, and wind chapped customers.  (Are you getting the wind theme here?)  A pint is in my near future.  A lovely end to a brisk walk on the moors.  

Day 12: Rollercoaster, [with no] Love

There were ups.  As in up hills.  There were downs.  As in ricocheting off strategically hand-placed rocks.  I hear there were views, even, and benches, but all nine were taken by single-day-walking Brits, who enjoyed sitting on said benches, eating their non-soggy sandwiches, and watching us stagger up, stagger down, and repeat over five. different. "hills."  There is nothing in the States to prepare one for these ascents and descents... except, perhaps, walking up the Empire State building with crampons.

But, we entered the Yorkshire Moors National Park:

Day 11: Death March. Take Two.

25 miles.  As in how far we walked that day.  It was awesome.

Leaving from Richmond Castle, we promptly got lost.  After tacking on three unnecessary miles, we got back on the right path and followed the River Swale past places called Easby Abbey,  Coldburn Hall, Danby Wisk, and Longlands Farm.  We walked over Catterick Bridge, past swan ponds and through miles of wheat and barley fields.  There was climbing through hedges, waving at sheep, and sliding along muddy trails through the woods.  Highlights included our packed lunches, tea at the White Swan, and Beks and Katie being charged by a large, unhappy cow.   Fortunately, they screamed like (the) little girls (that they are).  

Scene:  We’re at mile 16.  We are tired.  We are in cow field number 27.  We have just climbed over yet another stile.  We are single file.  Rachel and Sarah pass without incident.  Then the beady eyed cow spots the twins.  Waiting until they pass, she comes up behind them kicking her feet and bucking her head.  Thus, the screaming.  Rachel turns, “it’s going to be okay!” and begins to move between the twins and the cow.  Katie replies “it is not okay!” and puts her dance muscles to good use to get out of the field.  Beks follows.  Sarah walks on, undisturbed.   End scene.

This scene was followed by 9 more miles of picturesque fields.  Cows.  Sheep.  And more fields.  We arrived at Ingleby Cross, where Sarah trudged off to find everyone food and Rachel, Beks and Katie were submitted to B&B Orientation for an hour with the inestimable Josephine.  Tea, food and showers later, we dissolved into our beds. 

(Not exactly the same cow, but this was the face she gave us.)

Day 9-10: A Recap. In Miniature

Day 9.  We walked.  Again.  See below.

Day 10.  Rest day.  Cue the Hallelujah Chorus.  We stayed at 66 Frenchgate--our favorite inn to date.  The entire upstairs was ours.  There was the large sitting area, blessed fans, fabulous views, and cartwheel-sized bathrooms.  Bonus: we did not have to move our bags for a day.  

Oohh.  Aahh.  

In celebration, Katie moved in.  Specifically, she unpacked and put her clothes in the wardrobe, bathroom items on the shelves and Beks’ books in the nightstand.  She also did her hair and make-up.  Then Beks’ hair and make-up.  

This was followed by Sarah’s other favorite pastime: the pillaging of local bookstores.  And we struck gold in the form of an entire shelf of hardback, first edition Terry Pratchett books.  There was also the sighting of The Elusive Pimpernel, but it was spirited away by Katie as in she sat down in the middle of the store, started reading it, and refused to hand it back.  Ever.  A thwarted attempt to mail the books home later, Sarah chucked her rain gear, medicine box and other extraneous items and is now hauling 19 books (3 Thorton Wilder’s, 4 Lindsey Davis’, 11 Pratchett’s,  and an Iris Murdoch) in her luggage.  Pack Horse, the Sherpa service, no longer likes the Swiss Army silver duffel named “Moffett.”

The evening was capped off by the Great Pizza Pronto Hunt of 2012.  See Katie walk all over Richmond for pizza.  See Katie give up.  See Katie return with Chinese take-out.  A Hercule Poirot later, we collapsed.  According to Beks, largely in dread of the day that would follow.

Day 8: We Move Along

Kat and I on our thirteen mile jaunt from Keld to Reeth. (Either my backpack is making me shorter or she is standing on a rock. I swear.)

When I mention climbing over stiles on long walks, these are what I'm referring too. Sometimes the bottom step is missing, and we sort of just stare a long while at the high step before trying to coax our leg to such a great height.

Tea break. Katie's favorite part of this entire trip. Just look at that face.

Looking back into the village we stopped in for tea. Katie wishing we were still having tea....

A lovely British gentleman snapped this shot of the three of us on top of a hill.

Then Sarah found a swing. The end.

Day 7: The References are Endless

We passed this sign on our thirteen mile hike from Kirkby Stephens to Keld. I believe it was in reference to the pace at which we were moving. Or, quite possibly, in reference to the pace at which I would be moving when my leg got sucked up to my shin in the bog.

Oh yes. It was exciting.

For you picture-lovers:

 

Those be the hills from whence we came.

Our Glamour girl. The only one of us who color coordinates her bandana and scarves with her hiking outfit each day.

Now, lest you think we perpetually walk in silence, today we shall regale you with the wildly varied musical numbers performed while traipsing through British fields.

Mom: "I just want to go the distance."
Katie and Bekah in unison: "She's go-ing the dis-tance. She's go-ing for speed." ("Going the Distance" by Cake.)

Katie: "There's bathrooms down there--rumor has it."
Bekah: "Ooooohhh." ("Rumor Has It" by Adele.)

Mom: "I'm just going to take things step by step."
Bekah: "Brick by brick."
Katie: "Oh yah!"
Bekah: "Stone by stone. Yaaah."
Katie: "Bit by bit." ("Step by Step" by Whitney Houston.)

Sarah: "You're doing great, Mom."
Mom: "I just want to keep up with the big girls."
Katie: "You're play-ing with the big boys now." (Soundtrack to the Prince of Egypt.)

Katie spontaneously breaks out while hiking uphill: "Climmmmb everryyy mounntaainn!" (Soundtrack to the Sound of Music.)
Bekah interupts: "They were a bit ambitious, weren't they? I mean, every mountain?"

Sarah: "We go low after this."
Katie: "Low, low, low--she wore her apple-bottom-jeans and boots-with-the-furrrrr." ("Low" by Flo Rida.)

Mom, while looking up a steep hill: "How are we going to do this?"
Katie and Bekah as they go skipping ahead: "This-is-how-we-do-it." ("This is how we do it" by Montell Jordan.)

Sarah: "It's only a thirteen mile hike today."
Katie and Bekah in unison: "I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more." ("500 Miles" by the Proclaimers.)
Bekah: Pause. "We wouldn't really, though, would we?"

Sarah: "I like that shirt on you."
Katie: "Team-building-exercise-ninetyyyy-niinnnneee."
Bekah: "And it never looked better on you." (Flight of the Conchords.)

Yes. We really do talk like that. All the time.

Day 6: On the Map, Off the Map

Beks here. Today was a little off the books. Okay, it was so far off the books that Katie, Mom, and I didn’t walk on the trail today. Instead, we took a bus to Penrith, where three lovely nurses inspected our mother’s infected toe, prescribed her some antibiotics, and wrapped her blisters. From Penrith, it was one humdinger* of a taxi ride to Kirkby Stephens (where the second “k” is silent). The owner of our lovely B&B, the Jolly Farmers, allowed us early admittance. When I walked into our rooms and saw chocolates by each bed, I experienced a euphoria much like Katie does at every tea time. After safely tucking our mother away into bed, we went out in search of lunch.

Of course, it was raining. But this rain was different than our previous days on the trail. This was a downpour. A torrential rain. When Katie and I ducked into the first restaurant we saw, maybe a third a mile into town, we were so wet our hair dripped on the tables. Cascaded, really. Katie ate her first fish & chips while I went all-out-American with a cheeseburger. It was awesome. 

Another dash back in the same downpour, and we were back to dripping on someone else’s floor. Our mother took one look at our bedraggled appearance as we delivered her food and said, “Oh, I hope Sarah isn’t getting wet!”

Clearly, no sympathy for the food delivery service.

As our luggage hadn’t arrived yet, we were stuck in wet clothes. Then Katie opened the magical wardrobe in our magical room, and we espied two, fluffy white robes. For the next two hours, we lounged in robes, ate Cadbury chocolates, and watched Lauren Bacall and Marilyn Monroe in How to Marry a Millionaire. It was a well-earned vacation of an afternoon after 71 exhausting miles through the Lake District.

While we kicked back with our chocolates like sane people, She-Woman-He-Man (Sarah) was out walking the 21 mile stretch from Shap to Kirkby Stephens.  In the downpour.  When she finally arrived a little before 5pm, nothing about her was dry. It took her an hour before she could speak to anyone.

Our evening was marked by two delightful experiences: first and foremost, the discovery of a launderette tucked away behind an old church that had been converted into a youth hostel. We eagerly traded pounds and pence for fresh, clean clothes while devouring our second delight of the evening: Chinese take-out, which boasted the absolute best Sweet & Sour Chicken I have ever had. Double score.

The day ended with the Men's Olympic Springboard Competition. As we couldn't figure out the scoring system, Katie took to ranking the men by appearance. Extra points for dark hair, general facial scruffiness, and well-defined pectorals and abs. Hilarity ensued. Great night.

*Humdinger, in this instance, means 65 quid.

Day 4: The Day of Dry Feet

(And the only one to date.)

Told in pictures. With an inexplicable space between photos.

Day 5: The Day American Swear Words Echoed Off British Mountains

Today. Dear me, today. Well, it started with a grueling hand-over-foot ascent to one of the most spectacular views yet. 

It was, however, the wrong ascent with the wrong view. Oh yes, we hiked two miles, mostly up, in the WRONG direction. So much for our early morning we-can-do-this attitude. It died a horrible death on the two mile trek down and BACK to the correct path. 

This would be the point where most of us (of course, not Sarah, hereafter referred to as She-Woman-He-Man) decided the day was over. But, because our last name is Moffett, we pressed on. 

Today’s trek from Patterdale to Shap is heralded as the hardest day of the Coast-to-Coast hike. Sixteen and a half miles that climbs steadily to the highest point of the whole trek, falls off the other side, and then continues marching another nine miles around a lake and through water-logged fields. 

If that description was only accurate. Most of us refused to speak after our four mile hiatus, and Katie ran out of swear words before we reached the top. Which, for the record, was shrouded in mist, so there were no views. 

The descent. Oh yes, the descent. Also known as the slippery rock slide of death. At one point, Rachel was chucking her walking sticks ahead of her so her hands were free to help slide down the stones. I watched She-Woman-He-Man slide down a slick grassy patch, and Katie and I looked like we were drunk, staggering from one stone to the next. It was miraculous we all survived. 

Of course, once we hit the bottom, there were still nine miles to go. It was three o’clock in the afternoon at this point. It was raining and cloudy, and we were all beginning to wonder if we’d even make it to Shap before dark.

Enter the Mad March of the Lake, where we moved at such a rapid pace we made up over an hour’s worth of lost time, passed three other Coast-to-Coast hikers we’d barely been able to see ahead of us the whole while, and transformed into warriors as mascara bled beneath the eyes. 

Once clearing the lake (of which we have no pictures due to aforementioned Mad March and rain), we then were blessed with four miles of boggy, sodden, manured fields. Not that any part of us still remained dry at this point. 

Oh, and funny thing about this path, after making you hike for ten miles up and down a mountain, five miles around a lake, they still expect you to climb on wooden ladders over fences into pastures. After fifteen miles, pray, tell me, how easy is it to lift your leg a foot off the ground and swing it over a fence? Even Katie, our dancer, simply flung one leg over and then let the rest of her body follow by the end. 

But we made it. As luck would have it, our hotel was on the opposite end of town. So we got to walk through the whole thing before reaching the King’s Arms. What a sight we were: limping, crying (Katie interjects: actually, we couldn’t cry; we were too dehydrated), laughing, praying, and falling over. 

Good times.

Oh, and as promised, pictures of our dear Stella, who jumped through our window yet again that evening before bed.