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.