The Bogs
Taking some local park trails this morning, I was able to rejoin the Wainwright within about 25 minutes. After using my GPS and checking with a couple of dog walkers, I knew I was on track. Often, starting out is the trickiest part about remaining on the depicted trail. There was no signage until I was already on the route.
The majority of the first hour was spent on service roads that gave access to a nearby quarry. There wasn't a single vehicle in sight up ahead. I did see a couple of hikers leading me by about a half mile. The road went from paved, to stone, to dirt, and then to mud. At about that time, I caught up with the other hikers. Mist and low clouds obscured the top of the hills. I continually checked my GPS to be certain I was headed in the right direction.
People tell cautionary stories about the bogs in England, that they are seemingly endless muddy fields filled with slimy black goo. These stories do not exaggerate. It was slow going as I had to check each step to be certain my foot wouldn't sink below the surface. Tufts of grass were appealing, but they could be deceptive. I used my trekking poles to probe the ground ahead, often watching them go deep under the surface.
There is no other way to get up to the highlight at the top of the hill, the Nine Standards. The purpose or origin of these nine stone masses is not really known. There is one theory that they were put there to look like a fortification or like giants, to intimidate anyone that might want to attack. Watching them emerge through the mist felt intimidating and mysterious.
The site of the Nine Standards is the equivalent of the Continental Divide in the United States. It determines whether water will flow to the Irish Sea or the North Sea.
It was an odd sensation walking across the bogs. The sucking sound against my boots became more familiar with each step. Occasionally there appeared to be an oily sheen in the puddles. Following footsteps from people who had preceded me proved very difficult. More often, they showed where not to go. There was no way to stay on a direct course. It was zigging and zagging all the way down. Occasionally, there would be a carpet of moss and grass tied together that would bounce back under your foot, like stepping across a trampoline. Dawn warned me not to linger in those spots. Those were danger zones where the surface could collapse under your weight.
There are three routes to get down on the other side. Specific routes are seriously recommended based on the time of year. Our plan was to use the May-to-July route, which was supposed to be the driest. The fog moved in and visibility became even more difficult.
Emerging from the mist off to my left, about 50 yards away, were Julie and Dawn. I’ve become familiar with spotting Dawn's blue jacket.
They were obviously searching to stay on a path as well. It was impressive that they were working to navigate using a map and compass. We joined up and continued together. There was a brief reprieve from the bog at a spot called the millstone, where a guided group of about 20 people were taking a break. We probably should have waited longer in place and followed them down the hill. Instead, somehow, we moved to a path that was less desirable. It was incredibly boggy and made for slow going. In total, out of six hours spent on the trail today, half was in the mud. There was one short period on a paved road – a definite improvement over the bogs.
All of this put me behind schedule and I was becoming aware of the time. There was a taxi scheduled to pick me up at 4 p.m. in Keld, so when we came upon some picnic benches in the dry area and the others took a break, I had to press on. There is no way to make up time on these trails. Without any cell phone coverage, it was difficult to know exactly how much distance and time would be required for me to complete the route. Keld is a very small village with limited accommodations and opportunities to dine. Being ferried back and forth was not an uncommon thing. Julie and Dawn actually had rooms at the Keld Lodge.
Fortunately, with whatever hustle I could manage, I arrived at the Keld Lodge five minutes before the scheduled pickup. The taxi did not arrive until 4:30. I suspect that they set the meeting time knowing that passengers might be late. It is not a heavily traveled road and pressing passengers to arrive early avoids the taxi idly waiting for late arrivals.
While I waited, I saw three other cabs pick up groups of people. They were all about 30 minutes late as well. I shared my van with one other rider. I will see that individual again tomorrow morning as they pick us up from our hotels and drop us back off in Keld to start the day's walk.
I’ll see fewer miles tomorrow, and hopefully less mud. Tonight, I’m back in my hotel with the slanty bed. Speaking with other hikers, I’ve found many of these hotels have interesting idiosyncrasies. It's all part of the adventure.