Approaching Glaisdale
Yesterday’s ending point (and today’s starting point) is a spot called Clay Bank Top. On the van ride to the stepping-off point, I met a gentleman from Seattle named Sam. He actually lives in the San Juan Islands, where he and his wife run a one-stop-shop for wedding coordination. They have people all over the country who manage everything from flowers to ceremonies to catering.
Sam explained why the rock formation we tackled the day before was called the Wainstones. It had nothing to do with Wainwright. It used to be a place the young village people would go to engage in amorous activity. Originally it was known as the Swainstones, and over time the S was dropped – “swain” being an archaic term for a young lover.
Sam is a more experienced hiker than I am, so I pressed him for expertise in equipment. We spoke about footwear and backpacks and any number of things. If I'm going to do more hiking I need to upgrade my equipment and check out some of the things he suggested.
We walked uphill for about the first mile and when Sam paused to adjust, I pressed on. For the next several hours I was on my own. The terrain was mostly flat but full of life with birds everywhere. Eurasian curlews flew right beside me, and I could watch their beaks move as they made their characteristic chirps. Two greylag geese circled me before landing.
The trail was well marked and groomed for the most part. About nine miles in I missed the only unmarked turn. I quickly recognized that I was headed in the wrong direction, and when I doubled back I was overtaken by brothers, Mike and Steve, who started out 30 minutes behind me. On the flat surfaces I move along at a pretty good clip. The way these gentlemen stride out makes it look like I'm going backwards. They both grew up on a dairy farm in England. I guess it's an acquired skill to cover a lot of distance over uneven terrain in a rapid fashion.
I caught up with them at the only rest spot on the entire route today. Almost equidistant from the day’s start and ending points is the Lion Inn. I stopped in for a short beer to take out to the bench and relax for a few minutes.
It was inside that I ran into Steph and Camden. They booked with the same tour agency I did, and we’ve seen each other for several days. I visited with these Canadian ladies for a few moments, and Camden told me she was named for the ball field in Baltimore. Her dad was a big Orioles fan.
Leaving the Lion Inn required walking on paved surfaces for a few miles. As the road arced around the red roof of the inn remained in sight for most of the first two miles. At about that point, I came upon a stone marker known as Fat Betty. Mike and Steve had told me the tradition is to leave food for another traveler, and take some if you are hungry. When I arrived there was nothing at the monument. When I left there was a small bag of Sour Patch Kids.
Before getting off the paved surface. I encountered several hogs. A group of Harley Davidson riders, trail riding, came down the winding lane. Before I could see the type of motorcycles they were on, it was easy to figure out they were Harleys by the characteristic engine sound.
The trail went through the moors and ultimately became a gravel road. I could see other hikers ahead of me moving to the grass strips at the edge of the road, because the surface was tough on feet after 16 miles of travel.
Approaching Glaisdale the air was fragrant with manure and onions. It was a steep descent into the village. Today I was very fortunate. My hotel is almost directly on the trail. My room is small, my mattress has a distinctive slant to it, and the shower door was limited as to how far it could open, because of the position of the sink. I managed to slide into the shower sideways. All in all, it's perfect.
Dinner was solid and the people here are all very amiable. It’s the night before the last day's walking, and the staff is going to accommodate me by getting breakfast out early, so I can eat before starting the final leg of the Wainwright. The finish line is about 20 miles away at the North Sea in Robin Hood's Bay. I hope to be on the road before 8 a.m.