The Stars Aligned
There is really no way today could have gone better. The skies were overcast but the temperature was just right. I was anxious to get going and was actually out the door at 6:30 a.m. I missed breakfast and didn't get my packed lunch, but it was time to get on the road.
As I was finishing this last segment of the trip there were a few times when I wasn't sure of direction. Today there happened to be knowledgeable people at each of those intersections. I wasted no time in puzzling things out or going in the wrong direction and reversing course when I recognized the error in GPS or on my map.
Not long after leaving my hotel I was on a muddy track that ran along the river. It slowed progress a little, and I was glad I had gotten a head start on the day.
About an hour in, I was on some country roads and had them all to myself. I made a quick video and walked right past the marker for the trail. It was a lucky coincidence that I checked my GPS immediately afterward.
The trail was initially paved, then dirt, and then grass. It passed an old toll house and several horse farms. About nine miles in, I was getting pretty hungry and needed a rest stop. I paused for a moment to capture a short video of a very serene waterfall, and less than 100 steps later the Falling Foss Tea Garden came into view. They were open and served food, a solid cup of coffee, and had a clean restroom. As I said earlier, today was a day when everything just fell into place.
I spent about 45 minutes on a forested trail along the river after leaving the Tea Garden. Then after a stretch of paved road I entered the town of Grossmont. It struck me that those words in French would mean "horrible hill." It turned out that way. The posted signage showed a 33 percent grade that went on for what seemed forever.
When it finally leveled off, I walked about two miles on a paved road, and then it was back into the bogs again. There is something odd about the peat fields that I don't understand. How does water stay collected at the top of a hill? By the time I crossed the field my shoes were wet and muddy.
In the bogs, you can try to pick your footing by crushing some of the grass and staying above water level. That wasn't the case as I began the descent on the far side of the rise. It was a narrow path, muddy from one side to the other. At that point, my shoes couldn't get any more mud encrusted. I did my best to avoid the worst parts. Traction became an issue as the mud collected on the soles of my shoes and turned them more into slippers than hiking gear.
There were a series of inconsequential hills, and at the crest of each the North Sea was in view. I was getting closer. I passed huge fields of rape weed, otherwise known as canola flower. The air was fragrant and sweet and bees buzzed around doing their pollination thing.
High Hawker was the last village I would pass through before proceeding on to Robin Hood's Bay. It was a small residential community, but the increase in traffic on the roads was noticeable.
I stayed on track and passed one gentleman going the other way. I remarked that I was probably getting pretty close to my destination and he countered that it was still five miles away. It didn't matter at this point. That would be less than two hours under pretty much any conditions, and now I was on paved surface.
I stopped to take some pictures and two women asked me if I was lost. I guess I must have that expression on my face most of the time. They informed me they were national park rangers, named Pauline and Fran, off duty that day. We talked about the Wainwright for several minutes and I told them there were parts that were a little dicey for me. Pauline told a quick story about one of their training exercises. They went out on a simulated night rescue that included the area of the Wainstones. One of her workers actually discovered the remains of a woman who had fallen from the heights and perished. I did not press for details. It did reinforce my impression that there were some risky areas along the route I had covered.
In the course of conversation they told me if I doubled back about 50 yards I could take the old railway line, now called the Cinder Path, and cut almost three miles off my route. The depicted trail descended down along the cliffs in a circuitous fashion that added all the extra mileage. The Cinder Trail was a direct line on the rise above that path. I was okay in taking the easier and shorter route. Having strayed off course numerous times prior, I felt as if I had trekked a sufficient amount of miles to qualify for completion.
There is a completion certificate available for the Wainwright Coast to Coast, and I can order it online now or when I get home. Unlike the Camino, here there is no official office that provides documentation.
Robin Hood's Bay is a picturesque little town in the saddle of the surrounding hills. I walked past my hotel on the way to deposit my pebble in the North Sea. I was anxious to get there but I also needed another restroom break. Once again, things worked out. The Victoria Hotel was off to my left so I stopped in for a pint and hopefully my last fish and chips for a while.
It wasn't much more than a five-minute walk down to the water to wet my feet in the North Sea, and toss away the pebble that I first picked up in St. Bees.
There was a great feeling of happiness in completing the trail. I savored the moment for a bit and then almost immediately started to think about what my next adventure would be.
Largely thanks to the help of others, I managed to complete the most challenging and fulfilling hike of my life. With these lessons learned, I will do better the next time out.
Like on the Camino, the punctuated high points of this journey were largely the people I met along the way. I've tried to chronicle most of them in this blog. I close this chapter of my journey with gratitude for those people, the majesty of the scenery, and the satisfaction in facing challenges and proving to myself that I was up to them.