Back on the trail and it feels so good! Started my fifth section of the trip today by setting off on the 268 mile Pennine Way. Inspired by long distance trails like the Appalachian Trail, it’s the first UK national trail, established in 1965, and goes right up the center of England like a spine. It uses old pack routes over the ridges, Roman roads, Bronze and Iron Age trade routes, farming and hunting ways, and much of it is purpose built paths by ramblers over the last 100 years. It starts in the Peak National Park, goes through the Yorkshire and North Yorkshire moors, and into Northumberland, even touching into Scotland as it aligns with Hadrian’s Wall. I walked 14.7 miles today, with 1957ft of ascent, plus the equivalent feet down off the moorland. It was supposed to be an almost 18 mile day, but we saw a shorter way down to Glossop on an old packhorse route. My blister spots, treated gingerly with great care (added a little sheep’s wool for extra protection), were fine, but I really felt the last couple of miles on a rocky path in just about every joint of my feet, legs and back.
We started off early from the youth hostel in Edale; which is really more than a mile from the official starting point, so we had additional mileage and hills from the get-go. It was pretty: cottages and black sheep and barns. We were excited to see the Pennine Way sign in the village, and I loved to see the acorn symbol of the English & Welsh National Trail network. I followed the acorn on the South West Coast Path and on the Offa’s Dyke Path, and here it is again guiding me.
The weeks I was preparing and packing for this trip, trying to keep all my items few and lightweight, just the bare necessities, I was also spending time meditating and praying to get my head and heart prepared for the long journey away from home. I sat at my personalized alters in my home: I have a bigger one and also a little portable one on a tray I can move around. There are the normal things one finds on an alter for inspiration: candles, photographs, beads, and small symbolic reminders. I wanted to bring something from my alter with me, and after much deliberation I chose a small pewter acorn that I had gotten from a favorite retreat center in San Rafael, California. I figured it wouldn’t add too much weight. The oak is my favorite tree; it is huge, diverse in type, offers generous shade, prolific on the hills I grew up surrounded by, gnarled, grows old, fun shaped leaves, and I think it whispers great wisdom and comfort. I had known that the National Trail symbol was the acorn, but I had forgotten. When I see it on the waymarkers now my heart booms, as my little acorn sits in my right pocket, there ready to be held, rubbed, turned over and over, a small but important totem to all that connects me to here and there, before and now and then, to sweetness and just-rightness. I am exactly where I need to be, and my alter is coming along for the journey.
Not too long on the Pennine journey today and we came to the climb up Jacob’s Ladder, a notorious tough ascent to Kinder Scout. It was a steep way up, but I was happy to discover it took me 639 steps which was a breeze compared to the average of 800 steps of those seaside cliffs of Cornwall and Devon. We slowly climbed a little more on the stone pathway to reach the Edale rocks and the trig point marker of Kinder Low. It was thick mist, threatening rain all day, and the low lying plants and a few sheep were most of the vista for the day. There were some fabulous rock formations up top, and a peak of sunny sky way off in the low lands near Manchester when the mist lifted a couple of times. The boggy soil is no joke, made worse by pollution for 150 years of the Industrial Revolution and its factories in Manchester and Sheffield spewing toxic smoke into the air on either side of the ridge. Much work has been done in recent years to abate the toxicity and replant the moorland, so the heather is returning. It is still very wet, the peat the path cuts through is 80% water. When the trail was first opened walkers had to suffer through the deep muck; now large stepping stones have been placed to walk upon. So much easier now it’s almost not the same trail. The bog is sucking many of them down though, so you’re still walking through water much of the time. We walked across the ridge to Kinder Low Waterfall, ate lunch of pork pies, rested, and carried on to scramble over rocks, then down off the ridge and a long way across flat moor to the Snake Pass road. Not long after the road we came to our shortcut turn off, and went down, down, down into a really stunning narrow valley.
We heard cuckoo birds, saw a sweet momma grouse and her chicks, saw bunnies, and one lone older man walking uphill wearing shorts (Bill and I both amazed at the hardiness of English hikers), and we followed along side what started as trickling water till it grew into a lovely meandering large creek. The sun came out, I felt hot in all my rain gear, and wanted to take off my raincoat but couldn’t be bothered to take off my backpack, so I sweated as we picked our way down the steep, rocky slope. Then I felt the raindrops, still sunny but water beginning to fall; I turned a corner and saw sheets of rain. I have used that term before and thought I knew what it meant, but nope, not till today. There were actually vertical distinct bands of heavy rain, just like sheets of paper, lining up and moving across the hillside. It looked crazy! And then we walked further and the sheets hit us - hard. Pelting, relentless, falling straight down upon us and we were surrounded by the sheets, wave after wave. It was rather wonderful, and my rain clothes kept me dry. And then it passed.
We came to flat ground, but with the fist-sized rocks that look okay but are really painful to walk upon. Two miles and we came into the town and found our pub, The Queen’s Arms, our home for the night. The woman at the bar kindly gave us ice for our feet, ankles, knees. Shower, dinner, a shandy for me and a pint of ale for Bill, a good sleep, and we’ll be ready to set off on another 14 miles tomorrow.
