Day seven of our coast to coast hike from St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay was to include a prominent feature on the landscape that I’d been wanting to hike for years. Nine Standards Rigg has been on my bucket list for a very long time, and this was my opportunity.
Thankfully, unlike on the day we were hoping to hike Helvellyn (read about day four of our coast to coast hike), the weather was kind enough to allow us to do it.
Of course, hiking Nine Standards Rigg in the Yorkshire Dales National Park also meant we would be tackling one of the most notoriously boggy sections of Wainwright’s coast to coast route across the country. Having the grace of an elephant means that my ability to lightly bounce my way across boggy ground is practically zero (Jenni, I still don’t know how you do it!), and wow was I reminded of my heavy-footed nature on this day.
Ups and Downs
Our Kirkby Stephen to Muker leg was 16-miles, or there abouts, and had a lot going for it in terms of highlights on the map. Nine Standards Rigg, of course, which meant crossing the Pennines and the country’s watershed – rivers would switch from flowing west, to flowing east. This is a cool fact, right?! Then there was Whitsundale, the famous Ravenseat Farm, Wain Wath Force waterfalls, and Keld with its self-service honesty café.
When we planned the hike, we couldn’t get a campsite or reasonably priced alternative in Keld, they were already closed for the season (which seemed very early to us, this was only mid-October), so continued on from there to capm at Usha Gap in the valley. This meant we would end the day in Swaledale – something to look forward to.
After a couple of good days, mentally speaking, day seven was another very tiring and emotional day for me. Tears were shed, and frustrations were felt. No shouting at sheep as back on day two, but my inner peace had a hard time. That section along Whitsundale Beck was draining in every sense. This was probably something to do with running on empty after a bad night in Kirkby Stephen… I’ll start the story there.
UK COAST TO COAST HIKE ADVENTURE JOURNAL
Day 7 | Saturday 16 October | Kirkby Stephen to Muker
While our room in The Kings Arms Hotel was nice enough, our stay wasn’t one we want to repeat. A bad last-minute choice on our part, after our previous option was cancelled. Already disappointed by unkept promises – there was no drying room and no food served – by 11pm we knew this place wasn’t anything like the walker-friendly inn we thought it would be.
We were comfortable in our twin beds, no problems there. Our room had a couple of single beds, enough space to spread out our stuff, a small but perfectly good ensuite shower room, and the obligatory tea and coffee making facilities.
As a couple of very tired long-distance hikers, and we weren’t the only ones staying there that night, we were tucked up in bed by around 10.30pm, hoping to drift off despite the music playing in the bar downstairs. Except as the time went on, the music only got louder. And louder. Picture-vibrating loud. Eventually joined by raucous drunken shouty singing. Our favourite.
Party Pooper
Look, I know pubs have parties, especially on Friday nights. But when sleep is made impossible thanks to a bunch of drunks screaming along to Sweet Caroline and other such hits until the small hours, it’s hard to feel positive about a stay. It just kept getting louder and louder. At the end of each song, it would go quiet for a minute, before it all kicked off again.
I can’t tell you what time it stopped. We did eventually get some shuteye, both of us managing to sleep through our alarms, which is not like us. We just about woke up in time for our 8am breakfast. After walking over 21-miles on Friday and with 16 to walk on Saturday, we really could have done with much more. Oh, how we love camping, on small and quiet hiker-focused sites, without sound systems!
Based on our one-night experience I would say this B&B isn’t walker friendly at all, and wouldn’t recommend it to others looking for a restful night whilst hiking the coast to coast. But you live and learn.
A Fulfilling Five Miles
Having not managed to get ourselves sorted before breakfast thanks to sleeping through our alarms, we eventually managed to leave Kirkby Stephen at around 9.30am. It was another reasonably big day on paper – 16 or so miles, 900 metres of elevation (yes, mixing my measurement types, what of it?!), and at least six hours of hiking.
A couple also staying at the same inn who were also hiking the UK coast to coast, started a little before us. They were travelling very light, staying in B&Bs each night, and we spent a few minutes exchanging stories before we got on our way. We’d meet them here and there over the next few days, and it was nice to finally seem some other coast to coasters along the way.
Of course, in line with apparent tradition, we were going up a big hill in no time at all. There were a few cool coast to coast signs to help us through Kirkby Stephen and on to Hartley, where a the slog started. It actually wasn’t that bad getting up and around the quarry, at least the ground was solid, and the route was very easy to navigate.
The solid manmade path ended halfway up Birkett Hill, where we had a glimpse of the famous boggy terrain that would be my nemesis over the next few miles. A bit of boardwalk, a few flagstones, and a lot of waterlogged moss-topped mud later, we arrived at a signpost that indicated the all-important red, blue and green routes of Nine Standards Rigg. We’d already walked five miles to here, and if I’m honest, I felt great. Chilly and damp, certainly, a bit achy and tired, oh yes, but it had been a lovely couple of hours walking. So far.
Coloured Routes
In an attempt to help combat the severe erosion of this peat bog, the route you take from this signpost is meant to be dictated on the time of year. Given we were hiking in October, we dutifully took the blue route up Hartley Fell towards the famous piles of stones that I so wanted to see. The Trailblazer guidebook we were using said that the blue route was the full experience – complete immersion in the Pennines. Which was great timing, as this was exactly what we were here for.
The ground is so eroded there isn’t just one path, but many conflicting ideas of what a path might look like. A sprawling mess of squidgy weather and foot-beaten lines in the ground, like some child’s painting when they mix all the colours together and push the paint around with their whole hand.
Our guidebook suggested that navigation would be very difficult, but the weather was decent enough – clear at least – and we found that part of the day to be okay. At least to begin with.
From the split with the green route (which stays reasonably low down, and is a good bad weather option), the path follows a stream, past a bunch of cairns, and goes over a bridge. After that bridge the going got much tougher, thanks to the path being completely washed away in places. With some careful stepping and planning ahead a few metres at a time, it wasn’t too long before we reached Nine Standards Rigg.
Nine Standards Rigg
A beautiful, strange, series of oddly shaped cairns in a long line, Nine Standards Rigg has been standing on top of this fell for at least 800 years. The cairns there now are not the originals, they’ve been rebuilt a number of times, most recently in 2005. There’s record of the name – Nine Standards – for at least a couple of hundred years, but there may have been 13 cairns at one point.
It was very cold and windy on top, but we took our time enjoying the beautiful if not slightly eerie sight. And to get a few photos, of course. The top of the fell is stamped with a trig pillar, naturally, which marked our highest point of the day at 662m above sea level. As with many other trigs in the country, the view is actually better from and of the main feature itself – but our route took us past the trig, and it’s practically the law to touch them when you see them, so we enjoyed that too.
Apparently, on a clear day, there are long views to the Eden Valley and Lakes to the west, the Cross Fell range of the North Pennines to the north – and even as far as Teeside in the east. As far as bucket list hikes go, I was very happy. The view was not the clearest, but it was stunning, and I’m very glad indeed the weather was kind enough for me to tick this one off my list.
Could Have Been Worse…
Before leaving the summit, we took the opportunity to put on our gaiters – insurance over what we knew was to come on the way down. Everyone who hikes in this area talks about the bog fest that awaits people here. The peat-covered plateau is notoriously wet and sludgy, and with the years of erosion, is not easy to leave without a mud-filled fight.
The blue route, which goes east from just beyond the summit down the hill to Whitsundale Beck, began very well indeed. Rangers and landowners continue to battle the peat loss by placing flagstone paths for walkers like us to follow. This makes things faster and easier for hikers, and much (much) kinder on the long-suffering environment. I know some people are anti man-made paths, something about marring the landscape… But I was very happy that we had it easy, for a short stretch at least.
Of course, the flags only took us so far, and soon we were picking out our route through eroded peat bog, up and down deep dips and trenches, across very soggy bits, and through what can only be described a gully or two. Our gaiters and walking poles, not to mention our solid and waterproof hiking boots, were an absolute must. It could definitely have been worse, but it was still very hard going for this ungraceful and heavy-footed hiker.
Navigation down the hill was courtesy of a series of not-easy-to-spot posts with old and faded blue paint, which marked out the official path. We were both very grateful visibility was good as that made things much simpler than they good have been. I’ve been known to walk on a compass bearing and could have set one if needed, but I don’t think anyone would say they want to hike that way.
Whitsundale Beck
When planning the route and subsequently making my mental preparations, I’d convinced myself that the bit up to and down from Nine Standards Rigg would be the hardest part of the day. In my head, the notorious bog might even make that hill as tough as some of the taller ones in the Lakes we’d already tackled, but that it would be worth it to see it for myself.
I mean, the book gave so little attention to this bit of the path – “Once down at the Beck follow its winding course south…” – I assumed therefore it would be easy. I honestly thought that by the time we got to the river at the bottom of the fell, it would be nice underfoot, and we’d enjoy bounding along at a decent page. But it wasn’t. Nope. The path was narrow, undulating, and very uneven, and the bog continued.
It was a good job it was beautiful, as I was finding it such hard work. Every time I got into my stride I would miss-judge a puddle or go wonky on a tuft of harder stuff. It made the section along Whitsundale Beck much harder than even the worst of the boggy stuff on the top, and it drained my energy so fast I couldn’t keep up.
There was one point where I misjudged a boggy patch so greatly, that I almost lost my poles in the sludge. I know you can see in your mind’s eye how it happened. I took a bigger-than-I-should-have step across what I thought was nothing more than a wide muddy puddle, using my poles to give me the extra momentum I needed to avoid the worst of it. Only to discover that what was underneath the muddy puddle was, in fact, nothing. My poles, both of them, went deep in, almost halfway deep. Bother.
I did well not to fall in, but it took me quite some time to precariously retrieve my poles from said bog. It should have been funny. Jenni and I should have been belly laughing for the next hour on that ridiculous situation. But instead, my response to this very silly incident was to cry. Again. Even thinking about it now, I don’t laugh at myself, the whole thing had me emotionally wrecked (I’m in no doubt this was my iron and B12 issue).
Ravenseat Farm
Shortly after that we found ourselves through a set of gates a little above the river, and onto less treacherous terrain. We stopped for a much-needed snack for ten minutes, I cleaned off my walking poles, calmed down, and got ready for the rest of the days hiking. We’d actually made good progress to here, and knew it was flat or down hill for the last seven-ish miles to our campsite.
Whether it was the fact I’d taken a break and eaten something that made the next section nicer, or that it was actually easier underfoot, I don’t know, but from that break down to Ravenseat Farm was quite pleasant. The weather really was being kind, we had good views, and the scenery was stunning.
Ravenseat Farm is famous for being the home of Amanda Owen, otherwise known as the Yorkshire Shepherdess. A working farm, it has become the subject of Channel 5’s Our Yorkshire Farm – and apparently there is even a film in the works.
The café wasn’t open, it closed for the season the weekend before, but Jenni asked Clive if we could sit and eat our picnic at one of the benches in their farmyard, so we had a decent length break in comfort – an opportunity to put the boggy mess of the last couple of hours behind me.
As we sat and made tea, various people turned up in cars to the small parking area, walked over the little bridge to the farm, took photos, and then left. Two of the Owen children arrived home on their dirt bikes, using the ford to clean off the bikes to help avoid a manual hose down. And a group of walkers arrived who were on a guided day hike in the area, and we had a lovely chat about trees. It was such an interesting place to sit for a while.
Keld to Muker
From Ravenseat, it was three miles and an hour of walking to Keld. I really enjoyed the route along the side of the hill with the valley to our right; the terrain was easy enough and the views were beautiful. It was a bit odd to see shot rabbits hanging on fence posts here and there, I assume they were ready for the hunter to collect on their way back later, part of life in the countryside.
We opted to cross the river at the earlier of the two bridges so we could pay a visit to Wain Wath Force. A very scenic waterfall, it was worth the slightly longer road section – if we were hiking this in summer we might have got on. But even though the weather was being kind to us on this Sunday, it was still very cold indeed.
Keld was a lovely and quiet place. We made use of the (pay for) public toilets, and had a quick stop in the community café, a self-service honesty café with tea and home-made cake. It was full of people taking rest from their day, and it would have been rude not to join them even if only for a few minutes.
We had three miles left to walk to Muker, which began through some absolutely beautiful woodland. We took a detour courtesy of a signpost we spotted to see more waterfalls, but that was not fruitful. The path was steep, rooty, and very slippery, and we didn’t really get to see them. A shame, because we both love a good waterfall.
After our side excursion, we came back to the clear wide track that took us down along the River Swale, through Ivelet Wood, and down into the iconic Swaledale Valley. Then it was an easy wander across hay meadows and past various Cowus (stone barns built for cows and farm workers), through some teeny tiny gates in stone walls, to Muker.
Usha Gap Campsite
Slightly off the official coast to coast route, Muker is a small village on the River Swale. There was a nice looking pub, but we checked on our way through and sadly it was fully booked that night. It would be Firepot food for us that evening, once we had walked the extra 15 minutes or so to Usha Gap, our chosen campsite.
Usha Gap Farm and Campsite was a lovely place to rest. We arrived in the late afternoon with time to take things reasonably easy. We tucked our tents in by a stone wall as away from other campers as we could manage (always our preference, but especially after the poor sleep in Kirkby Stephen), had a lovely hot shower, and made use of the drying room by washing our smalls. Never underestimate the value of clean pants and socks when hiking long distance! Our pitch cost us £8 each, which included use of the large, clean and warm facilities.
We had a picnic table by our pitch, so it was the second meal of the day eaten off the floor, which is something I don’t take for granted when hiking and camping. I quite like Firepot meals, I have to admit, so it’s no hardship to boil up some water for one of those. I also treated myself to a massive bar of aero mint chocolate and can of elderflower fizz from the campsite shop – hiker hunger is real, and if you can’t eat what you want when hiking 200 miles from coast to coast, when can you?!
Reflections on Coast to Coast Day 7
Day seven of our coast to coast hike was a milestone in more ways than one. Not only had we been hiking for a whole week, having just about reached the 100-miles-hiked mark, we were also halfway done. Ravenseat Farm is apparently the halfway point for most hikers doing this trail, and while everyone’s chosen route is slightly different (ranging from anything between 185 and 210 miles), it was more-or-less our midway point as well.
Not only that, but we had also now left Cumbria and were well into Yorkshire, which would be our home county for the rest of the trail. This was psychologically important for Jenni, as Yorkshire is her actual home county – we were walking her home.
Despite my bog-induced difficulties, and my emotional struggles, it was a good day on the trail. A really good day. Ticking off Nine Standards Rigg from my hiking bucket list was, in the main, a pleasure – and the section from Ravenseat Farm, through Keld and down to Muker, was an absolute delight. I’d happily head back here to explore more in future.
I should probably add that the fact the boggy stuff down from the fell and along Whitsundale Beck could have been an awful lot worse is not lost on me. This isn’t my first battle with bog, and I’ve come off much worse in the past – finding myself knee deep in the stuff up on Kinder in the Peak District, requiring assistance to get out (I’ll always be grateful, Nigel). So, while I did find it draining in every sense, I can now shrug it off as a character-building experience.
And with day eight of our coast to coast hike looking like a much easier half-day meander into Reeth, there really was nothing to complain about.
If you’ve not been following along with my coast to coast adventure journal series, you can go back to the beginning in my day zero post
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