Wainwright's Coast to Coast Thru-Hike

In this series of posts, I’m going to take you on a journey across three counties in the North of England: the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales, and the North York Moors. Over roughly twelve days — with a couple of half‑days thrown in, for reasons that will become clear — I’ll be walking Wainwright’s Coast to Coast route from St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay. It’s a mix of rugged mountains, rolling dales, wild moorland, and the occasional pint.

Pretty much labelling all the towns I stopped in.

This walk was inspired by a show on the telly and by a question I couldn’t shake: did I still have it in me? Thirty years ago I thru‑hiked across South Wales without thinking twice. Now, after retiring from thirty‑five years in education, I found myself wondering whether I could take on something bigger — something that felt like a challenge, an escape, and maybe a bit of “finding myself” nonsense all rolled into one.

So here I am, setting out alone across England. I mixed camping with the occasional baggage transfer to save my ageing joints, and I carried with me equal parts excitement, doubt, and stubborn determination.

This isn’t a guidebook. It’s a real account of sore feet, unexpected kindness, questionable decisions, moments of awe, moments of exhaustion, and one delightful moment I will genuinely cherish. The route runs west to east, from the Irish Sea to the North Sea — a line across England that feels both ancient and now very personal.

Before I launch into the actual walking, I should point out that undertaking something like this — well, for me anyway — doesn’t happen overnight. I’d been planning this for five months. On the train I met a woman who boldly told me she’d planned hers on Sunday (it was Wednesday). Needless to say, after Day 2, I never saw her again. More on her later.

One of the first things you have to wrestle with on a thru‑hike is logistics. How are you getting to the start? Are you parking your car? And if so, how are you retrieving it 336 km away at the other end? For me, the train was the easiest option.

Day 1: The Arrival at St. Bees, Dent Fell, Raven's Crag, and My First Rookie Mistake.

So there I was at 4:30am, having stayed in a hotel near the station, loaded up with everything I’d need for the next twelve days, ready to catch a 5:17am train with multiple changes to St Bees.

Several other folks on the train looked like they were embarking on the same adventure. What amused me was that we all got off at St Bees without speaking to each other, each of us pretending we knew exactly where to go next. In reality, we were all wandering around in a stubborn, determined silence. I decided to follow the BEACH signs, and — like sheep— the others did too.

My carefully crafted plan had me starting the walk tomorrow. I’d imagined pottering around St Bees for the rest of the day, chilling, camping, easing myself into the journey.

Have you been to St Bees? There’s bugger all there.

The couple from the train headed to the only shop in the village. I headed straight for the Irish sea to collect my stone and dip my toes in, and that’s when I decided I might as well start walking.

There is an official sign indicating the start of the walk and as I approached I could see one of the other passengers from the train walking towards it. She asked if I would like my picture taken and I said yes please, and returned the favour. It was pretty obvious she was doing the same as me, as her pack was almost as big as she was.

It was 12:45pm. The weather was grey, windy, wet, and I was getting cold.

Could I make Ennerdale Bridge before nightfall? It was around 14 miles (22.5 km). My earlier calculations said 6–7 hours. So yes — let’s do this.

With The Proclaimers buzzing around my head (“I would walk 500 miles…” Well, nearly 200), I set off under very threatening skies. Because of coastal slippage, the official path was closed, and I’m not one to ignore strict signage, so I dutifully followed the detour.

My unexpected hiking companion wasn’t far behind, marvelling at how I’d fitted everything into such a small backpack — though it certainly didn’t feel small. It didn’t take long before she was making me feel quite inadequate, laughing at my nice white hiking shoes.

“Are they new? Risky, hiking in new shoes,” she said, and then informed me I had the wrong ends on my hiking poles and they’d fall off in the grassy sections.

Firstly: no, my shoes weren’t new. I’d done a 100 km practice hike in them, and they were great. I’d simply put them in the washing machine. Secondly: F*** off.

It wasn’t long before she told me to go ahead because I was walking too fast, and she soon dropped back. I was relieved, actually, and enjoyed the solitude.

The signposting was excellent — obviously very new — and I didn’t need to refer to my AllTrails app or OS maps at all.

Being a day ahead, I’d imagined wild‑camping at Cleator or Nannycatch, but the skies eased and the sun poked out, so I strode on, still quite annoyed with my earlier encounter with Miss Know‑It‑All.

I missed the store in Cleator — silly mistake — but thankfully I hadn’t eaten everything I’d bought for the train journey. I needed fuel for the dreaded first climb of the trip: Dent Fell. A mere 353 m, which felt a lot more with 24 lbs on my back in now glorious sunshine.

Blackhow Forest, which you walk through on the approach, had been completely cut down. I realised my trusty Steadman guidebook might be a little out of date.

I’m not sure which was worse: climbing Dent Fell or descending Raven’s Crag.

Dent Fell - the picture doesn't do the steepness justice.

At the bottom of Raven’s Crag, I made my first rookie mistake: I followed a dog. There were no obvious signs, and he absolutely looked like he knew where he was going. Completely in my own world, I followed him. His way was not the way.

For future reference: when you come out of the little woodland copse at the bottom of Raven’s Crag, bear left. Do not follow any dogs going right.

I was thrilled to see the “Ennerdale Bridge 2¼ miles” sign — which, in my defence, was slightly obscured by bushes. It had gone 5 o’clock and I was hungry.

Off to Ennerdale Bridge - on the correct path

Despite the pub being super busy, there was one camping spot left. You can’t book ahead here, and the advice is to come early to secure a place in the tiny beer garden. Tiny it is. My tent lines were almost touching the other tents — four in total.

The gammon, egg, pineapple, chips, and lager‑and‑lime were very welcome, and I enjoyed the atmosphere in the Fox and Hounds. I hadn’t seen anyone since ditching Missie at Sandwith, and the tunes were ace.

I’d completed my first day — or half‑day — or premature day. I was feeling quite smug, (if I overlooked the dog incident.)

The only downside to the pub is that once it shuts at 9 pm, there are no toilets. Best not have another pint.

Later in the trip, I learned from fellow hikers that Missie turned up about four hours later, just before closing time, totally soaked — despite carrying an umbrella in her backpack.

And to think I was intimidated by her.

Happy day. Night…

For those who like stats — and let’s face it, if it isn’t on Strava, it didn’t happen.

Day 1 totals were:  

Distance: 14.4 miles / 23.3 km

Elevation: 2,362 ft / 720 m

Time: 5 hours 10 minutes