Wainwright's Coast to Coast Thru Hike

Day 2: Ennerdale, Ankle Snap, Black Sail and Borrowdale.

Slept… blah. It had rained a lot in the night, but thankfully everything was fairly dry by the time I was ready to pack up. I didn’t realise it at 6 a.m., but today would be a tough one: climbing and clambering around Ennerdale Lake, then something-or-other-Crags, Black Sail Hut, and Honister Mines.

I met a friend almost straight away - a little robin. I think I had stopped for a pee. I carry dog poo bags for this very reason. Not to pee in - a woman isn't quite set up with the fine tuning of that of a man in this regard, but to put used paper and rubbish in, so it can be easily disposed of along the way. Sadly there was evidence along the entire route that this isn't the case by all hikers.

Anyway this robin was a bold little thing and sat on the fence post staring at me, just a foot or so away. You know what they say about robin's don't you? Actually there is a lot of myth and folklore associated with the robin. On this occasion I chose to ignore the more dark beliefs and focused on the one I believe in. Which is, that the robin carries the spirit of one who has departed this life. So, dad has come to check up on me and watch over me during this walk. He was even quite scruffy - just like my dad !

I chose the Angler’s Crag side of Ennerdale — (I turned right at the sign). The route passes Robin Hood’s Chair. (Pretty sure Robin Hood didn’t make it this far north.)

The going was slow. The path was a jumble of boulders, uneven rocks, tree roots, and then a scramble up to the outlaw’s chair. In parts it didn't seem to exist. I renamed the route Ankle Snap. You really had to concentrate on every foot placement. It was windy too, and on the exposed bits the wind wanted to wrestle with my pack.

A couple came running past me at one point — running! — as I staggered along. For a moment I was hugely jealous of how light on their feet they looked. I stood watching them get smaller and smaller until they disappeared along the valley. Then I shook myself back to reality and decided to try my new purchase.

Before the trip I’d ditched my 5L CamelBak and bought a Bachgold Water Filter Squeeze Bottle. I was low on water, so had no choice but to use it, though I was sceptical. (It had worked great when I filled it at home under the tap.) I’d passed numerous energetic little streams, and it helped that I couldn’t see too far upstream to where they came from. So I filled ’er up and took a sip.

Tastes like… WATER. Great.

There’s something humbling about hiking through a place like this. I’ve read comments on the C2C Facebook page about parts of the walk being “boring.” Those folks are obviously not looking up, around, or back. The majesty of the mountains — thousands of years old — makes you feel grateful. Grateful for the fitness to do this, grateful for health, grateful for family who support the madness.

Red Pike shrouded in mist

I’d wanted to head up Red Pike, the alternative route, but I couldn’t even see it from the path, so the lower route would suffice. And anyway, I had a new hiking buddy: Laura, from the Netherlands.

My out‑of‑date Steadman guidebook said that if you take Red Pike you miss the infamous Black Sail Hut, the most isolated youth hostel in the country — and that would be a shame. Walking into its warm, friendly atmosphere was amazing. Little did I know that five of the

people I met there would become hiking buddies over the next few days.

Black Sail Hut Youth Hostel

Thirty minutes later, full of coffee, a Mars Bar, and shared laughs with fellow C2Cers, we headed out again — straight into disagreeable weather. I’d read that the path can be confusing here, so Laura and I stuck together. There’s very little signage up high.

We walked along the drumlin‑filled valley, and I recounted what I knew about drumlins — I wrote a paper on them at university. I was delighted to discover that after 36 years, that knowledge was finally useful.

We followed the beck and climbed a stony, unclear path. The wind again tried to knock us off our feet. Just when you thought you’d reached the summit, there was a little more climbing — just to make you suffer properly.

We met a lady coming the other way who eagerly shared tales of her traumatic attempt last year at the Coast to Coast: falls, streams, getting soaked, blood. I asked why she was doing it East to West and she said, “So I can gain fitness along the way.” Blimey. I cannot imagine doing this without training.

Finally, after a last scramble, we reached Grey Knotts and began the long, careful descent to Honister Mines, still a working slate mine. It was steep in parts, with uneven steps. Laura found the descents tough and told me to go on, so I cracked on into Borrowdale.

I wasn’t 100% sure where I was camping. Many campsites don’t allow advance booking, and I didn’t want to arrive too late and miss out. I stopped at Borrowdale YHA, where I was informed they were full, but pointed me toward a campsite across the fields, about 500 m away. Excellent. Even more excellent: they said I was welcome to come back for dinner.

I almost ran to the campsite, where the proprietor met me at the gate, charged me a tenner, and gave me 50p for a four‑minute shower. (Four minutes is actually enough time to wash your hair and bits and pieces — I must tell my daughters that.)

The Belgian couple and the Aussie boys from Black Sail were also staying there, and we all returned to the YHA for food. I had a huge pizza, which was delicious, and Laura and I recapped our day. My spirits were high, my energy levels were surprisingly good, despite only having a flapjack, a Mars Bar, and an orange all day.

As we shared stories, lo and behold — Missie turned up, complaining about her blisters and how sore and tired her legs and back were.

I left the YHA with a huge smirk on my face.

For those who like stats — Day 2 totals:  

Distance: 24.6 km + 1.57 km for pizza (totally worth it) = 26.17 km / 16.27 miles   Elevation: 696 m / 2,283 ft  

Time: 6 hours 24 minutes