The Coast to Coast
The full story of our most wanted trail & the mouthwatering best bits.
PERHAPS MORE THAN any other, the Coast to Coast Walk is the idea that nags at the soul of every walker who has ever put a few miles under their belt and thought: “well maybe I could go a little bit further.”
Shorter than the South West Coast Path, more fun than the Pennine Way, more varied than Offa’s Dyke, fewer dull bits than the Hadrian’s Wall Path: these are just some of the reasons for its magnetism. Plus, it has a distinct and definite purpose, in a way most trails don’t: to go from Irish Sea to North Sea (or possibly vice versa), crossing a logical, latitudinal line through three neighbouring national parks.
Two hundred miles along 12 to 14 adjustable, adaptable sections. Two weeks. Take friends or go solo, do it in bits or all in one go. You read this as spring dawns across Britain: there is no better time to read up, research, book holiday, find accommodation, and give in to that C2C urge. Do it. Do it. Do it!
CW can’t pretend to tell you everything about how to walk it; several fine guidebooks (including the original) exist to do that. But we can explain why it’s so bloody wonderful, reveal some insider knowledge, show you some of the best bits, and tell you the story behind it.
And that story starts with a bloke in search of ice cream and girls.
THE CREATION
BETWEEN 1955 AND 1966, Alfred Wainwright had been a bit busy.
His seven-part Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells was the greatest labour of love in the history of British hillwalking: the definitive analysis of every route up every significant hill in the Lake District, illustrated by hand and crafted in elegant, witty, authoritative prose that verged, in places, on poetry.
Having finished them, Wainwright wasn’t about to slow down. In quick succession he pinged out A Pennine Way Companion, Walks in Limestone Country and Walks on the Howgill Fells.
But in the background he was working on his longest-held ambition, the one which had formulated during his Lakeland excursions but been put off, time and again, by the writing of the guides: a crossing of England, from coast to coast, through the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales and the North York Moors.
His line of attack was simple: place a ruler from coast to coast across the three national parks, with an obvious start and end point, and follow the line – but a) without trespassing on private land and b) allowing for detours off the line so as not to miss obvious highlights.
St Bees in Cumberland (now Cumbria) was his starting point in the west, on the Irish Sea. Robin Hood’s Bay in North Yorkshire was his destination, ‘a definite full stop, a terminus absolute’.
He described the bay as an attractive place to finish a walk, listing its attributes as ‘ice cream, girls and all that – oh, and the scenery.’ It should be crossed from west to east, he suggested, so as to keep the prevailing weather from the Irish Sea at your back, rather than in your face.
Finally, in 1972, he did it (though whether he had an ice cream, or encountered ‘girls and all that’, he did not record). And in 1973 he published his findings, under the title A Coast to Coast Walk.
The ‘A’ was hugely important: this was but one route, he insisted, not ‘the’ route. Even within his text, he offered alternative routes at several stages – especially in the Lake District, where options abound for going high or low depending on inclination, ability and weather conditions. He had no desire for it to become a waymarked or managed trail, and so it has not, except in places where conservation has become a real issue. A far-sighted conservationist himself, Wainwright would have approved of such management wholeheartedly.
And, having set the bar, he urged us all to find our own Coast to Coasts.
“I want to encourage in others the ambition to devise, with the aid of maps, their own crosscountry marathons and not be merely followers of other people’s routes,” he wrote. “There is no end to the possibilities for originality and initiative.”
He was right, of course. But it’s testament to his meticulous planning, eye for detail and sheer knowledge that, thus far, no-one has yet come up with a better (or at least, more popular) way of going Coast to Coast.
But he was sure of one thing: it was better than the Pennine Way. After outlining the course of the C2C, Wainwright declared: “Surely there cannot be a finer itinerary for a long-distance walk! For sustained beauty, variety and interest, it puts the Pennine Way to shame.”
(PW fans, please feel free to flood our inbox with messages of defence at this point.)
Alfred Wainwright passed away in 1991. But his writing, his planning and his wit endure (even if some of the wit has aged poorly: he suggests that if you do the walk in occasional sections, you will be ‘free to go to Majorca for your main holiday if your wife keeps on nagging about it’ – ouch.)
His original guide has been updated many times over the years, most recently with a page-by-page revision by Chris Jesty in 2010. Excellent modern guides from Cicerone and Trailblazer now provide mile-by-mile accounts of the walk, adding helpful logistical details like accommodation, dining and baggage transfer options, and full-colour mapping. And new phenomena have sprung up around the walk: Wainwright never advocated the carrying of a pebble from one sea to the other, but that quickly became tradition for Coast-to-Coasters. But none of these developments can update the beautiful simplicity of Wainwright’s idea. “It is a country walk of the sort that enthusiasts for the hills and open spaces indulge in every weekend,” he explained.
“It’s a bit longer than most, is all.”
OUR FAVOURITE BITS
Last summer, Country Walking set out to walk three of the finest sections of the Coast to Coast. How did we choose them? Partly through our own experience of walking it in full, partly with advice from you, and partly based on hints that aW dropped about the parts he himself really loved. For variety, we’ve chosen one section from each of the three national parks through which the C2C passes. two of the sections are also blessed with multiple route options.
Our thinking was: if we only had three sections to sell the wonder of the Coast to Coast, which would we go for? We think we’ve hit three absolute beauties, but of course everyone will have their own favourites. Chris Jesty, for example, names robin Hood’s Bay as his favourite bit, although we think he meant the experience of arriving in it after 200 miles on foot, perhaps, rather than the place itself, as that’s a long way to go to reach the best bit. more interestingly, his second favourite place is the waterfalls at measand, halfway along Haweswater.
We’ve dared to name our favourite place along the way too, but we have to admit that it might have been down to outrageously good weather. In rubbish weather, the same place can be absolutely flippin’ dismal. anyway. Deep breath. Here goes.
GRASMERE TO PATTERDALE 9 MILES
THIS WOULD NORMALLY be Day 4 of the average C2C crossing, though Wainwright had it as part of a rather epic 17 ¾ -mile Day 3.
By this point, the C2C has already wended through some truly world-class beauty, via the valleys of Ennerdale, Borrowdale and Easedale. Great chunks of Lakeland brilliance have already been viewed (and in some cases, climbed, if you fancied them), such as Pillar Rock, Great Gable, the High Stile range, Hay Stacks and Helm Crag.
What makes this bit so special is that, even on the least adventurous of its three options, it takes you high up among magnificent fells. It gives you a steady and gentle ascent, reaches a fabulous mountain lake surrounded by renowned peaks, and heads down to the shores of an even more famous lake on the far side. And that’s before you even get to the two high-level options, which are stupendous.
Two parallel paths rise away from the A591 Dunmail Raise road to Grisedale Hause, one beside Tongue Gill, the other beside Little Tongue Gill. Both are scenic, so there isn’t much to choose between them, and both give you a terrific view aft, back across to Helm Crag and Easedale.
Photographer Tom and I set out on a bright, sunny July day when all was right with the world. The fellside grass was impossibly lush and springy. The gill surged; waterfalls made enticing detours.
But nothing could be as enticing as Grisedale Tarn, calling to us from its deep, glacial bowl within Grisedale Hause at the top of the pass. It shimmered, blue like a Rocky Mountain lake, beneath the grey hulk of Dollywaggon Pike. It took about a minute and a half’s logistical pondering to agree we should absolutely, definitely go for a swim.
It was perfectly true to the spirit of the original idea, after all: Wainwright was all for detours and unplanned delights, even if you haven’t brought a towel. Or trunks. (I’m betting Wainwright never, ever packed trunks.) And this whole endeavour is about moving between waters, so why not embrace water where you find it along the way? Admittedly you would need to find a similarly perfect day for a swim to be this enjoyable, but if the moment comes, don’t leave it begging.
Afterwards, we dried off in the sun and pondered the options before us. The direct route to Patterdale goes straight down the valley of Grisedale. It passes the Brothers’ Parting Stone, where William Wordsworth bade farewell to his brother John in September 1800, little knowing it was the last time they would ever see each other. John, a mariner, went down with his ship off Portland in 1805. Grisedale itself is beautiful, and flanked by soaring mountain walls on either side.
But the other two, higher, options are very special. One goes up to the left, to Dollywaggon Pike, climbing a flagstoned path which was partly financed by Country Walking readers after a fundraising campaign in 2005. Having climbed Britain’s third highest mountain, Helvellyn (which would also be the highest
“Nothing could be as enticing as Grisedale Tarn, calling to us from its pass.” deep, glacial bowl at the top of the
point on your C2C journey, if chosen), this version then descends to Patterdale via the thrilling arête of Striding Edge.
We didn’t opt for that. Tom and I have both done Helvellyn enough times to know it as intimately as we’d like to – and the concept of walking ‘against the traffic’ along Striding Edge on a busy summer’s day isn’t a tempting one. Plus, Helvellyn feels like the kind of iconic mountain you should climb for its own sake, rather than to get somewhere.
Instead, the chance here was to go somewhere less commonly climbed. To the right, a steady path climbs up to Deepdale Hause and thence onto St Sunday Crag. This is what we went for.
St Sunday Crag is an exquisite name, and the etymology of it is a fine rabbit-hole if you’re a fan of such things. The peak is thought to be named after St Dominic, founder of the Dominican order. In some obscure circles he was known as St Sunday, as the name Dominic was often given to children born on a Sunday, because it stems from ‘domini’, referring to Sunday’s status as the day of Our Lord. (This is why ‘domingo’ is Spanish for Sunday).
No one is sure what might connect a Spanish saint with this corner of northern England. But whatever the truth may be, there aren’t many UK mountains whose name overtly reflects Christian tradition. St Sunday Crag is a rarity for that alone.
And as Wainwright pointed out, St Sunday should be delighted by his fell. It’s a broad, grassy ridge, offering a stunning panorama across to the Helvellyn range. You can see Striding Edge in striking and unusual profile; bring binocs and you can watch people scamper, amble or shuffle along its serrated length.
But St Sunday’s best view of all lies ahead, to Ullswater. England’s second longest lake (after Windermere) is often hailed as its most beautiful, because its twists, turns and mountainous bodyguards make it far more intriguing than its straight or circular brethren. And from the descent down St Sunday and over Birks, those twists and turns look even better than they do from Helvellyn.
The other thing you can see from this steady, gentle descent is your future. Below is Patterdale, tonight’s pausing-point. And ahead lies the next day: Boredale Hause, Angletarn Pikes, and the distant fells that guard the way between here and Haweswater. The Lake District still has plenty more wonders to show you.
“It can be wrench to leave Ravenseat, but Swaledale beckons.”
KIRKBY STEPHEN TO KELD 13 MILES
DAY 7 (Day 6 by Wainwright reckoning) has all sorts to recommend it. You’ll cross the Pennines, move from Cumbria to Yorkshire, enter the heartland of the Yorkshire Dales National Park, behold beautiful Swaledale and ( geography geek alert) pass the Pennine Watershed. West of Nine Standards Rigg, every beck or river you pass is eventually heading westwards to the Irish Sea. East of it, they are all heading east to the North Sea. Just like you.
Even more momentously, Keld, where this day finishes, is the halfway point of the Coast to Coast. At Keld you are as far away from seawater as you will ever get on this trail. You are halfway across England. It’s all downhill from here. (I’m kidding. It’s not.) We do have to concede, though, that this is also the squelchiest stretch of the C2C. Nine Standards Rigg is, as Wainwright said, ‘wild country’. Some of it is trackless, and some of it can be boggy. Features ed Jenny did it in 2011 and described it as ‘mud, mires, peat hags and dark, treacherous bog’.
It wasn’t too bad this time round, partly because some path improvement has taken place. But the truth is it depends on the time of year in which you do the walk. I don’t just mean in terms of rainfall, and snowmelt. In a bid to reduce the erosion caused by thousands of walkers over the decades, the section over Nine Standards Rigg has been split into three routes, which are advised at different times of year. From August to November, it’s the blue route, which heads over the open moorland via Craygill Sike and Whitsundale Beck. This is the wildest of the three; in theory it should be at its driest during its timeslot, but it is still likely to be pretty damp. There’s a path on the ground, and it’s marked by posts, but frequently they are too far apart to see one post from another. Plus it isn’t shown on OS maps. So good navigation skills and/or a decent GPS signal are needed.
The red route is firmer underfoot, and clear on the OS map. Advised between May and July, it stays high on the hillside, descending via Coldbergh Edge and Ney Gill. Tom and I followed this one; there were one or two squelchy bits, but not enough to spoil a fabulous day.
(The third route, green, is used between December and April, and doesn’t climb to the top of Nine Standards Rigg at all. But then, we don’t know that many people who do the C2C in winter. You’d have to do an awful lot of it in the dark, for a start.)
But what of Nine Standards Rigg itself? Well, this is one of the finest landmarks on the C2C: nine huge cairns, staring out over the Eden Valley. Rumours abound about their creation; my favourite is that they were built to deter marauding Scots from pillaging the valley below, by making it look like an English army was standing ready on this hillside.
They’ve stood here for a good many centuries, but they got a makeover in 2005, when stonemason Steve Allen rebuilt the five northernmost cairns. Today you can interact with them: climb ledges, sit on seats, pretend to be a Stark or a Lannister upon the Iron Throne. Or just hug them.
And as you head out over the moorland, let’s not forget the good things about the boggy bits: you’re essentially bouncing along a massive carboncapture device that is living and breathing. It’s also flourishing with every upland species from sphagnum moss and insectivorous sundew to skydancing harriers and squeaking plover. That’s a good thing, and worth the occasional encounter with black, boot-sucking purgatory.
And when you’ve come down through all that, you’ll reach another fine landmark. In summer months, if you’re lucky, Ravenseat Farm may be open for teas, coffees, lemonade and ice creams, courtesy of farmers Amanda and Clive Owen.
Amanda Owen is a phenomenon: Twitter sensation (@AmandaOwen8), star of ITV’s The Dales, author of The Yorkshire Shepherdess, photographer, columnist, working farmer on one of the most remote farms in the country, shepherdess of 1000 sheep and mother of nine “free-range children”. Despite all this, she still finds time to brew up a pot of tea and chat to weary C2C types who have to pinch themselves to be certain they haven’t just walked into a mirage.
“I like the independence, the excitement, the connection to history that comes with being here,” she says over a cream tea.
“You can stand and look out and there’s nothing to tell you what century you’re in. I like that.”
It can be wrench to leave Ravenseat, but Swaledale beckons. From here the landscape turns from windswept moor to soft, green meadow. Dry stone walls lattice the hillsides and tiny barns are everywhere. There are some 4500 stone barns across the Dales, and a sizeable percentage of them are here, in the valley of the Swale.
It’s this very river that now points the way, and the path bobbles along above it, along the limestone crest of Cotterby Scar and all the way to the cluster of cottages that is Keld.
There are several places to stay in Keld, but one of them has to be at least visited: the Keld Lodge Hotel. For one thing, it has a sign by the door that proudly announces that you’ve arrived at the halfway point of the Coast to Coast. For another, it’s the first place all day that’s capable of selling you a draught beer.
If walking halfway across the country isn’t worth a hand-pulled Black Sheep Best Bitter, we aren’t sure what is.
INGLEBY CROSS TO BLAKEY RIDGE 20 MILES (over two days)
WAINWRIGHT CALLED THIS ‘the finest section of our marathon, outside Lakeland’. Set against the glory of Swaledale that’s a big claim, although it certainly beats the dullsville section of the trail where it crosses the Vale of York.
We’re now in the North York Moors, and specifically the Cleveland Hills, the megatsunami of steep-nosed scarps that makes up the northern edge of the moors. We’re in the country of the Cleveland Way, and indeed, sharing that clearlymarked path for a lot of this journey. Forget the navigational headaches of the Pennines now; on this bit, the path is a Tale of the Glaringly Obvious.
This stretch is Day 10 of Wainwright’s plan, or part of Day 11 of more modern guidebooks. But it’s a tricky one, as break-points for accommodation are hard to come by, resulting in a whopping 20-mile day. CW’s solution is to break it down via Lordstones Country Park, which is a) bang-on the trail line and b) home to one of the best-located campsites in the whole nation (it includes camping pods and yurts, if you’re not a tent-lugger). Lordstones is perched high on a grassy ledge looking down over the Cleveland plain and Teesside; perfect for lolling at sunset on a summer’s day.
Thus part one of our alternative plan would take you from Ingleby Cross to Lordstones: a walk of eight miles, a mere tiddler in the grand scheme of things. Part two continues along the path, but with no need to stop at Clay Bank Top as Wainwright did (a strange halt, as there is no accommodation anywhere nearby). Instead you can continue all the way to the Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge, which is a perfectly respectable 12 miles. The extra break may add a day to your hike, but trust us – the overnight at Lordstones is well worth it, and at this point in your journey, your legs will thank you for the gift of a softer day.
But back to Wainwright’s big claim: yes, dear reader, this section is unbelievably good. It trundles up and down a succession of spectacular ridgelines: Carlton Bank, Cringle Moor, the Wain Stones and Hasty Bank, then out over Farndale Moor and Blakey Ridge for what is pretty much the definitive North York Moors experience.
Our final reason for choosing this stretch was a very important one: given clear weather, it’s the first stretch on which you will see the North Sea.
It generally appears as you hit the top edge of Carlton Bank, although mist or haze might mean you have to wait a little longer. But it’s out there: the second sea. The other ‘C’ in C2C. The destination.
There is so much to enjoy up here: ease of access; clear paths, flourishing heather (if you’re here in late summer); ancient burial mounds.
Then there are the Wain Stones. Perched on the edge of Hasty Bank, the Wain Stones look like an explosion in a boulder factory. A scrambler’s delight and a photographer’s dream. You can climb up them, over them, through them, under them.
Wainwright loved them ( perhaps it was a natural attraction, given the name). You can tell because he drew multiple pictures of them in his guidebook. Anywhere that he took pains to draw from multiple angles was always a favourite; just look at the chapter on Blencathra in Book Five of the Pictorial Guides. In fact they even coerce him to use a word he hardly ever uses in his work: you.
Generally, AW finds elegant, formal ways to avoid addressing his reader directly, but here he can’t help himself. “This is an enjoyable section,” he writes. “You will like the Wain Stones.”
The destination is Blakey Ridge, home to the 16th-century Lion Inn, which in CW’s opinion should be as well-known as the Tan Hill Inn when it comes to remote hilltop hostelries, but oddly isn’t.
It’s 1325ft up in the hills, and an icon of both the C2C and the Lyke Wake Walk, with food and drink that tends to win at least one major award per year. It even does a great line in live music. Plus it does B&B, with camping reserved exclusively for Coast-to-Coasters. I’m also intrigued by the name of Blakey Ridge: we don’t go in for naming ridges much in this country. Arriving at Blakey Ridge always feels slightly like I’ve been transported to Montana or Idaho. Is that just me?
On that note, listening to a bit of pumped-up folk rock on top of a ridge ( y’all), we end our C2C snapshot. There is plenty more to come after this, of course, but I could no more name it all than I could name every delight we haven’t featured before this point. We can show you some highlights, but so much of it still waits for your discovery. My favourite bit? Grisedale Tarn, obviously. But I can’t wait to hear what yours is.
“Then there are the Wain Stones: an explosion in a boulder factory; a scrambler’s delight and a dream.” photographer’s