After a spectacular thunderstorm yesterday evening, we expected today to be much cooler, but it was hot from the moment we stepped out of our lodgings. We bought some picnic items and set off from Hawes and soon began a long, arduous climb. It was not as steep as previous days but was relentless, climbing for six miles at 27 degrees! We finally reached the top of Great Shunner Fell, which at 716 meters is the highest point so far. At the top we were delighted to find seating, and had our picnic, before the equally long descent to the village of Thwaite in Swaledale. We were disappointed once again to find the only pub was closed, and continued to our destination, very hot and sticky. Our landlady at Bridge House greeted us with homemade scones and tea – but first we each consumed over a pint of cold water!

A Backward Glance

Walking and talking are both activities that exercise the lungs. Some conversations are like walks in familiar surroundings, we never get lost or worried about losing our way and if we stumble, getting safely back home is seldom a problem. When I talk, getting lost in unfamiliar territory at dangerous heights with no hope of rescue is where I’m going. People quickly realise I’m not qualified to navigate the terrain we’re heading into and sensibly leave and head back home. So, I hear you ask, how on earth did Carol cope on our twelve mile trek today? Easy, we don’t talk, just walk. Walking up the interminable slopes over the Yorkshire moor certainly exercised our lungs, but, to have used them to natter, would have been like loud gossiping in a library. Our verbal communication is limited to essential matters like, “If we don’t stop soon Carol, my legs are going to drop off”, or “David, give me back my phone now, I heard Mr Komoot just say something”. When we eventually reached the highest point of our long climb we met an American couple picnicking at a seat there. They immediately offered us water and sun cream. The former because we were both looking tired and pale, the latter because my thin white legs were looking even paler. No thanks, I replied, soon we’re going to be downing pints of orange juice and lemonade at the pub in Thwaite just three miles down the hill there. No you won’t, the lady retorted, didn’t you know it’s closed Mondays and Tuesdays? My legs wobbled and Carol quickly helped me to another seat close by. I thought everyone knew tragic news should only be given when the recipient is sitting down. Americans – no subtlety!