June 26, 2004: Dent to Sedbergh
Near Barth Bridge
Grey skies had returned as we arose for Day Five of this troubled walk. Given the dilatory nature of the evening meal service we made certain we were first down to breakfast at 8:30, but – save for having to ask immediately for more coffee – we were not long delayed in receiving our simple requests.
We moved our gear downstairs for the Sherpa man and Tosh paid up, certain that they had undercharged us for food and drink until I reminded her that we had ordered neither starter nor dessert the night before. Then we walked up the street to the grocery store where there were only three sandwiches left – I grabbed them immediately. We bought a few other snacks – Tosh bought some custard tarts for us – and at 10:05 we were off.
I wasn’t too bothered by this late start, since, for us, this was another short day of ten miles. This was just as well because no sooner had we reached the village hall then Tosh remembered that she had forgotten to buy herself a drink and retreated to the market. By the time she had rejoined us it had started to drizzle again and we paused on the roadway to put on our gear. It rained all day again.
The official route from Church Bridge joined us soon after a caravan camp and after a bit more road walking we headed off on field paths back to the Dee. On this section we passed a damp mother and daughter who were referring to a big book on trees and shrubs. We crossed the roadway again at Barth Bridge, keeping to the riverside and enjoying a long stretch of gates and stiles (gates emerged triumphantly today, 34-17.) Eventually, this day of relatively easy walking returned us to a roadway at a farmstead called Ellers, where the slain bodies of two crows were nailed up as a warning to their cousins.
There wasn’t too much traffic on this rural byway and we made good progress as far as Rash Bridge, where we stopped for a rest and our tarts. There were lots of trees here so it wasn’t too wet but there weren’t many comfortable places to sit down and so before long we had crossed the Dee one last time and climbed to a t-junction where we turned right as far as Rash Farm.
A distant view of Sedbergh
It wasn’t always clear on the ground how we were to proceed uphill amid pastureland and stone walls and the stile we were heading for was well hidden around a corner – but we persevered, passed through a small copse and, out in the open again, followed a wall in the direction of the local golf course. The way forward was blocked by blue paint-dotted sheep but I found a track leading downhill, with good views of our ultimate destination, the market town of Sedbergh nestling up against the foothills of the Howgills.
At the bottom we entered the hamlet of Millthrop, a site, I later determined, marking Tosh’s mile 2300. That lady had been looking forward to having a sit down snack in the chapel door, but this now appeared to be a private residence and there was room for only one in the telephone box, where I retreated to dry the moisture off my camera. The flower-bedecked facades of the village were a delight even in the rain. We were also very close here to Sedbergh and had it been sunny we might have been tempted to add a mile or so to our journey and head in for a pub stop, but no one wanted to prolong our day and so, after crossing the narrow Millthrop Bridge, we merely rested on a bench and ate our sandwiches.
The River Rawthey
The bridge brought us our first acquaintanceship with the River Rawthey, which now accompanied our travels for the next several miles. Our route put us into dark woodland and it was guesswork if we were following the right path but the sighting of a WWII bunker confirmed our progress and we were soon back near the river and walking along the edge of one of the Sedbergh School’s rugby pitches. From this spot it was uphill to reach a road at the small hamlet of Birks.
There were some tempting footpath signs about but I knew we had to rejoin the Rawthey and so we turned left on the road and reached the old mill and then a sewage plant and an industrial parking lot where, among the lorries, I admitted I was lost. Fortunately Margie had just spotted a Rawthey footpath sign and soon we were moving forward again, crossing the embankment of the abandoned Tebay-Ingleton railway and continuing forward in gently rolling country as far as the A683.
Here we turned south for 600 meters, a foretaste of the unpleasant road walking still ahead of us, escaping at last on a route to High Oaks, an uneasy progress with lots of twists and turns and yellow signs that put us right into the farmstead itself. We were now walking north in the Lune Valley and, appropriately, Luneside Farm was next – and this too required close attention to signs on the ground, instructions in Marsh, gates, stiles, walls, hedgerows and fences.
We came close to the Lune itself in the last half-mile, urged forward by the sound of motor traffic and soon the sight of Lincoln’s Inn Bridge on the A684. We climbed up to this busy road and began a march of almost two miles into Sedbergh. Tosh, in particular, hates this kind of walking and now she stepped off the roadway every time a car approached us – even when it was obvious that the driver had seen us.
I was already worrying about tomorrow’s lunch and anxious not to be delayed by our hotel’s kitchen staff but Tosh and Margie had marched past the first petrol station that might have supplied our sandwiches before I could catch up with them. About halfway to our destination I noticed that there was tarmac on the opposite side so we crossed over. We passed the yellow and brown signs of the Sedbergh School on our right and continued forward to the town itself, arriving at 3:40.
Tosh refused to look for sandwiches in the “supermarket” and, having spotted a coffee house, insisted on a stop here rather than immediate entry into our nearby hotel, the Bull. I would have preferred the latter, as I was very wet, but she was insistent and so we sat down at the Posthorn Cafe – whose efficient and cooperative proprietor not only served us our afternoon refreshments but also agreed to come in early the next day so he could make our sandwiches. I had tea and a jam roly-poly and custard.
It was almost 5:00 before we were ready to continue but no sooner had I entered the Bull than I discovered that my troops had not followed – Tosh seduced by a sweet shop across the street. We made a reservation for dinner at 7:00 and carried our packs upstairs; my journey was a tortuous passage to the back of the hotel where the entrance to my room was blocked by a folded bed. Inside there was a double bed, a sofa, and a set of bunk beds. I used the latter to hang up wet items of gear, barely able to squeeze any heat from the radiator. Only one bedside lamp worked.
I called a taxi firm and arranged for transport back to Lincoln’s Inn Bridge for the next day at 9:20. Then I called Dorothy. I must say that my stomach could have been better – all this alien food was giving me a mild indigestion and I usually took three tums before going to dinner.
Tosh received a call from Harold as we were sitting in the bar, soon crowded with a hen night crowd – the bride-to-be wearing the obligatory L-plate. When we were admitted to the dining room I settled on the Bull Burger. It had been a rather unpleasant day and the next one looked like a bit of an ordeal so I wanted an early night.
To continue with the next stage our walk you need: