Days 203 & 204: Workington to Carlisle

Storm Babet is on the way, so I hope to reach Carlisle in two days instead of the three originally planned. Did we always have so many storms or do I notice them more as I’m often hiking?

The stainless steel Alauna Aura in Maryport, displaying the small harbour town’s maritime and industrial heritage, cycles through ethereal colours as dawn rises. Trying to get a better photo, one more step back and I’ll be 20 feet down into the mud.

L S Lowry was a frequent visitor and Senhouse Street has hardly changed since he painted it in 1955.

I like Maryport, proud of its history, helped by a beautiful, if chilly, morning.

A long promenade stretches north, with gorgeous views across to Criffel once more.

An exposed cycle path leads to Allonby. Heading into a biting wind, I’m desperate for a hot coffee and bacon roll. Thankfully, there’s a tiny sandwich shop open and they let me drink inside.

Colonel Tom tells me not to be such a wimp and get back outside. A spot of cold never stopped him from his garden circuits. Hopefully, his daughter is not receiving any commission for this one.

The path shifts down to the beach, where the tide is out and the wet sand firm underfoot, before snaking into the dunes. In the distance, a man crouches down in the tall marram grass with a woman standing beside him. A strange place to propose. It turns out they work for Natural England. He’s fixing England Coast Path symbols to wooden posts and she negotiates with landowners for access rights. I think I’d prefer his job. We chat for a while about my experiences on the coast path and I thank them for making my life easier. Scotland next?

Arriving at Silloth, I stop off at Mrs Wlison’s Coffee House & Eaterie — the perfect place for a pot of tea and a quiche salad. I try to be healthy sometimes. I’m fascinated by the walls, covered in Kathleen Ferrier memorabilia and look her up on Wiki. She was a famous contralto singer who married a bank manager in Silloth and died tragically at the age of 41. The hiking poles are mine, not hers.

The town is charming, with its open spaces and wide streets. Not a lot of crime.

I’ve 28 miles to walk today, so don’t have enough daylight hours to walk round Skinburness Marsh, following several country lanes that bisect the busy B5302 to Cumbria Camping Barns at Newton Arlosh. My knees are sore from all the tarmac walking.

Two German Shepherds, secured in the farmhouse yard, give me a rousing greeting. The female is fine but the male does not care for rivals. The lady running the farm is more welcoming, driving me in her tractor to the clay pigeon shooting field for a sheltered pitch. I hope there’s no early shooting tomorrow.

Next day

A wild night. The swaying trees woke me a few times but the tent is solid. Heavy rain and wind are forecast for this evening, so I’m on the road early, passing the fortified church at Newton Arlosh.

Anthorn Radio Station rises in the distance, but I’m cutting across Bowness Common to make the 22 miles to Carlisle tonight.

I’d hoped for a cooked breakfast in Bowness-on-Solway, but sadly all the cafes are closed. I console myself by finding the start of The Hadrians Wall Path, running 84 miles across the country to Wallsend. I should pass the other end in December.

Turning east, it’s a tough slog along a cycle route into a bitter wind. Several Coast-to-Coast cyclists fly past — must be nippy in those short.

I’m struggling with all the tarmac yesterday and today. My right leg is complaining, so the miles are slow. It’s a relief to leave the road at Kirkandrews-on-Eden and follow the River Eden into Carlisle. I can still picture my walk on the opposite side of the bank, heading to Scotland 18 months ago.

Arriving at my Travelodge — which is not Carlisle Cathedral — it feels wonderful to take my boots off and rest while Storm Babet rages outside the window. Having filled in the gap, I’ve now walked from Bridlington in Yorkshire to the Isle of Arran. Yorkshire and Northumberland await.

Walk distance: 50 miles.

Total distance: 3,480 miles.