Back At Bainbridge

Back at the holiday let in Bainbridge, I picked up my boots and then couldn't find my trekking poles (I'd forgotten these too). After some thought I remembered that whilst the Kapitan and the Cabin Boy had dithered taking off their boots in the front porch, after yesterday's walk, I'd put the trekking poles on the top of a nearby hedge and then gone off in search of some four leaf clovers on the front lawn. Sure enough, when I searched the hedge I found my trekking poles. At last, we could get going. I was worried that we might lose our spot in the Hawes carpark. As I headed towards my car, a woman wandered up and asked me if I knew the location of Greenlee Cottage. She was a carer and needed to attend to the occupant of the cottage. All she had was the name of the cottage and the postcode. I wasn't sure of the desperation of her client, but I knew I needed to get to the Hawes carpark before it filled up. To my shame, we left her to search for the cottage herself.

As we entered Hawes we saw the Black Cat scratching another two lines on the tree.

Shutt Lane

We found a parking spot and it felt good to actually set off walking. On a section of path on the edge of Hawes I got stuck in the enclosed pen area of a kissing gate stile. Why can't they make the pen areas bigger? At one point I thought that I might become permanently stuck but eventually I managed to squeeze myself through and we could continue.

Our walk today would take us up to Lovely Seat, a lonely and remote summit to the north of Hawes. We'd then follow the broad ridge of the moors westwards before dropping down on a Tweed Trouser Brigade road, back to Hawes. 

On Shutt Lane a man with two large Greyhounds caught us up. He already had one pocket of his fleece overflowing with a bag of dog shite and he stopped to unravel another bag as the other of his hounds stopped to lighten his load. As we walked past, the man crouched down to grab what seemed a ludicrous amount of faeces for such a small bag. I knew at that very moment, I could never own a dog.

High Rake Hill And Pike Hill

As we reached the top of High Rakes Hill I somehow contrived to get a finger stuck in the loop of a rucksack strap. My trapped hand was now behind me and unreachable with my other hand. It was only by procuring the assistance of the Cabin Boy that she was able to release my finger and we could continue. I visualised Hawes' Black Cat scratching another line in his tree. We made our way along the top of the crags of High Clint. It had amazing views down into the hazy valley to our left. Near to two well built cairns we sat down for a break. I bit into an apple and found it be rotten inside. I spat it out and gagged. The Black Cat scratched another line on the tree.

It was hard going from Pike Hill to Lovely Seat. Initially, we followed a Tweed Trouser Brigade track servicing some grouse butts, but this luxury soon ran out and we were left to our own devices to make our way up over the rough and marshy moor. The uneven ground rubbed the Cabin Boy's blisters.

Lovely Seat

Eventually we made our way over to the summit cairn on Lovely Seat. It offered meagre shelter from the wind as we sat down for our lunch. We could see Great Shunner Fell over to the west. Some people do these two peaks together, but that seemed like a big day to me. After lunch we started following the wire fence eastwards along the very broad ridge of the moor. This was very rough and tough going. It was obvious that not many walkers travelled this way. At one point the Kapitan sank up to his knees in a bog and the Cabin Boy and myself watched in admiration as he used his walking sticks like ice axes to drag himself out.  His legs now looked as black as those of Hawes' Black Cat who was now scratching another line on his tree.

Crossing The Ford

At White Beacon Top the Kapitan took a bearing to reach the track-head of some grouse butts to the south. The grouse butts were obvious, the track less so as the OS map had implied. We followed the grouse butts southwards until we hit a Landrover track that headed off to a shooting cabin over to the west. There was nobody waiting at the cabin with a mug of tea when we arrived and so we followed the track southwards over Black Bank Top. The track dropped down to a ford and as we approached I could see that there wasn't a footbridge across it. As I turned around to assist the Cabin Boy across, I slipped on a rock and slammed down hard into the water. I managed to drag myself out of the raging torrent. Apart from my clothes being soaked I was surprised that I'd survived the ordeal with only a few grazes. I imagined Hawes' Black Cat smugly scratching another line on his tree.

Back To Hawes

On our descent from Smuker Hill, the Cabin Boy announced with some glee that she'd seen an Easter Bunny in one of the nearby rabbit holes. The Kapitan spoilt the moment somewhat by informing her that it looked as though it had been deceased for at least a month.

Much to our relief we didn't encounter the fellow and his shitehounds on Shutt Lane. I suspect, given the volume of deposits we'd seen this morning, they only needed one toilet trip every 24 hours. 

Walking across one stile, the Cabin Boy managed to trap one of her rucksack straps in the spring of the gate. She was unable to pull herself away or put her hands behind her back to release herself. The Kapitan and myself had a discussion as to whether to release or leave her. Given that she'd helped me on the 'trapped finger in the rucksack strap' incident this morning, we decided to help her out and released her.

At that small kissing gate stile on the outskirts of Hawes, I got stuck again and managed to graze my left nipple quite severely on the gate. It felt as if it had been scratched by the claw of Hawes' malicious Black Cat. We managed to return to the carpark without further mishap.

On our departure from Hawes, we didn't see the Black Cat, but we did see many scratches on his tree.

Superstitions

Back at the holiday let, we sat around the patio table, each drinking a mug of tea and reflecting on the day. It had been a tough walk over demanding terrain, but we'd been blessed with great views down into the valleys.

We reflected on all the bad luck we had suffered during the day. My rationality kicked in and I stated that we were an intelligent species and  it wasn't anything to do with that bloody  Black Cat in Hawes. 'It was all just down to coincidence' I confidently announced. At that, a bird flew over us and shat on the Kapitan's right hand, only inches away from his mug of tea. After witnessing this, I now firmly believe that a Black Cat crossing your path does actually cause bad luck.