(Cumbria Way.  11th March 2014 – 14½ miles + 1 unintentional mile)

I like Ulverston.  It’s a small, attractive market-town with interesting shops and a friendly atmosphere.  But it is a fairly quiet and otherwise unremarkable place and I don’t suppose I would ever have visited if the Cumbria Way didn’t start/finish there.

It does though have a greater claim to fame: of all the unlikely places, Ulverston is the birthplace of Stan Laurel.

I had trouble sleeping on my first night away from home and at half four in the morning, I was wide awake and staring at the ceiling.  I had hurt my back a few days previously (digging up peonies, since you ask) and I worried whether I could complete a walk to Coniston – let alone right across England to Berwick.

Unable to sleep, I read for a couple of hours (‘The Godfather‘ since you ask again) and then, before breakfast, I slipped out of ‘Virginia House’ (my B&B of choice in Ulverston … though it has changed hands since I last stayed), walked around the town and stopped in front of Graham Ibbeson’s charming statue of Stan and Ollie.

I doubt Laurel and Hardy films are widely watched any more but as a child, I was a big fan (still am) and I stood remembering scenes and lines, smiling and humming the “Dance of the Cuckoos” theme to myself.  I got a few odd looks but that’s OK.

After a stout breakfast, I was shod, backpacked and at the path’s start by 8am.  220 miles to Berwick-upon-Tweed seemed a very long haul indeed but I wasn’t particularly worried about the distance.  One step at a time and all that.  I was more concerned that back-pain would send me home early.  That, and that this red squirrel would be the only one I’d see.  (It wasn’t).

Unlike the start of some long-distance footpaths, the ‘Cumbria Way’ doesn’t dither through parks or industrial estates, past sewage farms or schools.  No.  The CW is off like a whippet.  From the centre of Ulverston, I followed a quiet, stream-side cul-de-sac

and within a few minutes I was crossing achingly green fields, dry-stone walls and a farmyard.  It’s a good beginning.

After Old Hall Farm, the path climbs and I was grumbling a bit (in a Corleone accent) as I paused often to catch my breath, readjust my rucksack and gaze back.

I would see hundreds, possibly thousands, of new-born lambs over the coming fortnight but this was the only one who was plucky enough to run up and see what I was all about.  He was very vocal in his opinion, whatever it might have been.

A little further on and I got my first proper view of the Lakeland Fells.  The Old Man was ahead and would be visible for much of the day: back-pain and fair weather allowing, I planned to leave the ‘true’ route of the CW and climb him the following day.

I turned around for a final, dazzling look at the Bay, dug out my sunglasses,

against that almost-too-vivid-green and ambled on.

Unlike the Coast to Coast, way-marking on the Cumbria Way is generally excellent.  And where official signs are lacking there are often rather lovely, home-made ones.

After my last two annual walks (in snow and ice), I couldn’t believe my luck.  Was I dreaming?  Was this weather for real?

(You’ll see a lot of photos of sheep on this walk, I’m afraid).

I remembered this first day of the CW very clearly.  Although six years before, I had walked in early January, the sun had shone then too and St John’s Church near Broughton Beck matched my memory perfectly.  But it was a shame that the church wasn’t framed somehow to make a better photo.  A pair of ash trees perhaps; maybe with one at a drunken angle.  That would work.

Sometimes, someone smiles down on me.

This beermat stuck into a wall had me repeatedly whirling around looking for a pub (but sadly there are none until Coniston).

With my back aching, I stopped often to soak up the sun and top up with painkillers.

The first day of a long walk is liberating.

There is no rushing to get to work; no washing up; no hoovering nor any of the tedious chores of everyday life.

Rather, just a steady plod-plod: regularly checking the guidebook; humming; thinking of beer and food; an immersion in a slowly changing landscape and thinking of food and beer.

I walked along with my heavy Nikon swinging on my neck, pausing often to change lenses or filters and snapping away merrily.

At one point (busily humming), I missed a turning and walked half a mile before realising my mistake and retracing my steps – adding a further mile to my total.

Ulverston to Coniston is only 14½ miles and yet both times I’ve walked it, this day has seemed longer.

I’m not sure why I find Day 1 so tough.  On paper, it isn’t a particularly hard day and yet it feels more like a 20 miler.  As a first day, it isn’t an easy introduction … or so I find.

But it is a great walk with many glorious sections – like this stretch of springy turf just before Cockenskell with views down into the Crake Valley.

The first lake of the ‘Way is Beacon Tarn – a natural lunch break.  I flopped in the shade of some conifers, removed my boots and socks, air-dried my feet (with due apologies to the couple just downwind of me) and ate a sandwich.  And then another one.

I’d only covered 9 miles (+ 1) but I was tired.  I’d had six hours sleep, the path up to the tarn is steep, my pack heavy and the sun hot.

There was still a long way to go before Coniston.  From the tarn, I skirted the Blawith Fells and then crossed Stable Harvey Moss – always with the Old Man peering down at me.

I was amongst Herdwick sheep now.  They are a marker for me; a marker that I am in the Lake District.  (I won’t mention that there is a small flock of Herdwicks, not two miles from where I work in Sussex).

At about 2.30, I crossed clear Torver Beck, then a road and

finally descended to the shore of Coniston Water.

This is a popular lakeside walk and I met dog-walkers and afternoon strollers from Coniston.  Saying hello and smiling politely became just a tad repetitive.

The path follows the lake shore through broad-leaf

and mature conifer woodland.

I still stopped often.  I was in no particular hurry and my back was painful.  But I didn’t cry.

When I reached Coniston Hall, with its fabulous stepped chimneys,

I knew I was almost finished.

At about 4 o’clock, I approached Coniston and, with the scent of beer in my nostrils, increased my pace.  I sat outside ‘The Black Bull’ and savoured a pint of Bluebird bitter (for its pain-numbing properties only) before walking out of the village again.  A few hundred yards away at Waterhead was my stop for the night – the excellent Bluebird Lodge.  I gently eased my back on the bed, supped a mug of Earl Grey and wolfed a plate of biscuits.

And actually, those alone were worth a 15½ mile walk.Save