How Always Stop For A Swim Became My New Walking Motto

We had been walking all day along the water, staring out at the crystal blue sky and sea on our left as we headed north.

For most of the bright blue June day, we were fully in the sun, but a consistent breeze had lessoned its heat.

Still, the more we walked, the hotter we became.

Making frequent stops is a theme of my time on the Camino and this day was no exception. You can only pass so many inviting seaside cafes with beach umbrellas before you have to stop at one. We stopped at three.

You could say we were having a leisurely first day on the trail, which is always a good way to begin.

But even with the stopping, by the end, we were all hot and tired, so we kicked off our shoes on the beach and ran out into the water.

And wow! There is just nothing more refreshing than cold water on tired legs.

Afterwards, we all spread out on rocks by the sea and nodded off like seals in the sunshine. It was perfect.

A couple of days later, after we had left the seaside, and we had been walking for a much longer stretch without the benefit of the sea breeze, we crossed over a small river on an old medieval bridge. On the other side of the bridge, we were able to access the river. Again, we jumped in the water and rinsed off the heat and sweat of the day before drying off on the grass by the river, taking a quick nap before wandering on into the town where we were staying.

This became a habit on this trip: jumping into water at or near the end of the day. I started keeping an eye out for places to stop for a swim on my map. It was unseasonably hot in Europe this past summer, so we found that even if you only soaked your feet and splashed your face, it made a huge difference to how you felt for those last few steps of the day.

When the rest of our group joined us halfway through our time on the Portuguese Camino, we immediately introduced them to the delight of jumping into water on a hot day. And if you crossed over some refreshing water earlier in the day, you could still soak a bandana or a buff to wipe your face.

Towards the end of the day, sometimes folks were in a hurry to just get on to the hotel or hostel, but often the last mile or so when you are entering a town is the hottest, because you’re walking on the pavement. A cold soak can be that little extra boost you need for turning the final leg from a slog into a victory stroll.

And so I would always stop for a swim when I saw a perfect spot. A cold, flowing river made my ankles and knees happy with me again, at least for a little while.

Four of the places we stayed on the Portuguese Camino had swimming pools, which was an equally delightful way to finish the day with a swim.

And one day, an especially lovely hostel host arranged for us to all be carried off in cars to the beach to splash in the water and quickly forget how hot we were.

Of course you must go to the beach! he said to me.

Yes, absolutely we must! I replied involuntarily.

And it was the most refreshing plunge of all the refreshing plunges. It had been such a hot day, and the sea immediately turned angst into laughter.

Though none of my other trips this year were as hot as the Camino in June, I still kept jumping into water.

I jumped into several lakes in Switzerland on hot days and soaked my weary bones in some Swiss streams. Pure bliss after all the ups and downs!

Then, in the Lake District, though it was quite cold and even rainy, there were two occasions where a few brave souls and I ended the day’s walk by jumping into a lake. I cannot even explain the urge to do this. Maybe it is the incredible relief that the freezing cold water provides for my joints. Or maybe I am just wildly curious about the spike in popularity of cold water swimming. But I think there must be at least some motivation having to do with my muscle memory around how delightful it was to end the summer walks in the water that produced my desire to jump in a cold lake after the Lake District rambles.

And so it came to pass that both my first walk of the summer in June and my last walk of the season in September ended with splashes in the water. Two very different days, but they both involved a good walk with friends with a swim at the end.

Last week I went for a swim in a nearby pool that has a sauna for your post-swim warm up (yes, please!), and while I was doing frosty laps in the pool, I was gratefully remembering of all my summer dips. I was filled-to-the-brim thankful for everyone who was willing to pause and hop in the water along with me!

Sometimes the only thing keeping you from a good swim is a fellow adventurer. The folks I most often hike with (Chino boys) are hard pressed to stop at all on a hike, much less for something as lengthy as a swim.

Unlace boots? Change clothes? Dig out a towel?

Taido Chino cannot be having that kind of delay in the schedule.

So I consider it a great accomplishment that this past summer I managed to coax him into a lake, not once, but twice!

Like I said, it was an unusually hot summer in Europe.

Mini Walking Stories is a project I’m doing this month to catalog a fabulous year of walking. During December, I’m inviting you to come along with me for a few minutes on one of the walks I took in 2022. Read more stories here.

The post Mini Walking Stories: Soak in all the Rivers + Jump in all the Lakes appeared first on Alison Chino.

We almost always pack a picnic lunch for our Saturday shenanigans in the hills.

Tuna sandwiches are lovingly prepared and then stacked into tupperwares, or in a pinch, we will pick up boxed sandwiches in the shop on our way out to the countryside, taking part in the ubiquitous meal deal in the UK & Ireland, which comes with a sandwich, a snack (usually a bag of crisps) and a drink for less than a fiver.

I love having lunch with me on a long walk. I usually pack a few snacks in my bag even if I am just having a wander around town. I just feel like I can wander further when I have trail mix and clementines in by backpack, and if I happen to spot a bench in the sunshine, well, so much the better.

But lately, I am finding that we often end up eating the bulk of our lunch back at the car (or at home) when the hike is over, after having carried it all day in our packs.

This is, of course, because of the weather.

On a wet day or even just a really cold and windy day, we don’t stop much while we’re walking. We might pause for everyone to grab a very quick small bite, washed down with a swig of hot tea from the flask. Sometimes we eat without even sitting down, just shoving food down to keep up our energy, like a car swinging through the service station.

We press on quickly before our legs get too stiff.

Often, I have just managed to get my sandwich out before Taido and Simon have already scarfed theirs down and are saying it’s time to go. I take two quick bites, wrap it back up and put it away. I swing my pack back on as I start walking, trying to catch up to the boys, who are already disappearing around the next bend.

Taido doesn’t much like to dilly dally even on the sunniest of days, but in bad weather, he really keeps you moving.

On days like these, I find that I miss the stops. I like to pause for a rest as much as I like to finish my whole sandwich.

When I plan a hike, I intend for the picnic lunch to be more of an event than this throwing-down-a-snack-while-walking business. But this past September, I ran into the same problems Taido tries to keep us from facing.

Several days we had our lunch in the rain, and folks were getting too cold when we stopped. The wind and rain kind of spoil my picture of the perfect hiking picnic, so in such circumstances, I guess it’s not too terribly bad to eat the rest of your lunch at 4pm in a hostel lobby. At that point, you’re just glad to be warm.

Still, nothing quite beats being able to sit down, spread out and rest in the sunshine while leisurely eating a few simple items that are miraculously improved in taste just by how tired and hungry you are. And also a good view doesn’t hurt.

My pursuit of the perfect picnic lunch is part of the joy of hiking, and maybe it’s made that much more special by the fact that it only comes along once in a while.

I will keep carrying my sack lunch, just in case the sun comes out.

BONUS: Here’s a list of all the things I might put in a picnic lunch:

Sandwiches or wraps:

Fillings include tuna, egg salad, peanut butter and jelly, hummus and roasted red peppers, pesto and omelette.

If I am in Spain, Italy or France, I often just buy a big baguette and some local cheese.

Fruit:
Apples, oranges, grapes, pears.

Snacks:

Chips/crisps, nuts, trail mix, raisins, protein bars.

My favorite homemade trail mix right now is dark chocolate, coconut flakes and pecans.

Treats:

Brownies, cookies, mini Kit-Kats or Twix bars, Peanut M&Ms, energy bars.

Drinks:

I carry water and a flask of hot tea when the weather is cold. I also carry those tablets (Nuun) that you can put in your water for extra electrolytes on hot days.

I’m always looking for good ideas for what to pack, so please feel free to share your favorite picnic lunch ideas with me!

Mini Walking Stories is a project I’m doing this month to catalog a fabulous year of walking. During December, I’m inviting you to come along with me for a few minutes on one of the walks I took in 2022. Read more stories here.

The post Mini Walking Stories: Picnic Lunch appeared first on Alison Chino.

Mini Walking Stories is a project I’m doing this month to catalog what has been an AMAZING year of walking. Every day during December, I’m going to choose one photo and invite you to come along with me for a few minutes on one of the walks I took in 2022. 

A Slow Descent into Borrowdale

We were coming down a steep, rocky path in the rain after a quick lunch in a drizzly fog.

Every step on wet rock was a sneaky invitation to a near treacherous slip. I was taking it oh-so-slow in the hopes that I wouldn’t fall. And even more, I hoped that my slow steps were slowing the steps of the seven others behind me. 

These wet rocks are as slick as snot!

I yelled behind me, borrowing a phrase of my father’s, who also happened to be on the walk, bringing up the rear.

Use your trekking poles, and please try not to fall!

It can be hard to take slow, deliberate steps when you are reaching the point in the day when you are ready to be done.

When all you want is to hurry off the mountain and into a hot shower,  you are more likely to misstep. Most hiking accidents happen towards the end of the day. 

I knew that everyone was already tired from the climb up out of Grasmere to the foggy-topped Green Up, and the rain had cut short what I had hoped would be a good rest at the top.

So it took several hours for us to carefully descend into Borrowdale Valley.

Of course, no one made it down without slipping, but everyone did make it down in one piece. 

Exhausted and wet.

But apart from a few bumps and bruises, unharmed.

Thank. The. Lord.

I said a prayer of relief as I collapsed onto my bunk after getting everyone settled into their rooms.

When we started out in Grasmere that morning, I was all grins and a skip in my step.

Even in a light drizzle, I was delighted to be heading into one of the loveliest valleys in the Lake District. We had barely begun and everyone was stopping to take photos, greeting sheep along old stone walls, and calling out to each other to LOOK! 

I remember thinking to myself that morning, This is why I LOVE bringing people to the Lake District. It’s effortlessly charming. People cannot help but love it!!

And I always love to return. 

But a few hours later, the rain had settled in and faces were not nearly as bright. At least I don’t think they were. Between the fog and the hoods pulled over heads, it was hard to see.

But hot showers and food at the Borrowdale YHA did much to revive our sopping wet crew.

It’s amazing how once you are dry and fed, you can see the day in a whole different light. 

Around the dinner table, faces brighten again. Everyone can laugh about the harder parts of the trail.

The wet, rocky bits are hurdles you overcame. Look how strong you are. Maybe you even had fun.

The beautiful views of the morning come back into focus and the wet, arduous descent into the valley is fast becoming a distant memory.

For tomorrow there are new trails to blaze. 

Never mind that the weather forecast is posted in the hostel reception area, and it’s calling for rain, rain and more rain ahead.

Right now a cozy bunk is calling your name.

The post Mini Walking Stories: A Slow Descent into Borrowdale appeared first on Alison Chino.

The first time I visited the Lake District with my family, it rained for almost all of the three days we were there, and I still drove away madly in love and scheming about when I could get back. 

The bright green, grass-covered trails and lakes surrounded by autumn colors left me wanting more, despite the bad weather. Even the smallest break in the clouds convinced me that the hills above the hostel where we were staying were some of the loveliest in the world. 

When I look back now, I can see from hindsight that the weekend of rainy walking in the mud and mist unlocked something in me that I did not know was there. I already knew that I loved hiking, but I didn’t know how much I loved walking. 

And not just the walking, but the whole culture of walking. I loved that we were staying in a hostel full of other people who had come to walk in the rain. They were all more prepared than we were. We were walking in jeans instead of waterproof trousers, so I watched these hillwalkers closely as they put on their gear and headed out into the surrounding mountains, undaunted by the pouring rain. 

The hostel had a drying room that filled up with dripping trousers and wet, muddy boots at the end of each day. People lounged around with maps and guidebooks in the evening, sharing pints and trading stories in the bar. 

Every hike we did that weekend was recommended to us by someone else we met there in the hostel, and then we would report back in the evenings about how we had gotten on in the rain.

Before we came home, I picked up a book about walking in the Lake District at a small bookshop in Cockermouth (yes, that is the actual name of a town). It was called A Coast to Coast Walk. The more I read, the more I was determined that I would do this walk all the way across England, weather and creaky knees and all.

Less than a year later, I was back in the Lakes with a dear friend. I had found the most important piece of my puzzle, someone who was willing to do it with me. Or someone who was foolish enough to believe me when I said that it would be a grand adventure worth the effort.

As we trained for the walk in our own separate towns, we both wondered if there was any way to ever be ready for the challenge of walking long distances for many days strung together in a row. There were many unknowns for both of us about what it would be like.

But something wonderful happens when you say, “Yes. I will do that.

I love that feeling.

Once you say YES, you have an adventure waiting for you. It’s no longer hypothetical, but now there is an actual moment in time to which your spirit rises over the weeks and days leading up to it. You have a season of preparing, which for me always leads to a feeling that I will never be prepared. 

But the days pass anyway, the ones where you do a long walk to get ready and the ones where you do not because life gets busy. And whether you walk every day or every other day or once a week, the days all come and go and eventually, the moment arrives.

A plane ride across the Atlantic. 

A train ride to a village. 

A taxi to an even smaller village.

And then all of sudden you are sorting out gear in a bed and breakfast, lacing up your boots, strapping on your pack, and walking out into the cool of a September morning.

This is the moment you said YES to all those months ago.

I said that YES in my heart when I first stood on the shores of Lake Buttermere. 

That YES carried me with my friend all the way across England.

And I’ve repeated that YES every time I go for a walk.

Epic journeys always begin with small steps, one foot before the other, over and over again.

The path is before you, waiting for you to walk it.

Those first few steps of a long walk are so beautiful to me, full of expectation and hope. You take them in faith that they will convey you on a journey that is well worth your time and effort. 

One step.

And then another one.

All these steps are small affirmations that you are on your way to somewhere, all part of a  larger affirmation that to lace up boots, open up the door and walk out into the world is a brave and marvelous way to live.

I hope you are saying YES to something your heart desires this year. To getting outside. To being with friends.

I’m saying YES to more walking this year. In addition to wandering in Spain and Italy again, I’ll be heading back to the Lake District, so give me a shout if you want to come wander some hills with me.

The post Saying Yes To Walking appeared first on Alison Chino.

From my bottom bunk, I couldn’t see the mountains that were visible the day before.

No one was awake yet, so I let them all sleep while I got up to contemplate the wisdom of dragging my mom and two boys up a misty hill.

“The weather looks pretty great today,” answered our friendly host at the youth hostel in Grasmere when I asked about the cloudy skies.

If you live here, as in Scotland, mist is not bad weather. I remembered to be glad for mist instead of thrashing rain and wind.

“Ok,” I said, “I’m hoping to go up to Easedale Tarn today.”

“Do you have a map?”

Does the one in my head count? I thought, as I shook my head.

He handed me a hand-drawn map of the walk I was hoping  to do.

I recognized the scribblings of Wainwright from my two weeks on England’s Coast to Coast trail.

“Thanks.”

“Cheers! Have a great day!”

Less than an hour later, fed and fitted, we were on our way up cobbled stones and mossy lanes.

I can tell how thick the mist is by how fast my hair is soaked through, even under my hat. Droplets of water falling from the rims of my glasses indicated to me that it was heavy.

But we were undeterred. Onward and upward.

The boys ran ahead and I watched my mama take in the delights of wider Grasmere just I had hoped she would.

Even on a wet March day.

We could hear running water as we climbed higher.

And every once in a while we caught glimpses through the clouds of white water falling in the folds of the hills.

And then we were upon it.

Waterfalls that presumably were running from the lake to which we were headed: Easedale Tarn.

The mist seemed to get heavier as we got higher.

But as long as we could see the trail in front of us, we kept on putting one foot in front of the other.

And occasionally I could see one of the boys waving back at us.

But over half the time I was turned around taking in the views behind me.

I have fallen in love with the Lake District over and over again. In different months and seasons and in all kinds of weather. On our first visit here, it rained almost constantly and I still couldn’t wait to come back.

This was my first wintery visit. My first time to glimpse snow on the hilltops as we made the drive.

Spring was just around the corner. The days were starting to be longer and the air warmer, but officially it was still winter. I shed my gloves and the wool band I usually wear on my ears, but I still had them both handy in my pockets, knowing I could need them again any minute.

It was not too long before we found the lake, where we sat down for a minute to stretch our legs.

Everyone was happy to be at Easedale Tarn, and walked around the lake a little bit before turning around to finish our loop walk. As we edged around one part of the lake, we surprised a hiker who was stripping down for a swim.

We heard a splash and a squeal as he jumped in the lake, another sure sign that winter was at its end, although not one that any of us were ready for.

We came down twice as fast as we went up, happy to be headed for Grasmere, where hot soup and cream teas were waiting for us!

In mist or sunshine, this is the Lake District I love. This sprawling land lined with slate rock walls and dotted with sheep. Where you close your eyes and hear only the running of water and open them again to see your children disappear around the bend ahead. Because who can help running when there is such a world to be explored.

Thanks Mama for exploring one of my favorite parts of the UK with me!

And a big thank you to the Grasmere YHA for hosting us in the Lake District, providing us with maps, hot food and warm (dry!) beds at night!

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Chasing Daylight in July has been all about being outside with friends and family.

Some of the those days have been drop dead gorgeous.

But most of them have seen at least a few hours of rain.

However, the weather has not stopped us from making the most of our kids’ short summer holidays.

As soon as school was out, we headed straight for this darling cottage in the Lake District.

I’ve loved the Lake District something fierce ever since we first visited two years ago, and after walking Wainwright’s Coast to Coast last year, I feel like I’ve left a little part of my heart somewhere on the fells.

So when some dear friends of ours asked us if we wanted to share a house this summer in the Lake District, we jumped at the opportunity to wander this wonderland again.

We made lots of new discoveries along the way, as well as rediscovering a few happy truths.

We remembered that you’re never too old to play Pooh Sticks.

Or to climb trees.

And that you don’t have to wait for the sun to spend a day out on the lake.

Paddles still work in the rain.

And kids will swim no matter what the temperatures are.

We discovered that our kids are so much more eager to go for long hikes when they have friends along.

Especially when gorgeous cream teas are waiting around every corner in the village.

We remembered that no matter how much food you make, six children will manage to eat it all.

Treats included.

We spent our days walking around lakes and up hills in search of views like these.

                                        \                                                    

We had our best weather on our last day, so we saved our big climb for this day: Scafell Pike. At 978 meters (3209 feet), it is the highest mountain in England. Its first ascender was Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

I was a little sad that it was our last day in the Lakes, so I took loads of photos of this walk.

There was a scramble up the side of a waterfall on the route we chose.             

The kids were ahead of us all day, amazing me with their sure steps and quick climbing.

We reached the top sometime in the afternoon, well after lunch, but Taido had saved cookies and treats, so we had a little celebration while taking in the the world around us.

I’m always a little envious as I pick my way down the mountain to see the kids break out in a full tilt run. 

They reached the bottom well before me.

Taido drove them on back so they could be first in the showers and ready for dinner.

I made everyone stop for one last family photo as we walked down the lane to the pub for our last night.

We were all laughs and giggles as we ended our dreamy week in The Lakes.

And the next morning as we drove away from our darling cottage and sweet friends, I might have shed a tear or two.

But the next adventure was just around the corner.

The post Chasing Daylight in July: Part 1 (The Lakes) appeared first on Alison Chino.

Friends. Diane and I finished the Coast to Coast in September but the journey began back in January of last year, and it did not really finish until yesterday when I wrote the ending. And that’s how it is with a Grand Adventure. Any journey worth its salt will occupy a space on my brain for a lot longer than the actual two weeks of walking. The memory of each step I took across England with my precious friend Diane will stay with me for many, many moons.

And as a way of saying goodbye to this season of planning, walking and writing about this journey, here are my 20 Favorite Photos of The Coast to Coast.

Just in case you missed one of the many Coast to Coast stories along the way, here they all are for your reading pleasure.

Coast to Coast: Rising to the Occasion

Coast to Coast: Meeting a 78 Year Old Fellwalker

Coast to Coast: Children Welcome

Coast to Coast: Long Day Strategies

Coast to Coast: Upon Arrival

Coast to Coast: Fellow Pilgrims

Coast to Coast: Highs

Coast to Coast: Finishing (Not So) Strong

I hope you’ve enjoyed this walk even a little bit as much as I have. I am already super excited about adventures coming in 2015. I’m looking forward to doing more walks with Macs Adventure!

The post Walking Across England: The Coast to Coast Photos {England} (36/48) appeared first on Alison Chino.

Not our spiritual highs, but the actual physical high points of the walk.

Day 1: Dent Hill

Day 2: High Stile

Day 2: Helm Crag

Day 2: Helm Crag

Day 2: Haystacks

Day 2: Innominate Tarn

Day 3: Green Up

Day 4: Going up St Sunday Crag

Day 4: St Sunday Crag (looking at Helvellyn)

Day 4: St Sunday Crag

Day 4: Coming Down St Sunday Crag

Day 5: Kidsty Pike in the Mist

Day 7: Nine Standards Rigg

Day 11: Carlton Bank

All Days: What Diane and I looked like after climbing a big hill.

PS Here’s the official list of high points along the Coast to Coast from Wikipedia, in case you’re curious about heights and such.

• Dent
• High Stile (variant)
• Helm Crag (optional)
• Helvellyn and St Sunday Crag (variants)
• Kidsty Pike
• Nine Standards Rigg/Hartley Fell
• Carlton Bank
• Cringle Moor/High Blakey Moor/Glaisdale Moor
• Urra Moor

Our Coast to Coast walk was made possible in part by the good folks at Macs Adventure, who arranged all our accommodations and luggage transfers and who should in no way be held responsible for our tendency to get lost or our ridiculous YouTube videos.

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One of the great joys of walking the Coast to Coast with an extrovert was that we met tons of other people along the way.

Diane was always willing to say, “Hello. We’re walking the Coast to Coast. How about you?” Endlessly enchanting in all her Southern charm, Diane has a beautiful gift of being endearing without even trying.

Also we were fairly conspicuous so we often did not need to introduce ourselves. Mainly because we laughed. A lot. In fact, one afternoon we collapsed on the side of the trail, about a mile from the end. We made a video sitting in the grass and we were cracking ourselves up so much that we could not recover enough to get up and walk the rest of the way into town. As a result, we sat there for over half an hour, serving as a bit of a congratulations party for all those who came behind us.

“Hiiiii! You’re almost down now! Well done! How has your day on the trail been?”

Diane yelled all these phrases between giggles. By the time we drug ourselves into Patterdale, a group of walkers in a beer garden were laughing about two girls “sunbathing” on the grass near the end of the trail, and assuming we were high on something more than just mountains.

Nevertheless, our willingness to laugh at ourselves along the way opened us up to more than just ridicule. We met so many fellow Coast to Coasters that Diane started keeping a log with all of their names.

The warm and fuzzy feeling that is conjured in my heart by this list of names and stories from (or about) the other walkers was probably the biggest surprise of doing the Coast to Coast.

Diane always asked people why they were walking the Coast to Coast and there were as many answers as there were people:

A couple from Hawaii had walked it last year, and it had been their favorite thing they had ever done, so they came back this year to do it again.

Two flight attendants from Seattle were celebrating an early retirement buyout from their airline.

A man from Australia was walking in honor of his wife, with whom he had previously walked the trail three times before she died of cancer. He made us all cry as he carried and scattered her ashes along the walk. His new companion had come along in support of his journey, and her sacrifice was equally moving.

A fellow who has lived in Spain for over twenty years came back to the Lake District because it was his childhood home. He was connecting the dots between his memories and the present day. He and his girlfriend were carrying all their gear and just showing up each night trying to find a place to sleep. They ended up roughing it a couple of nights in rented tents and we found their courage admirable, but we were glad we weren’t doing the same.

We met two couples who were doing only half of the walk and planned to come back next year for the second half. They both lived within an easy train ride of the walk, so they could return at any point and do the bit they missed. This was a novel concept to me, but after watching them I have been considering the advantages of doing other national trails this way. I certainly might appreciate the later sections of a walk more if I was approaching them with fresh eyes, not to mention fresh legs. They’ve got me thinking of what it might be like to walk the West Highland Way over three weekends instead of in seven or eight days.

We walked a lot of miles with a gentleman who has made a sort of career of walking. He’s walked the Camino de Santiago three times. “But I’m still a sinner,” he said. He and I traded stories about being the son of a vicar vs a pastor’s daughter.

Two marathon runners were tackling the walk in 11 days. They found the terrain to be rather difficult and began to take roads instead of trails, adding considerable distances to their walk. One night over several bottles of wine, they confessed to yelling “Sod you, bloody Wainwright!” for most of the afternoon.

We walked only a few miles with a sweet couple from Milwaukee but unfortunately, it was one of the times we got lost and we led them astray. The husband was considerably annoyed with his wife for following us instead of following their own map, so we didn’t see them much after that incident. Oops.

Two boys from Bristol who worked together were doing the walk, but one was sort of leaving the other behind when they caught up to us. We walked with them long enough to slow the first one down so they could finish the day together. The older one told us he had just got married and was expecting his first baby this fall. He turned out to be only a couple of years younger than I am, which of course leads to the inevitable discussion of the fact that we often start families in Arkansas a lot earlier than they do over here in the UK.

We met several pairs of parents and children who were doing the walk together, a father and his daughter, a boy and his dad, and a gal with her mother. I loved watching these sweet pairs, and how the younger tended the older and vice versa.

Even though we met lots of people along the way, having meals or drinks with some here and there, we actually only started and completed the walk on the same day as one other set of walkers.

We met the group of twelve walkers and their guide, John, on our first day in Ennerdale Bridge. But since they were a larger group, we tended to avoid them a bit. We felt at the start of the walk like we would prefer to be either well ahead or behind them. But then about halfway through the walk, Diane began to try to learn one of two of their names whenever we encountered the group. Somehow, trying to meet them all had seemed too daunting but when she singled them out, we started to get to know them a little. So instead of being intimidated when we would come upon the entire group, we were glad to see them.

In fact, we began to sort of watch for them. We left many of the friends we’d made behind on one of our longer days that most folks had divided up into two sections, but the larger group was keeping the same pace as we were. In fact, more than once their guide set us back on track when we were headed the wrong way.

We felt a little lost on the days we didn’t see them, but most days we could spot them a bit ahead of us stopping for tea or lunch. They called us “Hey y’all!” because that’s how we greeted everyone on the trail, and they got such a kick out of the word “y’all,” saying it in a super exaggerated manner.

We actually finished the walk just at the same time as the group did, which made for such a lovely celebration at the end. We signed our names just behind theirs in the register in Wainwright’s Bar, marking the end of our time on the trail.

The next morning, as we were leaving town, we ran into a girl from the large group and she was in tears. She said she felt so silly, but that she was grieving the end and saying goodbye to all her new friends.

“I know,” I said. “It does feel a bit strange. We’ve met all these lovely people that we’ll probably never see again. I don’t think it’s silly at all to be sad.”

And even now as I think about Diane and I both hugging her goodbye, I think how lovely it would be to run into even one of the many people we met along the way on the Coast to Coast. It makes me want to hurry up and climb another hill just to see who might be waiting at the top of it.

Our Coast to Coast walk was made possible in part by the good folks at Macs Adventure, who arranged all our accommodations and luggage transfers and who should in no way be held responsible for our tendency to get lost or our ridiculous YouTube videos.

The post Coast to Coast: Fellow Pilgrims appeared first on Alison Chino.

Upon Arrival: Coast to Coast Lodgings

Discovering our particular establishments among the small hotels and B&Bs in the villages along the Coast to Coast was like a treasure hunt waiting for us at the end of each day’s walk.

When we arrived at our new place to sleep each night, we were usually greeted like old friends, or even better, warriors fresh from battle. I loved the hosts that made the end of the day feel like a long awaited homecoming.

If we were coming in after dark, we were welcomed with even more enthusiasm than usual.

“We were afraid you weren’t going to make it!”

“I was just about to double check the date of your arrival.”

Or my favorite,

“You poor dears, come in here and rest your weary bones.”

When we walked up to Park Inn B&B in Ingleby Cross, the owner was standing out front, arms outstretched with two glasses of Prosecco to celebrate the end of our longest mileage day.

If I ever run an inn, that will be the way I greet everyone who arrives because Best. Idea. Ever.

After we downed our drinks we were doing a little happy dance up to our room.

Twice we had to be picked up from the trail to reach our room for the night, which was less like a homecoming and more like hitchhiking: waiting on the side of the road for someone to come and pick you up at their convenience. This was, understandably, not always exactly when we finished walking, a time that could not possibly be predicted or planned for, especially for someone who is running an inn with a full service restaurant attached.

Some of the rooms we stayed in were so nice that we never wanted to leave, or we regretted not getting there earlier so we could have enjoyed a few more hours in the comfort of a perfectly arranged sitting room or a well tended garden.

Then of course there was the hot tub in Richmond at Arandale Guest House, and our gorgeous rooms, which our host informed us confidently were the very best along the Coast to Coast, as was his breakfast. He told us everyone regrets having to leave after only one night of soaking in the tub on the back patio with a glass of wine, and besides, there’s so much more to explore in Richmond that’s it is always a terrible shame to leave your favorite guesthouse behind.

But it would be impossible to choose a favorite. Each lodging had its own special touches and each host gave attention to different details.

Diane loved the antique Old Croft House in Kirkby Stephen where our room was at the end of corridor lined with old bookshelves. We relaxed within a soothing palate of blues and browns, where the old and new mixed tastefully. An ancient cabinet held a modern foot bath for massaging our tired feet.

At the Cambridge House in Reeth, we could have stayed a year in their lounge and not have ever finished reading all the offered magazines and guidebooks on the area. Also they would not dream of leaving those small pre-packaged milk cups on the tea trays. A jug of fresh milk was delivered whenever you wanted to have your tea.

In Glaisdale, our host served us our tea herself, in the garden just as we arrived, bringing us biscuits and welcoming us with stories of cows being stuck in the mud in early spring. Red House Farm is still very much a farm, as are many of the guesthouses along the way. In the mornings, we often were served fresh eggs from the chicken house.

Breakfast was included with all our stays, full English breakfast, of course. But we had to back off of the plates piled with sausages, bacon, fried bread and eggs after a couple of days of walking on full stomachs. Soon I returned to my simple yogurt or porridge, while Diane ordered one egg and one piece of bacon every day. We were delighted by any offerings of fruit and we were never without our daily pots of tea.

Since the Coast to Coast is quite a popular walk, we shared our lodgings with other walkers, so that the talk around the breakfast table or in the pub tended toward the walk itself, usually either the day ahead or the one just finished.

In the Old Water View in Patterdale and in Keld Lodge, the owners held court so-to-speak from behind the bar, passing out advice regarding the trail along with pints of ale. I loved sitting at the bar and hearing stories of walkers lost on stormy nights or of what it is like in the winter, when the walking season is over and the villages are quiet.

Diane and I had a sort of childlike joy about discovering the particular offerings of each place we stayed, but actually it was commonalities of the lodgings that made them comforting: a hot water kettle and a tray of tea things, our suitcases magically appearing in each room (courtesy of our luggage transfer service), a predictable morning meal and the warm welcomes on  the faces of our hosts. These sweet folks who, for whatever reason, have chosen to live away from major cities in country houses and inns, open their doors and their hearts to a sea of walkers passing through on the long road between St. Bees and Robin Hood’s Bay.

Our Coast to Coast walk was made possible in part by the good folks at Macs Adventure, who arranged all our accommodations and luggage transfers and who should in no way be held responsible for our tendency to get lost or our ridiculous YouTube videos.

The post Coast to Coast: Upon Arrival appeared first on Alison Chino.