Keïteï Ventures

 I feel so grubby as I write this at the end of day four… I wake to the sound of rain and I’m very slow to exit my warm sleeping bag, stuff it away and then fold my wet tent down. Dampness has settled over everything and the clouds hang low from the sky.  Off I march, clambering back over the wall and into the soggy hills. Thankfully the gravelly path causes the water to run freely away and it’s not boggy – yet!

Next on my destination is to reach the Nine Riggs Standard – 9 stone cairns which had recently been restored and were shaped perfectly. Nine cone shaped silhouettes in the morning gloom beckoning me on. Reaching them I stop for breakfast and  enjoy the clouds as they come and go, managing to lift for moments and offer me sights across the Moors. Turning off, I follow a lovely path laid out by large, flag stones with a deep bog of either side. The route splits into 3 paths depending on the season and I follow the summer route labelled “May to July –>”. Continuing merrily, I follow the route until the flagstones end abruptly and I am left with never-ending bog – k I’m being dramatic but looking back this was my least part of the trail.

Not wanting to have wet shoes, I switch to Hobbit mode and continue bare-foot. The going is slow as I continually sink to my knees and occasionally my thighs. The path disappears and I’m left to follow the infrequent boot marks of those who travelled this perilous section before me. The clouds swarm and a layer of water droplets smother me, causing my hair to curl. I swear as I march, sinking to my waist and clambering back out. According the guidebook someone had to be rescued from the a deep bog. I try to hop from rock to rock when rocks appear and attempt to find the most straight forward route I can. 

Eventually I reach the end and stumble across a bone dry hunting hut as the sun sheepishly emerges. The hut would have deeply appreciated last night. I reach a gravel track and see a large farm house. A hand made sign indicates the direction for hikers and I follow. Keld is next on my travels, a tiny hamlet I hiked through last September when I hiked the Herriot Trail. Remembering the lovely community garden, I disappear inside and sit in the same spot previously and let my feet breath.

I decide to treat myself and stop for lunch in a busy cafe. There is only one lady serving and it gives the impression that the cafe is her living room. Her dog barks from a back room as I join the queue. A few mature couples have teas and scones, a group of 5 lads in bike gear have all ordered coffees and teacakes. A group of women cyclists look at the menu and I know what I’m after. A tuna sandwich, Victoria sponge cake, a tea and a coke – please 🙂

15 minutes later, the lunch time flurry has died down and I sit happily inside with my chosen items. It feels good to just stop and watch, not having to move under my own steam and I appreciate being inside. I catch my reflection in the shiny tea pot and look weathered.

Hiking on, I pass through lots of lovely little hamlets, all tucked up out the way, like little pockets of time. Entering Reeth, I take a break on a bench and right on queue, the sky unleashes it’s late afternoon rain. I ram everything back in my bag, jump into my waterproofs and snap my rain cover over my pack. I seek shelter beneath a large, leafy tree and wait for the worst of it to pass.  Hiking on, it takes me a while to find anywhere suitable to pitch out of the way. Fields of sheep, but all too near the farm house, a campsite but full of vans and large tents, not many forests…I check my map and see a forest a little off the trail, when I reach it, half of it has been axed and I have to wander further into and end up pitching along a high stone wall. There are 4×4 tracks throughout and as long as no one drives through, I should be discrete enough. 

Once my evening chores are done, I gladly fall into my sleeping bag and sleep despite it being still light outside zzzzZZZZ