Friends and the North

I'd be kidding myself if I said that moving to London was easy. The hardest part of any move isn't the logistics, adjusting to a new place, or even the culture shock. It's leaving friends.



I've known Crabby longer than I've known any of my main circle of friends except for the Beautiful Competition. He was in my wedding and roomed with us in Seattle and he's almost like family to us. He just left after a weeklong visit, having departed the flat at 6 this morning to make it to Gatwick by 7.30, and I'm sitting on the floor typing this not trying to wake anyone up. In another week I'll be making a similar post about Chad, who's currently crashed on our couch.

The travel part of this story is actually pretty funny: last weekend we were supposed to go to Paris, but there was a fire in the Channel Tunnel and our train was canceled. Plane ticket prices went sky high and our options quickly became 'find something in the UK,' so we got cheap train tickets to Yorkshire and went hiking in the North York Moors National Park. It was a great relaxing long weekend away, and while I'm really sad I didn't get to see Paris it was kind of cool hiking around the countryside with Crabby, who is himself quite the outdoorsman and has climbed, among other things, Mt. Adams.

As always, you can find pictures of the trip on my Flickr stream.

We had a great time with Crabby and will no doubt have a great time with Chad, but it threw into very sharp relief for us how much we really miss our lives back in Seattle. We had agreed London was going to be a temporary state of affairs and it's now starting to look more and more like that will definitely be the case, and that we'll return to Seattle when we're done here. My own goals are shifting. My life needs to be about maximizing the time I have here and taking advantage of every opportunity even moreso than before, to enjoy these months and all that London has to offer. Because when I go back to Seattle and we head out to the North Cascades for some camping, or we're sitting around the gaming table or having people over for a Sunday picnic, I want a good story or two to tell when we're spending time with the people we care about most.

(And yes, family readers, that goes for you too!!)

Last Thursday Was the Winter of My Discontent

The Valley

Made glorious summer by my decision to take a long weekend and go on a hiking and writing retreat to the North. I needed a little time off; I haven't really had any since before the move apart from the trip to Prague, and that was pretty high-impact touristy. I needed something more chill.

I started with the vague idea of holing up in a country inn somewhere, hiking, writing and drinking beer. My requirements were pretty simple:

• Had to be outside of a major city. Preferably a small town. Preferably with 2000 people or less.
  
• But easily accessible by train and/or bus.
  
• With hiking trails in the area.
  
• Maybe in a National Park?
  
• In a pub. Or at the very least a place I didn't have to go outside to get a drink if all else failed.

In five minutes of Googling, I found the Blue Bell Inn in Kettlewell, North Yorkshire. In the Yorkshire Dales National Park. With train tickets to nearby Skipton and a 30-minute busride, the location was perfect. And miles of hiking trails. And beer. In a small town. It was exactly what I wanted.

So I booked the room and train tickets and had a couple of weeks to look forward to it.

I took Friday and Monday off work because the bus didn't run on Sundays and I wanted to take advantage of my time there - two full days of hiking plus travel days. I arrived in Kettlewell early in the afternoon on Friday, checked in and immediately headed out.

Now, National Parks in the UK are a little different than they are in the US at least as far as trails go. The parkland was formed in the 50s, but obviously people have been living there far longer - for thousands of years. So it's a full, working rural area where people make a living from their farms. It's not like hiking through Yellowstone or the parks in Washington - it's more like hiking through rural Ohio, through people's fields and pastures and sometimes their backyards.

The trails vary greatly as well, from paved one-lane roads to unpaved country roads to bridleways for horses to tracks through fields - sometimes just a bit of trampled grass. And they aren't always well-marked; more than once I got lost trying to figure out where I was supposed to go next, because signs tend to hide or have been knocked down. Other times, they're just blank or very hard to read, or so general that you can't quite tell where you're supposed to be.

Kettlewell is in a valley (as most towns are) and most of the trails head up into the hills so you can get out on the moors. The first day I started winding up a trail and made it as far as a farm before I turned around - I didn't realize that I was actually on the right trail, I thought I'd ended up on private property. Turning around was damn lucky though because soon after I did a storm rolled in and started dumping a sleet and rain combination on me. By the time I got back, I was soaked.

The next day I picked up a poncho from the helpful village store along with a guidebook to walks in the area - which combined with the ordinance survey maps I had with me was perfect for getting around, because the OS maps helpfully do not label any trails, and the book used fairly recognizable landmarks.

Snowy Moor

Day 2 started out innocently enough; I decided to do an approximately 10-mile loop to the next town, then across the moors and up to a mountain called Great Whernside. The hike ran for two miles along the river, passing through low pastureland broken only by the characteristic stone walls. I saw plenty of wildlife, from sheep to lambs. And rabbits, and grouse. At Starbotton, the next village, I began climbing to the hills. As I climbed, the sun disappeared and things started to get cloudy - especially back towards where I was hiking yesterday. At one point as I reached the high moors I could see the rain falling in the area I had just covered - so I pulled out the poncho and prepared for it.

The rain was heavy. Really heavy. Heavy like sleet, then hail, then heavy English snow.

Hard Rain

You can see from this picture exactly how hard the rain was falling - luckily it was at my back most of the time, but it eventually covered the trail, so much so that I got lost and had a really hard time finding my way back and almost trampling a grouse's nest in the process. I wasn't cold and I wasn't wet, but the area I was in was also really boggy and one wrong step could have had me knee-deep or waist-deep in some really cold muddy muck - not what I wanted when I was five or six miles out of town. I reached a small country road that was the last ditch before climbing Whernside and the weather up top looked even more miserable. I met a couple of hikers who had just come down and had stopped for tea (hey, this is England after all) and talked to them about the trail - it was rocky and slippery and likely concealed under snow by this point, and very steep. At one point the weather looked like it was going to clear so I decided to chance it, then got summarily worse so I turned around and took the road back to town. All in all, clocked about eight miles that day and still had a great time.

Day 3 I decided to do a southern route, which would take me not up a mountain but across the high moors, through some forests and back along some ruins. The weather was much more cooperative - even though I had the poncho there was no rain, and the walk was incredible. The high moors were absolutely deserted, although I did meet a couple of other hikers later in the trip. The climb was gradual; it took about an hour and a half to get to the top but I stayed up for another hour and a half, including the time I got lost and ended up way the hell off course but in the middle of an amazing moor, with more rabbits than I've ever seen before in the wild. I also saw hawks, although they were smaller than their American counterparts, and the corpses of rabbits - so there were probably foxes around as well, even if I didn't see them.

In all, I clocked about 20 miles between all 3 hikes, wrote around 10,000 words, took about 10 pages of notes for a couple of projects, and came back completely relaxed and refreshed. It was exactly what I needed, and today was one of the easiest and hardest days at work: hard to go back, but easy because I was so recharged and chill.

One or two of these a year and I'll be a much happier camper. Hiker. Whatever.

Complete Yorkshire Dales National Park Picture Set on Flickr.