The first order of business this morning was to reduce Leslie’s pack again, since her knees and feet were not improving. We put about half of her belongings in a plastic sack, called a taxi and had the sack delivered to the B&B where we would be two days hence. Our British friends would be joining us for that day’s walk and they could collect the bag.
With Leslie now ready for the day’s hike, we had a sumptuous breakfast that we shared with two cyclists and a hiker. The hiker was finishing his trek from the Irish Sea just as his hiking boots were literally falling apart. He had taped them with silver tape and hoped for the best. The entire visit at this B&B was delightful and Sandra was a marvelous host who made our stay memorable.
Unfortunately, we left the very warm and cozy B&B and entered a dark and dreary day on the moors. A steady rain and heavy cloud were to be our companions for the day. Our visibility was quite limited, but we did notice a stone pillar alongside our trail on Glaisdale Rigg. It appears that these were road markers placed at crossroads. They originally had the name of the road carved on them, however harsh weather conditions had eroded most of the letters away.
Well, I think the adders are following me. Today (third day in a row for snake sightings) the adder was freshly squished so not as scary.
Leslie was now having to take breaks to relieve the pain in her feet, not the best of condition for a good hike. As we were sitting, we decided to have a little lunch and during our snack Leslie informed me that there was a dead, squashed rabbit at my feet. Wow! This was the day for squished wildlife.
Reaching Glaisdale High Moor, the weather had not improved. These desolate, lonely moors were as I had imagined when reading Wuthering Heights years ago.
After a long walk in wet heather, we arrived at what appeared to be a drab Lion Inn.
As drab as the Lion Inn appeared in the rain and swirling mist, it was all warmth and cheery fireplaces inside. Fellow hikers and cyclists were gathered around crackling fireplaces imbibing warm drinks. We were instantly among friends as we all shared our stories of a very wet and cold day.
Dinner was in the very attractive dining room whose low beamed ceiling gave evidence of the inn’s 16th-century beginnings.
Our room was up a narrow staircase with pine beds, puffy duvets and a window overlooking the moors. We covered every available surface in that room with our drying, very damp gear.