Not at all sure exactly where I had pitched my tent during the night, I was keen to be up and away in good time rather be woken by some grumpy farmer. As it was I discovered that I had chosen my site well, being next door to the Scout camp ground. Let's face it, most of the bush craft and love of camping originated in my own scouting days way back when, so this seemed fitting.
I had become more pragmatic about my rooute finding after the last couple of days. Exhausted by the relentless hills and bumpy roads, I alternated the morning between a few short legs of A class roads and smaller back roads through the more interesting looking parts of the western lakes.
I fairly quickly arrived in Cockermouth and boy what a shock. Somehow I thought that the town would probably have recovered. After all it was last year that the flood took out the town centre, right? It just went to show that despite all the media coverage, nothing can paint the picture in a way that the people of the town would remember it. I came into town thinking firstly about getting a coffee, but was quickly taken aback by the number of shops and buildings that were boarded up. Many had signs saying open for business, whilst others quit evidently were still along way from being functional. As I drove up the high street the extent of the devastation became ever more apparent.
The large stone bridge at the top of the high street still lacked some of the topmost stone, where two large trees had become wedged against it, thrown there by the force of the flood. One gentleman that I stopped to talk to said that the water had run down the high street to a depth of 8 feet!!
I continued over the bridge and turned right. Despite the elevation here, it was obvious that the water had come down here too. I was now determined to spend some money in this town. I was conscious of not wanting to appear to be a disaster tourist, so took only one photo as I left the town of the remains of the footbridge across the river, but I felt uneasy about that. I include it here because I want anyone that reads this to have a reminder of what this beautiful little Lakeland town is still dealing with, long after the media have moved on.
The hotel that I stopped in provided my with a superb breakfast and I sat there for a couple of hours completing more blog entries for the previous days. In the hotel they have a copy of the photo album that was put together in the aftermath of the flood, presumably to raise money for the relief effort. The pictures are shocking, awe inspiring and a reminder of how powerful both nature and the human spirit can be.
I could have stayed longer. I would like to come back. I hope that some of you might to. The western lakes are beautiful and tranquil, Cockermouth, an inspiration.
The A595 I think it was sped me toward Carlisle,
where I later to learn from Anna, that Gordon Brown was at that time touring and talking to the locals. I did skirt through the outskirts of town passing the castle, before picking up NCN route 7 which to my delight I discovered followed a new road not on Google earth, that ran alongside the M6, all the way into Gretna.
Another big milestone passed. I took in the multitude of references to marriage venues this side of the border before grabbing a swift coffee from a garage vendor, as much to make asking her to fill my water bottles more palitable. Why would I feel guilty about asking someone to fill my water bottles. I guess I don't like asking for anything for nothing. That despite being offered many kindnesses on this journey for exactly that.
I had become more pragmatic about my rooute finding after the last couple of days. Exhausted by the relentless hills and bumpy roads, I alternated the morning between a few short legs of A class roads and smaller back roads through the more interesting looking parts of the western lakes.
I fairly quickly arrived in Cockermouth and boy what a shock. Somehow I thought that the town would probably have recovered. After all it was last year that the flood took out the town centre, right? It just went to show that despite all the media coverage, nothing can paint the picture in a way that the people of the town would remember it. I came into town thinking firstly about getting a coffee, but was quickly taken aback by the number of shops and buildings that were boarded up. Many had signs saying open for business, whilst others quit evidently were still along way from being functional. As I drove up the high street the extent of the devastation became ever more apparent.
The large stone bridge at the top of the high street still lacked some of the topmost stone, where two large trees had become wedged against it, thrown there by the force of the flood. One gentleman that I stopped to talk to said that the water had run down the high street to a depth of 8 feet!!
I continued over the bridge and turned right. Despite the elevation here, it was obvious that the water had come down here too. I was now determined to spend some money in this town. I was conscious of not wanting to appear to be a disaster tourist, so took only one photo as I left the town of the remains of the footbridge across the river, but I felt uneasy about that. I include it here because I want anyone that reads this to have a reminder of what this beautiful little Lakeland town is still dealing with, long after the media have moved on.
The hotel that I stopped in provided my with a superb breakfast and I sat there for a couple of hours completing more blog entries for the previous days. In the hotel they have a copy of the photo album that was put together in the aftermath of the flood, presumably to raise money for the relief effort. The pictures are shocking, awe inspiring and a reminder of how powerful both nature and the human spirit can be.
I could have stayed longer. I would like to come back. I hope that some of you might to. The western lakes are beautiful and tranquil, Cockermouth, an inspiration.
The A595 I think it was sped me toward Carlisle,
where I later to learn from Anna, that Gordon Brown was at that time touring and talking to the locals. I did skirt through the outskirts of town passing the castle, before picking up NCN route 7 which to my delight I discovered followed a new road not on Google earth, that ran alongside the M6, all the way into Gretna.Another big milestone passed. I took in the multitude of references to marriage venues this side of the border before grabbing a swift coffee from a garage vendor, as much to make asking her to fill my water bottles more palitable. Why would I feel guilty about asking someone to fill my water bottles. I guess I don't like asking for anything for nothing. That despite being offered many kindnesses on this journey for exactly that.
Before I left Gretna, I quickly contacted the Queensway Caravan Park in Annan, who were happy to find room for me, preferably if I could get there before 8. Actually when they realised that I was doing this for charity, they relented and just said, 'turn up and we'll fit you in.' In the end I had the best pitch in town. My bedroom window, (tent flap) looked out over the Solway Firth and as the night closed in I was serenaded by the Oystercatchers and Redshank out on the tideline. 
The campsite owner let me stay for free. Thank you again. Thank you.
Just wrote a long comment (along the lines of: we're so proud of you, only a week to go, but don't expect any of your mum's fantastic choc cake to be left) but it disappeared into the ether. Errr. Will try with this shorter one, but must get to bed (you too!) xoxo
ReplyDeleteG'night x
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