The Coast to Coast Walk: Prologue
‘Goodbye to All That’ – London to Whitehaven, Saturday 18th September 2010.
“I am leaving in the morning, for the land that I long to see again”
David Sylvian, Blackwater
Awake at 6am. Just glad to have slept a few hours to be honest. It’s a gorgeous day outside though – that ‘overblue’, that morning dark saturated blue where the sun sprays orange across the horizon. Fuck me I’m starving – I want an egg roll. No eggs. Is the caff open yet? Yes it is – result!
Egg in a hot roll with brown sauce and a steaming cup of crap coffee – sometimes, just sometimes, there’s nothing like it. I’m meant to be upstairs, I’m meant to be tidying and packing and writing lists and stuff. But it’s the ‘morning after the Friday night before’, the night God’s regional manager came to Westminster to tidy up, the night Laura and I drank the Adam and Eve dry of Bombay Sapphire – four dead bottles lying empty in their housing above the bar. We had to slum it with Gordon’s for a few more hours, but I like Gordon’s anyway.
Nine and a half hours of really well made Gin and Tonics (it’s René’s favourite drink and she owns the place. She was so overcome by her love for Bombay Sapphire she stopped stocking Gordon’s altogether and only brought it back in many, many months later due to popular demand). Managed to get Laura safely on the train at St. James’s Park and then wandered with Adina up to Trafalgar Square, then I went over to see Matt, Kieron, Darren and Ben at the Silver Cross for a few more.
Back upstairs – ‘boy packing’; throw it all in and hope I’ve not forgotten anything. Weighs a ton – put on the new clothes for the walk. I look like an explosion in the Decathlon factory. Six weeks or so ago I started off at The North Face shop in Covent Garden near The Strand. I haven’t done this sort thing…well…ever – a few night manoeuvres and hiking as a kid in the Air Force Cadets over twenty years ago doesn’t make you a seasoned walker. So I hit The North Face shop – I walk in, I look at the price of a gillet; £159.00. I wander outside, double up with laughter and then I wander down The Strand to the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. After a swift pint of their very good stout, I walk across the bridge to the South Bank and drift down east to Decathlon.
In one trip I pretty much bought all the gear I think I’d need; rucksack, daysack, two pairs of hiking trousers, two pairs of rain-proof plasticy trousers, wind/rain-proof jacket, a load of tops that had tags on them that said they did stuff when you wore them, like keeping the heat in and not making you cold or something. A gillet that was £9.99. There were two more trips for various items recommended by the guide books and all together it was about £150. If you’re thinking of doing this and like me, you’ve never done anything like this before, well hello stranger – I hope my scribble proves useful. There was some other stuff too; the Silva Ranger compass given to me by Matt and Tash, the Swiss army knife given to me by Jo, the Bivvy Survival bag, the Silver sheet thing you used to get at Tribal Gathering, a first-aid kit and guide books.
Lots and lots of guide books…
I didn’t know which one to get. Now, obviously, I got Wainwright’s guide first – after all, it was he who invented the C2C. And it’s a beautiful book, wonderfully thought out, wonderfully illustrated – but…did it work? Checking and researching this trip there was a lot of advice on forums and things; “Wainwright’s guide is nice to look at but it’s completely impractical to use…” blahblahblah. Was it really? I mean, this book has been around since the 1970s – it must’ve done something right.
I’d already bought The Coast to Coast Walk by Martin Wainwright (no relation) book before the travel company provided me with the Coast to Coast Path book by Henry Steadman so I had three to choose from
I also picked up a book on navigation and a hill walkers guide, but to be honest, I’ve not looked at them at all. From what I’ve looked at, there does seem to be all the advice you’ll need in the Coast to Coast Path book. I’ve brought Wainwright’s along and the Martin Wainwright and Henry Steadman also – we’ll see who wins.
I’m currently sat in the Virgin Trains First-Class lounge at Euston – the plan is this; travel up to Whitehaven, and stay over tonight. Sunday; visit Carlisle, it’s where Lesley’s from and she’s given me a massive list of pubs so it’d be rude not to wander around Carlisle and read the Sunday papers over a pint of local. Sunday afternoon/evening; walk the 5km or so from Whitehaven to St. Bees. Monday; start walking.
And now I’m on the train, slowly winding out of Euston, Camden, past the Roundhouse – a bolt hole of UK Psychedelia, James Mason, Geoffrey Fletcher and John Foxx. Passing Willesden Junction, Wembley….a long dark tunnel…blue sky, suburbia…countryside…faster now, blur of fields of green and always the blue. Neu!s Hallogallo on the ipod – getouttaLahndunguv!
Passing through Preston now, sky all battleship grey, morse code of rain on the windows. Preston station’s nice though – very Russian looking from what I could see – looked like a lot of satellite stations that you pass through in Poland. I was half expecting to see men in long macs, covering the light of their cigarettes whilst a steam train sends out plumes of smoke through the platforms. Nope – just Pumpkin and WH Smiths. But there is a classic Joy Division live recording from Preston. Imaginatively entitled Preston ‘80, the band making the best of various equipment malfunctions. Curtis’ brutal vocal on Heart and Soul goes all Alan Vega – heavy dub echo – you really need to hear this at 2am in the morning – anyway, I digress – a really pummelling version of Heart and Soul until the equipment just gets the better of them;
Curtis - “I think everything’s falling apart…”
Sumner - “Everything’s fookin’ bust so we’re playing everything through the bass amp!...’angonaminute we got it back on again…”
A woman’s voice over the PA system - “Anyone ‘ere from Burnley? ‘Cos the coach is going in five minutes!”
Sumner – “Any requests?”
And then they go into Shadowplay, Transmission, Disorder – really going for it now. Breathtaking. Bet that doesn’t happen at an Elton John gig eh?
Past Lancaster, starting to see hills now. Proper hills! With sheep! Longlonglong Victorian railway bridges continuous arches across the valleys - it’s not the front cover of Organisation yet but I know that landscape is coming.
Stop off at Carlisle. Sadly can’t take Lesley’s alcohol advice as I’ve got to get to Platform 2 for a train to Whitehaven. I say train – it makes the most terrible noise, and I listen to Throbbing Gristle. It’s slow too; shunt,shunt,shunt,shunt finally gets going. Some tract places along the coast, we’re flitting in between the windpower stations for an hour and then - Whitehaven.
I pour out of the train with everyone else and filter through the small streets to the guest house. I’m staying at the Read Guest House run by Ann and John Walker – not the Walker Brothers John Walker though. John’s a proper Northern Man™ - watches the TV and says ‘hullo’. Ann’s nice – we chat for a bit and set breakfast next morning for 8am.
I drop my stuff up, flick around the TV and listen to Gabby Logan telling me that the mighty Tottingham Hotspurs are losing 1-0 to Wolves. I was supposed to rest but I’m irate now. Start getting annoyed with the jollyness of the BBC presenters; “Jolly hockey-sticks, that dastardly cad Bowyer has been substituted for getting a little upset about a tackle…” The vicious evil thug of Canning Town is usurped however by Spurs turning it around in less than 15 minutes. Spurs win 3-1 with a penalty from van der Vaart and goals from Pavlyuchenko and Hutton.
Rested, time to head out. I wander the back streets towards the seafront. Walking around the quays with names like Sugar Tongue and Lime Tongue. I actually do that 'staring at the sea and thinking deep thoughts' thing ON PURPOSE. Well, actually – not deep thoughts - I’m looking for a pub with food and local beers.
As I’m wandering a local asks me why I’m here. He looks agitated, so does his big dog.
- I’m doing the Coast to Coast Walk
- You’re not here about the murders?
- No. Just passing through to St. Bees for the Coast to Coast walk
- Good
Back in June, twelve people were killed and 25 injured by taxi driver Derrick Bird. The first was in Whitehaven, then Bird drove south, gun hanging out of the window of his taxi, he headed on to Gosforth and Seascale shooting randomly at people as he did so. Bird abandoned the car, took off into the woods near the central Lakes and killed himself. There’s plenty of speculation but no one really knows why. I guess the locals have had their fill of death tourists, sadists, the fucked-up and Kay Burley.
I believe that music in the long run can straighten out most things
There are too many bands that act lame, sound tame
I believe in Electrelane, over here it's new, it's now, it's you, it's clean.
The beard and lipstick scene, so look beyond
Big brother, gossip culture, so bored of stupidity
The myth of common sense,
I believe in Donovan over Dylan
In love over cynicism…
Saint Etienne, Finisterre
I passed two pubs, one called the John Paul Jones and the other called The Vagabond. I noticed The Vagabond because its sign was a painted reproduction of Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline album cover. I’m no Dylan fan but I like it when people add that sort of detail. It made me smile and isn’t that the point? I didn’t see signage of the bass-wielding maniac of Led Zeppelin at the John Paul Jones so I chose The Vagabond.
The Vagabond is very warm, snug and inviting. I looked at the menu expecting to find Fish ‘n’ Chips (it is the coast after all) but it was salmon in ham or something. I settled on the Five Bean Chilli – it’s very spicy but this does not take away from the flavour – really nice. They have music here on a Sunday too; Blues and Classic Rock it looks like. Nice bar staff and nice beers too. I’m no expert, you’d need to speak to my mate Russell about that – he loves ales and knows about these things. I had two local beers; the Loweswater Gold and a Jennings Bitter. Gold first – really nice, reminded me of a very good Sheffield beer called Kelham Island Easy Rider. The bitter was heavier, more body. Again, really nice but as a preference it was the Gold.
The dark is coming, towed slowly by the sheets of rain. So much rain even the locals are talking about it. Another pint of Gold please Mr. Bartender. Well, I was about to leave, but it’s warm in here, the people are friendly and I’ve no particular place to go.
Flickrfotos; http://www.flickr.com/photos/hoodlum_scientist/
