Joanna On The Trail

Friday, August 14, 2026

💡PRO TIP: Resist the urge to speed up just because you’re feeling good early in the day. I’ve noticed that when I let my pace run away from me, my stride is more stomp-y which adds up to more soreness by afternoon. When walking for hours on end, a slower, more controlled pace early on keeps your feet fresher for the miles still ahead.

11.87 miles / 1,163 ft elevation gain

I have to disagree with Wainwright’s assessment of Danby Wiske. Sure, it’s not as picturesque as the villages with perfectly matching stone buildings. But, I felt warmly welcomed, like the locals were genuinely happy to have walkers and wanted to be sure we were well cared for. Staying there overnight was infinitely better than enduring another 10+ miles in the heat, pounding my feet on pavement and trudging through wheat fields.

The only thing that made me a little sad was realizing I probably won’t see the Aussies again; I think they did the whole segment in one day (actually, at least one couple was planning to take a bus). I also haven’t seen Lorna and Ettie, or many other familiar faces, in the last few days. After the Lake District there are a lot more options for where to stop, and some people take rest days or split segments while others push straight on, so it’s inevitable to start losing track of people. But, I wished I’d had a chance to say goodbye and exchange contact info with some of the folks I’d met along the way.

A Late, Leisurely Start

I got a late start today, setting off at 10am, but I didn’t mind. Breakfast turned into two hours of chatting with Jean while she cooked and I ate (yogurt and muesli, a fried egg, a couple of hash browns, and toast with jam). It was delightful. She’d handed the B&B over to her daughter-in-law Charlotte a while back, but Jean runs it in August so Charlotte and her family can go on holiday. We talked about all kinds of things: where we’ve traveled and want to travel, what life is like in England versus America, her family, her years running the B&B. Most of what I’d read suggested August would be a busy month for the walk, but Jean said it’s actually her slowest. Everyone’s on holiday in August, and B&Bs in the Lake District villages would rather rent to vacationers staying longer than to a walker passing through for one night. Since walkers can’t easily book there in August, they just don’t end up in that area at all.

As I was gathering my stuff to head out, Jean mentioned a family of three walking by who weren’t local but didn’t look like walkers either. I looked out and recognized the Korean family (parents and their adult daughter) the Dutch family had told me about. Apparently they hadn’t booked any lodging, but had rented a car, and didn’t seem to carry much food or water. They walk what they can each day and find places to stay, often well off-trail, sometimes leaving the car behind and taxiing back to it later. Very little research or planning, a stark contrast to every other walker I’ve met, all of whom, like me, had clearly been planning for months. But, they seemed to be having a great time. To each their own.

By the time I actually set off, it was already nearly 80°F and sunny. I was back in a tank top and hiking pants after yesterday’s stinging nettle incident (my legs were still burning when I went to bed), thoroughly sunscreened, wearing my trail runners with both sets of insoles. I’ve been trying to take a slower pace early in the day, even though I feel great and naturally want to move faster. I’ve noticed that when I do, my feet strike the ground harder, which likely leads to more pain later on. So even though today’s segment isn’t especially challenging, I’m trying to be the tortoise instead of the hare.

Cows, Bushes, and Traffic

After about a mile on the road out of Danby Wiske, I turned into my first wheat field of the day, dotted with giant rolled bales. A couple of fields later, only 30 minutes in, I reached a stile with a marker showing the trail turning right after passing through. Next to it was a sign reading “⚠️ Bulls, cows, and calves in field,” with no alternative route offered. Several cows and calves were right near the stile, and I could tell more were likely strung along the fence I’d need to walk, resting in the shade of the trees. As I studied my maps and weighed my options, a black cow walked up and grunted, clearly unhappy. Then a curious red calf came over, followed by its mother, who also grunted and snorted her displeasure. It was obvious I couldn’t go through that stile, so I turned right before it instead, heading up the other side of the fence hoping for a way into the field further along. The pastures were separated not just by fence, but by a thick row of thorny bushes I couldn’t see or climb through, but I held my phone up in the air to take a picture and see what was on the other side. Sure enough, there were a lot more cows. At the far end there was a gate, but it was locked, so I climbed over, which put me right back in with the cows. Looking down the path behind me, there were probably a couple dozen cows and calves bunched under the trees. Good choice, in hindsight.

After climbing the gate and through the stile, I was out of the cow pastures and immediately found myself in the parking lot of an auto repair shop. The map said to walk along the road, but the bushes along the right-hand side left no room. So I’d walk a short stretch, press myself into the bushes as cars whizzed past, walk a bit more, press in again, repeat. Luckily that stretch was short. When the path finally turned off the road, I found myself on a narrow track lined with thorny bushes that smelled like cow manure. Less than an hour into the walk, and I was really hoping it could only improve from there.

Wheat Fields Without Company

For the next hour I walked through wheat fields, between horse, cow, and sheep pastures, and crossed a railroad track and a river. Somewhere in the wheat fields I realized part of why I dislike them so much: there aren’t any sheep or other animals around. Until yesterday, on the long stretches with no other walkers, at least the sheep kept me company, even if most of our interaction was them fleeing in terror while I tried to convince them I meant no harm.

Around noon I turned onto a country road and followed it for a while. The only vehicle I saw was the red Royal Mail car delivering to the single house along it. Ahead, I spotted a pair of walkers, the first I’d seen all day, but they seemed to be keeping my exact pace, so I didn’t expect to catch up. Then the path mercifully hit a shaded section where they’d stopped to cool off, her sitting, him fully stretched out using his pack as a pillow. I stopped to reapply sunscreen and chatted with them for a bit. Locals from Yorkshire, they were section hiking the C2C about 3 days at a time. This round they were stopping in Ingleby Cross, with a few segments still left for future trips. I was eager to keep moving, so said my goodbyes. The path continued through more pastures, gravel country roads, and past a few large farms.

Playing Frogger on the A19

At mile 8 I reached Longlands Farm, decision time. Traditionally, the C2C requires crossing the very busy, 4-lane A19. Wainwright himself said of it, “Crossing this race track is the last hazard of the day: summon up the last vestiges of energy to scurry across at top speed.” Clearly too dangerous a crossing for an official National Trail, so rather than fund a footbridge, the powers that be instead defined a 5-mile (!!) detour north to an existing one. I’m guessing the percentage of walkers who actually take that detour is roughly zero, and I wasn’t about to be one of them. So I continued on to Exelby Services, a rest stop on the A19, to cool off, eat lunch, and use the toilet before doing my best Frogger impression.

Walking up to the service station, I was delighted to see Georgette come out to say hi. When we’d talked about it before, she’d been hesitant to risk it with her 13-year-old (although he could probably outrun all of us), but it seems they’d also decided the detour was just too far. They were sitting at the counter with the Korean couple (the daughter was driving that day), eating lunch. I joined them and ate the delicious cheese & pickle sandwich Jean had made for me, plus a Sprite (figured I should buy something if I was going to use Exelby’s air conditioning and toilet). Once we’d all cooled off, the 6 of us shouldered our packs and marched out to what we’d decided was the best crossing point.

The Dutch family and I planned to be patient, get a feel for the traffic, wait for a big enough gap, cross the first two lanes to the median, then repeat for the other two. We assumed the Korean couple would follow our lead, but communication was limited since they don’t speak English. Turns out the Korean woman had other plans. Before we knew it, she darted across the first two lanes, paused briefly, then crossed the next two, reaching the other side, smiling and waving back at us. Her husband, still stuck on our side, just looked at us and shrugged. The 5 of us waited patiently for our own gap and crossed safely.

Into Osmotherley

I’d told Mom I’d call, so once I’d survived the most dangerous part of the C2C, I walked ahead of the others and rang her. Just past the A19 is Ingleby Arncliffe and Ingleby Cross, the official end of this segment. Many people continue a bit further and a little off-trail to Osmotherley instead, for better lodging options, myself and the Dutch family included. I clearly hadn’t paid close enough attention to the distance or elevation, because I’d assumed it was just an easy mile or two stroll. Turns out it was almost 3 miles and several hundred feet of climbing (no wonder the Yorkshire couple said ‘oh wow’ when I told them where I was headed). I apologized to Mom for huffing and puffing through our whole call, which didn’t last long. Luckily the path had some shaded sections and nice valley views. It was lined with pheasants (someone later told me people scatter feed there, then shoot them) and passed through a herd of cows I thankfully got through without incident.

Around 3pm I made it into Osmotherley and my home for the night, the Golden Lion. The person checking me in didn’t think my bag had arrived yet, so I cleaned up as best I could and went down to the pub for a decaf affogato while journaling and blogging. Eventually the Dutch family appeared, looking clean and refreshed. They let me know my bag was there after all, by the stairs to their rooms in the back (mine was up front, up a different staircase). I lugged it upstairs, changed, and headed back down.

Last Night with the Dutch Family

By the time I got back downstairs, the pub was filling up fast, mostly with what seemed like locals rather than walkers. I still had catching up to do, so I ate dinner solo but joined the Dutch family for dessert. For dinner I had the special: king prawns in garlic butter as a starter, salmon cakes in a creamy sauce over wilted greens for the main. And of course it came with chips. Everything comes with chips.

While we were eating, the UK government sent an emergency alert to everyone in England and Wales about wildfire risk, the most extensive use of the emergency alert system to date. It had been extremely hot and dry, with fires elsewhere in the country causing injuries and home losses. A reasonable use of the system, but clearly people weren’t used to it, judging by the commotion it caused. Several of us, myself included, got multiple alerts.

For dessert I had chocolate ice cream with toffee sauce, so rich I actually couldn’t finish it. I don’t think I’ve ever left ice cream unfinished before. Jimmy had limoncello tiramisu, while Georgette and Thomas had strawberry Eton mess. I’d never heard of Eton mess before; turns out it’s a glorious, messy pile of fruit, whipped cream, ice cream, and whatever else.

Over dessert we realized this would be our last night together until Robin Hood’s Bay. I’m doing the full 20+ mile walk to Blakey Ridge tomorrow, but they’re splitting it with a stop in Great Broughton, a few km off trail. We ended up in a long debate about what counts as cheating. Most people staying off-trail arrange for their host to pick them up at Clay Bank Top (roughly the halfway point to Blakey Ridge) and drop them back the next morning. Thomas believes any use of wheels during the walk counts as cheating, even for the off-trail portion, so they’ve worked out a detour for tomorrow that avoids backtracking, which they’d otherwise have to do since Clay Bank Top sits southeast of Great Broughton.

When I got to my room, I talked to Lee while he was in the car on the way to the airport to fly to England! I’m so excited to see him soon, but I have to keep reminding myself that he has two days of travel. He arrives in London mid-day tomorrow, then connects to Manchester and stays there overnight before taking the 5-hour, 3-transfer train ride to Grosmont.

After wishing Lee safe travels, I took a long shower, during which I got the 3rd and 4th emergency alerts, then got everything ready for tomorrow’s long walk. I’m feeling pretty apprehensive about it, given how much elevation gain it has, including 5 or 6 big hills. My plan was an early bedtime and an early start. Unfortunately for me, Osmotherley turned out to be a hopping place on a Friday night, most of it happening right outside my window, which overlooked the village square. Since I couldn’t close it because of the heat, I lay in bed listening to everyone having a great time until around 10:30, when the last of them finally went home.