Bog standards

The title of this posting may seem like a typo but no, the bog is much in evidence today and the standards is a hilltop monument we walk past. So, forget the grassy carpets, today is hard-core bog action.

Pad drops us off, sneakily stealing a march on the early birds by driving us to the outskirts of Kirkby Stephen. 

We tramp up a single track tarmac road in our shirt sleeves. Whatever you start off wearing you know by the end of the day it will have been on and off like a bride's nightie.

Before our turn off to the Nine Standards we're caught up by Jim and Jane, an American couple I met with Howard a few days ago. They're walking with a spry bearded middle aged Aussie called Graham, plus two other Americans.

We soon reach the Nine Standards, a chain of cylindrical cairns, very spooky in the cloud. 

Then it's a Coast to Coast post to post trail in the mist, down over the moor, pole vaulting through the worst bog I've ever encountered. Mick goes down a sink hole at one point and wrenches his leg backwards in a nasty way. We're mud brothers – it's us against the bog.

Then the bog trotting continues. Mick tells me about the bog trotting he and his friends from the Fleet Air Arm used to do in Donegal, to get to the good climbing routes. We manage to eat lunch in the valley, though there is this little shelter, should you be caught in a storm.

The sound of the grouse and the peaty colour of the water remind me of the Highlands.

The track eventually passes along a cliff-lined valley, with the fields studded with these very typical Dales barns, tall brick-built structures I'm suddenly seeing all over the place. 

We eventually arrive at the Keld Lodge, where we've arranged to meet Paddy. He's not here so we have a few drinks with Lee, who we met at the Stone Circle yesterday. He tells us all about his pilgrimage from Barking to Canterbury, in memory of Brian Haws, the peace campaigner. Last night he slept up beside the Nine Standards, arriving there at 9.45pm. Lee has the best reaction ever to hearing Mick's age. He almost lifts off the bench in disbelief.

Mud glorious mud is how we'll recall the day. As Coast to Coast book writer Stedman says, 'Despite all the beautiful views, what people will remember is the bogs.' 

A very unmuddy Pad arrives and we have a glorious drive home across the Dales dappled in evening sunshine (yeah, now the sun comes out) .