Walking with uncles

How do, as they say round these parts. So here we are, in the pub, the Tithe Barn, to be precise, waiting for our well-earned vittals. My uncles Mick, Pad and I are walking the Coast to Coast...

...from St Bees on the Cumbrian coast, to Robin Hood's Bay on the Yorkshire coast, a distance just shy of 200 miles. Today we did our first 13 and are, of course, footsore and weary but glowing with a dose of unexpected, and most welcome, sunshine.

Our first billet is Cockermouth YHA, sitting right on the, ahem, Cocker. When it was operational this place was a double mill, meaning it had two goes at the water racing through its wheels.

Inside it's wood lined and cosy and we have it virtually to ourselves.

At the start of the walk, as tradition dictates (or Cate dictates) we pick up a pebble each, dip it into the Irish Sea and carry it in our pockets or rucksacks to cast it into the North Sea at the other end.

The walk around the cliffs is windy, sunny and scenic and takes in views of Whitehaven, where my sister Moira used to live.

Pad decides to take it easy and makes it a St Bees circuit, so we say goodbye, leaving him with a map...

...while Mick and I press on to Ennerdale Bridge, about 10 miles through fields and villages, along an old railway line, then the last stretch up and down a rather bone-crunching tarmac road. Beers all round at the Shepherd's Arms.

Back at base, I wade in the Cocker's ice-cold water to disperse any lurking toxins, then showered and rested, we crack open the gin. Onward and upward. There will certainly be plenty of that.