Snippets from Wednesday

 Or vignettes, if you prefer...


Far

I had carefully planned this walk, even, I confess, to the point of having a spreadsheet. A small spreadsheet, but a spreadsheet nonetheless. On that spreadsheet Wednesday's walk was listed as being 19kms. The longest day so far, but not an insurmountable challenge. On Tuesday evening, however, I was checking everything and discovered that our accommodation, which I had, for some reason, thought was in Newton-by-the-sea, was not actually there, but in a place called Beadnell. Luckily Beadnell was actually on the walk and not, say, in Wales. But it was 6kms further along, turning a manageable 19km day into a daunting 25km one. The silver lining here is that the expected 16kms today, Thursday, is now only 10.



Boots

I have exceptionally wide feet. They don't seem that exceptional to me, but I have become aware, over the years, that normies clearly have scrawny feet. Hiking boots, which need to fit really well, are a challenge. Last year I got a new pair and after our first major day out, I lost both my big toenails. They were clearly not suitable. Buying wide boots is a challenge - some manufacturers make them, but shops don't stock them, and you have to buy them online. But that's a slow process. Buy the boots. Get them delivered. Try them on. Realise they don't fit. Send them back. Get refunded. Start again. As a result I had gone back to a very old, very knackered, but comfy pair. After Monday I was beginning to realise that they were maybe too old. They fit my feet well, but the soles were worn down and as a result my own soles were almost bruised from the hike. Tuesday I switched to my spare shoes (a kind of trainer I guess, though I suspect they have a specific name that I, no calceophile, don't know). For Wednesday's long day I inserted some insoles into my boots and hoped that would help. It didn't really. So, half way through the day, in the village of Craster, I said goodbye them in a moving ceremony.



Golf 


There are a fuckton of golf courses on this coast. It seems like half the distance so far we've been accompanied by retired men with trolleys searching through the long grass for their inaccurate drives. At least these courses, built into the dunes, following the natural contours of the land, not needing to be unnaturally watered, managed and mown but not overly kempt, with the additional challenge of sea winds, feel like a reasonable part of the landscape, unlike the ones built in deserts or other places where the land gets fenced off, unnaturally contoured, and repeatedly watered in a world where we really can't afford to be using vast amounts of water for the benefit of a few braying wankers to do business deals and "network". Here, however, it feels like an actual good thing. The kind of hobby that looks enjoyable and it is clearly providing older people with a fun way of getting outside, walking round the dunes, having a laugh and generally relishing life. If I lived here I reckon I'd be very tempted. 

(photo credit:Paula) 


River 


Yet again, within the last couple of kilometres of our walk, we had to divert inland to get to a bridge to cross an annoyingly positioned river. This time it was a different member of the party who, exhausted and just wanting to get there, lost, as they say, their shit. I don't think today's walk has any unexpected fluvial interventions. But I'm nervous of saying this with any certainty 




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