C2C day 7 Orton to Kirkby Stephen

After a blissful night at the George Hotel in Orton, I awoke to discover that the weather gods had apparently decided to practice their water-bombing skills, again. My pack cover had made a dramatic exit two days prior (probably eloped with a particularly charming gust of wind), so today’s fashion statement involved a fetching black plastic bin bag secured with what I can only describe as “optimistic knots.”

The landlord, clearly taking pity on this walking disaster, produced a rain cape from the lost property collection. Combined with my bright yellow cape over my orange-red jacket, I now resembled a traffic cone that had gained sentience and decided to go for a stroll. Visibility was definitely not going to be an issue today!

My mission: rendezvous with my sister and brother-in-law in Kirkby Stephen. Simple enough, right? Ha.

The landlord helpfully suggested I “turn right out of the pub,” but clearly I have trust issues with authority figures, so naturally I turned left. Because why take the sensible route when you can bushwhack through overgrown paths that seem designed to eat hikers? The stiles were particularly entertaining – imagine a human-shaped pinball bouncing from field to field.

Now, about this cape. If ever wondered what it’s like to be strangled by your own rain gear while simultaneously playing peek-a-boo with every gust of wind, I can now provide expert testimony. The thing had a mind of its own, wrapping around my head like an overenthusiastic python whenever I attempted to climb a stile. The poppers (clearly designed by someone who’d never experienced actual weather) kept popping open at the most inconvenient moments, leaving me doing an interpretive dance routine every few hundred meters to reassemble myself.

At 5k, I reached the moors – Tarn Moor, Ravenstonedale Moor, Crosby Garrett Fell, and Smardale Fell. The sheep seemed thoroughly amused by my ongoing battle with the cape. They probably have a WhatsApp group by now: “Did you see that walking highlighter struggling with fabric again?” The views would have been spectacular if I could actually see them through the rain and my mobile tent of confusion.

Sunbiggin Tarn appeared on the map at 6k, but given that I couldn’t actually see it from the trail and was currently losing a wrestling match with my outerwear, I decided to give it a miss. Sorry, tarn – maybe next time.

The final stretch involved more fields, more stiles, and thankfully less wind, so my cape and I reached a temporary truce. We descended into Kirkby Stephen looking like we’d been through a very colorful tumble dryer.

And then – miracle of miracles – I spotted my sister walking towards me! Apparently, I was visible from approximately one mile away (shocking, I know). Her first comment was that I looked like “a road beacon,” which I’m choosing to interpret as a compliment. We met my brother-in-law and friends at the Mulberry Bush Cafe for lunch, where I probably left small puddles under my chair.

After saying our farewells (they continued home to South Wales), I checked into the hostel – a converted old church that was very accommodating of soggy pilgrims.

The hostel door was locked when I arrived at 4pm. Fortunately, another hiker appeared with the secret code (emailed to us that morning – who checks email while hiking?). The check-in system was wonderfully DIY: a plastic bag containing cards and instructions, like a hiking-themed treasure hunt.

My dorm had 8 bunks but only two occupants, which meant I had plenty of space to spread out my soggy belongings. The drying room looked like a boot graveyard, filled to the brim with the footwear of fellow victims of British weather. Despite seeing evidence of other humans (boots don’t migrate on their own), I only encountered about 7 people total while I was there. I did abandon my cape there for some other hiker to attempt, as my sister had given me a new (black) pack cover!

After a much-needed shower, I explored the town and returned to enjoy a “gourmet” dinner of leftover banana, crisps, various nuts, many cups of tea, and – thanks to my sister’s intervention – fruit cake! Because nothing says “fine dining” like eating random snacks in a converted church.

The evening brought delightful conversations with fellow adventurers, including a New Zealander doing the walk backwards (well I mean the less usual way!) and a Canadian ex-local who while in Canada (he wanders the world most of the time), lives about 30k from me, what are the chances!

My bunk came equipped with a reading light and power outlet – luxury! Tomorrow’s forecast promises more precipitation, but armed with my new pack cover, and without my mischievous cape, I’m feeling optimistic. How much wetter can I get?

Famous last words.