Good Morning. The day started out looking rainy. While it remained cloudy all day, there was not so much as a sprinkle.
This was my landlady for the two-night stay. Her name is Jo and she was really lovely. I have a hilarious story for you. Jo helped me take the big suitcase down all those narrow, steep stairs, and she let out a tiny toot. We laughed - it happens. I told her it was called “mashing a frog” in the South. She asked me if I knew what it was called in England. Of course, I didn’t. She replied, “A trump”. I almost fell down the stairs laughing. All you Trumpers, keep your shirts on, evidently this term goes back longer than him. Even y'all have to admit the real Trump is a bit bombastic.
I saw this window display on my way out of town, and it made me think of Derby.
I have seen so many beautiful flowers on this trip.
Today was a bit shorter, but there were many ups and downs, so I can’t say it was easier, just quicker. I don’t think there was a flat spot on the whole walk. The above trail went straight up, and it seemed like forever.
Straight downhill with a farm in the distance.
I have seen many rock cairns on this trail, but this one, with its horseshoe, was the most welcoming.
I loved the above sign. It starts with ‘POLITE NOTICE” in all caps. I guess that makes it extra polite, and it warns that between March 1st and July 31st, dogs must be kept on a short leash to avoid harm to ground-nesting birds.
Speaking of wildlife and birds, these two honked and hissed until I got by them. I now know where the term hissy fit comes from. They sounded like twenty snakes.
Nothing quite like having to traverse this with sore legs and sore knees, but I made it over. It wasn’t pretty, but no one was around to point and laugh.
It is hard to believe this scenery is pretty, but when you look out at miles and miles of it, the moors have their own kind of beauty.
One of the prettier farm houses along the way.
This is Walshaw Dean, which provides drinking water for Yorkshire.
These are the ruins of Top Withens, one of a cluster of farmhouses situated in the Yorkshire moorlands.
The sign says that the ruins are closely associated with the Brontë Sisters and are most closely associated with Wuthering Heights and the descriptions in the Brontë Sisters' writings.
Evidently, there are Brontë Falls, a mile and a half away. I did not want to add three miles to my daily total, so I skipped the falls.
The closest farm to the ruins was about 2 or 3 miles down the dirt road.
Another stately farmhouse is called Upper Heights Farm.
Clearly, the owners are concerned about the life of the moors and the creatures who inhabit them.
Check this out. It was in a campground with mini campers, except this Conestoga wagon. Wish I knew more.
This is the side view of my wonderful stay.
My room was amazing, starting with this stately four-poster bed.
For dinner, I went to the “Silent Inn,” over 400 years old. Legend has it that when Bonnie Prince Charlie was retreating to Scotland, he stayed here when it was called the Eagle Inn. The locals remained silent, which gave it the name “The Silent Inn."
I had a wonderful dinner. I ordered Hunter's Chicken, which was described as a chicken breast wrapped in bacon, covered with melted cheese and lashings of BBQ sauce. It was served with chunky fries and a fresh salad. What is not to like? It was wonderful. I have come to love these fat fries. I may never eat American fries again.
As I was leaving, I spotted this bottle of Maker's Mark in the window. A little glimpse of Kentucky.
So, another day and a few more miles.
Good night and God Bless!
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