Glaisdale to Littlebeck

Hi everyone! I thought I would write a quick blog entry since we have some internet. Still no easy way to upload pictures, so again you'll just have to imagine things, but at least I can paint you a word picture. Part of the appeal of our hike has been the fact that we travel through three English national parks. But the English national park is, according to the international classification of parks, mostly class five,which means they are used for both what we would call "normal" park uses as well as domestic purposes (living in them and raising domestic animals in them). The Lakes District park was the first through which we travelled, made famous most of all by Wordsworth's poetry, but well known generally for its mountains and tarns and its mountain climbing domestic sheep, a breed called Herdwicks. The second park we visited was the Yorkshire Dales, most recognizable from James Herriot stories, and the third is the North York Moors, which if you've ever read the Bronte sisters, is evident especially in Wuthering Heights. The Moors, which we've been walking through since Richmond, more or less, is full of bog and heather and lonely high hills misty and wild. There are sheep up on them, often a breed called the Swaledales, and also lots of grouse, which make good eating I am told. The heather and scrub that grows is not actually natural; as far as I know there used to be trees there, but since the trees are gone, the heather has taken over. It gets purple flowers in the summer that apparently smell like honey, but right now they're just a grey-green colour. There's also patches where controlled burning has taken place so that the grouse have somewhere to nest, and there the land is a smoldering brown-black colour. Beautiful in a desolate mysterious way. The moors seem like very spiritual, dark places. Yesterday when we were hiking in the pouring rain and thick thick mist (we couldn't see more than fifteen feet ahead of us most of the day), we were constantly coming across roughly grave-stone-sized markers on the trail (one might call them menhirs, such as Obelix carried around--for those of you familiar with Asterix and Obelix ;) ). We've seen these throughout the moors, and when we've asked about them, people tell us that they've always been there; no one really knows why they were originally placed...perhaps as border markers between counties or as markers so people travelling did not get lost in the mists. At any rate, we came across one on which one side was carved up to look like a face--a warning anxious, almost agonizing-looking face. And today when we were walking we came across more tall markers, some of which were part of stone circles. I get almost an ominous feeling walking through these quiet windy relatively empty places...but perhaps that's just because I've read too much fiction. :) Tomorrow we will walk along the coast for part of the day...but according to BBC forecasts, mostly in the rain, which is too bad. Nevertheless, when we get to the coast I shall say Hello North Sea and yell loudly Hello Denmark! in case any over there is listening across the way. I know, I am a dork. But really I shall do it. Hard to believe tomorrow will be our last hiking day. I'm quite enjoying the rhythm of walking. I have had few blisters, even though my boots are relatively new. My feet have stayed quite dry and happy with my wool socks. Brent, however, has had nothing but trouble with his boots. They don't dry very quickly, and so he's worn wet boots several days. His feet are covered in blisters, some in the oddest places, like the tops of his toes. We think it's mostly from the wet boots rub badly. And his boots are toast, this'll probably be the last trip they see. At least he has comfortable dry shoes to put on at the end of the day. Well I could say much much more, but I should relinquish the computer. Thanks for reading, all. I promise some visual aids as soon as we can accomplish it!