This is one of those entries I had to write down the day it happened as waiting a few days after to do the blog often takes a way some of the essence which made the day itself so memorable. Many will look at this with one of those deep, unapproving frowns as if to say 'what is that boy up to now?!'. Others will give a smile but will be thinking along the same lines. Only the few will know why the picture alongside this means so much. It all started after seeing a picture of a simple wooden bridge with a nice view in the background. The only clue as to its location was 'Lake District' at the bottom of the page, which I'd never been to. Sure anyone can find a more impressive bridge and a much better view but in the end, who would be daft enough to set out to find a random bridge among 800 in the Lake District just because it was there to find, not once but twice...?
The first attempt was to find the bridge and much more besides. I went not only vastly unprepared but had set myself way too much to accomplish. Second time around, only one thing mattered; the bridge had to be found. I'd been e-mailing around various friends and the Cumbrian tourist board with the picture to see if anyone had any ideas and luckily the Cumbrians came to my aid. The bridge was somewhere in an area known as the Newlands Valley near Keswick (miles away from where I'd been searching the first time.) As the bridge wasn't a named one though I knew there would still be a fair bit of searching. After training up to Windermere and bus-ing to Keswick I find the start of the trail. I soon realise these trails aren't ideal unless you've got the obligatory Ordnance Survey maps and books by Wainwright. All I was armed with was a name of a valley and a picture of a bridge.
After a few miles I got to the stage where I was at one my first attempt at finding it and luckily enough, had the same result. Just when I was about to jack it in, both times, I met someone who knew exactly where I needed to know. This time, it was a bloke with his family who put me back where I needed to be. Never one to believe in anything other worldly but if I do have a guardian watching over me, thanks for that ;) The bloke told me he'd also seen the bridge in the picture I'd shown him or at least one just like it. The directions he gave were spot on including the small wooden bridge I'd need to cross (not the one I was looking for), the old quarry and the settlement on the right. After a couple of miles, a breakthrough. I could see what I swore looked like one of the mountains in the picture. After another mile or so I was half excited and half frantic as there was still no sign of the bridge and the evening and weather were starting to close in. I HAD to be getting close though. Again, I thought it was getting hopeless but I thought i'd go on a bit further when... wait... is that...? THE BRIDGE! IT MUST BE! Instantly the aches and blisters didn't matter. I must have been running like an arthritic jackal but it didn't matter, after 1/2 a year I was exactly where I wanted to be, I'd found my bridge. I forget how many photos I took as proof at various angles, luckily I had only a black horse for company and I think even he wandered what this crazy southerner was doing getting so excited about something so uninspiring.
The rest of the evening was hell up to the hotel. By this stage it was a race to get inside before it was dark and wet. It turned out to be 4 hour slog, half of it in total darkness and 3 miles of it getting soaked. Like the bridge, I only had basic details on where I would be spending the night. This time I went for the easy option, I wasn't going to take the beast again, not only was camping outside in October not preferable but lugging the extra weight around certainly wasn't. After stopping off at a pub I came out to complete darkness and torrential rain. The walk to the hotel up the A66 reminder me of The Long Walk Home; not as dangerous but worse with the weather. Luckily I had a mini torch thing on the bag which stopped me getting run over! The sight of the hotel felt just as good as that of the bridge. I ignored the advice of the bloke who showed me to my room to pop down to the bar for a drink as I got in, stripped off, and crashed.
After crashing out on the bed, I had to get out the book which had started this whole way of life off, the now not so purple looking Purple book. I wondered there and then "Why do I put myself through things like this"? On that same day I'd spent 8 1/2 hours on a train, 2 on a bus and however many on foot. I'd spent 150 quid on transport and accommodation and all to find a featureless wooden bridge in a region full of equally beautifully looking and more accessible locations. The answer comes twofold. The first reason is the challenge; who else would be daft enough to go looking for a bridge just because it was there? The second reason are the feelings you get from accomplishing something so monumentally pointless. Never has the sight of a simple wooden bridge, a pint of lemonade in a pub and a small hotel room with a bed, shower, TV and kettle brought so much joy as you know you've well and truly earnt it. It is these simple pleasure which are magnified once a certain amount of hell has been endured. Yes you ache all over but no one can take the joy away from you at succeeding in something so infinitely pointless and rewarding. Back in the spring I had a crazy notion about finding a random bridge somewhere in the Lake District. Today, I'd found it :)
Rossifer x
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