I will (will I?) write this up for the bothy zine I intend to make. But till then, a record here: we began the adventure in the Allenheads Inn, for 3 hours. Made very welcome and at bargain hot toddy prices.
Then we joined artist Henna Asikainen's 'molybdomancy' event, which featured Mick the foundryman cooking up a fire for babit (a zinc and tin alloy) and frequently plunging his hand into cold water on what was a pretty cold and starry night. Good man. He put with a lot of chat and nonsense from me.
The aim was to create shapes in the Finnish tradition of New Year fortune casting: everyone's plunge of metal is unique as the hot liquid form hardens as it enters the cold water. You then use the candlelight shadows to see shapes.
My own shape was quite chaotic and fragmented to my eyes, albeit full of movement. No one claimed to be able to read the signs. Except Ali who I met for the first time in 10 years, who was good at spotting the signs of money coming. He remembered me as the first person he had ever met who actually ate a veggieburger. He had no conception of what the hell such a thing could be.
I met other faces from more recent times, like Ibrahim and Ahmed who hadn't at first clicked that the activity was for fortune telling rather than just art. The picture above is a particularly beautiful cast, last one of the night, made over a cooling fire, by Ibrahim as the bus home was waiting. I felt envious of his shapely future.
Next morning, we woke in Alston and walked to Dufton. It's a long way and we spent twice as long as we should have on the first stretch along the river to Garrigill. Erosion in action.
At this spot beneath the larch trees, with a small cliff waterfall and water running over beautiful geology to make a plunge pool, I took a dip. To call it a swim would be a lie.
This is the spot. A dipper was there before we interrupted it.
Then up to the grouse moors and the dubious legality of traps and signs.
And rising higher we met the snow zone of Skirwith Fell, Cross Fell, Little and Great Dun Fell.
We used the kindling brought from Alston to make foil wrapped cheese toasties in the stove at Gregs Hut. A fine bothy, kept in v good nick.
I went up to my knee in a sphagnum patch under snow. My phone died round about then and we were benighted but chose to crack on: it was good conditions really, albeit it wintry ones. The well laid slab path of the Pennine Way was frozen over so that it was a matter of stamping and sliding a lot on the last bits of uphill.
Finally we took the easy but unhealthy stamp and march route down (unfrozen) tarmac road with the clear white guiding lines at each side. Not fun walking but it got us down to Knock and then Dufton in time to see the theatre gig we were aiming for. Sold out but our names were on the list at the village hall. White perms and pearls, villlage folk, some cool familiea whose kids drew the performers and made me wish I had the same energy. A village hall of shouts and laughs and standing ovations and whisky passed round. And Dolly Parton and Johnny Clash and thespians are odd people and hammy but amazing and full of fun. Glad we walked the 20 miles to get there. And they liked the fact we had.
In the morning, the walk in the rain from the farm to Appleby, where we arrived just after the minutes silence for Armistice day. It was a wet gloomy day so we finished our time in the cavernous second hand bookshop of Carlisle: Bookends. Very recommended for anyone who visits (and the attached cafe too with vegan options), to while away 4 hours or so.
