“I’m laughing at clouds so dark up above.” No offense to Gene Kelly, but that is not how this last day goes. Rain, rain, and more rain.

I am fortunate. I bailed from walking an exposed ridge line in the Lake District because the rain and the cold made me leery that the rain might turn to sleet. I’ve worn my poncho a couple of other times; however, the showers became “liquid sunshine” because after a short while the sun emerged.

Today, my last day of walking, differs. Rain before I start; rain while I walk; rain after I finish. Oh well….

Before leaving Grosmont, I chat with Selma my BnB host. “Think that you are going to have a full day of rain today.” She chats with Katie and Ron, a Canadian couple, who have been coughing their way through breakfast. “I don’t think that the weather is going to help your cold and cough.” Selma tries to be philosophical. “Well, you know rain is good for your chemical balance.” I don’t know what to say.

I’m off. Similar to leaving Patterdale for Shap as I exited the Lake District, as soon as I hit the sidewalk, I’m walking uphill to “Sleights Moor.” Serious uphill. A sign says “Caution. 33 degree Uphill.” Get Ready leg muscles.

When I reach the top of the moor, the walk in the rain really begins. The moors are open country, generally no shrubs, few trees. A few stone walls. I get the full brunt of the cold, driving rain. I’m guessing that with nothing between north England and the North Pole, I’m getting a late winter message “Hello, there. Don’t forget winter yet!” Head down, almost like I have osteoporosis, poncho flying straight out behind me, I move forward. I only see one couple ahead of me. I do see a herd of deer. Sheltering behind a stone wall. Smart deer!

Even though it is still raining, I move off the moors in a couple of miles. The scenery changes. I pass through a village. I enter Little Beck Woods. Beautiful woods with a vigorous stream. I pass a “hermitage,” a cave carved out of a large boulder; I pass a waterfall; I pass a downed log with a carved message; I pass dozens of interesting trees. Nice.

About the time I exit the woods and hike up to another moor, the rain increases in intensity. And, I enter a land that is only black. Black in front of me, black to the sides, black underfoot. This part of the trail was closed last year because of a wild fire. A sign informs walkers that it will take years for the land to recover. I can believe it!

Eventually, I hit a road. I pass a caravan park, and then another caravan park. I don’t see a single person outside. I guess that they have enough sense to stay inside. Walking the South West Coast Path last year, I learned that caravan parks are often an indication that the water is near.

As I round a bend, there it is. The North Sea. Wahoo! Even though the sign says two miles to Robin Hood’s Bay, I’m smelling the end of this walk. I see the cliffs home to thousands of nesting birds covered in cloud and mist. Finally, I’m nearing the end of this 200 mile walk. The Irish Sea to the North Sea. I’ll walk on these cliffs to my final destination.

I reach the Grosvnor Hotel. Drenched as a wet dog, I talk to the bar keeper/receptionist “I have a reservation for tonight. Would my room be ready?” “Your room is ready, sir.” Hallelujah!

A day of rain from beginning to end. I didn’t do any singing, sorry Gene Kelly. I tried to be “mindful.” “Oh, look, the leaves are dripping with the rain, isn’t that beautiful. Oh, look, the puddle that I have to cross, isn’t that an interesting puddle, I wonder how deep it is? Oh look, I don’t have anyway to avoid the mud. How challenging.” I do find it necessary to try to sink into the world around me, to absorb more of the sights and sounds than I normally do. But there is a limit.

I’m a realist. I can only take so much! After awhile, I’m not wanting to be “attentive” to the cold, driving rain. I’m tired of being “mindful.” I simply want to get out of it. So, I plod ahead, step after step, step after step. Sometimes, the virtue of perseverance is more appropriate than a virtue of attentiveness. In the end, I hear “Your room is ready sir.” Hallelujah!

Of course, what does one do after reaching a destination, one walks to another destination! I walk to the “real end” of the Coast to Coast, the North Sea. Like thousands of others before me, I share in a ritual of pitching a small stone that I’ve carried from St. Bees into the sea. Officially now, my walk is finished!