Jennifer Denys Asks Why is the Hero Always Handsome and Hunky?

One of the fabulous writers I met for the first time at Smut by the Sea was the very talented, very quirky Jennifer Denys. Her reading from Friendly Seduction had her audience gripped and in stitches. I couldn’t wait to have Jennifer on my site to share a bit of Friendly Seduction and tell us why the hero is always handsome and hunky. Jennifer, welcome!

Jennifer DenysIt’s one of the unspoken rules of erotic romance that the hero and heroine are good looking with great figures (and young as well!). In my book Friendly Seduction the hero, Matt (handsome, of course!) is a sci-fi writer who has been told to add more romance to his stories, so he enlists the help of a friend, Lissa, who reads lots of erotic romances. When he asks what the heroes are like in the stories, she states,

“Apart from tall, good-looking, and hunky?”

“You mean short, ugly, and fat guys don’t get written into stories,” Matt asks humorously.

“I haven’t read one erotic book yet where the hero is short, ugly, and fat.”

This is not only in books but films and TV as well. Think of Michael Douglas in ‘Romancing the Stone’ where little Danny de Vito was the bad guy. And ALL the men that the girls in ‘Charmed’ fell in love with – not a single ugly one amongst them. And don’t forget adverts too like the current advert in the UK for coca cola where a bevy of young women eye up a gorgeous half-naked man (or, if you are old enough to remember, the Levi jeans advert where the attractive guy takes off his jeans in a launderette).

I rest my case.

And why? Well, in essence we read these books/watch these programmes because we don’t want realism, we want fantasy. We put ourselves in the shoes of the characters and for a while we can forget we are middle aged, on a diet, with greying hair that needs a new dye (at least that describes me!). And who would want to fantasize that you fall in love with the short, ugly, fat one?!

Similarly the hero is often a member of royalty, nobility, a great warrior, leader, millionaire, CEO, or top of their profession – never the man who cleans out the sewer.

Lissa goes on to say,

“He never shows negative attributes like cruelty, laziness, picking his nose, having a hairy back, and so on. Those are reserved for the bad guys.”

Of course the sex in erotic romances is always fabulous and the hero always seems to lift the girl effortlessly. In the book, when Matt tries he stumbles!

“Okay, I can see there is no hope for the human race if women have such a high standard. We men won’t be able to supply it,” Matt declares forlornly.

So true. I have a writer friend, fairly new to writing, who is getting back into the dating game after her ex left her a year ago and she recently commented that she finds herself measuring her ‘dates’ against the heroes in her books. Bad thing to do! No-one will ever compete with our fantasy heroes.

These mythical men also have no problem getting the girl’s clothes off.

“Okay, where the hell is the clasp of your bra?” Matt gestured to her front.

Lissa burst out laughing.

He crossed his arms. “What is so funny?” This was very irritating, particularly as it had been going so well.

Calming down, she wiped her tears off her face. “Oh, that’s a good one. Has every girl you’ve been out with had a bra with a clasp at the front?” she asked.

Realizing his error, he flushed. “Ah. Sorry. All the women have front clasps in the books you gave me.”

God forbid that the heroine would wear a sports bra! And have you ever wondered why the female sub in BDSM stories doesn’t wear any underwear? Lissa tells Matt,

“There’s a very good reason why the woman is always told not to wear panties in any BDSM stories! It’s so the writer doesn’t have the problem of getting the heroine’s panties off.”

She continues,

“You could always use the line ‘her clothes fell away from her body’ where the characters have no problems undoing anything. Or even better, the old chestnut when the writer has the character suddenly noticing they are naked with no idea of how they got there. I always groan when they use that one.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want my number one reader to groan, so I’m going to fall back on a sci-fi classic convention of being able to press a button on the clothing and it all comes apart in one go.”

Needless to say, Lissa did groan at that point!

Along the same lines have you ever sat in disbelief when the guy manages to get the girl to where he needs her to be because she is too busy struggling, looking around her, or distracted by something?

When Lissa points this out Matt responds,

“I’ll just have to spend time describing her gorgeous body as she is tied there. I think the readers will forgive this slight transgression if I do that.”

Unfortunately this is true. If we are in the shoes of our heroine and the hunky hero is describing the heroine aka the reader, as having a stunning figure we will forgive anything.

Having tied the heroine up Matt tells Lissa the hero then whips her.

“Whipped her… Um, why?”

He looked at her, chagrined. “Well, it features in some of those books you gave me, and you mentioned punishment of some sort goes down well with female readers.”

Too true. Throw some BDSM into a story and you’ve got a winner. Bondage at the very least and a spanking.

But why does the reader enjoy this so much? A great deal has to be because you are reading from the comfort of your armchair, bed (or bath, depending on your favourite reading spot!). You can imagine the pain of being tied up and whipped, flogged, spanked, etc, without actually feeling it and therefore it becomes erotic. The heroine is, after all, usually naked. And don’t forget the hero doing this to you is very good looking and you are already lusting after him.

In ‘Friendly Seduction’ Lissa does more than just discuss erotic romances with Matt. The ‘seduction’ of the title is him pretending he needs help practising certain scenes in the book he is writing. Lissa, (she has had a crush on Matt for some time), is happy to help – particularly when she is delighted he named the heroine after her. At this point in the story he has removed her clothes and put a blindfold on.

“Of course, at this auction Felissa appears half-naked so the potential owners can view her delicious body.” “The men at this auction need more than her just being naked.”

“Yeah—sooo?” Lissa asked very cautiously.

Moving away from her to get something, he then returned standing behind her. She shivered in his arms as he plucked at a hardening nipple. He had to push her hands down as they
automatically came up to cover herself. “The auction staff put clamps on their slaves.”

This now begs the question, why do we find the idea of auctions so arousing? Or any situation where the heroine is kidnapped? These are termed the ‘forced seduction’ type stories. The alien abduction plot is a common theme to sci-fi erotic romance. The reader knows quite well that the heroine will always end up with the hero so it is perfectly ‘safe’.

And the idea that the gorgeous hero has kidnapped her to be his one and only true ‘mate’ as destined by some prophesy or instinct is thrilling. It appeals to our sense of having a soul mate somewhere out there who will find us (having not found a mate, soul or otherwise, reading about it is my only option so I am a sucker for the alien kidnap stories, particularly if the stories involve a race of beings who are desperate for women because of some catastrophe to their people).

Lissa sums it up nicely,

“And the aliens in those circumstances are always humanoid.” She laughed. “I’ve never come across a story yet where the girl falls in love with a ten-armed, purple, blobby-like monster.”

Quite often the woman is expected to be in a ménage relationship in this situation. Even better! The idea of having two (or more!) hunky heroes lusting after you, and only you, is enough to bring the reader to their knees (well, it does me!).

Naturally Matt included a ménage in his story as well as a kidnap, an auction and some BDSM.

“Here come your new owners. You wait with bated breath, listening with all your being to every sound.” He moved to her side so he could whisper in her ear. “Do they sound
heavy-footed? Do they sound heavy-breathing? Do they carry chains? The footsteps stop by her swinging body, and she gasps as one touches a breast, tugging on the chain.”

I’ve been dotting around the story to pull out extracts, but one thing I have always laughed at when watching sci-fi is that nobody hits the wrong button. Think about all the times you hit the wrong key on the keyboard and all your work gets wiped or you end up on a page you didn’t know existed and have no idea how to get back. What happens if you are hurtling through space at the time? You could end up on the other side of a black hole. Or your machine closes down suddenly, and there is no one in the sci-fi version of the IT department to come and help which is disastrous when you are in the middle of a fight with the Klingons and need the button to fire the phasers!!

Sorry, that was an aside, although Lissa does raise this at one point in the story.

But sticking with the future Matt tells her that the heroine,

“Doesn’t want to be taken because it will mean being sent back to her owner.”

Lissa turned in his arms, her face showing her astonishment. “Her owner! What sort of future is this?”

Grinning at her fierce expression, he quickly invented a story. “She put herself into servitude to pay off debts but then ran away from her cruel and ugly master who wants her back—hence the bounty hunter.”

“Okay, so she doesn’t want to be taken, then. Particularly if her owner is ugly,” she retorted with a mocking tone. “Therefore she’ll be screaming blue murder and continually struggling to get free.”

The great thing about writing a futuristic story is that you can make up whatever you like and have fun ‘world-building’! One of my plans is to actually write the sci-fi story that Matt and Lissa conceive whilst falling in love.

And so to finish this article with a quote from Matt,

“If I understand correctly, you—and every other female reader possibly—like reading about manly heroes with beautiful heroines.” He counted these off on his fingers. “The hero
has to be a leader of some sort and be dominant but caring, and there has to be some sort of conflict or misunderstanding, maybe even a kidnapping. If there is some BDSM involved, and even a ménage a trois, that would be even better.”

“That’s it in a nutshell.”

Jennifer Denys

Buy ‘Friendly Seduction’ here:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Friendly-Seduction-Acquaintances-Publishing-ebook/dp/B007700BFA/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1372847020&sr=1-10

or Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/Friendly-Seduction-Acquaintances-Publishing-ebook/dp/B007700BFA/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1372847107&sr=1-8

About Jennifer Denys:

Jennifer Denys writes erotic romance with Siren Publishing and Evernight Publishing. Her first Jennifer Denys 2book came out in 2011 and she has written another ten books since then (they are mostly novellas, although she is the first to admit the initial impetus has faded and it takes her longer to write these days!)

She flits from one sub-genre to another wherever the muse strikes. She has written a trilogy of romantic comedies, several BDSM stories, two in a sci-fi futuristic ménage series, and two paranormal menage books (one with a co-author which was a whole different experience!).

Her best seller is Submissive Training. She reckons it is down to the title, as she has had several communications from people asking if this is a good book to learn about BDSM. She has had to explain that this is just ‘fiction’ where the hero is always handsome and there is always a happily ever after!

If you want to know more about Jennifer’s work her blog/website is http://jennifer-denys.blogspot.com/

Review of Friendly Seduction from Coffee Time Romance :

I loved, loved, LOVED Friendly Seduction! At times I found myself sighing because of the pure pleasure Matt took in discovering Lissa’s body. Other times, Ms. Denys had me laughing so hard at the less-than-stellar sexy performances that the words seemed to be jumping around on my eBook Reader. Reading this book was such a pleasure and I enjoyed each erotic encounter, whether it was pure sexual or had the humorous scenarios that made me fall in love with this tale. I want to read more by this author and I can only hope that her other stories will grip me from the getgo

Finding Mr. Wrong by Annabeth Leong

WMS_blogtourWhat fun is Mr. Right without Mr. Wrong? Like Mr. Right, he comes in many flavors—in Mr. Wrong’s case, the arrogant jerk, the sniveling coward, the cheater, and more—but unlike the hero of a book, he doesn’t always get the appreciation he deserves. And he should get love because, even when he’s bad for the heroine, he can be a lot of fun for the reader.

In my latest release, The Fugitive’s Sexy Brother, Mr. Wrong stole my heart while I was writing. Matthew Lodi was once a star bounty hunter, but now he’s down on his luck and in over his head, mooching off everyone he knows to make the crushing payments he owes for the thing he loves more than anything else in the world, an orange Lotus Elise 2008, California Edition. At the start of the book, he’s stolen from the main character and mistreated her, but that’s only the beginning of what he gets up to in pursuit of his beloved car.

I couldn’t get enough of him.

He made me mad in such a satisfying way, and I could just see the cocky smile that convinced women to go to bed with him even when they knew better. I loved describing his wrong-headed thought processes, and loved watching the way his supremely callous behavior slowly forced the heroine to stand up for herself.

Much as I’d never want to be the girlfriend of such a jerk, the writer in me was head over heels. Whenever it felt hard to make progress on the book, I’d think about the next scene I wanted to do with him.

I’d like to raise a glass to the Mr. Wrongs who show up in books, providing a person we can love to hate, a target for satisfying comebacks, and a guy the heroine can feel great about walking past when she’s holding hands with Mr. Right.

 

Excerpt:

A rattle marred the powerful purr of the car’s engine slowing and stopping. Matthew Lodi swallowed hard, trying to control his anger and anxiety, but his fists clenched on the steering wheel, whitening his knuckles. Lotus Elise 2008, California Edition. Those words alone could make him happy on the worst of days. Too bad the car had turned on him in the last eight months.

He ran a finger over her sleek dash. A crack tugged at his skin and he sucked air in through his teeth. First the rattle, now this. One part after another had developed problems since he’d crashed her late last year. But no matter what went wrong, he couldn’t let her go. He’d never been this wound up even over a flesh and blood woman. He hemorrhaged money to keep her running and he didn’t like to think about the repo man he’d seen poking around his yard the other night.

He hoped Guy’s little secretary, Neva, had her story straight. He could use a big payday.

A stream of curse words pouring through the window jerked his attention away from the flaw in the dash. Matthew popped up out of the car. A month before someone had keyed the Lotus while it was parked outside Guy’s Bail Bonds. Since then, every hostile word or movement near his employer’s building seemed directed at Matthew’s car.

The guy with the foul mouth appeared around the corner of the building, but Matthew forgot him the moment he focused on the woman pushing him forward. Emily. Protective emotions surged in Matthew’s chest at the sight of his ex-girlfriend’s slight body and big, innocent blue eyes. He locked the car and stepped forward.

“Need some help bringing this joker in?”

Emily’s pretty, freckled face wasn’t made for the sour expression she gave him in response. “I can’t afford to ‘share’ any more commission with you, Matthew. Go get your own.”

Thirty seconds and she’d already brought up this old fight? He wished Emily would stop denying the strength of her feelings for him. “Emily,” Matthew protested. “I’m not trying to take anything that belongs to you. But we both know it’s no good for you to try to do all this alone. You should let me help you with the physical part so you can concentrate on the stuff you can do well.”

The fugitive in her grasp gave a sudden grunt. “Sorry,” Emily told him. “That one really wasn’t for you, even if you did spend the drive over calling me every name in the book.” Matthew rolled his eyes. Emily insisted on treating her quarry like people responding to a dinner invitation. She lacked the stomach to handle them the way they deserved. Matthew reached for the man, mentally planning a hold that would inflict the right amount of pain without leaving bruises that would concern prison officials.

Emily blocked his approach, interposing her body between Matthew and the fugitive. He didn’t think she should leave her back open like that. His forehead wrinkled in concern. “Get your hands off my quarry,” she growled. Thin cheeks showed Matthew that she hadn’t been eating well. Her desperation made him worry about her even more.

“Emily.” He couldn’t resist touching the side of her neck. A few freckles dotted the skin there, but he knew they were just a tease compared to the dots splashed over her shoulders and breasts.

Her shove shocked him, knocking him back onto the sidewalk. Matthew blinked. She shouldn’t have done that when his guard was down. He scrambled to his feet and followed her in.

 

The Fugitive's Sexy BrotherBlurb:

Emily Boysen is sick of low-level bounty hunting jobs that don’t pay her rent, and sick to death of her ex-boyfriend taking credit for her work. Ready to claim her due, she takes on the quarry of a lifetime, the notorious Fernando Bonavita. But instead of the fugitive, she captures his sexy younger brother, Javier.

Javier Bonavita never wanted to know the truth about his older brother’s activities, instead protecting him out of loyalty. When he uses his hacking skills to pose as Fernando, he never expects to uncover crimes he can’t stomach. Beautiful Emily has no idea how glad he is to be in her custody—as long as he’s her prisoner, he doesn’t have to face his brother.

Passion flares between Emily and Javier, and soon he’s putting the handcuffs on her. Suspicion grows along with their feelings, though. A sinister plot centers around Fernando, and untangling it will test their loyalties to the limit.

 

Buy Links:
All Romance eBooks
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Ellora’s Cave

 

Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written erotica of many flavors. She loves shoes, stockings, cooking and excellent bass lines. She always keeps a new e-book loaded on her phone and a paperback stashed in her purse, but her eyes are still bigger than her stomach whenever she visits a bookseller. She blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong . Watch for her next contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave, Get Laid.

 

Giveaway:

Check out the rafflecopter below for information on how to win a $5 gift card to Ellora’s Cave!

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Best Summer Memories Coast to Coast with Holly: Part VI The North York Moors on to Robin Hood’s Bay

Best Summer Memories Giveaway: A Romp through the Archives & Our Coast-to-Coast Walk:

Welcome to Part VI of Coast to Coast with Holly, my best ever summer memory.

I’ve been wanting to share the Coast to Coast walk Raymond and I took with Holly two years ago once again, I suppose as much for my pleasure as I hope for yours. But one of the best things that happened on that walk across England is that I blogged it. I walked in the day and sat in pubs or at our B & B in the evenings and blogged our adventures. Raymond took masses of pictures, so the blog record could be as visual as possible, because the views were fabulous and the experience was amazing. Some of my very best summer memories are from that fantastic two weeks as we walked in all kinds of weather from St. Bee’s Head on the Irish Sea all the way to Robin Hood’s Bay on the North Sea.

All this week I’ve been revisiting that fabulous journey by posting those travel blogs again. During that time, I’m hoping that you’ll drop me a comment and share your best summer memories. And to encourage you to share your fun, I’m offering a copy of one of my back titles — winner’s choice. All you have to do is comment for a chance to win.

Day 12 Ingleby Cross to Clay Bank Top 12 miles

At last, we left the flat miles of farmland and began the climb into the Cleveland Hills. Our first views of the North York Moors came as we climbed the path through the Arncliffe Wood along the Cleveland Way, which we followed all through today and will follow partly through tomorrow as well. Miles of blooming heather and red sandstone stretched out before us on either side of a very solid rock path. But every once in a while a view of the black peat bogs served as a reminder of what lies beyond the stones. And after our experience on the decent off Nine Standards Rigg, we were more than happy to stick to the path.

As we broke through the trees to open moorland for the first time, getting into the North York Moors proper, the views were astonishing. We could look back to the west over the Vail of Mowbray and the miles of farmland we’d walked across the day before, and to the east we could see the rise and fall of an undulating ocean of mauve heathered moors patch-worked with swaths of rich green pasturelands and the odd fringe of woodland. There was altogether a wilder feel to the place than anything we experienced yesterday. It was as we sat by the cairn on Live Moor having our lunch that we realized we were actually seeing our first glimpses of the North Sea on the horizon. Strange how we looked right at it for the longest time before we realized that we were seeing what we’d been walking toward for the last eleven days.

During the course of the day, we walked a series of plunging rocky descents and oxygen sapping climbs into even more exquisite views, culminating in a delicious scrambley ascent over the Wainstones before our final descent of the day. Since our B&B for the night was off rout, our landlady and her enormous black Airedale, Bonnie, met us in her Land Rover at the end of our last descent at Clay Bank Top. We were glad for the lift, as walking there would have meant an extra three mile descent to get to dinner and bed, and then another three mile ascent the next day to get back on rout. At the end of a hard day’s walk, neither of us were particularly anxious to add any extra mileage to our long-suffering feet.

The Buck Inn at Chop Gate was our final stop for the night. All in one, bed, breakfast, room on the ground floor, and dinner at the really lovely pub, along with a good WiFi connection, which we took advantage of in the pub until bedtime. And bedtime was not very late.

In spite of a path much to our liking with lots of rocky ascents and descents, it was a hard day. After twelve days of walking, the wear and tear of the miles is beginning to take its toll on both of us. Raymond had a new blister and I had a knot on the back of one knee. As we approach the end of our journey, three things have become massively important; getting enough rest, which we never can quite manage as time goes on, getting enough food and drink – doesn’t really matter what at this point, it just matters that it fills the void. And the void feels huge at the end of a long day. And finally, there’s the all-consuming care of the feet. Nothing has taken more of a beating in the past twelve days than our feet. Each morning we spend a half an hour treating blisters, taping up wounds and making sure no toe is rubbing where it shouldn’t and no hot spots are left untended. We’ve become fanatical as we get closer to the final day. We’ve heard horror stories of people who have almost made it to the last day, then gotten infected feet injuries, and that’s the end of their Coast to Coast. And few things are more miserable than walking on sore feet. So yes, I’d say we’re fanatical. We’re too close to the goal not to be careful. With the last two days ahead of us, we can’t afford not to take good care of our feet.

 Day 13 Clay Bank Top to Glaisdale 18 miles

We were walking by 8:15 this morning. Knowing just how far we had to walk today, getting an early start was just that little extra assurance. It was one of those days when the path before us was straight and easy after our first steep ascent back onto the moors. In fact we spent the first fast eight miles on an abandon railway bed with miles of bog and heather on both sides of us as we walked along pleasantly on terra firma. After walking in the bog, we can only imagine the engineering feat it took to build such a railroad. It was built to carry iron stone to the coast. It seems sad, in a way, that there should now be no real trace of such gargantuan efforts other than a long, straight path. Having said that, we were certainly thankful for those efforts.

A little before noon, we arrived at Blakey and the Lion Inn. The Lion Inn sets up on a rise above the rest of the countryside, and is the first and last outpost of civilization until the end of our day’s journey at Glaisedale. Lots of Coast-to-Coasters overnight at the Lion Inn, but we had ten more miles to go before we could overnight, so after a cuppa and a venison baguette, we walked on.

The weather was perfect for walking – Blessedly dry and cool with mixed sun and cloud. We found our rhythm early and it was a golden sort of day. We made good time walking along the great paths across the North York Moors and seeing very few people until we got on toward Glaisdale. At this point in our journey, we were meeting people who had started their Coast to Coast walk at Robin Hood’s Bay and will finish up at St Bee’s Head in Cumbria. My feet hurt for them.

It’s funny how our world has narrowed to the walking rhythm. Life is so simple walking every day. Our routine is easy and good. We get up, we eat breakfast, we walk all day, eating and drinking as needed, we get to the B&B in the evening, have our shower, wash out a few things, eat our dinner, look at the route for the next day and fall into bed. The next day we do the whole thing over again. I love the simplicity of it all. It fits so well, and it’s so much closer to what matters than what often passes for what matters in every-day life. I’m tired now, and looking forward to dipping the toe of my boot in the waters of Robin Hood’s Bay, but as sure as I’m sitting here, I know I’ll feel bereft when I wake up Monday morning with no more miles to walk, and there’ll be culture shock as surely as if I had been in another country. And is so many ways, I am in another country, a wonderful country. I suppose I’ll deal with the bereavement the same way I deal with it when I finish writing a novel. I’ll start planning the next walk. In fact, I already have a great walk in mind for next summer.

We’re now sitting at the only pub in Glaisdale, chatting with other Coast-to-Coasters who, like us, are excitedly anticipating their final day of walking, anticipating completion of something that seemed bigger that anything we could imagine when we all started it, something that, at times, was a lot more than we had bargained for, but something we would not have missed for the world. Tomorrow, we walk twenty miles to Robin Hood’s Bay. Tomorrow, I’ll write about how it feels to walk all the way across England. It’s almost a reality and yet at the same time, it seems like a dream.

Day 14 August 21 Glaisdale to Robin Hood’s Bay 20 miles

 I very naively thought because we did yesterday’s eighteen miles at speed and got in so much earlier than we thought we would that today would be the same. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Yesterday we walked a good bit of the walk on abandon railway beds, and other than the ascent to get back up on top of the moors at Clay Bank Top, most of the walk was flat, even slightly downhill. Also there was only the Lion Inn in the middle of nowhere at Blakey Moor to slow us down. For the most part we walked at speed without interruptions.

Today was completely different. Today the first thing on our agenda was to get back on route from our B & B and work our way out of the convoluted maze of Glaisdale, which is only a small village, but sprawled out higgledy piggledy up the flanks of the moors. We were barely out of Glaisdale before we had several other small villages to negotiate culminating in the walk through heaving Grosmont with its myriad holiday makers there for the steam trains and the views. The crush of humanity was followed hard on by a hellish five hundred foot ascent out of the village on a busy road. It was this ascent in untried socks that was responsible for my worst blister of the journey, driving me to shed boots and socks as soon as we were out on open moorland again and reach for the Compeed and sports tape and a different pair of socks. (I always carry a spare)

LESSON LEARNED: Socks DO matter. And what I can walk in at home on the Downs in the Soft South are not necessarily good for walking 2o miles at pace across massively varied terrains.

After the Ascent from Hell, for awhile we walked along open moorland, though we were still on the road for quite a bit longer. Road-walking does not make for happy feet. We descended steeply into Little Beck then walked through the Little Beck Wood for ages. It truly was a lovely place to walk, especially since the day had turned hot and sunny and the shade was very welcome. But I think the experience of busy Grosmont and the walk through the woodland full of holiday makers complete with kids, dogs, and picnics was the beginning of culture shock. Our Coast to Coast journey was coming to an end, and in a few hours we’d be thrust back into the rest of the world again, and back to our normal routine. We both found the experience of such a sudden deluge of people to be strangely jarring.

Aside from the slow schlog from village to village, making our way through crowds of holiday makers (read this to mean way more than the three or four people we had been encountering every day en route) and the long stretches along asphalt roads, there was that realization that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow we would wake up and NOT walk. We both agreed that somewhere between the breathtaking views and the blisters and the putting one foot in front of the other, we had almost forgotten what it was like not to be walking. It felt like we’d always been walking, like walking was the natural order of the universe, like walking was just what was supposed to happen every morning. As we got closer to Robin Hood’s Bay, as we found our way through the caravan park to the coastal path that would eventually lead us to the end of our journey, we were both moving on autopilot, tired and a bit numb, our minds still trying to take in the experiences of the past two weeks.

As we rounded the corner and got our first view of Robin Hood’s Bay shining like a jewel in the low sun, the adrenaline boost of that first view drove us on. Descending toward the beach, we met a couple of our compadres with whom we’d had dinner the night before. They were coming back up the hill smiling with the elation at the feat they’d just completed. There were happy congratulations all around before they limped off up the hill and we found our way to the beach to finish the ritual we had begun fourteen days before at St Bee’s Head in Cumbria. At 7:00 pm on Sunday the 21st of August 2011, we dipped our booted toes in the North Sea and tossed the pebbles we’d carried throughout the journey from the Irish Sea, including the one I’d carried for Holly, into the water. Then we promptly commandeered a gentleman to take photos of the great event, and it truly did feel great.

We had been very lucky to get a B&B just at the bottom by the bay so we didn’t have to walk back up the long hill. We dropped our bags and went immediately for fish and chips, in proper Wainwright fashion. Apparently the great man always finished off a good walk with a meal of fish and chips. And since the weather was so lovely, at our landlord’s recommendations, we went to the local chippy for haddock and chips to eat on the dock as the tide came in around us. I don’t think I’ve ever had a better meal.

When we’d polished off the fish and chips, we went across the road to the Wainwright pub and had a pint to toast our success. Traditionally the pub is the first stop for Coast-to-Coasters after the boot dipping and stone tossing. The walls are decorated in Coast-to-Coast maps and memorabilia. It’s a great place to toast the journey’s end. Then we went upstairs, had another pint and talked walking with other Coast-to-Coasters until we found ourselves struggling to stay awake. But on our way back to our B&B we discovered that the sweet shop was still open, so we ended the day with ice cream.

Our room above the Boat Inn was small and close, and it didn’t matter. We showered and fell into bed. I’m not sure it was yet ten o’clock. Such party animals, we Coast-to-Coasters!

Afterward

It was strange to wake up with no walking to do. Breakfast was leisurely We had to restrain ourselves from hoarding some of the luscious fruit offered, which would have been the walkerly thing to do. We had a short wander around the town. I managed a bit of writing while Raymond did a bit of prep work for his course and we waited for our friends to arrive from Keswick.

Shortly after noon, Brian and Vron arrived. After hugs and congratulations, they loaded us in the car and drove us back to Keswick, where they fed us homemade lasagne, showed us pictures of some of their many long distance walks and listened while we shared our experiences and our photos. It was such a great way to end a great walk. Brian and Vron Spencer have been so instrumental in teaching us navigation and encouraging us to strike out on our own and walk the long, hard walks, that it was very moving to us that they would come all the way from Keswick get us. They pampered us and took care of us and sent us happily on our way this morning.

I’m now on the train back to Guildford still trying to get my head around the experiences of the past two weeks. In a few hours normal life will resume in earnest, and I will have to catch up with all that has been on the periphery of my life for the past two weeks and get back to work. But one thing I’m certain of, my life is much richer because I walked the Coast-to-Coast. I’m inspired in ways I don’t think I’ve even begun to unravel yet. It was good. It was so very good.

A Week Later

The feet and joints are recovering. I’m back working hard on the final polish-up of Lakeland Heatwave. When it rains now, I look out the window and stay dry. I wonder at times if I only dreamed the experience, but then I look at the healing blisters and even better, the mountain of photos and know that yes, we really did it. We really walked across England from Coast to Coast, and it was quite possibly the best holiday ever!

 

 

Best Summer Memories Giveaway: Coast to Coast with Holly: Part V Through the Dales and the Vale of Mowbray

Best Summer Memories Giveaway: A Romp through the Archives & Our Coast-to-Coast Walk:

Welcome to Part V of Coast to Coast with Holly, my best ever summer memory.

I’ve been wanting to share the Coast to Coast walk Raymond and I took with Holly two years ago once again, I suppose as much for my pleasure as I hope for yours. But one of the best things that happened on that walk across England is that I blogged it. I walked in the day and sat in pubs or at our B & B in the evenings and blogged our adventures. Raymond took masses of pictures, so the blog record could be as visual as possible, because the views were fabulous and the experience was amazing. Some of my very best summer memories are from that fantastic two weeks as we walked in all kinds of weather from St. Bee’s Head on the Irish Sea all the way to Robin Hood’s Bay on the North Sea.

For all this week I’ll be revisiting that fabulous journey by posting those travel blogs again. During that time, I’m hoping that you’ll drop me a comment and share your best summer memories. And to encourage you to share your fun, I’m offering a copy of one of my back titles — winner’s choice. All you have to do is comment for a chance to win.

 Day 9 August 16 Day Nine Keld to Reeth 12 ½ Miles

We woke up to pouring rain this morning. Funny how it doesn’t even phase us anymore. There was not much wind and it was warm. Good enough! Rumours were flying that it would clear. It didn’t. We started our day’s ascent along the River Swale. There were two routes to choose from today. There was a low level walk along the valley floor following the Swale and there was a high level walk through some of the old mining sites in the fells above. Because the mining past interests me, and because I love old ruins in general, we chose the high level route and were not disappointed in our choice.

In spite of the rain, we were back in our element. After a day of bog schlogging, we were scrambling up through the rocky fells. As we ascended the River Swale dropped away below us and we found ourselves in the bizarre landscape that was half nature at her most exquisite, with mauve heather carpeting the hillsides and half man at his most destructive, with mine tailings mixed in amongst the heather. Our ascent took us first to the ruins of Crackpot Hall, and no that’s not a reflection on the walkers who take that rout. Crackpot Hall is an old framing stead that had to be abandon when it became unsafe due to all the mining that had happened underneath and around it. We wandered around in the ruins and took pictures of what was left, the remains of the kitchen hearth and even an old metal bathtub. We couldn’t keep from wondering what life had been like for the people who lived there. No doubt not easy.

The rain continued, and the ceiling was just high enough for us to make out our rout up the rocky, Swinner’s Gill, which took in the ruins of the Swinnergill’s lead mines and smelt mill. We were in our element climbing up the narrowing gill with the stream running along beside us. We climbed up over wet rock as the gill narrowed and steepened until we found ourselves climbing up dodgy peat rather than stones. Fortunately we found our way to the top of the gill to follow a very nice shooters track through the rainy moor until we found a descent into Gunnerside Gill to the ruins of  Blakethwaite Smelt Mill with its elegant stone arches and round smelt mill.

We crossed swollen becks and climbed up scree strewn gills up to the devastated landscape caused by the Old Gang Lead Mine. It was sobering to walk through the destruction, like a dead moonscape, then look out into the distance at the richly heathered hills surrounding. Hard to believe such devastation could exist next to such beauty. As we approached the Old Gang Melt Mill, we passed by a fleet of matching black, shiny Land Rovers. Upon questioning an elderly gentleman in the first, we discovered that he was a gamekeeper, and all the Land Rovers were full of hunters waiting for the mist to clear so they could shoot grouse.

We ended our day at the School House in Reeth, arriving just as the rain finally cleared and the sun peeked out from the clouds.

Day 10 Reeth to Richmond, and beyond (Bolton on Swale)

It should have been an easy walk of just eleven miles, and that over gently undulating hills as we left the Swale and followed up to Applegarth Scar. We even stopped at a farmhouse for tea and scones. It should have been a leisurely day. We would have been in Richmond by early afternoon, had we not put our heads together for a hair-brained scheme. Neither of us relished walking 24 miles tomorrow, so we hit on a brilliant plan to walk into Richmond, as planned, hop a taxi out to Bolton on Swale, which we thought was another five miles on our way, then walk back into our B&B at Richmond. We got our mileage a little off. Instead of being five miles from Richmond, Bolton on Swale ended up being seven and a half miles from Richmond. Now tow and a half miles may not sound like much in the scheme of things, but my feet can attest to the fact that an extra flight of stairs at the end of the day can feel like a major ascent.  We arrived at our B&B at seven that night. As luck would have it, this was the only place we had in the journey that had a bathtub, a very large bathtub, which we took full advantage of. Though I have to admit lying there in the warmth and the bubbles with my glass of red wine, I feared I might just drift off to sleep and pull and Ophelia.

Being too tired to find a place for dinner, we ended up having bread and cheese and fruit and a bottle of wine in the room, always one of our favourite meals anyway, before falling into bed. The good news is that tomorrow will be only 16 ½ miles rather than 24 ½ thanks to our brainy idea and the use of a good taxi.

This was another day when Whiney-Arse KD commandeered the reins. It was probably the toughest day I walked so far. Nothing really hurt. I just could barely hold my eyes open, and I walked in some sort of weird fog all day, even though it was a lovely day to walk, the first sunny, rain-free day we’d had in awhile.

 LESSON LEARNED: I can’t walk fourteen hard miles a day and not get enough sleep at night. Duh! As a writer, I live under slept most of the time, always attempting to get just a little more written before I head off to bed, and I was trying to do the same thing en route – walk hard all day and write at night. It was not a workable plan. After today, I promised myself if I wasn’t finished with what I was doing by 10:00 pm, it didn’t matter. I’d shut down and go to bed anyway.

Day 11 Bolton on Swale (Richmond) to Inglby Cross 16 ½ mile

Our biggest danger faced so far, crossing the A19 dual carriageway before arriving at Inglby Cross. As far as the scenery of the day was concerned, we could have been in Kent, as we passed grain field after grain field and cow pasture after cow pasture. The experience was made interesting by the fact that the grain and the hay harvest were in progress and we saw some very interesting farming techniques going on while we were passing through. The flat walk was made challenging by at least a half a million stiles. It’s amazing how tiring it becomes to hoist body and full pack over one stile after another, most made for people with VERY long legs, some wobbly enough to make going over an act of faith, and some hoisted high with hip-deep nettles surrounding the giant step and a strand of barbed wire connecting it to the rest of the fence. Add to that the fact that we were in cattle country and for some reason, cows seem to particularly enjoy relieving themselves at the foot of styles. Wicked sense of humour, cattle. Oh, and there was the odd electric fence just to keep us on our toes. So in the end, our fears of not getting enough of a work-out on the flat of the Veil of Mowbry were put to rest.

We were told that the long flat stretch between Richmond and Inglby Cross, the Vale of Mowbry, is twenty-four miles that just have to be gotten through to get back to the good bits. That wasn’t far wrong. Though the rout isn’t unpleasant, it’s just miles of farmland, which does little to stimulate tired minds and tired feet. And feet do tend to suffer terribly on the long, hard flat.

Never mind. Zig-zagging our way through the racing traffic on the busy dual carriageway of the A 19 gave us an adrenaline rush we needed to see our way through to the end of the day’s walk. With the Cleveland Hills looming bright in the distance, we’re assured of a more exciting walk tomorrow when we head into our third national park, the North York Moors.

 

 

 

Coast to Coast with Holly Revisited: Part IV We Venture Beyond the Lake District

Best Summer Memories Giveaway: A Romp through the Archives & Our Coast-to-Coast Walk:

Welcome to Part IV of Coast to Coast with Holly, my best ever summer memory.

I’ve been wanting to share the Coast to Coast walk Raymond and I took with Holly two years ago once again, I suppose as much for my pleasure as I hope for yours. But one of the best things that happened on that walk across England is that I blogged it. I walked in the day and sat in pubs or at our B & B in the evenings and blogged our adventures. Raymond took masses of pictures, so the blog record could be as visual as possible, because the views were fabulous and the experience was amazing. Some of my very best summer memories are from that fantastic two weeks as we walked in all kinds of weather from St. Bee’s Head on the Irish Sea all the way to Robin Hood’s Bay on the North Sea.

All this week I’ll be revisiting that fabulous journey by posting those travel blogs again. During that time, I’m hoping that you’ll drop me a comment and share your best summer memories. And to encourage you to share your fun, I’m offering a copy of one of my back titles — winner’s choice. All you have to do is comment for a chance to win.

Warning:

I’m tired and my feet are sore and I’m writing this blog post from a pub near Clay Bank in order to get a signal. It’s done on the hoof, so to speak. I apologize for any incoherencies that may occur, and hope very much that you’ll still take away from it all that we’re having an amazing time.

Day 6: 13 August Saturday Burnbanks to Orton 13 ½ miles

We are lucky to have such good friends in the Lakes. Brian and Vron Spencer were kind enough to take us to Burnbanks, the starting point of the day’s walk. Now nice holiday cottages, Burnbanks was originally a camp for the workers who built the dam on Haweswater. We’ve picked Brian and Von’s brain about the rest of the walk, looked over the rout, even raided their walking larder for sports tape and extra shoe laces, so now all that’s left is to do the deed.

On our first day of walking on our own, Vron and Bonnie, the collie, who has been the star of more than a few of my Lakeland photos, walked with us the first few miles to the ruins of Shap Abbey. There Brian picked them up and we said our final good-byes, at least for the next nine days. But, as Wainwright said about leaving Lakeland, ‘It’s not good-bye, only so long.’ He adds to that no one would blame you if you decided to stay on in the Lakes and not go any further. But our path was set.

It felt strange leaving our friends behind and striking out across unfamiliar territory on our own. We walked on through the town of Shap, barley making it pass the smell of the fish and chips shop that we’re pretty sure Wainwright frequented. But we have turkey sandwiches and wanted to press on a bit before chowing. We crossed the enormous footbridge spanning the noisy, heavily trafficked M6 Motorway. From there the path rose and fell away from the motorway into hills showing the first signs of the limestone outcroppings that awaited us on the rest of the day’s walk.

We had lunch above the quarries then walked on across areas where limestone pavements pocked and scarred by endless water erosion, nestled amid miles of mauve blooming heather. I couldn’t look hard enough. We’d heard about the heather in bloom, but no picture could have possibly done justice to our first real sight of the much-anticipated moorland. We saw a hobby in pursuit of his avian meal, and a little later on, actually saw a buzzard kill a small rabbit. We startled her off her prey before we realized what was going on. She was training her young to hunt. They all congregated in a tree at the top of a hill and waited for us to pass.

Without the regimentation of a group, we took our time to enjoy the journey, and it was good to have decent weather and a leisurely pace. We walked into Orton around 6 p m and settled in for the night at the George Hotel. At the George’s restaurant, we wolfed down homemade chicken and ham pie and two pints of Black Sheep while swapping tales and gathering information from some of the fellow walkers, who were also en route. Then we celebrated the end of our first day alone on the trail by sharing an enormous banana split. Total decadence! Holly didn’t join us for dinner, but she enjoyed the limestone pavements.

Day 7: 14 August Sunday Orton to Kirby Stevens 12 ½ miles

We woke this morning to heavy rain, which came and went off and on until around eleven, so the already saturated ground got even more saturated, and we splorshed and splurshed our way through pastures until we got out into open moorlands, where there was still plenty of mud and running water, but only strategically placed sheep poo to slow our progress.

The hazard of the day: Stiles into cow pastures. Because the cows tend to congregate around stiles and gates, they turn the soft wet pastures into a deep mud bath and a cow toilet. Argh! We went in over our boots several times in the early bits of the walk, but fortunately we filled our boots with boggy rather than cow toilet! We got to be quite acrobatic at finding ways to keep relative uck-free. There was lots of open moorland walking today, some beneath limestone outcroppings. But not nearly as much heather. The best part of the day’s walk was Smardale oabove the remains of the old railway along Scandal Beck. The old Victorian viaduct is still standing arched across the valley like a work of art. We past the ruins of a lime kiln and an old boarded up railway cottage, while viewing in the distance a strange limestone scar called Giants Graves. The abandon railway line beneath the rail bridge would be a lovely to walk some other time.

Day 8:14 August Sunday Orton to Kirby Stevens 12 ½ miles

We woke this morning to heavy rain, which came and went off and on until around eleven, so the already saturated ground got even more saturated, and we splorshed and splurshed our way through pastures until we got out into open moorlands, where there was still plenty of mud and running water, but only strategically placed sheep poo to slow our progress.

The hazard of the day: Stiles into cow pastures. Because the cows tend to congregate around stiles and gates, they turn the soft wet pastures into a deep mud bath and a cow toilet. Argh! We went in over our boots several times in the early bits of the walk, but fortunately we filled our boots with boggy rather than cow toilet! We got to be quite acrobatic at finding ways to keep relative uck-free. There was lots of open moorland walking today, some beneath limestone outcroppings. But not nearly as much heather. The best part of the day’s walk was Smardale oabove the remains of the old railway along Scandal Beck. The old Victorian viaduct is still standing arched across the valley like a work of art. We past the ruins of a lime kiln and an old boarded up railway cottage, while viewing in the distance a strange limestone scar called Giants Graves. The abandon railway line beneath the rail bridge would be a lovely to walk some other time.

Day 8 Kirby Stephen to Keld 12 ½ miles Across the Pennines and Through the Bogs

We walked a good bit of the day in sunshine, and a dry day was essential as we crossed the Pennines at Nine Standards Rigg and descended into the peat hags and bogs into Yorkshire. I kept asking Brian and Vron in the Lake District if the boggy walks we endured on Greenup Edge compared to what we’d face on Nine Standards. They kept saying you couldn’t compare the two. How right they were! Raymond and I both agreed we’d never walked or even seen anything like the bogs we descended through today. Very fortunately for us, the weather was good and the descent was much more gentle than the descent off Greenup Edge and Far Easdale in the Lakes.

We started out the day with a fairly fast ascent up to Nine Standard Rigg, which is a series of nine stone cairns which dominating the top of this particular Pennine Ridge, and can even be seen descending into Kirby Stephen the night before. I was very excited to actually get on top of the ridge and see the impressive standards. No one knows how they got there or who built them. One legend has it that they were built to make an invading army think the standards were the vanguard of a large army.

At the top, as we looked around I was in awe to discover that looking out in the distance in every direction but back toward Kirby Stephen were huge black stretches of peat bog sprawling across the landscape. I hoped we wouldn’t be walking through that. But of course, we would be. We took photos in a sharp wind, then found a sheltered place for tea before descending into the unknown of the bogs. Just as we were about to head off into the bogs, we met a walker doing the Coast to Coast in the opposite direction and ask him how it was. He gave us a rather glazed look and said, ‘boggy.’ He wasn’t joking.

Our first encounter with a peat hag was like the earth had split open and left in its joining place a thick black ooze of mud, too deep to wade through and too wide to jump. We were standing on the lower piece of grassy marsh looking up at the upper piece wondering how the hell we were going to get across. Fortunately we are fairly good with a compass, because in the end the only way to deal with a peat hag is to go around it. That made for a very wet, very slow descent. The scary thing was that we had several people tell us how much better the boggy bits were than they normally were. Urg!

We thought we’d actually made it through the boggy bits as we began our descent down Whitsundale Beck, but what awaited us before we managed contact with terra firma was the equivalent of a giant, wet sponge that went on for several kilometres. With the ground sinking beneath each step we took, we found out the best way to deal with it was just not to stand in one place too long.

After what seemed like ages, we finally made it to the lonely post of humanity called Raven Seat, which is a farm with lots of kids, lots of dogs and totally fabulous cream teas, which we were only happy to take advantage of.

Even from Raven Seat, it was quite a muddy schlog down to the miniscule village of Keld on the Swale River.

The walk over Nine Standards Rigg had been the part of the Coast to Coast I’d dreaded the most, and it was such a relief to finally have it behind us. As we enjoyed our dinner at the Keld Lodge, Raymond and I both agreed that though we enjoyed Nine Standards, our love of bogs had not increased in any way, and that it was not only the hardest bit of the walk so far, and though it was most definitely an adventure, it was the first bit of the walk so far we’d not want to do again. We were both looking forward to rocks and solid ground the next day, when we planned to walk the high level rout to Reeth through the old mining ruins.