The Wharton Scenic Death March.

Walking back up the hill to view Washington's ancestral home, we ran into a most memorable individual. Out in front of the village post office, a spry elderly man intercepted us, and asked if we were Americans. We assured him that yes indeed, we were Americans, and engaged him in further conversation. He had a most unusual accent, which to my ear sounded like a strange combination of what we heard in Scotland, but blended with English and maybe even Irish . I haven't heard any Welsh accents so far, so there may have even been a bit of Welsh mixed in there as well. It had an interesting sound, but was far easier to understand than some of the accents we heard in Scotland.

We mentioned that we were on our way up the hill to see the Washington house, so he offered to show us the way. We talked about Washington, about America, and about a myriad of other things as well. Horace was his name, Horace Stevens, which we thought was interesting, since the maiden name of our grandmother, Florence Glines, had been Stevens. Maybe Horace was a long lost relative!

Horace mentioned that he was walking on a bit further, and offered to show us the most impressive view in all of England. Well, who could turn down an opportunity to see the most impressive view in all England Horace said he was 75 years of age, so we figured, how far could it be?

Horace led us up the hill, still talking 90 miles an hour. He commented on the local architecture, the trees and fields, the local birds and animals, his life as an engineer working on guided missiles before he retired. After we left the town behind, we walked on for about a mile further, and rounding a corner, we were able to view the surrounding country side for miles around. It was very charming, and we paused to take pictures.

"Oh, it's not here", Horace told us. "It's not much further, just a bit farther ahead. I've even seen people from Japan coming up for this!" Well. All the way from Japan! This we had to see.

Walking on a couple of miles further, Horace announced that we were coming up on a very famous local manor house, Leighton Hall. Sure enough, we rounded a curve, and there we saw the gate for Leighton Hall, the very same gate we had stopped at a couple of hours earlier in the day. We had originally driven there from the opposite direction, and we had no idea that we had walked that far. Horace told us that the view point was not far ahead, and that we should be grateful that we had him along as our personal 'Indian' guide, since the trail to the spot wasn't particularly easy to find.

Now by this time, Barbara was beginning to suffer the tortures of the damned. We had all thought this was going to be a short walk, so she hadn't bothered changing into walking shoes, and was still wearing her 3 inch wedge sandals that were slowly but surely flaying the skin from her toes. She was a trooper, though, and taking Horace at his word, felt that she could continue for a short while still.

Horace turned off the roadway, and led us through a path into the woods, and to a kind of crude step ladder designed to let people climb over a gap in a stone wall, but that would keep sheep or other livestock from getting out that way. How charming, we thought. Shortly after crossing the wall, I stepped into a wet cow pie, in my sandals, and discovered the less than charming aspects of our pastoral stroll. From that point on, we kept our eyes on the path, warning of cow land mines as we spotted them.

After about a mile on the forest path, and after crossing another wall or two, we finally came to the view point, and Horace wasn't exaggerating. The view was breathtaking. To the north, we could see the part of the Cumbrian Lake District, and it's surrounding mountains. To the west, we overlooked Leighton Hall, a large country estate surrounded by fields, gardens, and forests, and further on, we could see the river Kent where it flowed into Morcambe Bay. It was well worth the walk, and the opportunity to take many pictures.

After a brief rest, we retraced our steps back to the road, and Horace suggested that instead of going back the way we came, we could take a different way back that was about the same distance, but would allow us to see some additional sights on our way back to Wharton. Well, if it's about the same distance...

We did indeed see a great many additional things, to include an old Quaker church built in 1657, and we passed by a Monastery, which we decided not to add even further distance to our trek to go see. We passed through a couple of additional villages, and walked along roads that made us want to climb over the stone walls when cars would pass us by as a high rate of speed. By this time, it was March or Die time, and Horace was setting a brutal pace. He was a machine. God save us from little 75 year old men.

Part way though our trek back to Wharton, Karrie could tell that Barbara was hurting, so being ever prepared, we paused briefly for the application of band aids to Barb's blistering feet. As we approached Wharton, I mentioned to Steve and Karrie that when we got back to Wharton, instead of driving back to Leighton Hall for the tour, that we stop at the George Washington Pub instead for lunch and a couple of pints. Barbara agreed that was an EXCELLENT idea.

Finally staggering back into Wharton at the end of our forced march, we invited Horace to join us for lunch. He declined the invitation, but came into the pub with us to converse further. We figured that all in all, our 'short' walk to the view point and back covered about 7 miles. We were all glad to have a chance to sit down, and take a load off!

It turns out that the owner of the pub is quite a fan of the United States, and one of his back rooms is a shrine of sorts dedicated to John Wayne. The walls were covered with pictures of the Duke, and in one corner, there stood a life sized plaster statue of John Wayne as well. How could we resist?

All in all, it was an excellent, although very tiring, adventure. We all slept well that night.