Up at 5.45am. Not raining but thick mist and everything exceedingly damp outside. A leisurely brekkie and a careful packing up and away at 7.00. A cold north east wind blowing. The first few miles brought me onto Live Moor, Carlton Moor, Carlton Bank where there are gliding runway. At first the walking was slow and devious. I saw nowt but mist and the ground beneath my feet - old workings and new hangars all blotted out - for a good many miles. Cringle End, Cold Moor. Hasty Bank and the Wainstones were passed. Then past another forest, along Carr Ridge up to Urra Moor and then becomes a fine wide level road across the moor - lovely steady walking where I could put one foot more than six inches in front of the other. After a few grateful miles of this an even better track awaited one - long years ago some enterprising engineer had built a railway right across the moor - not straight but in a series of giant S bends so that the way would be always level. The iron rails were gone but an excellent cinder track remained. Inspecting my map, I saw "Lion Inn" - about 7miles away. It was just after noon. So I put my best feet foremost - contemplating a glorious pint and some fodder if I got there in time. It really was splendid walking. And, what is more, the mists cleared and I was walking in shirt sleeves again and getting drier all the time. The Lion Inn was a lonely building on a road high on the moor, but geared obviously to the motor traffic of the day, with lots of subdued lighting and gleaming bars and a painted doll of a barmaid who couldn't care less. I ordered my pint and asked for a meal (three plates of grub were just being handed out to three yobbos) but the response from the maiden(?) was completely negative. Not only was I too late for a meal, but she couldn't or wouldn't offer me any food at all, not even a packet of crisps, so my stomach was doomed to wait. Leaving this abortive inn I plodded on, accompanied by a group of six men and women, up the road, turning off beyond the Old Mangsey Bradley stone on to High Danky Moor. The Lyke Wake Walk comes in at the stone. A narrow track contoured Great Fryup Dale and took me along a ridge and down into Glaisdale. I arrived at the village after about 7miles of excellent walking, just before 6pm. And sat on a seat outside the "Mitre" until it opened. Here was a very different kind of barmaid who provided me with an excellent plate of food and a pint of delicious ale and listened sympathetically to my tale of the Lion Inn. She also sold me two meat pies for tomorrow's use. For some miles my right small toe had been sore, The nail was scraping into the flesh of the next toe but I kept delaying attending to it until camp that night. Glaisdale is a pleasant village, especially when embellished with a kindly inn and a lovely summer evening. The moorland today had been extremely bare - "not another tree for 17miles" - Wainwright had said, but the valleys now were lush and verdant. Boots and socks were getting dry at last too - so all things added up to a feeling of well being and general pleasance. I descended to the bridge and up through the woods along the river Esk and, a little past Eglin Manor, knocked at the door of a small white farmhouse and asked to camp. The man, Mr Pickering, was most kind and courteous and introduced me to a stretch of grass by the river, where I soon had my tent pitched. Today I had walked 28½miles - further than ever before in one day, so I was tired and, having already eaten all that remained was to stretch out in my sleeping bag and get a night's sleep. At first, after such a long spell of labour, my legs, could hardly accustom themselves to this new, toil-less position but soon I fell asleep and by morning they were back to normal. I has been walking, with a few breaks, from 7am until 9pm - fourteen hours, so I had achieved the 2mph average.