Cheese, fog and blanket bog (Chop Tank to Blakey Ridge)

     The sign, aimed at decreasing the environmental pact on the moorland, warned anyone tempted to stray from the footpath about the perils: adders ("if bitten, seek urgent medical attention") sheep ticks ("Lyme disease may be fatal") and blanket bog. I'm not sure what it is but blanket bog, sounds really scary.  

     I didn't take many pictures today. I figured I could just take yesterday's and add a fog filter in Photoshop. There are advantages to hiking in clouds and fog. For one thing, it affords more privacy to those who pee in the heather. And being unable to see far down ( or up) the trail, one walks in the moment. Very zen. 

A not terribly helpful sign 

     We got a late start this morning after a two hour breakfast. Fortuitously, when offered an alternative to a Full English breakfast described as "cheese", I went for it. 

Cheese it was and it came with a full explanation of the background, breeding and potential of each cheese on the tray. 

Starting with the dark smudge at 12:00, you have a local Theakston cheddar made with beer. Moving clockwise, Coverdale ( a creamy Windsleydale cheese,) then a smoked Winsleydale and a pure Windsleydale ( good with apples.)  Continuing clockwise, next is Cotherstone cheese from County Durham (similar to cream cheese.) Then three cheeses from Lancashire, the first made with cinnamon and nutmeg, the next being a goats' milk cheese and then a waxed sheeps' milk cheese from Inglewhite Dairy. Are you fascinated? The last is a hard "Poacher's Cheese", which leaves only " the foreigner" in the middle: a vintage, imported Gouda.  450 varieties of cheese are made in England, more than in France, I was told. 

     After this presentation, I was afraid if I confessed to preferring the Gouda, she'd throw me out the door. 

      The talk then progressed to the 600 year old grudge against Lancashire,  which persons in the dale are descended from Captain James Cook and the neighbor's bull who terrorized everyone so that it had to be put down and the farmer wept. Among other diverse topics.  

       Did I say we got a late start? Well, what's the rush? 

      The old (circa 1553) Lion Inn stands alone on moors, a welcoming presence on the horizon visible for miles. So they say. We pretty much saw it for the first time, suddenly looming out of the fog, when we walked in the front door.