 |
| Edale Rocks- Day 1 |
The Pennine Way, a 250 mile trail up the spine of England into Scortland, is considered the toughest and arguably the best trail in England. It begins in the Pennines, in a small town called Edale. It passes from the Pennines, through the Yorkshire Dales, along Hadrians Wall and across the Charriots. Moors, forests, bogs, rain, blisters. far too much rain and not enough campsites with showers; how could a girl resist?
I’d been hoping to do the PennineWay for over a year so when the time came I could hardly sleep with excitement. My plan was to complete it in 20 days, camping the entire way in my little pivy tent. Since no one was available to accompany me I was liberated from any fixed schedule so I booked no campsites and simply hoped for the best. If the campsite turned out to be full I’d simply walk back up into the hills and wild camp. My tent is small, discreet and should go unnoticed in the midst of the moors. The idea of walking till I drop, and pitching where I like is wonderfully appealing.
04/07/2013
Day 1- Edale to Crowden (16 miles / 24 kilometers)
 |
| Looking down from the top of Jacobs Ladder |
 |
| Stone Church as you Walk in to Edale from the Station |
The only section of the Way I had a companion was the first day. Me and my mother caught the train to arrive in Edale by eleven and after a quick drink at Cooper’s Cafe we began the stroll along the valley towards Jacobs ladder. The rolling hills are lovely and a good warm up among flocks of sheep before the stiff climb up Jacobs.
 |
| View from Edale Rocks looking down at Jacobs Ladder |
Not having done half a much preparation as I’d planned the backpack was causing me a lot of problems, moreover I was attempting to keep up with mother who (unlike me) wasn’t carrying twenty odd pounds on her back. I failed to keep a constant pase and by the time I reached half way up the accursed hill I’d begun to rethink the whole plan. Luckily I have a talent more essential to hiking than endurance, fitness and strength of character: I have the memory of a gold fish and within a minute of completing a painful and desperate climb I’ll have fooled myself into thinking I’d competed it easily.
Things leveled up after Kinder Low and when we began to walk along ridge I finally claimed sense of rhythm. The wind however grew in strength and the promised rain seemed to be sweeping in. My mother, not having snacked as she walked, needed lunch so I stopped to allow her to eat her sandwiches. A man paused alongside us and began a conversation. He turned out to be a volunteer park ranger. Sat together munching on nuts he treated us to a little history of the place and his job.
As always when retracing the route the second time, the walk along the ridge seemed to take twice as long as I thought and it was a relief when we finally came to the end and the sharp decent called ‘Jacob’s Ladder: The Reckoning” to the snake path. It’s at this point that I went wrong last time, walking straight forward instead of turning right a few hundred meters from the sign post at the acorn marker on Mill Hill.
 |
| Looking back from Snakes Path to Jaccop’s Ladder: The Reckoning- cotton grass and slabs over the Moor |
The Snake Path is where you realise how much harder it would have been for walkers doing the Pennine Way thirty years ago. Massive slabs from mills and old factories mark a set route through boggy marshland which at times is a foot deep in rainwater. With no clear path and only a compass bearing it would have been a work of half a day to cross instead of a dull and effortless hour or two. It is easy to image it as Tolkin’s marshes before Mordor and as the rain began to fall it looked bleaker and bleaker.
We reached the A57 at around six and collapsed for ten or so minutes. The weather was too windy to remain for long without getting cold so getting to our feet we trudged onward. We were both already exhausted but one thing made all the difference, I lent mother my Mp3 player while I listened to my Ipod. We past another couple at the cross point, in the mid twenties, and also resting. The girl seemed to be carrying nearly as much as the guy which earned them my approval instantly.
The ascent up Devil’s Dyke to Bleaklow Head was considerably easier than I’d expected even though my feet and back were hurting at this point- in fact both me and mother had already rationed ourselves a painkiller which I think was helping things along considerably. Things weren’t helped my the fog creeping in and the rain increasing. We both raised out hoods and went into our own little world- Mother’s was listening to Dick Francis while my audio companion was the Bortemaius Trilogy.
 |
| Bleaklow Head |
The descent took longer than the ascent and the rain got worse. Around half-seven father phoned to check on our progress, I told me to wait half an hour before leaving to pick up mother. We stopped again along Clough Edge on the ‘Pulpit’. It took another hour from there to get down to Torside Reservoir, cross to the other side and up to A628. A quick track up and back down to the Crowden campsite.
Crowden campsite is the best on the entire hike. It has a massive drying room, good showers, a small shop and nice flat areas to pitch the tent- moreover the guy who runs it popped out of his camper without a grumble to check me in and sell me some soup. Mum was picked up and I was left to collapse and massage my aching feet. I went straight to the shower and changed into wonderfully dry clothes- shoving the rest in the dry room. Once fed I put myself straight to bed.
05/07/2013
Day 2- Crowden to Standedge (11miles/ 18 km)
 |
| View climbing out of Crowden |
I woke early but the rain was too heavy to attempt packing up. I dozed until there seemed a break and packed up as quickly as possible. Overcast as it was as I made my way from the campsite it seemed to dry out a little and the path up and out of Crowden was steady and pretty. I passed the couple I’d seen the day before very early on and made my way alongside Crowden’s Great Brook. The water was flowing with worrying force considering the amount of streams I’d be crossing throughout the day . The path contours the hillside precariously, sometimes a little under water and other times going straight through a quickly flowing stream. It made it very hard going, and at times scary. At several points I needed to throw my bag across before leaping after it. The views however were fantastic, equal if not better than the day before.
 |
| The Crowden Great Brook looking back to Crowden in the distance |
The creeks got steadily harder to cross, at times forcing me to search for routes around to avoid been swept away. I was very conscious of my camera through out after my last creek crossing and camera disaster. Very soon my feet were soaked.
In many ways the terrain here is considerably harder than yesterdays and certainly took a lot longer. I suspect on a dry day this is very different.
It was with relief I finally, after the mother of all crossings (took nearly half an hour), took the path branching out towards Black Hill. The climb is steady enough and the path clear with slabs here and there to help you over the bog. At this point I was listening to Bill Bryson’s ‘A Walk in the Woods’ but the earphones kept on pausing the ipod driving me absolutely crazy. I also realised that at some point I’d lost all my snacks and was steadily getting hungrier. I stopped myself from having lunch in the hope to stumbling across a pub or food van when I crossed the A635. The moors still held a lot of charm and I quite enjoyed the steady walk, although my backpack was still causing me grief as well as my map cord around my neck. I was so scared of getting lost though that I kept it instantly at hand to double-check my route. Even when I was clearly on the path I’d refer to it in the hope of learning out to read the contours of the land around me.
 |
| Path to Black Hill |
I’m afraid the next section to the A635 is tiresome and after the rain, which we’d had all the week before, quite horrible. There’s a river crossing which the sign warns not to attempt after rain, it suggested an alternative route but I was too lazy and too worried about getting lost to take heed- a bit like in Australia I know but I am somewhat of a slow learner. This time, however, I got away with it. The path goes up and down a couple of times too often and the road deceptively far away. The couple later told me that they followed, ignoring the alternative route also having concluded that if I’d managed they would also.
Glancing back I spotted them in the distance and kept up my pace, determined that I’d not be overtaken. After the road crossing the path is very simple and goes along the road to a gravel drive along the Wessender Reservoir. Wessender Lodge, my hoped source for lunch, turned out to be a private home. So settling myself on the side of the path I cooked myself some couscous on my JetBoil stove. As soon as I’d finished cooking and turned off the stove the rain came. For some reason I’d decided I was nearly at my destination when I set off which is wrong, two thirds of the way maybe and definitely the hardest parts are completed but there is a way to go. The rain made it all that much harder, and my wet feet were in serious pain. This was not the peppy energetic first few days I’d imagined and I was getting a little worried the walk was going to beat me.
 |
| The view from just after Black Moss Reservoir |
Across the moor and a long a series of reservoirs which, if they hadn’t lost their novelty yet, will seem quite tiresome by the end of the trip. As you descend once more to the car park in front of the Brun Clough Reservoir you cross onto the rather scary A62. Here is my first Pennine Way map on which I posed in a cheesy manner while pointing at my current position. I’m pointing to only a center-meter or so above the starting point, there’s still a long way to go,
 |
| Looking down towards Standedge as the mists come down |
The days walk complete I now headed off the Pennine way and walked the kilometer of so to The Carriage House. I got there well before it’s opening hour and sat outside a while hunching my shoulders to the rain. By this point I was well and truly soaked. The couple of elderly gentlemen who’d been behind me the last few miles caught up and we stood around talking awkwardly. They were hunched over horribly and their packs did not look very supportive whatsoever.
A kind caravan man popped over and told us to set up and settle the bill later. I gratefully obeyed and blessing the heavens for the clearing of the rain set up the tent and sorted out my stuff. I limped inside and paid for my pitch but mainly to optain a shower token, nearly jumping with glee when they said I could also have a bath if I wished. I did wish. I adopted their boiler as a dry room and soaked myself until I could hear the gentlemen waiting for their turn outside.
That night was very pleasant. Wondered inside and bought myself a lasagne, attempting to write up the days travel and failing. Instead I examined the next days route, an exercise I’d repeat every night after. It would only be another eleven mile day but if it was going to rain it would be another day of hell. I wanted a sunny few days to kick start the hike, instead I was looking at wet shoes and wet clothes with howling winds over the moors.
The couple who’d been behind me came in and I introduced myself a little. They were taking a gap year and had given themselves a month to walk the Pennine Way but were finding it much harder than they reckoned- I could relate. The first few days, I can now say in retrospective, are very hard and do not ease you in. Again this might be different in hot dry weather but in the rain the crossings and the bogs are extremely draining.
I also met four boys, definitely nearer teenagers than my age, who were doing mountaineering training. One of their number had slipped and hurt his ankle so badly they’d had to get the helicopter in to get him out, by which point he had hypothermia. This gave me guilty comfort- even if I was finding it hard I was having an adventure with dangers just like I’d enjoyed in Australia.
06/07/2013
Day 3 – Standedge to Mankinholes – (11miles/ 18 miles)
The rain seemed to have left us for a while and even if everything remained damp and wet it was much better than I’d thought. I forced the damp clothes back on and began before everyone else. Again I was hoping to come across somewhere I could buy some food since my breakfast of pringgles, bought the night before in the pub. wasn’t quite as nutritional as I’d hoped.
The walk today was easy compared to the other ones. Back at the car park you cross the road and within five minutes your enjoying fantastic views from Millstone Edge. I stopped within ten minutes and finished off my pringgles then trudge on-wards feeling slightly more upbeat about it all. It’s today that you’ll get you’re fill of reservoirs- you’ll pass at least five before reaching camp. There was no sense of seclusion and wilderness at this stage although by any normal standards it remains very pretty.
 |
| View from Millstone Edge |
A hill runner swept past me as this point and I was very impressed, thin gentleman quite young and quite happy to puff his way over the rough terrain. I’d have collapsed in less than five minutes for sure. Looking through the guide book I realised I must have missed the memorial to Ammon Wringley saying- ‘…so over the hills I’ll take my way and mate with the wild and free will mu dust is flung to the winds in my hill country.’ Its a lovely quote and suggests the sweeping feel of the moors themselves.
Up over White Hill Summit I crossed my first road. I then reached my desired chip van and I paused to buy myself a bacon bun and a slice or jam cake. The sandwich was horrible but hit the right spot and I enjoyed a quick break on a stone. Then a quick climb and its over the M62 where I had a very enjoyable fifteen minutes trying to work out how to get the road in focus and moving cars blurred with my brand new Cannon 1100 camera.
 |
| M62 |
Around Blackstone Edge I got a bit bewildered and lost as I wound around large boulders straight from Narnia and the Giants realm. I examined my map thoroughly and using my initiative took a route away from the Pennine Way choosing a more distinct path and cutting out the moor. You follow the stone path down and then walk along an old ditch to the side of an ancient pack-horse road- possibly Roman. Its nice and flat, and easy to follow. I stopped and lying on the slope enjoyed the sun for a few minutes, relaxed and beginning to loose the ever present sense of times and schedules that runs my life at home. At the next road, the A58, I paused at the White House Inn to pee- something I’d wanted to do for quite some time. I enjoyed two glasses of coke, recharged my phone a little and checked in at home. Its a lovely pub, full of locals and pensioners having lunch.
Time was wearing on now and I knew I’d squandered my early start. The next section is dull but extremely flat. It curls on the inside of the Blackstone Edge Reservoir before going along the Light Hazzles and Warland Reservoirs. Your legs wont feel it at all and you can tune out. Its then a short stretch across the moors and left. I followed it precisely but ten minutes later I doubted myself and returned back to the T-junction.
 |
| My first view of Stoodley Pike |
After re-walking the same section, disturbing the same sheep, I spotted Stoodley Pike in the distance. My legs were feeling a little better but my feet were in serious pain again, the souls were on fire. After the memorial seat I turned left and walked down the steep slope to Mankinholes. I past the river and mill and spent the next hour walking backwards and forwards looking for the campsite a local eventually told me had shut down a few years ago. After three lots of direction I finally found Cross Farm and set my pitch in an over grown lopsided campsite. The Farm Cross is a B&B with an enchanting garden but its not a campsite, the ground is far too sloped and makes for a horrible pitch.
 |
| My lopsided but quiet campsite |
I had enough cash to pay for the campsite but little else. Very few campsites take credit cards so I decided to walk the thirty minutes down to Mankinholes town and buy some snacks. I swapped into my flip-flops which helped my feet a lot. Within half an hour they seem to recover from the shoes and it felt like I was doing nothing more than walking home after a long day. This feeling soon slipped away when it took me over forty minutes to get into town, making more and more nervous about missing my bus back up to the top. I didn’t want another hour of walking with my shopping back up the hill.
I finally reached the shop but the cash machine was broken making the entire trip a waste. I’d not eaten for a long while now and low on sugar I might have been blunter than I’d meant to be with the lady who told me that there was a petrol station another ten minutes down the road. I rushed in and grabbed the first high sugar snack I spotted, got back to the bus station and saw on the electronic sign that there was another ten minutes before it arrived. I should have stayed and waited but I realized I’d forgotten to get noodles for dinner or milk. By the time I got back again two or three minutes later the bus had gone.
 |
| Stoodley Pike from the Cross Farm Camp |
I got back to the campsite at dusk absolutely exhausted but I was rewarded for my efforts by a stunning sunset. I had a shower and collapsed back in the tent having had chocolate bars for my dinner. My health-kick side of this walk is failing horribly and chocolate raisins for snacks tomorrow isn’t going to help.
07/07/13
Day 4- Mankinhole to Stanbury – (15miles/ 24km)
The days official millage doesn’t include the climb back up to Stoodley Pike which had been bothering me the night before. I woke early and collected my recharged phone from the bathrooms, packed my stuff and headed for the shortest but steepest route to the top. I was tempted to walk along the valley floor till it rejoined the Way but I found I couldn’t miss such a key point of the Way and meet peoples eye when I claim to have completed it.
It was a stiff and hard climb but once I committed to it it wasn’t so bad and the view from the top was lovely. I also hadn’t realised that the pike was hollow and easy to climb up. I dumped my bag on the ground and, slightly light headed from relief, climbed to the top. The actual Pennine Way, if you choose not to camp in Mankinholes, is pretty level stretching across the moors alongside the valley. You soon cross the Pennine Bridleway, one of a few times the two walks cross paths, and slopes down to Lower Rough Head Farm. The navigation is easy and the path is clearly boarded by a stone wall to the left. You finally wind down a more zigzag path to Mytholm, crossing a dingy canal and railway. The towns here look a little desolate and abandoned.
 |
| Descending from the Pike |
 |
| Satisfying view of how far I’d traveled |
 |
| From around Cinder Lane |
Here starts an incredibly frustrating and unsatisfying hour winding your way back up the other side of the valley through pockets of houses, stairs going alongside gardens and behind buildings. There’s a interesting abandoned graveyard marked with a ‘Wainwright Sign’ which gave me a bit of a navigational problem but it was soon solved and I gained added confidence in my skills.
 |
| Abandoned Graveyard |
Winding up and away from the graveyard the houses finally grow a tad scarcer, Stoodley Pike still stood in the distance giving you a satisfying sense of the distance you’ve covered- if at the speed of a arthritic turtle. The progress is horribly slow. I think next time I do this walk I’ll do as suggested and carry on past Mankinholes and onto Mytholm to camp in Badger Fields Farm- its closer to the path and would get this ugly section over and done with. You pass through farm gardens, wined between yards and over styles until you’re completely turned around. Some paths are well kept but others are boxed in by walls and allowed to go wild and overgrown.
 |
| The beginning of a week long problem |
There is a lovely river between the many roads where a family was having a picnic and would have been a wonderful place for local families. Up another valley side and a very posh drive I reached Cinder Lane and diverted to Aladdin’s Cave for supplies. Bought an orange juice, and orange (I sometimes eat healthy when walking) and my monthly female requirements before plastering the newly formed blisters on my heel. I should have stopped before it had become so big.
Finally you break onto open moor land, five or so hours after I started. In that time I’d only covered five miles, maybe six with the climb back up from Mankinholes. That left me another ten miles to go which as my current pace was never going to happen. But as soon as the roads and houses were left behing and the landscape sweeps up around you my pace doubled and I began to enjoy the day. I was also very excited about passing the supposed location Emily Bronte had based Wuthering Heights. We’d studied Emily Bronte at high school and no other book had hit me quite so hard. I’ve read it nearly five times and have always wanted to see where it might have been set.
There’s a wonderful section where you drop into a ravine and crisscross the stream in these wooden bridges. It a very quaint set up and exactly as I’d have imagined Monet’s garden. I’d hoped to pause around here and skip the half a kilometer to Packhorse Inn for lunch but time had gotten away from me. I was taking twice the suggested time of the guidebook and by the time I passed it had shut till dinner time.
 |
| Path down to Wuthering Heights |
 |
| The ruin in the distance |
Following another dull series of reservoirs you finally reach Within Heights and my sought after ruin. The land is also very tame and easy here and the warm weather overcasts everything with a golden hue. Tourism is big along here, as is evident by the Japanese sign post indicating the direction to Haworth.
From here your nearly there, a quick meander down a pebbled drive to yet another reservoir. You get a real impression of how much work goes into our water supply on this walk. Through Stanbury Moor and along the rim of the reservoir to Ponden Guest house took less than an hour. I’d been walking for nearly twelve hours and felt inadequate when I read in the guide that it should have been a mere eight or nine.
 |
| Ponden Reservoir |
Ponder Guest house campsite is not a campsite. Its another case of a B&B having a spare field, although in this case its a five minute walk and a stiff climb from the only toilet.
 |
| Ponden Guest House Campsite |
While very picturesque the river had it’s friendly hoard of midges as well as one or two too many campers. One lady in particular was extremely annoying, loud music and a lived-in-look to her tent as if she’d been there for several weeks. Later two more tents were set up by a friendly looking bunch of teenagers. I’m afraid I showered, cooked and slept without saying a word to any.
08/08/2013
Day 5- Pondon to Gargrave (14.5 miles/ 23 km)
This day is an extremely dull one and theres very little to note about it. I only took around a dozen photographs and filed less than three. You start off by following the reservoir round and take the road up back out the valley. The road is broad and clear and the only annoyance is the passive aggression shown by the farmers here and there.
At one point you pass a strange series of cabins, very stoutly built but in the middle of nowhere. The guide is equally unsure suggesting the possibility that they were hunting cabins. Its another awkward passage through a village and back up through an endless maze of farm fields.
I paused at the Hare and Hound Inn for lunch, soup and onion rings before climbing up for the last 8 miles, slightly annoyed that I’d only managed to cover six and a half. The food was great though and rejuvenated me. I also talked briefly to an elderly gentleman on a walking stick who’s walked it fifty or so years ago. He still had pride in his voice has he described it and reiterated what a wonderful experience it was.
Thornton-in-Craven was a little confusing and once again my pace went down to a mile an hour as I tried to find my way around. After my previous disasters at navigation I doubled checked everything, using the map to cross reference the guide book. On the way up another road I stopped at a house with a hose outside and asked to refill my water bladder. It wasn’t that empty but since it was a warm day it made sense to be cautious.
Not that long later, and a easy stroll up Leeds-Liverpool Canal through East Morton, I arrived in Gargrave. I’d originally planned to stay in East Morton but Gargrave was only a little further and the extra stretch gave me the option the next day to walk all the way to Horton-in-Riddlesdale instead of been stuck in Melham tomorrow night only 8.5 miles on. The stretch between Melham and Horton-in-Riddlesdale is 15 miles of hard and steep walking, if I added on the distance between Gargrave and Melham it equaled a 21 mile day. I’d been struggling with 15 and I was sick of it so I figured I’d get a hard day under may belt and gain confidence that I could do this walk.
 |
| Leeds-Liverpool Canal |
Gragrave seemed a very pretty town but I’d walked another eleven hour day and both my feet and my left heel were on fire. I stopped in a co-opperative store and bought an obscene amount of food. I decided on brae, cuotomali, and baguette for mains with peaches for desert. I also bought snack food for the next day or two. The campsite was flat and with washing facilities including a clothes ladle with I liked. I showered and ate my meal outside the laundry rooms as my electricals charged. I was a little worried about them been stolen on such a busy caravan site.
I lovely couple on holiday were also at the site in their enormous tent and they kept offering me things like a chair or coffee. I thanked them but declined. A larger tent stood behind me housing a loud family with kids but with my Ipod on I fell easily asleep just before the rain came.
09/08/2013
Day 6- Gargrave to Horton-in-Riddlesdale (21miles/ 34.5 km)
This is the day you begin the walk you imagined, and for me probably the best on the entire Pennine Way. Hard, disbelievingly long but the landscape you see while you’re up there takes your breath away in every sense. Whats even better is that after Malham there are no more villages or roads its just moor land and paths. I began fed up with the entire walk and second guessing myself and ended walking into camp like the living dead but exhilarated and excited about whats to come. This is the real start of the walk.
The day started like the others, the path meandering through hamlets and across country paths and rivers. This section is simple enough, holds a few too many gates and styles for someone carrying a twenty pound bag, but I reached Malham my midday.
Malham is gorgeous, full of life and bustle and completely covered in tourists, which was understandable since the weather was wonderful. I stopped at Old Barn Cafe for beans on toast and a hot chocolate.
From there its a 15 mile straight walk up to Malham Cove and finally a sense of majesty and wilderness. This is the site of an ancient waterfall and the start of limestone country, springy turf and very little bogs.
 |
| From the top of Malham Cove |
 |
| Malham Cove |
The path covered with tourist follows the river to Malham cove and then climbs up some sturdy steps to the top of the falls. Its pretty steady and with a few pauses for breath a much easier alternative to rough land. I did feel a bit like a pack-horse compared to other people around me with day packs but as soon as you reach the top you leave the crowds.
Its a little confusing here but if you turn right as instructed and work your way to the back you eventually stumble upon the style and enclosed path. The terrain before the style is intense, the lime stone worn away to form spike like areas with foot deep gabs between. One slight slip and a very very painful wound.
The climb continues but steadily and the audiobook of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is my constant companion. Once the Pennine Way turns away from the main walkers routes from Malham it gets quieter again and opens up to an even more grandiose landscape.
From here you walk down towards Malham Tarn- a large lake in front a Edwardian style house. A few people are dotted around the place but fewer and fewer as you follow the dirt track around the lake to the structure manor house. With the terrain easy and flat I covered several miles an hour and felt some of my old energy coming back. My heel had finally been overcome by medication and I was on my way. It was time to leave Lord of the Rings for a while for the quicker beats of the Lion King, there is no need to attempt coolness when hiking.
Part of the lighthearted enjoyment of this section was the fact that there was little point in worrying how much I’d covered. I was going to be walking all day no matter what so I wasn’t paying attentions to the miles.
 |
| Malham Tarn |
The dirt track goes down along the lake for a little longer before breaking away and following a stone wall up to the farm. As with Stoodley Pike the lake gives a satisfying sense of distance as you move away and it shrinks into the landscape.
The fields, like most I’d gone through the last week, were full of sheep and the path was indistinct. Keeping to the wall its a stunning view nonetheless. Then its a quick jaunt up to the farmyard and then a steep climb back into the abandoned and solitary moor land of Fountains Fell. Any tiredness is easily recuperated by glancing behind at Malham Tarn shrinking behind me, and the open wilderness in front as far as the eye can see.
 |
| Fountain Fell Moors |
Fountain Fell is a wonderful path and in less than an hour I was already descending a steep track to the valley road. The pains in legs, heel and back were all intensified by the concrete under-foot. I was now ready to reach camp. I figured I must have covered the majority of the ascent and there were only two or so pages of maps left in the guidebook. I hadn’t realised that within those two small pages there was another ascent to 696 meters as the Pennine Way pops up to Pen-y-ghent- one of Yorkshire’s three peaks. Parts of this climb is literally a climb, which with the rising winds threatened to push me off. I was a little scared but there was little other choice and once it was completed it would be all down hill.
 |
| The path doesn’t twist around, but goes right up over those rocks |
 |
| From neat the top of Pen-y-ghent |
 |
| Top of Pen-y-ghent |
 |
| Pen-y-ghent as I descended into Horton-in-Riddlesdale- the Pennine way pretty much follows the profile in view. |
|
| Path down to Horton-in-Riddlesdale |
The decent was painful but with me giggling and talking my way to camp like a crazy woman not without its moments. It took at least an hour to get into the town making today’s walking time well over thirteen hours but having the destination in view makes such a difference. My feet felt like sponges on sharp stones, every step baring the entire weight of the backpack. It didn’t matter though, I’d done it and I was finally engaged in the walk and excited about what was to come. I kept on glancing back at what I’d just climbed over as it began to look above me and couldn’t stop grinning.
It was nearly dusk already and I was a little worried about finding somewhere to camp. Once in a while I glanced around to see if there was a handy corner to pitch my tent but I was nearly out of water and in need of a good meal and a toilet. I checked the map and concluded that the best course would be to go to the first campsite I spotted and hope there would be space. It was a Sunday though and the hordes at Malham might have been an ill omen. With an hour left of daylight I reached Holme Farm, a massive makeshift campsite run my a loudly spoken and friendly Scottish man. Tents filled two large fields and a number of loud parties were taking place. I headed away from the large crowd and found a slightly quieter patch behind the edge facing the smaller of the two fields and a family tent. For a little while I simply lay on my rucksack as I felt my feet decompress from the shoes. The mother of the family drifted over and introduced me to her wonderfull husky. I was glad of the introduction so I’d know where to direct my screams should the need occur. This was the fullest and most inebriated of the campsites I’d come to and I felt a little more weary than usual.
Stiffly I raised my tent and not bothering to shower sorted out my stuff and eating my powdered soup/couscous concoction fell straight to sleep with my earphones in place to block out the drunken uproar around me.
10/08/2013
Day 7- Horton-in-Riddlesdone to Hawes (14miles / 23km)
The majority of today’s walk would involve old packhorse trails and stony tracks climbing steadily throughout the entire day before a quick and hard drop to Hawes. After the day before the distance was not daunting, the problem lay in the fact that I needed to get to Hawes by half twelve to collect my maps for the next section before the post office shut- tomorrow would be Sunday and if I arrived late I would be stuck there till Monday. I wasn’t ready for a day off yet and therefore set my alarm for half four in the morning and was fully packed up by six. The camp was deserted when I left, the countryside cold in the early morning hue.
 |
| Two of the three Yorkshire Peaks- Pen-y-ghent |
 |
| Pen-y-ghent |
I headed out hoping my legs would warm up and the stiffness would leave. My feet had recovered although my heel was getting worse and the pain seemed to go deeper than the blister and be worse when I placed the weight down too quickly or with too much force. Yet I had a challenge which, according to the guidebook, I could achieve if I refused to give myself a single break along the way. Navigation would not be a problem, according to the guide a blind donkey could finds his way.
The ascent is quite stiff but constant and the dirt road means you can switch off and allow the legs to do the work without the brain getting in the way. The view are lovely, only slightly lessened by the walls enclosing the track. On several occasions I was tempted to pause and would have done on previous days, but time restraints meant I could not and therefore the entire task was made easier.
 |
| Leaving Horton-in-Riddledales |
I met a few other early walkers when I started out but the only other two characters along the way was a lorry driver who asked if I was doing a three peak challenge which as taking place that day. He asked why hadn’t I began to sweat yet, by this point in the morning I should have completed the first peak. The other was a middle aged man with his ten year old son, both sat drinking tea, near the top of the long climb.
 |
| Bainbridge Ings Camping |
After a twenty minute doze while my freshly laundered clothes were tumble dried I wondered clean and odorless into town to buy supplies and dinner. Hawes has a massive town center with wonderfully quirky shops as well as a number of hiking suppliers. My shopping list were a head scarf, tent pegs, and food. All achieved I bought a small bottle (50ml) of local gin, some lemonade and wondered back to the tent for food and bed. I cooked my instant mash and added tinned diced beef in gravy. The fruit salad I’d bought for desert was horrible and thrown.
11/08/2013
Day8 – Hawes to Tan Hill (16.5miles/ 26km)
As I headed out of town I spotted another hiker marching north towards the hills. I never saw him again but he was going at such a speed, with his tiny backpack, that I never stood a chance. Pity he had very pretty legs.
 |
| Hawes fading behind me |
The first section his through Hardraw, a very pretty village with its own campsite, tea room and inn. Then up a steep enclosed path into the moors. This is a solid 715 meter climb over 5 mile to the top of the Great Shunner Fell. That said on a sunny day you have fantastic views to the east of Buttertubs Pass road and to the west the stepped peaks of the northern dales. However, today was not a sunny day and the rain and the winds descended blowing savagely from my left. A few other shrouded figures stumbled past but it was pretty deserted with Hawes fading dramaically into the mists behind as the rains swept past.
 |
| Clouds sweeping over the Great Shunner Fell |
After you finally Reach the Great Shunner Fell Shelter its all down hill until you reach Thwaite and a chance to stop for lunch. My choice was Kearton Country Hotel and Tea Room where I bought a bacon bun, a drink and visited the toilet. Half the time these stops are based around the lavatory more than food or drinks needs.Then is through farm fields, past some baby cows and up back into the fields. The path here is mossy, springy under foot as you follow the valley and river Swale all the way into Keld. This is where I planned to stay but I still had some energy so crossing the river began yet another climb. The terrain here is pretty level but damp, crossing gates here and there as well as streams using small makeshift planks. Its a long climb to Tan Hill but the weather was holding and the knowledge that this last four miles was voluntary gave me a boost.
 |
| Climb to Tann Hill |
Tan Hill offers a pound a night camping behind the pub as well as cups of tea and a wonderfully unique place to spend the night. You’ll struggle with the tent pegs and be exposed to serious winds, the toilets are interesting, no showers but for a pound its value for money. Two gypsies came in around five and began to play country/folk music with wonderfully colorful voices and an infectious enthusiasm that set the whole place alight. The tea was good and while the food was expensive a bowl of chips was quite enough and just what I wanted. I sat extremely contented and emailed my friends as I recharged the ipod and planned the next day. Since I’d walked the extra four or so miles it meant I could forge onwards tomorrow all the way to Middleton-in-Teesdale. Forecast said heavy rain so I was in for a rough one.
 |
| View from behind Tan Hill Inn looking over Sleightholme Moor |
12/08/2013
Day8 – Tan Hill to Middleton-in-Teesdale (16.5miles/ 27mk)
The rain was hard when I woke, so hard that I didn’t even try to take any photos but packed the camera away in my bag. Mainly it was drizzle but continuous and the path was non-existent. The moor holds markers every few hundred meters but no set path or slabs. Its a matter of constant navigation using compass baring and hoping another white pillar will turn up to tell you that you’d not made a mistake. To make things worse the rain had saturated the ground, the water never less than an inch deep and at times a foot or two. I fell a few times and at one point twisted my right ankle badly, my left heel much worse making every footstep horrible.
The moor seemed to last forever and a day, and it was with incredible relief that I finally reached a road. Here I stopped and tried to do something for my ankles, the twisted one not wanting to take much weight while the other one was simply in a lot of pain. It made me shred tears of frustration, especially when I’d had such an easy day the day before. I bandaged up the heel, covering the blister and all the rest of the back of the heel and it made a big difference. Still I limped along and hated every moment.
The rest bite of walking on the roads is small and I was quickly back in the sodden moors struggling to keep my boots from been sucked off by the mud and my ankles twisting from under me continually. This section needs to be slabbed before I do it again, stuff the ‘leave the moors as they are’ people, bring on the slabs. It must be much worse for the environment to have people trudging over the bushes looking for less muddy routes.
Here you have a choice, easier terrain but longer or more moor land, no path but several miles less. I decided that I was in pain either way, the shoes were full of mud so I might as well carry on with the moors. None were quite as bad as Tan Hill but it was hard and slow going, the entire way with little to help navigate. You work mainly from a sense of the right route and the compass, and since the moorland in England is mainly a thin strip its hard to go that much wrong and its easily correctable as soon as you reach the next road.
There was some difficulty when I reached Baldersdale, I came out several hundred meters further up the road, at some point having left the trail, but after climbing over a fence and getting a little stuck
the mistake was quickly corrected and I trudged onward. At this point I was walking extremely slowly and with no energy, stopping far too much and struggling with my ankles. I could have stopped at Clove Lodge campsite but, walking past, it seemed a deserted farm yard and it was still early in the day. I would not give up the momentum I’d buit in the last few days.
Climbing past Hannah’s Medow I stopped to read the sign describing the place. I held little interest but any excuse to stop was welcomed. What followed was a lot of farmers fields full of friendly and not so friendly cows. The younger ones were the only ones to show aggression while the bull was too busy following a poor lady cow in circles around the field. This section is really a matter of styles, farm fields, a road, a farm drive, sheds, another field, and another road. Not the most inspired section and I was in no mood.
Finally Middle-in-Teesdale came into view down the slope from me and limping I gratefully quickened my pace. No one was at the Dalesview Campsite reception but following the signs I easily found the empty camping area and set up. Once showered I lay and rested, cream on my aching limbs and already decided that I was giving myself tomorrow off. The next section was 21 miles and I wasn’t going to attempt it till my ankle was better and I had a bandage for the heel.
I spent the night in the campsite pub, ate their plain but cheap meal and drunk tea until my electrics were sufficiently recharged for me to watch North and South on my ipod.
13/08/2013
Rest Day
I woke with the sun blasting into my tent making me overheat. It was a lovely day and I felt a little guilty about not carrying on but excited about having the entire day to walk through town and hang out. I ate a lovely breakfast at a cafe on the way into town, and wondered first to the pharmacy and the through the shops. Bought a bandanna for nights, a lot of tinned foods and snacks. Wondered back to the tent and had another shower.
It was around three when a lady from Wilmslow Express phoned to interview me about winning the Peak District Young Artisan of the Year Award. This alone cheered me up and lying back in my sleeping bag intermittently dozed, read and watched North and South until the pub opened. I ate in my tent but enjoyed a cup of tea in the pub while planning the next days route.
14/08/2013
Day 9 -Middleton-in-Teesdale to Dufton (21miles/ 32km)
I woke ready to start, packing up my tent before my fellow campers had woken and marching out for the day the books states is one of the “best days between Edale and Kirk Yetholm” (Trailblazer series- Pennine Way). The sun was getting warmer by the second and my right ankle was as good as new, while the left heel was under blister plasters wrapped in medical tape under a supportive pandage sock thing- it would not be causing me problems today.
The Pennine Way is straight outside the campsite and your achy legs will be warmed up by an extremely tame and pleasant wonder up stream to low force. The path flits up and down the fields before resting on the banks of the River Tees. This is clearly a path passed by dog walkers, and local residents- your walking through meadows squashed between the river and a minor roads, crossing farm land and stone walls. That said its extremely pretty and restfully flat.
Along this stretch there are wonderful rocks to the west, making the tame and mindless path very charming, if heavily dotted with stiles. I felt a bit lade under by the rucksack compared to the light and brisk day walkers passing me.
 |
| Holwick Scar near the River Tees |
The path along the river carries on for another couple of miles to low force, the current growing in ferocity. Low force is pretty dramatic enough, the torrents wiping round rocks and crashing down towards Middleton-in-Teensdale.
 |
| Low Force |
 |
| High Force |
It was along here that I stumbled over a ram with its head caught in a wire fence. As I went past it began to panic and try to pull its head back. Its horns were preventing it and the wool already trapped in the wire showed just how much it must have been hurting itself. I considered it for a while but any attempt to get close made it struggle even more and I was frightened of it catching my fingers between the head and the wires. After another hundred meters of so I saw a farm yard ten minutes walk up the hill. Knowing a guilty conscious would ruin my day I trudged up and looked for someone I could tell. The path wound round the farmhouse, and while climbing the style I spotted someone working on construction. He followed me down and I left him to it.
The river winds further up to High Force, where I paused to glance at the waterfall through different viewpoints in the shrubbery. Its a pretty dramatic waterfall, only thrown into perspective when you see the tiny figures of people below you.
 |
| Smooth path along the river Tees towards the Falcon Clints |
A quick saunter across some fields, past a few other day walkers, before turning right and following the Langdon Beck down to another bridge crossing. Your have to fight your instincts along here not to carry on following the road up the valley and not along the river but there is a sign a few meters off the path to confirm your on the right course.
Here is where you meet the hairiest cattle you’re likely to find. The day stays true to form and you keep following the river Tees through the landscape. Its only a page in the guidebook but this next sections hard work and dangerous walking. You’re scrambling over rocks right near the riverbank with a heavy backpack throwing off your weight. My previously quick pace is quartered.
At long last you reach the end of the scrambling for a climb up yet another waterfall. This is equally scary but with the comfort that there would at least be tourist to watch be fall to my watery grave. The path, believe it or not, it on the photo on the right hand side of the waterfall.
Here I stopped and ate my orange finishing rather early in the day the entirety of my snacks. The water was loud enough to block out my audiobook, the force quite scary in ferocity. A little further up lies the damn but the Pennine Way turns away before getting there, crossing over the stream and curving back south. This section is a slow slog up hill, but consists of a clear track with stunning views on either side.
As with the end of most walks, you expect to reach it a long time before you actually do and half way through this section I was a little impatient. The track fades into moor land with slightly tricky navigation here and there.
High Cup Gill is the final breath taking view of the day and the perfect climax. Its was formed by a mighty glacier and sitting in the central point of the rim you feel enveloped by it. The view spans far into the distance and as I enjoyed the view I saw the mists been blown towards me, up the abyss and around. Very soon I could see only a few meters in front. After having posed as dramatically but subtly as I could I hurried on eager not to be trapped in the weather before finding the correct path down to Dufton. Since I was in such a hurry I failed to notice that I headed down the wrong side of the gorge.
 |
| Upper Cup |
 |
| Mist sweeping into the Upper Cup |
The path down disolves into nothing pretty quickly, possibly because it was the wrong way, and it was quite a hard slog down when visibility is at a minimum. The farm at the bottom was a misleadingly good sign since both paths come out near a farm but soon after I knew I must have made a mistake at some point. I found I was at least two kilometers south of where I should have come out. The road I was on would lead me straight to Dufton so gurding my loins I carried on angrily calculating how much longer this diversion had taken. The road been dull and hard felt like the last straw in a long days hike but day light remained so I didn’t feel any urgency to rush.
I decided that I’d go to the first campsite I saw. This was a slight mistake since I ended up in someone back garden with a field of baby sheep crying for their mothers near by. I was however alone and there was both a good shower and toilet near by with a flat surface to pitch my tent for no more than a fiver.
As soon as I’d laid the bed and washed I walked down to the Stag Inn for dinner. I ordered nothing more adventurous than a burger and chips but it was a huge quantity and very well cooked. Definitely a good place to visit if your wondering through, and on the was back to the campsite I spotted a sign offering a cheap breakfast in the post office which would set me up tomorrow with walking snacks as well as a good start to the day.
Only half an hour after I reached the campsite the rain came and in torrents blocking out the lambs bleating and sending me straight to sleep.
15/08/2013
Day 10- Dufton to Garrigill (16miles/ 26km)
Dufton to Garrigill is one of the hardest days of the entire walk and one I’d been dreading from the start and hoping, if I only had one day of sun, that it would be clear and visible throughout. You begin the day with a hard climb up to Cross Fell 893 meters in height, only to dip down and rise again so that you’re faced with a mighty 1100 meters ascent over the day. Once you are at the top there’s a long and knee splitting trudge down the well named ‘Corpse Road’. All this is doable in good weather, but thats not what I faced. I faced two meters of visibility, and what I found out later were fifty mile winds.
I woke to rain, and with that excuse rolled over a slept till half eight, wondering down to the post office for a full English. I’ve found that eating a lot shamelessly can only be accomplished if you have a backpack for an excuse. The weather had cleared a bit and I realised I needed to get going and try to get to the summit before the bad weather began. The decent is along a Miners Road and easier to follow while the section between the two peaks has no path and you either need to use compass bearings or rely on visibility. This would be the biggest test to my navigational skill of the entire hike.
I struggled walking up the first stretch along Narrow Hedged Lane, the path is steep and I found myself getting either too hot and having to stop to delayer, or finding I was developing a blister and having to stop to plaster myself, and so on and so on. It took me a long time to find my rhythm.
 |
| The cartoony shapes rolling hills rising out of Dufton |
Rising higher and higher I could see the weather also closing in on the peak and squared my shoulders to what would be bearing down on me. It wasn’t long before my entire concentration was fixed on the path and not leaving it while it lasted.
 |
| Mists sweeping in over the plain |
A stint along the road was a blessed relief, but a short lived one. The path remains pretty visible until it splits in two around the radar tracking station. Here I climbed to early and was forced to backtrack. Once in a while slabs give a relief to the confusion. From this point you are suppose to be able to see the ‘Cow Green Reservoir’ but visibility was getting worse. I found Little Dun Fell and fell over as I reached the shelter. The wind was so strong, and I was leaning so much into it, that as the shelter blocked it I was suddenly overcompensating and on my face. The rain had been falling for a while now and I could only rest a little time in the damp before I was getting cold. This is only a collapsing wall of stones but it is a welcome relief and a good guidance point to navigate from.
I followed the compass from here, decending in as straight a line as I could but continually been forced to divert around marshes or clunks of rocks. It should have been no more than a ten minute trot but an hour later and I was beginning to get a little worried and a lot wetter than I’d like. When I reached a series of pikes in the earth I pause and once more examined my map. No avail since I couldn’t see anything around me. I decided that the best thing I could do is simple head up hill since there was only one clear peak in the region and I must have ended up east of the correct route. Dozens of lightly trodden tracks starting and disapearing suggested others had had similar problems. Cross Fell finally appeared and gasping with relief I lent forwards against the gale and pushed on. Again I tried to follow the compass as loyally as I could, attempting to scramble down the summit but was then forced to stop near the top. The compass was trying to lead me down a cascade of jaggered rocks. I’d nearly fallen twice and couldn’t face the next hundred meters of the same so turning sideways I made my way to the edge of the rocky side and skirted until I found solid ground again. A path instantly became visible and I began the decent down Longman Hill.
I popped into Greg’s Hut as I passed to see what it looked like inside. It seemed quite homely and if there had been a lock on the door I’d have even felt safe but preferred my cosy tent. After a hundred or so meters descent the wind eased and as I past the hut the fog lifted. The rain continued.
Once or twice on the decent I considered setting up camp but the rain was too sever and I really wanted something warm to eat. The water in my shoes had caused so much suction that my feet were squelching with every step which at least eased them a little from the stone path.
When I reached the small village of Garrigill it was dusk and the rain and increased to a torrent. I reached the town hall and walking behind found where I could camp. Deciding I’d rather sit in the rain for a hour or so than sleep in a wet tent all night I kept everything packed up and waited for a break in the weather. It took little over an hour but my clothes and shelter stayed dry. I hung the rest in the porch and shoved my soaked boots with toilet role under the lavatory sink inside. I doubted a town this size would have too many chavs hang out in the public toilets.
The village pub is lovely but does not accept cards, and nor does anywhere else but the B&B/ post office which was shut. My plans for a well earned feast were downsized to soup and a coup of tea, however this was quite sufficient and I left feeling warmed up and ready for bed. Tomorrow should be a doddle compared to today’s stretch.
16/08/2013
Day 11- Garrigill to Knarsdale (10miles/ 16kilometers)
My plan today was simple, a leisurely saunter to Alston barely four miles away followed by a late breakfast, a little shopping and resupplying for pain killers, plasters and bandages before picking up the last lot of maps and walking another six miles to the campsite. No climbs whatsoever, it should only take four or five hours. I’d not bathed in forty hours and I’d put on the same soaked clothes as the same before so I was desperate for a clean.
The path out the village is a little hard to figure out due to private owners fencing sections off without signing clearly but after a bit of backtracking I did find the path and from there it was a simple enough river walk. Navigation is a little tricky but any mistakes equate to the length of a field and can be quickly rectified. I does make slow and tiresome walking but there’s a wonderful little town waiting at the end. The Blueberry’s Teashop is lovely and very reasonably priced, there is also a handy hiking supply shop next door.
The next six miles to camp were unremarkable and I didn’t feel compelled to use my camera much. Therefore there’s little to remark upon. Pretty fields, clumps of trees once in a while, a farmer rounding up sheep just before Castle Nook Farm. At Slaggyford I decided that I’d rather follow the road all the way up to Knarsdale rather than meander back up through the farm fields. It meant I reached Stone Hall Farm around four with the sun still clear in the sky. Its a stunning farm, wonderfully flat and enclosed but without a shower. After the lady finally got back I set up camp and procured the use to a cold water hose to wash myself. I’d also given in and bought myself conditioner, shampoo and moisturizer in Alston, weight be damned. Washed and drying myself I got a welcome phone call from Anton, dressing while talking I hung all my wet clothes, and shoes out to dry. Kirkstyle Inn was next, and a little disappointing. The food was very expensive and not really worth it but I suspect this was more my choice than their fault.
17/08/2012
Day 12- Knarsdale to Greenhead (11miles/ 18kilometers)
This should be another relatively easy day. It does include a rather harsh section of unpaved moorland which the guide book describes as the “misery that dares call itself Blenkinsopp Common” and the “more arable muck of the Hartley Nurn floodplain” which seems like an “expedition over a country abandoned my man and beast” (Trailblazer- Pennine Way 3rd Edition). After my pleasant experience descending from Tan Hill I was very tempted to trek around on the roads, I even worked out the precise route I’d take.
Finding the Pennine Way from the campsite turned out to be easier than I’d expected. A simple series of farm fields and moor land. The path follows the wall most of the way. Its not a memorable section and until I crossed into the dreaded moor I can’t remember much of it at all.
The moor itself came after a run down house with two rather shady characters in the back yard. another style and you’re in a very soggy boggy field. Its not easy walking but I’d learned the tricks by this point and a light foot. The fence I’d be following across the marsh was a tad elusive, I found myself getting deeper and deeper into swamp land. In sections my boots were as deep as a foot under water but my ankles stayed strong with the bandage and as soon as I found the fence the course was simple.
 |
| Holmhead Guest House |
Black Hill is invisible to the eye and the decent to the ruin is quick if unmarked and after scaling a fence or two found the correct route. The A 69 is a little scary, very wide and very busy and fast. It took a while to find a section I felt comfortable crossing. Then up the hill again, round and across the golf course and up the stream to Greenhead in time for tea and toast.
With the weather forecast to be dire I’d treated myself for the first time to a bunk house. I phoned ahead to book just in case but it turned out that I had the entire room to myself as did the Italian hiker next door. We took each other to the Greenhead Hotel and had dinner speaking a mix of Italian and English. Once back in my room I remember lying in bed shocked at how luxurious it all was after two weeks of sleeping in my tent. Took me twice as long to go to sleep than any other night on the trail.
The lack of photographs for this section is that the camera was in my bag due to the weather.
18/08/2012
Day 13- Greenhead to Bellingham (22 miles/ 33 kilometers)
I left the bunkhouse just after eight unsure whether I was having a gentle saunter to Once Brewed barely 6.5 miles away or whether I would attempt to get all the way to Bellingham. Today’s section includes 900 galling meters of ascent, with no single steady climb but lots of tiny dips and slopes along the Wall. I’d looked forward to Hadrian’s Wall from the start but with its many steps and climbs it would challenge me. That said my boots were finally dry and, while my clothes were on the riper side, for the first time in a days I could but them on without cringing.
The finding of the trail should have been a toddle but I got all tangled up within a hundred meters of the starting point. It took twenty minutes to figure it out and actually begin the days walk, a steep climb up a field and along a newer section of the wall. Other walkers were dotted around the landscape with their dogs and kids running ahead. These got more and more frequent as I past the Cockmount Hill Farm, Great Chesters Farm and descended to the car park.
 |
| The Lake in the Flooded Quarry |
A few campers were packing up their belonging in the car pear, I nodded as I past and headed round the old quarry lake to the actual Wall.
 |
| Hadrian’s Wall- Cawfields Crags |
The winds up on the wall is strong but with the exposure you have views stretching on either side which more than make up for it. There are broad vistas on either side, nothing but farm land to the north and only Military Road and fields to the south. Here and there there are varied routes but only by a few meters and you can cross between them easily enough. Its the sudden dips and climbs that really take their tole and its not very enjoyable with a backpack, especially with people zipping past every few minutes.
As I reached Once Brewed I skipped down the slope to Twice Brewed Inn for lunch and buy some snacks before returning to the Wall. The food helped and I found another pair of hikers to pace myself to, overtake and feel smug about. Not the most mature outlook but it kept me going.
Ii was with relief that, just past Crag Lough, the sign signalled the Pennine Way was heading north again. You decend for a little while, still one of two walkers passing by, but within another few hundred meters your finally alone again. The slabs guide you through the fields and over the bridges until you reach Wark Forest. The woods here are deep things, tall and dark allowing no light through. Here, away from other walkers, you feel a little threatened by the tall trees on either side and the darkness between the barks. Its a completely different world from the walk I’d been experiencing less than a mile back.
The path through the woods is very clear, sometimes along the road and other times down smaller and muddier paths through thicker forests. Here you can imagine Narnian creatures watching and following you readying their attack.
As you leave the forest there’s a wonderful tunnel of trees where you think your heading towards a manner house and not the modest service road ahead. Here I confess I felt a little confused since I’d made myself think I was further along that I was. In my mind I only had another hour to go which would get me to camp in plenty of time to buy dinner and wash my clothes. In truth I had at least another five hours to go and it would be night by the time I reached camp.
 |
| Fallen logs along the path |
The path over the open land is uninspiring, simple field land and slopes divided my styles and walls which confuse the navigation and breaks the rhythm. The river crossing deffinately pulled me up short. It was at least seven meters in width and at least a meter deep. I stood there wondering how the hell I’d be crossing it and already morning my dry shoes and new camera. Luckily I glanced down the stream before taking the plunge and spotted the handy bridge fifty meters away hidden in the trees.
The day just seems to carry on and on, round farm after farm, across fields and along driveways. At one points it went straight through someones backyards. Shitlington Hall Farm was a great relief, the relay station finally looming in the distance. From there it was a simple decent to Bellingham. It was nearly half seven by this point and as I slowly climbed the sunlight magically like syrup across the landscape. Everything was cast into shades of gold, and you could see the behavior in the animals alter slightly. I was struck most by these two sheep who stood with a grace and pride I’d not seen in any of their kind before. I thought the shape of their figures against the sweeping tree really stunning.
 |
| Above Shitlington Hall Farm |
Dusk fell and wasn’t half as daunting as I’d expected. Everything is quieter and there is a sense of freedom not experienced during the day. The B6320 is a small and rather busy road. The walk along isn’t pleasant, and often your forced to push yourself against the edge as a car swings past. Town was close though and dropping into the convenience store I rushed to get to camp. By this point it was ten and my hesitant knocking at the farm door yielded no reply. Using my head torch I set up camp alongside everyone else, deciding to try the farmer again in the morning to pay. This was only my second time ever setting up camp in the dark, the first been the disastrous Morton Island hike in Australia. It was simple enough though and collapsing, washed, in bed I gulped down my dinner and fell asleep thanking god that tomorrow was considered a ‘dolly’ in the guidebook.
 |
| Dusk from the Relay Station |
19/08/2012
Day 15- Bellingham to Bryness (15 miles/ 24 kilometers)
I slept in till later than I’d planned safe in the knowledge that I had under fifteen miles to walk and the book suggests its considerably easier than the day before. It stated that it would take from eight to nine hours to walk it.
The initial climb out of the valley is draining but I finally allowed myself to listen to another Dick Francis and the story swept me away. I found my labored feet matching the pace of the novel and my body begin to enjoy the day. The day is a simple one, first stretching through knee length heather and then up a steep slope along the wall and the edge of Redesdale Forest. Your reward for this climb is boggy moors and nothing but a wire fence to guide you through the marsh. Nothing but stubborn determination and dangerous leaps kept my boots dry.
The woods provide firmer ground as you follow a dirt track north. At first the landscape looks like its been ravished, more resembling a war zone than the scenic views I’d expected. This entire section is heavily used by loggers and on a number of occasions I was forced to the side my transiting machinery and logging trucks.
Things became prettier once you pass the Blakehopeburn Car Park and turn left to follow the stream up to the Border Forest Caravan Site. You approach it from behind and I ended up wondering backwards and forwards trying to find the reception for close to twenty minutes. A sour looking lady with a dog finally informed me on the correct route and I payed up and was gratefully able to do some laundry for the first time in a week. I phoned from the car park to check before booking in. This left me with nothing to wear but a t-shirt and my rain trousers.
With this stylish ensemble in tow I walked the mile into town to stop into the Forest Viewer Walkers Accommodation to buy snacks for the following day. Its a rather wonderful little cupboard shop in the hallway where he notes what you’ve had and adds it up on a calculator. I drunk some tea and wondered back to the camp as night fell.
It was easy to fall asleep with the knowledge that I’d be waking up at six the next day to attack the monster of a walk to Kirk Yetholm. 28 miles in a single day. I was just a little excited.
20/08/2012
Day 16- Byrness to Kirk Yetholm (28 miles / 45 kilometers)
Today’s walk was the ultimate test of the Pennine Way, the signpost to see if the last two weeks have changed you into a stronger and fitter hiker. Over the 11 to 14 hours of walking ahead of you you’ll be climbing over a mile of ascent (1600 meters) with nothing in between Byrness and Kirk Yetholm as a rest bite or creature comfort. I’d told all my friends about this final stretch in a boastful and smug fashion, determined to do it in one or walked till I dropped.
 |
| Looking down towards Byrness |
I was packed up my seven, batteries fully charged and ready. The path back into down is a gentle warm up allowing you’re muscles to loosen up before the daily climb back out of the town’s valley. Straight across the road you go straight into a heavily wooded area ending in a pretty dicey scramble up the rocky outcrop to Byrness Hill.
Instantly your in the middle of nowhere with vast hills and valleys stretching around you. Whats wonderful and daunting at the same time is that the hills seem to have no end yet you’re expected to walk them in the next dozen hours. Your path wonders along the ridges, only dipping occationally but mainly following the flow of the landscape across rocky outcrops and peak after peak without a soul insight. A stunning final day was obviously awaiting me.
Part of my enjoyment was that I knew how much further I had to walk and I wasn’t counting down the miles or waiting for the end to come. The weather was spotless and the path easy to follow and without a bog in site. I found myself taking one panoramic photos after another trying to capture within them the sheer vastness around me.
At one point, nearer the end of the day I spotted a wonderfully dressed gentleman in a twee suit strolling along as if he were the king of the manor. To top it all off he held a open riffle in the crook of his arm. We exchanged pleasantries and he corrected the way I pronounced Kirk Yetholm. Quite charming, in his fifties or sixties. As we parted I noticed what I took to be an insane man running and hopping in the field on the other side of the fence. As he passed I realized he was actually filming, a massive camera lent on his shoulder.
 |
| View from Russell’s Cairn |
 |
| Kings Seat |
I reached the turn point to carry on to the Cheviot and paused unsure whether I was willing to miss the diversion, but not for long. My feet were already starting to cry and my legs felt like led. There were enough hills to climb ahead and the views had more than met with my expectations.
 |
| View down to the Red Cribs and the Shelter hut to the far left- the Pennine Way rides the visible ridge of the hills. |
 |
| A few figures ahead climbing a constant series of hills. |
 |
| The Singing Donkey Hostel – Photographed in the morning |
The last sharp climb to Kirk Yetholm was taken slowly, so slowly that a man in a van stopped to check whether I needed a lift or not. I told him I couldn’t, not so close, it would disqualify the entire thing.
True to my word I stopped at the first hostel I found, knocking on the door at about nine o’clock and waiting hopefully for someone to answer. A lady in her fifties answered the door, a look of concern as she saw my rucksack. I asked if she had any spear beds, shaking her head she said her family had just left and all the bedding was been washed. I tried to reassure her that if she had a patch of grass in the back that that would do me fine. Then to my amazement she said that for five pounds I could use my own sleeping bag and use the on-suit bedroom. She even bought me milk, sugar and biscuits, fresh towels and pillow cases. All in all I’d been given a gift from heaven. I had the longest shower and sipped my hot chocolate in the chair feeling like I’d conquered a country. My feet were still screaming, they felt like they’ve been squeezed in a vice but I swallowed in the sensation as a worrier would scars from a battle. 28 miles in one day, the equivalent of an hour in the car all accomplished by foot, by me. I nearly burst with pride as I lay back in bed and waited for my body to relax into the heavenly mattress.
Girl Hiking in the Shires 