End — to — End, Walking Across the UK Part 6 — The Pennine Way
“It’s an unusually flat day”
“Lovely, leisurely amble through pretty flower-dotted meadows”
Quotes from my lying guidebook. It describes the day as an easy walk.
“The most beautiful day on the trail.”
- Here it tells the truth. But what it neglects to tell you is that it’s also a steep and somewhat physically crushing day. There was one point where I was climbing up the side of a waterfall.
Middleton -in-Teesdale to Dufton.
I felt that as my guidebook was telling me it was an easy stroll along beautiful landscapes that I may as well do the journey in one day. It was a bit further than I generally walk in a day. From where I was starting it would be around 25 miles.
After doing the section I have to agree that it is, in my mind, the most beautiful day on the trail. The waterfalls were fantastic and walking by rivers is something I love. It has the same appeal that walking by the sea does in terms of navigation (you don’t really have to) but there’s something about the flow of a river that I have always been entranced by. It has the same rhythm as walking.
The day started off smoothly, walking by the river and visiting waterfalls, the first of which is Low Force, a gentle and beautiful sight. Then you come to High Force, which is something of a powerful sight. Lastly, you come to Cauldron Snout. The last waterfall is the one where you had better get ready for a climb: the path vanishes and you have to climb on your hands and knees up the side of the thing. With a heavy pack on your back this can be rather difficult. Looking down doesn’t help. The walk to the final waterfall is also rather treacherous; the lack of a real path and sudden appearance of jutting rocks is a perfect way to twist your ankle.
It was just after getting across this last waterfall that I came to a waymark telling me that I still had 8 miles to go to Dufton, which came as a disappointment. I had thought that I was much closer by that point, though the walking was excellent.
After getting away from farmland (and a not-so-pleasant woman who talked to me as I walked) I began walking to High Cup (nicknamed Nick). Getting up there was a trek but I got there just before the sun was about to set, exhausted and elated.
My guidebook describes it well:
“It’s almost as if an earthquake is happening. The ground suddenly opens up beneath you to reveal a terrifying chasm. This apocalyptic cleft, a symmetrical U-shaped valley of sheer whinstone cliffs and dolerite crags, was gouged out by a glacier as if to leave a reminder of the awesome power it can wield.”
Damien Hall, Pennine Way
It was an incredible sight. I was so in awe that I forgot just how tired I was. I also forgot to take more photographs.
After going round the wrong way for a while I finally started to make my way down to Dufton where I would spend the night and pick up a travelling companion for the next 2 days.
This day was one I was rather concerned about. The previous day’s walking, which left me feeling sore, was described as a relatively easy day’s walk… but today was noted as being the hardest day on the entire trail…
If yesterday was an easy day then what was I in store for today?
Dufton to Alston was a 20 mile walk but with an ascent of 3,410 feet. I decided I would cut this number in half (ish) and stop at a mountain hut or ‘bothy’. I had never stayed in one before so I rather liked the idea of spending the night there.
For those who do not know…
A bothy is a small hut or cottage that hikers can use (for free). They are maintained by volunteers.
The day started out slowly as me and my companion needed food supplies from the local shop at Dufton. It doesn’t open until 10am so we had a slow morning and wandered over. We sat in the shop to have our breakfast and bought sandwiches for lunch along with a chocolate bar each, for added motivation. It was a little on the expensive side but the only shop around (and they only take cash).
The walk quickly turns into an uphill steep ascent to Great Dunn Fell.
The day before the campsite owner had warned us of bad weather. It seemed that a few people were putting off this section until the next day because of the rain. But ignoring the warning seemed like a grand idea so up we went. I should add in here that the warnings I found online were not that severe. Yes it was going to rain but it was going to rain all week. The wind was a bit stronger that day but not by a significant amount. We weren’t walking for long before the rain started up and within the hour we were both soaked. I had my raincoat keeping me somewhat dry and my companion (whom we shall call B) had a poncho that went over herself and her backpack.
The ground was soaking wet and our feet were drenched. Parts of the trail looked more like small rivers than paths. I was drenched and cold.
The trail was easy enough to follow as we headed up but once we finally reached the top it disappeared and stopping to find the path wasn’t ideal as it made my legs stiffen. Gotta keep on moving. When we finally found the path again, we began heading down for a while until we came to the next ascent up Little Dunn Fell
“After that we headed up Little Dunn Fell… My idea of ‘little’ must be different to whatever b*****d named this thing.”
A calm entry from my journal in regards to the day’s walk.
You then head down again for some time before the ascent to Cross Fell — the highest point on the Pennine Way. At this moment I wasn’t feeling so great. My legs felt like they were burning and my feet were ready to give up. My physical limit was being pushed. I was very glad that I had company here. Somehow, as we were together, the idea that we weren’t in the best situation seemed somewhat amusing, which I doubt would have been the case if I were alone.
After getting to the top of Cross Fell it wasn’t to far to get to the Greg’s Hut — the destination for the day. We walked down, no longer caring that we were stepping in bogs. We were so wet that by this point that it really didn’t matter anymore.
By 5pm we had made it to Greg’s Huts. Everything hurt and I was freezing cold.
After putting my gear out on the sleeping platform, I changed out of my wet clothes and crawled into my sleeping bag, which quickly got me warm. One of the items I have that I really ought not to carry is my 4-season sleeping bag but I have always been prone to getting cold at night and I love having it with me.
I also laid my tent out in the common room to dry it off a bit.
Once I had gotten warm, I made myself some food. Hot food. I had porridge with raspberries.
There was already another hiker there. Simon. He had hiked the Pennine Way before, some years ago and was here to do a second trip. He told us he never carried anything unnecessary while unpacking a bottle of red wine. He had no food with him for dinner or breakfast the next day, which would have troubled me, but everyone has their own way. I just found it somewhat amusing that wine had made the cut. We spent most of night laughing while tucked into our sleeping bags telling stories from the trip and ideas we had about future walks we were planning.
At around 7:30pm two more people showed up. They had walked all the way from Langdon Beck. I’m not sure how many miles that was exactly, but they looked exhausted.
The next day we got up early to walk to Alston.
I needed a slow day.
It was only about 8 miles to get there and the walking looked relatively easy. The first 5 miles we walked along an old track. It was a bit hard on the feet as it was layered with rocks but it wasn’t particularly problematic. After that we wandered through a town and then walked along a river.
B was getting a bus from here to go and meet up with her father, who she was going to hike Hadrian’s Wall with, starting the next day. We got some lunch and said our goodbyes at the bus stop. Alone again.
I had been rather enjoying the company. B was easy to get on with and an interesting person to get to know. We said we would keep in touch about our different walks, which we have. Yet I was also happy to be alone again. I like having the two different aspects of walking, but walking alone is something I have always felt I need. I need my space. I want my space.
Once I was left in Alston, I remembered a conversation I had, had the night before with Simon. I said that I was going to stay in the hostel in Alston and he had urged me to try the campsite, describing how strange the place was. I was intrigued and although I felt like a night of luxury I ended up opting for the campsite, which was every bit as bizarre as Simon had described and more.
I walked through the village to find it and found myself rather at a loss as to where it was. Turned out you had to walk through a junk yard to get to it… I walked past broken up bits of cars and finally the site emerged in the distance. I spotted the reception inside one of the caravans and started to walk closer. As I got near, the children in the caravan started calling for their mother, telling her that someone was coming, and the woman running the site came out to greet me.
When I asked about camping she informed me that the campsite was basic. It went something like as follows…
Owner: “Its a very basic site. You get what you get.”
Me: “No problem.”
Owner: “I mean it. It’s very, VERY basic.”
She looked at me inquisitively
Me: “That’s fine. As long as I can pitch my tent and get a shower, I’m happy.”
Owner: “Well OK then, but I have told you.”
It seemed to me that perhaps she didn’t much like having customers. She told me to pitch my tent up and come back. She would then tell me where the toilets and showers were. This all seemed fine. She then informed me that the water was fine and wouldn’t make me sick and that the colour would be fine after I ran it for a while. This to me seemed a little bit odd… and made me rather suspicious of the water. But as I could get water in town I said nothing about it and simply nodded.
Then I got my tour of the showers. To get to the toilet/shower block you had to go past the skip round the junked cars and past an old building. So far so good I thought.
Then she got out a big wad of keys and unlocked the barred gate and we started to walk through the tunnel… OK, sure.
I made a joke about how I hoped I wouldn’t get locked in and she informed me that this very rarely happened. I wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.
Then we went into the building, which led through into the toilets. The room was warm and smelt like rusted pipes and urine. Have you ever been into a slightly run down toilet block in a not so great area? If so then you know the smell.
She informed me that the shower stall with the chair in front was the one that worked and left me to it.
I went back to my tent, retrieved my things and walked back to the ‘bathroom’. The one good thing about it was how hot it was. All my clothes were still wet from the day before so I used the chair to hang up my clothes and put my socks on the radiators to dry. The shower was fine.
“The walking was relatively uneventful. Very boggy. VERY, VERY boggy!!”
The next days journal entry.
By this point I had rather given up on trying to dry anything out. Everything was wet. If I wasn’t walking in bogs it was raining and vice versa.
I was slightly concerned about the condition of my feet. They were wet all day. I was making sure to keep my socks off and dry my feet when I got to my tent but this was resulting in the skin on the bottom of my feet cracking and bleeding. I was especially worried about a patch of cracked skin on my big toe where the flesh was red, hot, very sensitive and painful. I started using antibacterial cream on them and over the next few days it seemed to get a little better. But the cuts made each step a a chore.
From Alston I was heading towards Melkridge, where I met a lovely woman who had been visiting the area to complete a week of silence. She was an incredible artist who applied over 100 layers of paint to each canvas and then used a drill to get her image. I’d never heard of anyone doing anything like this before and the outcome was stunning.
She invited me back to her place for tea and biscuits and gave me the rest of the tea to take away with me. One of the things I love about my journey is how many people have helped me — it’s surprising how much this lifts my spirits.
The next few days were pleasant walking, though with somewhat wet feet and one particularly disheartening portion. I was walking through what was supposed to be a forest, at least according to my map, but the forest was gone.
There were only 28 miles left on the Pennine Way. Something about that felt spectacular. I was nearly in Scotland.
The next day I was winding in and out of Scotland. The path was lovely and easy to follow. It was steep at times but I was enjoying the day. Maybe it was something to do with being so close to finishing the trail, giving me an extra boost, but I felt great.
I arrived at a mountain refuge hut called Yearning Saddle — a lovely little hut that had a drying line, which was the telltale as to what people use it for. There was also a tent and a sleeping bag inside for people who were stuck, (though please do not rely on this info!)
The next day I walked the Cheviot Hills — a steep walking but very enjoyable. It was my last day on the Pennine Way. I met a lot of people who asked me if I was finishing today and got lots of congratulations. Somehow this felt like a bigger achievement than the rest of the walk in total.
Walking into Kirk Yetholm felt great.
I had officially walked across England.
I settled myself into the Youth Hostel where I would spend two days.
I wanted to dry out my clothes before heading to West Linton. My next destination.
767 miles down.
510 miles to go.
(all image by Cottia Fortune)
“When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”
― John Muir
