“Here’s an idea, why don’t we walk the Pennine Way!
“Err, OK???

Had the conversation continued, the next question would probably have been “WHY?”  The obvious answer to that being “Because it’s there!”.  After all, why else would you follow little white acorns for 256 miles (412km) along one of the toughest paths in Britain, through remote landscapes in a country renowned for its unpredictable weather and, over the course of the walk, climb approximately 40,000 ft (12,000 m) with full camping packs? 

Most walks of this nature require a reasonable amount of planning unless you have the sense to use one of the many companies that will organise a self-walking holiday for you.  At least, I assume there are many companies offering these services, although nearly all of the walkers we came across were using Brigantes and, from what I could gather, were more than happy with the support.  Whether or not we are lacking in sense is, fortunately, not up for debate as planning a walk with Leroy, our 50kg Rottweiler, demands that we make our own arrangements.

One of the things that makes the PW so challenging is the limited accommodation available in some areas and one of the huge advantages of using a company like Brigantes is that they will come and collect you from the trail, take you to nearby accommodation and drop you back the following morning.  Lacking this option and adding a dog filter to our search for a bed for the night, we soon realised that we were going to have to take a tent, something we had recently purchased to replace the one that was stolen in Morocco.  Booking whatever dog-friendly accommodation we were able to find, our final itinerary had us in a bed for 14 nights, and the tent for the remaining 7.

The next issue was organising Leroy’s food for the duration of the walk.  We worked out roughly what we thought he would need each day and parcelled up biscuits, dehydrated mince and protein bars into daily portions.  We would set off on the walk with 4 days-worth of his food, the rest, which weighed just under 10kg, was divided up and posted to various points along the way, a system that proved to work surprisingly well.

It was now time to address the logistics of starting the walk.  Rightly or wrongly, I am paranoid about Bob being stolen whilst we are in the UK and leaving him unattended for three weeks was concerning at best.  The PW starts in the ancient and beautiful Peak District village of Edale and our first thoughts were to leave Bob at one of the two camping sites there.  Wrong – parking in the UK has become a bit of a nightmare and neither campsite could offer us a pitch, nothing was coming up on JustPark, an app that we had used previously where you can park in someone’s driveway for a pre-arranged fee, and the more we widened our search the closer we were getting to the cities of Manchester, Sheffield and Leeds.  No way was Bob going to be left to fend for himself in such dubious parts.  We shifted our search to the end of the walk and after too many phone calls managed to secure accommodation for our final night and parking for Bob at the Templemead Hotel, a pub in the quiet Scottish Border village of Morebattle just a few miles away from Kirk Yetholm, the official end of the PW.

It took about four hours to drive from the Little Thatched Cottage Airbnb where we were staying in Derbyshire up to the Scottish Borders and, after dropping Bob off, another four hours back to Edale in the hire car.  Leaving Ian at the Fieldhead Campsite, where he could struggle with the dynamics of a new tent without helpful comments from me, I returned the hire car to Enterprise, Buxton.  Two hours later and it was definitely time for a drink.  Luckily, the Old Nags Head was just down the lane and sitting out on the back patio, as the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, we raised a glass to the Pennine Way.

Edale to Crowden – 27.4km

We were up in good time and would have made a quick getaway had it not been for the individual who had arrived into camp late the previous day and set up his tent barely a metre from ours.  A surprising move given that we were in a large flat field with just three other tents but as we were packing up it became apparent that we were just the captive audience he was looking for as he downloaded his extensive knowledge on hill walking and gave us a full run-down of all the equipment he owned which, believe me, was extensive.  Feeling rather inadequate, and wondering just how much inferior gear we had in our bulging packs, we eventually managed to haul ass and make a slow escape.  With packs weighing in at 20kg, 14kg, and 2.5kg, two of us were going nowhere at speed.  With the knowledge that there would be no opportunity to purchase food for the next couple of days, we had shopped for provisions the previous day, but preoccupied with the logistics of the walk, neither of us had paid much attention to the actual detail and as we headed back to the Old Nag’s Head, the official start of the PW, were blissfully unaware of what was to come…..

….. hell, literally!

Under any other circumstances, a blast of hot weather throughout the UK would be more than welcome, but weighed down and struggling over rough terrain for nearly 30km during a mini heatwave that had temperatures soaring into the high 20°C’s, was less than ideal.  Conditions marginally improved when some cooling air started moving around as we made our first climb of the day up the series of stone steps that go by the name of Jacob’s Ladder, but by the time we were gasping our way up to the towering Edale rocks the breeze had turned into a gale force wind.  The classic edge walk around Kinder Scout, a moorland plateau and the highest point of the Peak District, was a multi-tasking battle to stay upright whilst also trying to make some sort of forward progress. 

As if this wasn’t enough to contend with, Ian had other issues.  Having discussed this particular topic at length over the years, we have come to the conclusion that Ian probably died of thirst in a desert somewhere in a former life.  Consequently, he is preoccupied, to the point of being paranoid, about having access to water, of which he drinks copious amounts.  Being the only team member to actually carry any and being a gentleman at heart, he shared what he did have but with limited opportunities to refill his water bottle and the high temperatures sucking the moisture out of him at an alarming rate, he was not happy.  

As the day progressed, we crossed huge expanses of moorland before navigating Snake Pass, Devil’s Dyke and the steady ascent of Bleaklow (a low is a hill or burial ground).  If we hadn’t already got an inkling of what we were in for during the days ahead, the names of the features we were encountering would surely have given it away.  The final drag of the day was following Clough Edge, a high rocky path carved into the side of the hill that descended steeply through the thick heather.  It was at this point that David and Joe suddenly appeared behind us and strode past leaving us with the realisation that we were moving at a snail’s pace.  It was another couple of hours before we finally arrived at Crowden campsite, a mere 10½ hours after leaving Edale.  Also just arriving, having taken a wrong turn, were David and Joe – we were officially a couple of tortoises!

 
Crowden to Standedge – 18.1km

Our packs were a bit lighter this morning with much of our food provisions depleted, not only by us but also D&J who had wrongly anticipated that the campsite shop would be open for business.  We palmed off as much food as we could in their direction as we were under no illusions that today was going to be anything other than another classic Peak District walk of remote moorland, reservoirs and plenty of hills.  On the plus side, almost half the day’s total ascent was going to be achieved in the first 3 miles or so - what more could we possibly want?!  We had just finished climbing up to Laddow Rocks and were having a breather beside Crowden Great Brook when we came across Paul, a solo walker who looked decidedly the worst for wear, seemingly suffering from heat exhaustion.  Unlike the day-pack Brigantes walkers, he was carrying a full pack plus a few extra kilos about his person and in his own words was “not sure, I can go much further”.  We left him dipping his bandana into the stream and placing it onto the back of his neck in an attempt to cool down and hoped that we would see him faring a bit better further along the trail.

The long climb up to Black Hill was made a lot easier due to the slabs that have been laid as part of a recent transformation, through replanting and sheep control, that has seen the previously barren, black wasteland of peat bog turn into a green and lush landscape.  Dropping down the other side, we again stopped for water at Dean Clough when a more determined looking Paul appeared.  Apparently, we were about to cross the A635 where there was a chance that the resident food truck might be open offering up food and cold drinks.  He muttered something about cold cans of Coke as he shot past and about 10 minutes later D&J also appeared and as we passed on the information re possible refreshments they also continued without stopping.  We later learnt that Paul had indeed reached the truck before it shut shop for the day and had drunk 4 cans of coke in quick succession.  D&J hadn’t been so lucky and arrived just in time to see the truck heading down the road. 

The rest of the day was spent on gravel tracks running through the man-made landscape of reservoirs that were built in the 1800’s to supply water for the mills and subsequent towns downstream.  Although the walking was not particularly arduous, the constant pounding on a hard surface whilst carrying a pack soon lets you know how well your boots are holding up.  In my case, not well at all.  By the time we arrived at Standedge carpark, where we had arranged for Bill to pick us up and take us to his B&B in Diggle for the night, the soles of my feet were burning and blisters were forming on the inside of both heels, both little toes and the two big toenails were rapidly turning black.  Ian was faring much better with just a blackened little toe.

Bill was a revelation.  With his wife seriously ill in hospital he was running the B&B on his own as well as tending to his small flock of sheep.  Well into his 80’s he drove his similarly aged vehicle along narrow, high-hedged laneways at a speed worthy of any good F1 driver and after dropping our gear off he pointed us in the direction of the Diggle Hotel where we could get something to eat. 

Pleased to find D&J already in residence we settled in for a good whinge about the heat, the weight of our packs and the state of our feet.  After exhausting these topics we found out that they were both physiotherapists, having become friends during their time studying in Newcastle Uni, now walking 3 days of the PW as something of a reunion as Joe was currently living in Norway.  We were disappointed that they were not walking the entire way, as they were easy and entertaining company but sat at a table just behind us were Nyall and Matt from Australia and Craig from Canada who we would see a lot more of.

 Standedge to Hebden Bridge – 24.9km

Bill kindly drove us back onto the trail after providing a substantial breakfast and packed lunch.  Having lived in Australia for much of the last 25 years, I am more than delighted to be back in the land of Branston Pickle and the thought of it nestling alongside a slab of English Cheddar between two slices of bread was nearly enough to take my mind of my throbbing feet which were now so bandaged up that I’d had difficulty just getting my boots on.  Pickle aside, there was a highlight on the horizon today, Nicky’s Foodbar, a white shipping container sat on the side of the A762 where, for the first time since leaving Edale, we would be able to get some coffee and snacks.  Edging ever closer to the North Pennines and Yorkshire Dales, the morning’s walk was uneventful, and we made good progress towards the white shipping container that we could see in the distance.  Arriving just in time for elevenses our hearts dropped as we realised that Nicky had decided to take the day, just today, off!  Struggling back into our packs we trudged despondently back onto the path that took us past the closed White House Pub and would eventually take us into Hebden Bridge, a wonderfully eccentric town. 

NM&C were also staying at Hebden Bridge and over dinner we all got to know each other a bit better.  Nyall and Matt were long service members of the Australian Police Force, whilst Craig was an artist.  They had all walked the Coast to Coast a few years ago and were now tackling the Pennine Way and like us, they were struggling with the heat.  Nyall confessed to jumping out in front of a passing motorist the previous day and refusing to get out of his way unless he gave him a lift to Standedge, a bold but successful move! 

Hebden Bridge to Haworth – 22.3km

 Hebden Bridge is not technically on the PW but as it offers much needed accommodation and supplies, the Hebden Bridge loop is incorporated into most itineraries.  It sits astride the Rochester Canal and the path out of town and up to Heptonstall Moor is a steep ascent along lanes, steps, passages, through farms and across wet fields.  Once on the moor the air was a bit cooler and it was nice to regain a sense of isolation after the crowds at Hebden Bridge.  Dropping down to the Walshaw Dean reservoirs, we were sitting on our packs watching Leroy swim up and down when a day walker appeared and stopped for a chat.  She was meeting a friend who was walking the PW with the intention of completing the entire walk in just 7 days??  She then went on to say that her husband had competed in the Spine race????  A race devised by two Arctic expedition explorers in 2012 which is now one of the toughest endurance races in the world.  A non-stop 268-mile race with pit stops every 40-50 miles where the competitors are able to grab a block of sleep.  The time limit for the event is 168 hours (7 days), but the fastest time is held by Jasmine Paris who finished in 2019 in just 83 hours and 12 minutes.  And the best part – it takes place in January, slap bang in the middle of winter.  jasminfellrunner.blogspot.com/2020/01/spine-race.html

 We set off again wondering just who are these people that do this stuff, surely not from the same planet as us, but were soon distracted by our approach to Withins Height, Bronte country and the inspiration for Emily’s classic novel Wuthering Heights.  Top Withins, an abandoned stone farmhouse right at the top of the moors and perceived as Heathcliff’s home, received no more than a cursory glance as we staggered past to reach the small fresh-water stream located about 80m further on.  It would have been too easy to rest a while, but our day wasn’t going to stop until we reached Haworth, yet another detour off the PW, but one that we were looking forward to as we were booked into the Ashmount Country House where we were hoping to enjoy a bit of luxury and pick up one of Leroy’s food parcels.

Well, the food parcel was waiting for us but the bit of luxury was not. The dining room was closed, breakfast was served so late that we wouldn’t have time to hang around for it, there were no hotel staff after 6pm and the packed lunch offered was egg sandwiches - really?!.  Our confusion over the ***** awarded by the AA was cleared up once we spotted a hot tub squashed into the tiny back yard and despite the temperature still nudging 30°C, we sat sweating in the hot tub for as long as we could bear before wandering the cobblestone streets of Haworth, wearing the thoughtfully provided white slippers, to find somewhere to eat.

 
Haworth to Earby – 24km

Leaving Haworth we picked up the PW again at Ponden Reservoir and, as had now become the norm, began to climb.  At the top of Cowling Hill we were overtaken by Craig who was intent on reaching the road into Ickornshaw where he hoped to find a taxi to take him into Malham.  Unlike us, the guys had a huge day ahead of them and Craig had wisely decided to jump ship until it was over.  The scenery was slowly changing away from the dark gritstone and black peat of the Peak District to the light grey limestone and green grass of the Yorkshire Dales.  The heatwave was still going strong and heading down into Lothersdale we could see the Hare & Hounds beckoning below us.  Collapsing onto a couple of squashy sofas Ian set about continuing his beer research whilst I was just as occupied on Amazon, trying to decide which boots would enable me to continue and ultimately finish the walk. 

There is plenty of contemplation time on a multi-day walk and my thoughts had, for the most part, been consumed by my sore and aching feet.  My existing Salomon boots had probably clocked up more mileage than was sensible to start walking the PW and I had also come to the conclusion that, like many other products these days, they weren’t really made to last becoming less and less waterproof and losing their rigidity and support.  I now hated them with a passion and regardless of the fact that I have worn this brand for many years I clicked on some Merrell, Boab 3’s, addressing them to the White Hart, Hawes where we would be arriving in a few days time. 

With a couple of hours still to walk to reach Earby, we set off up onto Elslack Moor where we admired the views before, once again, detouring off the PW to Earby, where the local youth hostel had kindly agreed to put us up.  Unlike the YHA which tends not to accept dogs, many of the smaller independent hostels are a bit more flexible and we were delighted to have not only an entire dorm to ourselves but, baring one other occupant and his bicycle, the whole house to ourselves. 

Earby Hostel has a long history as a refuge for socialists in the 1920s-1950.  Renowned socialist activist Katharine Glasier moved into Glen Cottage in 1922 and after her death in 1950, her friends began a memorial fund which raised enough money to turn the cottages into a hostel.  In 1958 the Youth Hostel was officially opened and in 2016 ownership was transferred to Earby Town Council.  Since 2019, Matt Oddy and his family have renovated and continue to run the hostel.

Thornton-in-Craven to Malham – 20.7km

Facilities such as the Earby hostel are a godsend for walkers and cyclists and this morning Matt gave us a lift back onto the PW saving us at least an hour’s extra walking which, out of context doesn’t seem that much, but believe me made our day.

Just past Thornton-in-Craven we reached the Leeds-Liverpool canal with its famous double bridge, and as we strolled along the pretty, level tow-path we were briefly reminded how pleasant walking could be.  Of course, it didn’t last long and all too soon we were back labouring through never-ending, soaking wet fields.  The weather had finally broken and as a result we were not going to have dry feet again until we reached Kirk Yetholm. 

Nearing Malham, the scenery was again changing as we were now on the edge of limestone country not far from the attractions of Gordale Scar and and Janet’s Foss Waterfall.  Reading our guidebook there was a suggestion that on reaching Malham, we should dump our bags and make the 3½ mile (5km) detour required to appreciate these impressive sights.  They have got to be kidding, the only sights we were interested in came in a glass or had a clean white duvet and fluffy pillows, all of which the Listers Arms was able to provide.

 
Malham to Horton-in-Ribblesdale – 18.5km

Feeling only slightly guilty that we hadn’t made the effort to visit some of the local attractions, we emerged from the pub swamped in waterproof gear and proceeded in the pouring rain towards Malham Cove, a huge curving amphitheatre shaped cliff formation of limestone rock.  The climb up the steps beside the Cove had us gasping for breath and once at the top we only briefly acknowledged the Limestone Pavement where Harry and Hermione had pitched their tent in The Deathly Harrows.  The way down was treacherous as the persistent rain had made the rocks super slippy, but it wasn’t long before we were heading up again on the 155 steps out of Watlowes Valley and up to Mallham Tarn, England’s highest marl lake.  Formed during the Ice Age by a glacier scraping away the limestone rock right down to the ancient impermeable slate layer, the Tarn is a haven for many upland waterfowl including Moorhen, Great Crested Grebe, Teal and Coot.   

It was another uphill hike to Fountains Fell, the climb difficult enough to keep our attention away from the slightly worrying signs that were in place and on to the base of Pen-y-ghent, meaning “hill of the winds”, one of the “Yorkshire Three Peaks”. 

The YTP Challenge is a classic 24 mile (39.6km) circular walk that takes on the peaks of Pen-y-ghent (694m), Whernside (736m) and Ingleborough (723m) in under 12 hours.  Combined, these three peaks contain more ascent than Ben Nevis and draw in hundreds of thousands of people each year.  Relieved that the circuit hadn’t been incorporated into the PW we turned towards Horton, wincing down the steep, knee-jarring, rock path that has been laid to withstand the footfall of the “Three Peakers”.

Unable to find any accommodation in Horton, we were spending the night at Holme Farm Campground but first we needed a ride into the village of Settle where we could replenish our food supplies.  Whilst waiting for the taxi to arrive I chatted to the campsite owner, an 87 year old retired sheep farmer whose family had been in the area for over 300 years.  He commented on the Peregrine Falcons at Malham Cove, one of the most successful nesting sites in the Yorkshire Dales National Park.  The fully protected falcons, that can reach speeds of more than 186 miles (300km) per hour, are not only the world’s fastest bird but also the world’s fastest animal and have been nesting in the area since 1993.  Unfortunately, over that time the population of robins, skylarks and starlings has reduced to such an extent that morning birdsong has sadly become a thing of the past.

 
Horton-in-Ribblesdale to Hawes – 22.4km

Despite the rain, today was the best so far as it followed wall-enclosed stony paths and numerous old packhorse trails over the wild limestone moors.  The use of packhorses to carry goods and particularly salt, goes back to medieval times and continued until the construction of turnpipe roads and canals in the 18th century.  We were walking along just a few of the many routes that crossed the Pennines between Lancashire and Yorkshire and by the time we reached the old Roman roads of Cam High and West Cam, we were high up above the moorland and surrounded by hills under a huge, admittedly wet, sky.   The market town of Hawes came into sight long before we reached it and we almost skipped towards it in the knowledge that tomorrow was a day off.

We checked into The White Hart Inn where my new boots were waiting.  I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of sliding my feet into comfortable boots.  Off came the triple-layered strips of sports tape, wound pads and plasters that had become welded to my feet and the grubby white slippers were throw in the bin.

Hawes to Keld 20.2km

As slowly as some of the days had been passing, our day off flew by, and all too soon we were packing up and heading off – once again in the rain.  Leaving the limestone of the southern Dales behind us we headed back into a bog-peat environment.  Today was a bit of a milestone as we would reach Keld, the halfway point of the Coast to Coast and somewhere we were familiar with from our walk last year.  All the way up Great Shunner Fell all I could think about was the Rukin’s Park Camping café in Keld where I had strong recollections of good cafetiere coffee and excellent chocolate cake.  Please, please still be there! 

As we were descending off the Fell, the Swaledale Valley opened up below us and we could clearly see the Coast-to-Coast path gently meandering alongside the river.  It was a bit like meeting up with an old friend, a softer, more easy-going character than the one we were currently with.  The last section of narrow, rocky path down into Keld was tiring as the rocks were slippy and the descent was steep but we arrived at the campsite around 3pm and headed straight to the café which was where we needed to check in and right there, under its glass dome, was a rich, moist chocolate cake.   

Once the tent was up, and leaving Leroy flat out on his bed inside, we headed up to the Lodge.  The place was absolutely packed and our hopes of purchasing dinner were immediately dashed.  Still full of chocolate cake we weren’t terribly concerned and after purchasing some drinks we headed into the lounge.  We heard them before we saw them, NM&C relaxing on the settee with an elderly gentleman walker that they had picked up on the trail into Keld.  Although they were staying at a lodge a few km down the road they hadn’t been able to resist the lure of a couple of pints and it was good to catch up whilst we charged our phones. 

 Dinner for us ended up being yet another Co-op sandwich in the tent.

Keld to Bowes 19.7km

It was misty as we climbed up to Tan Hill Inn, the highest in Britain, and we were almost through the front door before we were able to see it in the gloom.  It was only mid-morning, but the bar was open and coffee was being served to NM&C who had arrived shortly before us.  Stood in isolation on the edge of Stonesdale Moor with a steady stream of friendly locals arriving, it was a fine example of a British pub.  Conversation was mainly about the imminent crossing of Sleightholme Moor which promised to be the boggiest and wettest section so far and whilst by this stage we were all becoming proficient at wading through shin deep peat bogs, the prospect was still daunting.  The guys had decided to take the road instead, justifying their decision on advice they had received from their landlord over breakfast, and headed off.  We followed soon after, but not before a warming shot of Sambuca and a pair of dry gloves which Craig had thoughtfully left behind.   

It was pointless really taking a detour around Sleightholme as it wasn’t long before we were off the road and back wading through a sodden landscape.  Forced to take the Bowes Loop to find accommodation, we added yet more mileage to an already overlong walk and eventually arrived at the Ancient Unicorn, wet through and covered in mud.  Arriving in a similar state were solo walker Fireman Max and a couple of girls who were walking a third of the PW and who we had briefly seen the day before.

Bowes to Middleton-in-Teesdale 20.6km

It took us 2 hours to reach Baldersdale where we were able to rejoin the PW.  Max had been in our sights most of the way eventually giving us the opportunity to catch up by taking a rather circuitous route through the long marsh grass just beyond Hazelgill Beck.   Continuing on together, Max confirmed what we had already heard on the PW grapevine, his feet were in a diabolical state.  So much so, that he was popping pain-killers every few hours in order to stay on them.  After checking that he had no requirement for any of Ian’s thirteen pairs of socks, we left him rummaging through his pack, presumably looking for more analgesics, and continued through various farmland, crossed the half-way point and stopped for snacks at the tuck shop honesty box of Wythes Hill Farm. 

Both of us were feeling pretty good at this stage.  Leroy had finally worked out how to utilise the large flat pieces of stone protruding out of the high dry-stone walls in order to get over which meant we were covering the ground at a much more acceptable pace than earlier in the walk.

Middleton-in-Teesdale is an official ‘walkers are welcome’ town, an initiation launched in 2007 guaranteeing that in return for the deposits of mud you are trailing behind you, you will receive a friendly smile.  This had indeed been our experience so far and one that continued all the way to the end.

 
Middleton-in-Teesdale to Langdon Beck 14.9km

Today was a short and pleasant one once the series of tedious styles between us and the River Tees had been crossed.  We strolled beside the river past the Low and High Force waterfalls, the latter an impressive display of power and white water crashing down from a height of 21m.  In stark contrast to other sections, the PW followed a well maintained, flat gravel path that came complete with boot cleaner. Taking advantage, we later arrived at the Langdon Beck Hotel without the usual kilo of mud and peat bog on our boots.  This of course ensured an extra friendly welcome which helped to take our mind of the next couple of days which were going to be tough.   

Langdon Beck to Dufton – 21.8km

Relentless rain accompanied us as we followed a straight-forward route past Widdy Bank Farm and back to the Tees where, rather than the lovely path of yesterday, we were now required to scramble over the boulder-strewn, ankle-twisting margins of the river.  The going was torturously slow given how slick the surface was, a situation not helped when a sheep, having a bit of alone time on the wrong wide of the river, suddenly leapt out in front of us.   Completely wrong footed, Ian let go of Leroy who immediately followed the sheep into the fast-moving river, a move that neither Ian nor myself felt inclined to copy.  Our attempts at recall proved useless and out of options we figured our best bet at getting him back was to continue, which we did for about 20 minutes or so.  If we were hoping to see that orange backpack come bounding round the corner we were out of luck and there was nothing else for it but to go back.  The boulders had been hard enough to cross the first time, a second time was infuriating, particularly when spotting Leroy almost at the other side of the river facing-off with the sheep that had now made it onto the bank.  No-one wants to admit that their dog is less intelligent than a sheep but seeing the sheep standing its ground and refusing to run away whilst Leroy was standing in the freezing cold water after being in the river for about 40 minutes, did rather suggest this to be true.  There was nothing else for it, Ian was going to have to go in and get him.  There was no point taking his boots off, as they were already sopping wet, and wasting no more time he waded into the river.  His return, dragging a bedraggled Leroy, was not quite a Colin Firth moment, but the two girls mentioned earlier who had arrived on the scene did seem to be enjoying the diversion.

Back over the rocks again and we were soon at the base of the huge waterfall of Cauldron Snout, the only discernible path seeming to be an almost vertical exposed climb just off to the side.  About half-way up and struggling, we were relieved to see an almost untrodden zig-zag path softening the climb, a path that was obviously missed by every-one else as they queried how on earth had we managed to get Leroy up to the top. 

 It took us a few more hours of plodding through all too familiar boggy moorland before arriving at Half Cup Nick.  Rather magically, the rain stopped and the sun peered out just long enough to prevent us walking straight off the edge into the impressive u-shaped deep chasm, another demonstration of the aftermath of glacial erosion.   

 The remainder of the day was all downhill along an old miner’s track into Dufton.  The rain had started again and ours was the only tent at the Grandie Caravan Park.  There was no food on offer in the tiny village which forced us to cook inside a tiny, open-sided shelter before alighting to the pub where we met Joss, a retired head teacher from the Isle of Man.

 
Dufton to Garrigill – 25.2km

Fortunately, it is not too often that we find ourselves in a position that has us questioning the sanity of our decisions, but along with the four other people that came over the top of Cross Fell in torrential rain and a howling gale we did consider our situation to be verging on madness.  The highest point of the PW, directly in the path of the Helm Wind, which must be mighty as it is the only wind in the UK that has a name, we reached the summit, where the views of the Lake District would have been a welcome distraction had we been able to see anything.  Surrounded by thick mist we staggered blindly around whilst waiting for one of the giant waymarking cairns to momentarily appear out of the gloom before being engulfed back into the grey nothingness.  We were also struggling to cross the deep peaty bog ponds which would have been a lot easier to navigate if the large flagstones, recycled from the floors of derelict mills, hadn’t been broken and partly swallowed up by the rich near-liquid peat.   With the wind changing the direction of the rain from a constant hammering on the tops of our heads to a sideways stinging attack to the face we couldn’t have been more relieved to eventually reach the safety of Greg’s Hut, a most welcome and popular refuge already occupied by Joss and three other cold and wet nature lovers. 

Corpse Road, so called because of its previous use as a coffin route out of Garrigill, is a 6-mile, foot pounding, constant descent and a part of the PW much despised.  All thing’s being relative we rather liked it!

Garrigill is another tiny village with little to offer in the way of accommodation or food but it does have the marvellous Village Hall where we were booked to camp for the night.  One look at our sorry state and Brian the caretaker deemed it totally inappropriate for us to pitch the tent and ushered us into the Hall which was a fully equipped hostel.  I could easily have thrown my arms around him and kissed him as he showed us the showers, dry room, kitchen and lounge areas, all with radiators blasting out heat – it was totally unexpected and yet another example of the hospitality that we had received along the PW.

 
Garrigill to Alston 6.5km

 After the trials of yesterday, we enjoyed a short stroll into Alston, the highest market settlement in England, with its steep cobbled streets and the terminus of the South Tynedale Railway, England’s highest narrow-gauge railway.  It is a remote place, the nearest town being 20 miles away and the landscape surrounding the town is heavily influenced by centuries of mining for stone, lead, zinc and Alstonite, a mineral found in only a few places in the world.  Any suggestion of exploring the area further was discussed at length in each of the town’s coffee shops.

 
Alston to Greenhead 27km

I’d like to say that we had a dilemma this morning, but honestly there was no justifying the allure of the PW over that of the South Tyne Trail that runs parallel.  Whilst the PW follows a tedious meandering route through fields and farmyards, over numerous styles and through countless gates, the ST Trail is an unbroken, gradient-free amble through a tunnel of trees.  It’s possible to stay on this trail all the way into Haltwhistle before a final push to Greenhead, but feeling just guilty enough after a morning of such easy walking we turned off at Lambley and rejoined the PW.  On reflection, a strange decision as we waded across Blenkinsopp Common, probably the wettest and soggiest section of the entire walk, but it did feel more familiar and we were elated to get Leroy past the grouse beaters, dogs and guns without incident. 

Every long-distance walk in the UK would surely have a cow story to share, but unlike our experiences on the Coast to Coast we had receive no more than a laid-back glance from the countless fields of cows that we had crossed.  We were therefore a little taken aback, as we walked through another herd of these creatures, to lock eyes with a rather large cow with a ring through its nose.  A quick glance underneath confirmed that we were less than 5 metres away from a huge bull!  What do you do, run?  Stand still?  Make a noise?  Keep quiet?  As we cautiously inched forward he continued to stare at us and I can only assume, from the large number of females that surrounded him, that he was too doped up on Oxytocin to worry about us.

Greenhead consisted of a hotel and a tea-room, both of which were excellent.  Over dinner we caught up again with Joss, another Brigantes walker, who still seemed to be a little traumatised following his assault on Cross Fell.

 
Greenhead to Once Brewed 10.2km

Out of Pennine country, the highlight today was following a section of Hadrian’s Wall, a former defensive fortification of the Roman province of Britannia.  Begun back in AD 122 it took at least six years to complete, stretching 73 miles (117 km) from one side of England to the other.  Constructed by around 15,000 men under the instruction of Hadrian, the Emperor of Rome, the wall included minor garrisons as well as larger forts built along its length, manned by up to 20,000 auxilliary soldiers on the lookout for invading Scottish Barbarians.  The wall has been ransacked over the centuries but it is the largest Roman archaeological feature in Britain and relatively intact in parts.  Walking alongside the wall through the Northumbrian National Park, officially the most tranquil national park in England, was a pleasure not detracted from by the rather chipper Hadrian’s Wall walkers, a stark contract to the contemplative, sombre walkers on the PW.

Looking for accommodation we again detoured away from the PW and down to the Old Repeater Station at Haydon Bridge.  Previously used to boost the strength of telephone signals carried over long distances by copper wires, the Station was converted into a B&B in 2004.  Run by Les, another octogenarian and one of the original £10 poms, it was home to one of the best model railway sets I have come across.

 
Once Brewed to Bellingham 27.3km

A long day that initially took us through Wark Forest and over Haughton Common, a rather desolate landscape following heavy damage by storm Arwen in 2021 and the subsequent piling up of felled trees.  The only relief between us and Bellingham was the oasis at Horneystead Farm, a much appreciated pit stop offering hot drinks, snacks and somewhere to sit down out of the weather.  Such places act as a magnet for walkers and we arrived just as Joss was leaving and also met Melinda, a young titian haired beauty who was walking the PW in the opposite direction with full camping gear and a schedule of just 15 days.

A sustained pace through pasture, farmland and quiet country lanes deposited us at the Cheviot Pub.

 Bellingham to Byrness – 24.8km

What a tedious day, 4 hours through a sodden, unchanging bracken landscape followed by 4 hours along a harsh grey gravel forest track, but redemption did come by way of the warm welcome waiting for us at the Forest View Walkers Inn.  It was a lively night shared with NM&C, Joss, Will - another solo walker and a Canadian couple.     

Byrness to Kirk Yetholm 41.1km

No, this is not a typo.  The last section of the walk is a demanding mountain marathon over the bleak but beautiful Cheviot Range.  Aeons ago, cooling lava formed these distinctive rounded hills which challenge the walker with a quick succession of steep ascents followed by the inevitable steep descents.  Up, down, up down, up down………….

 There are no facilities at all between Byrness and Kirk Yetholm so our options were to walk the entire 41km in one go, make use of the pick-up and drop off shuttle offered by the Walkers Inn which involved an additional 9km of walking over the two days or wild camp.  Disinclined to add any additional mileage, we opted to wild camp not quite sure what to expect weather-wise camping so high and a little trepidatious about the lack of fresh water. 

So close to the end, we covered just under 30km before struggling to pitch the tent in strong winds not far from the lonely and rather exposed Auchope refuge hut.  We had been told there was water just below the hut but this turned out to be just a shallow pool of brown peaty liquid and we just weren’t that desperate.  Sleep was fitful as the wind didn’t abate and the tent was flapping around so much that the roof kept hitting us on the head.  It was a relief when morning eventually arrived and we emerged out of the tent just 5 minutes before six young cows arrived to investigate – nearly another cow story! 

With only 11 km to go, nearly all of it downhill, we strode towards Kirk Yetholm.  Just on the outskirts of the village we were stopped by a fit-looking guy who asked us if we were finished the PW.  After confirming this to be the case he became quite animated and was full of congratulations which did serve to remind us of what we had been doing for the last three weeks.  Five minutes later we were at the official end, the Border’s Hotel. 

 If you have made it to the end of this overlong blog, you are equally deserving of the free half pint and certificate of completion that was offered to us.  We declined the certificates, Ian had my half pint and I took a seat as the landlady popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.