Trows to Kirk Yetholm

Me before my last day on the Pennine Way

A very comfortable night at the Byrness Hotel, and an early departure. It turned out that Kate was not only driving us back to Trows (14 miles), but was subcontracted to Brigantes to take out luggage on to Kirk Yetholm (more than 20 more miles), so she would be spending much of the morning on the road. Winding minor roads, too, with no real opportunity to put one’s foot down and stupid unpredictable sheep to avoid at every turn.

She dropped us at the same point I had been picked up the previous evening, which meant that it was another long walk to regain the Pennine Way at the summit ridge between England and Scotland. This was initially a mile and a bit up a dirt road (past the point at which I had reached it the previous evening), and then a climb up to the tops – gentle at first before a steep bit to a plateau, and then a final climb to the summit ridge.

The view from the ridge path on the way to the Cheviot

The most extraordinary incident was that Frank commented that the final bit looked like grouse country. Within a minute a red grouse actually flew off with its characteristic whirring flight. It seemed altogether too much of a coincidence, as this was the only grouse I saw in five days on the Pennine Way, despite passing miles of suitable habitat and one area which was obviously managed for shooting. But Frank assured me it was just that – a coincidence – and that he hadn’t seen the bird first. Extraordinary!

At the summit there was a signpost stating that we had just walked up Clennel Street, which then headed off to the lowlands to the Northwest. This was the first mention of Clennel Street we had seen, apart from reference to it in documentation on the Pennine Way, stating it as the break-point if splitting the final bit from Byrness to Kirk Yetholm into two shorter stretches. However hard I looked at the map I had never managed to determine where it was, so it was rather gratifying to learn that it actually existed.

Once on the Pennine Way itself it was a long, reasonably level walk along the boundary fence for three miles or so before a 200m push up to the shoulder of the Cheviot itself. Much of this was paved, which was just as well, because without paving it would have been rough and boggy even in the prevalent dry conditions. The last bit, though, was work in progress. There were stakes driven into the ground, and pallets of new paving stones randomly dropped nearby. There was no sign of anyone working, though, despite this being a weekday, and according to the notices the work apparently being done by Northumberland Council. I thought this was a pity, as I’d have liked to see how they actually lay these paving stones (is it stones on stakes to prevent them sinking further?) and what sort of mechanical assistance they have. The pallets looked as if they had been dropped randomly, presumably by helicopter, but there were no signs of any equipment to do the detailed positioning. Yet some of the paving slabs must have weighed several hundred pounds, and be almost impossible to manoeuvre manually, particularly given the nature of the terrain.

Cairns at the highest point on the Pennine Way
in the Cheviots

One of the notices was ridiculous. It stated that the stretch of the Pennine Way we had just walked was closed because of the works. Not only was it after we had walked it (we had seen no equivalent sign at the beginning of the stretch), but the notice actually acknowledged that there was no alternative route. It was an example of planning madness, presumably, by some Council official far away from the heights.

The clouds had descended as we reached the highest point of this stretch of the Way at just under 750m, and even if we had wanted to make the mile-and-a-quarter diversion to the East to the peak of the Cheviot itself it would hardly have been worth it. In addition it was beginning to look as if the morning’s forecast of rain was about to be fulfilled.

We had a 20-minute pause at the top while Frank resolved some banking issues over the phone. Mobile reception is pretty variable in these remote parts, but sometimes improves at the highest points where there are presumably fewer obstacles between the phone and the nearest mast. Then it was down to the mountain refuge hut s mile further on – and 250m lower in altitude.

The view to the South from the Mountain Refuge Hut

There we paused for a snack break. The views were magnificent, and there was even the occasional sunny spell to give the hills more colour. I found the Cheviots the most exciting part of the Pennine Way from the point of view of mountain scenery. The Yorkshire Dales are also wonderful country, but lack the magnificence of this rolling high country. The only better bit had been High Top Nick and the descent into Dufton.

Within minutes we had been joined by two other walkers – David, who had been with us in Bellingham, and Bruce, a Yorkshireman who Dave had met at Windy Gyle. Bruce had started from Byrness at 4:00 in the morning, intending to do the whole 26-mile stage to Kirk Yetholm in a day, and had met Dave at around 9:30. Dave had done the same as us, and broken the 26 miles with a drop down into Trows and a return trip (from different lodging) that morning. He had actually gone back to Windy Gyle itself, whereas we had rejoined the Pennine Way a mile further along and missed a mile of ridge walking. They had been walking together since.

The track down to Kirk Yetholm

As they were clearly walking more speedily than us we let them get ahead before setting out ourselves. There was a steady climb to the final hill, the Schil, after which we had been told that it would all be downhill to Kirk Yetholm. This turned out not to be 100% accurate. After starting the descent from the border fence, and finally leaving England for good, one os offered two alternatives: the High Road, with an immediate climb ahead and more peaks later, with Kirk Yetholm 4½ miles away, or the Low Road, half a mile shorter and clearly downhill. Just before we reached it we were passed by a young man, who strode on ahead saying that he was anxious to finish, but without really studying the signpost took the high road, which seemed to give the lie to his intention to finish as soon as possible. Later we learned that Dave and Bruce had also opted for the high route. It seems that purists don’t take the easier options.

We did – and it was all downhill except for trivial little bits after crossing streams. The only exception was the final bit of road into Kirk Yetholm itself, which involved a 50m climb over the ridge between two valleys. 50 metres right at the end of the day somehow feels a lot more than 100m earlier!

We're there! Frank at the Border Hotel -
the end of the Pennine Way

The Border Hotel was wonderful: great rooms, with full length baths as well as showers, and great beer. And the food was pretty good too. We had dinner with Dave, who was also staying at the Border, and the only disappointment was that we had to leave too early the following morning to have anything more than a couple of slices of toast left out for us to make ourselves. Then it was time for Frank to leave me after an excellent week together. He dropped me at my B&B in Jedburgh, where I was scheduled for a rest day, on his way back home via Durham.

  

Changeable, with a forecast of afternoon rain, which fortunately failed to materialise. Cooler, though still mainly shirtsleeves weather. Cold and mist-shrouded at the highest point. Occasional sunshine through the threatening clouds. Moorland with a lot of paved stretches on the Pennine Way itself, otherwise grassy or tracks. Dirt road to start and a minor country road for the last 2km into Kirk Yetholm. 22.40km, with a high point just below the Cheviot peak (815m) of 737m. 806m climbing, 965m of descents. 

Byrness to Windy Gyle, and down to Trows

Frank elected to spend the day attending to his blisters, so after dropping him at the surgery in Bellingham Ken drove me to the hotel at Byrness where we had been picked up the previous evening. I elected to get out at the hotel itself rather than at the bottom of the next section of the Pennine Way, as, purist that I am, my intention is to walk every step of the way that I can, and not to take any short cuts. (The only exception was last year at Padstow, where I had taken the ferry to Rock, but I think that’s allowable, as it’s what the South West Coast path does too.)

Looking back down from Byrness Hill - the Rede Valley
and Catcleugh Reservoir

So it was a level walk for two or three hundred metres before the sign to the Pennine Way. This section starts with a stiff climb of 200m up to Byrness Hill, initially through trees, and finally up a rocky slope before gaining more level ground. Many (younger and/or fitter) walkers do the whole 26-mile stretch to Kirk Yetholm in one long day, but they can probably take 200m climbs without breaking sweat. Not me. I was passed within minutes of starting by David, one of the walkers who had been at our B&B in Bellingham, and he vanished over the skyline not to be seen again that day while I was only three quarters of the way up.

The first real view over the Cheviots

After reaching the top of Byrness Hill it was a further steady climb to the next high point, another 100m higher. Fortunately we had all been warned of a dangerously boggy bit alongside Houx Hill, where walkers had allegedly sunk in up to their waists in the past. It certainly looked very nasty from the safe pathway on the other side of a fence which we had been told to take. I doubt whether any of it would have been waist deep, but it’s better ot be safe than sorry on these upland stages. Many of the worst stages are paved, which serves both to preserve the environment and keep one safe, but there are still several traps for the unwary where there are no paving slabs.

The Border fence: Scotland left, England right

After Houx Hill it was all pretty level until the Scottish border. It’s not marked in any way, though there is generally a fence along the boundary, and it usually corresponds to the ridge or some other feature, in this case the border is the first few hundred metres of the Coquet River from its very beginning, before turning back North to reach the ridge again. After climbing a few hundred metres from the river’s source there was a signpost offering a shorter, more level alternative for the next few miles. I didn’t take it, instead opting for he “genuine” Pennine Way down past the Roman camps and other earthworks at Chew Green. They are impressive on the map, and no doubt from the air, but from ground level there is little to see other than embankments stretching several hundred metres alongside the path.

From this point the path turns sharply back to the North, and for a couple of miles follows the old Roman Road of Dere Street. This stretches for miles across the Cheviot Hills and into the border country, and though I left it to follow the Pennine Way along the ridge when Dere Street drops into lower country, I was to experience much more of it three days later when walking in the border country.

The map shows a Roman signal station at the highest point of Dere Street. Does anyone know how they communicated? Surely semaphore and morse code weren’t invented until the Napoleonic and later periods? But the Romans must have had some method of telling what was going on when they saw something from one of the various signalling stations in the area. What otherwise would be the point of being there at all? (Subsequent Google research suggests that there was a system, but it seems pretty crude and laborious.)

Another view over the Cheviots

I reached the signalling station at the same time that a group of five walkers came up another path. They were on a day’s outing, and are apparently regularly in the Cheviots. At least they didn’t put me to too much shame: although I was behind them after a brief rest, they never got leagues ahead. It’s rather reassuring to know that one isn’t all that much slower than others! I caught up with them at the refuge hut some three miles later, just before Lamb Hill. Lamb Hill is one of the principal staging points on the way, with its distance given on a number of signs. It always seemed further away than expected: I think some of the miles on the Pennine Way are seriously stretched.

After a rest and a bite to eat at the refuge hut it was a steady climb finally to reach Lamb Hill at 511m, then a further three miles or so of reasonably level walking before the final climb to Windy Gyle. This was to be the end of my high level walking for the day, to be followed by a descent to Trows in the valley below, where I was to be met and driven back to the hotel in Byrness.

Reaching the track at Trows Plantation - but still a
mile from Trows itself and my lift back to Byrness

This is a long descent, the best part of two miles. Unfortunately I had failed to bring the map reference for the meeting point with me, and had to ask Katie of the Byrness Hotel, who was to meet me, to text it to me. It didn’t arrive immediately, and I had already made the wrong election (there is a Trows plantation as well as the farm) by the time I had received it. So I found myself the best part of a mile from the meeting point when I reached the dirt road at the bottom. So I was 10 minutes late in reaching Kate in her car – where she was having a quick nap, having set her alarm for ten minutes later.

Then it was a wonderful drive through splendid Cheviot country back to the hotel, where Frank was waiting, having been driven to Byrness by Kate’s assistant who had been in Bellingham anyway. There seems to be regular communication between the various B&Bs and others in the area, so they had known about his being left in Bellingham for blister treatment and his need for a lift to Byrness. At least it meant that it didn’t mean anyone had to make an unnecessary trip, and Frank had been able to catch up with his reading while I laboured my way along he Pennine Way.

That evening, having a drink before dinner, we were driven indoors by midges – the first we had encountered in the whole trip. They’re not only Highlands pests!

Sunny to start, but increasingly cloudy as the day progressed. Cooler – maximum 17C. 25.50km, 900m of ascents, and 836 of descents. Maximum height of 608m by Windy Gyle. Mainly moorland, with about a quarter paved to prevent erosion (and keep one out of the boggier bits.)

2 � > a @� �n :PlaceType>. The final two km were on riverside paths and tracks.

Bellingham to Byrness

Frank had a yearning for Kendal Mint Cake, of which there was none left in any of the three candidate shops in town. So we let the other walkers who had been staying at the hotel – Dave and Steve – get ahead of us while we waited at the last chance saloon, the local information office, which we were told might have said confection. And so it proved – which was just as well, because we had sacrificed half an hour in the hope that we (or rather Frank) would be in luck. So although we were heading in the right direction we didn’t start walking in earnest until nearly 9:45.  We weren’t the last to leave town, though: just before we left the road out of town we were passed by a young man, complaining of his blisters, but still doing the whole Pennine Way in one 17-day session. Blisters or no, he was soon ahead of us.

Spoil tip above Bellingham

The Pennine Way strikes off from the road by a great mound of earth. I was tempted to think that it was some ancient fort, but learned only later that it was of course a spoil heap from a local mine. Bellingham is a quiet country town. It’s sometimes difficult to remember that mining – for coal, and in this case iron ore – was a really widespread activity throughout Northern England. It then passes a farm, where we had to hasten past the windblown traces of spray being applied to the over-abundant nettles nearby. Then there was a climb across good quality grazing (this time with what definitely looked like old settlements rather than mining detritus) before reaching moorland.

Single-tufted Cotton Grass

This was largely heather, with areas of bracken where the heather hadn’t prevailed, and great drifts of cotton grass. Though the wildflower app on my iPhone doesn’t describe them, there are actually two kinds. One has multiple cotton heads which look something like paintbrushes, while the other has single cotton heads that appear completely round. I think the former were a bit past their prime, but the single-headed version, which was the more prevalent, was in its prime. We saw it everywhere over the next few days, sometimes in heather, and sometimes in open grassland. Where it was at its most dense from a distance it looked almost like snow. We later learned that this year it was at its most prolific since 2001, when the uplands had been devoid of stock because of foot-and-mouth disease.

The first stretch of moorland was followed by a short stretch of farmland, and then it was back to moorland, with a further steady climb to the higher parts of the transit. We came across a group of about 40 walkers who were on an expedition that had been up to a monument at the top of Padon Hill, off to the right of the Pennine Way. No footpaths are shown on the map, but there must be a reasonably well-established route here, because we saw another smaller group later when we were crossing the shoulder of Padon Hill ourselves. This was a rather unpleasant stretch of a couple of kilometres – a narrow, rocky path alongside a fence with heather and cotton grass but little else of interest.

Frank at Millstone Edge (361m)

We stopped then for a bite, where I discovered that Frank may cherish it but that I find Kendal Mint Cake rather disgusting. As far as I can see it’s just mint-flavoured sugar, and rather disgusting. Perhaps it’s a good source of energy, but I don’t think I’ll be adding it to my supplies.

Lunch was followed by a stiff uphill climb of 80m along the edge of woodland. I took the wood side of the stone wall; Frank opted for the grassy side away from the trees. His side was not officially the Pennine Way, but probably easier. It was certainly less muddy. We encountered another walker, coming down the slope, who was treading very gingerly to keep mud off his boots. I have no idea how he had managed to keep them clean up to that point, as the next bit, though level, proved the wettest of our whole week’s walking.

Initially this was across peaty, damp moorland at the edge of the wood; then it went into the woods themselves, and for half a mile was very wet and slippery. There was no obvious path, and it was difficult to believe that this was really the Pennine Way with all its traffic. Later on we were told that for 99% of the time it’s wetter, so in more normal conditions this would be a very difficult stretch.

The dirt road through the Kielder Forest

After half a mile we joined a well-maintained dirt road, which took us an undulating three miles through the Kielder Forest. We were surprised early on by a dog walker, who seemed to appear out of nowhere while we were taking a brief rest. It was he who told us about the unusual dryness, and the exceptional flowering (if that’s the right term) of the cotton grass. Later we encountered two logging trucks making their way into the forest, and forty minutes after that by one of them coming back out of the forest with full load of logs.

Eventually we were out of the woods, and made our way to the Byrness Hotel for our pick up – an attractive walk along the bank of the

The Byrness Hotel - our destination today, our
overnight stop tomorrow

River Rede. We were due to stay at Byrness the following night, but had to go back to Bellingham that evening instead. Our Bellingham host, Ken took us on an attractive drive across great country back to the B&B, and another good meal at the Cheviot.

Another sunny, warm day with temperatures up to 19C or so, with very little cloud. 25.37km, 608m of ascents and 525m descents. Roads out of Bellingham, then mostly open moorland, though with stony paths for much of the latter half before the forest. Very difficult and wet bit into the forest, then dirt roads all the way into the Rede Valley. The final two km were on riverside paths and tracks.

Steel Rigg (Twice Brewed) to Bellingham

Our stay at the Twice Brewed Inn was a bit of a curate’s egg. The fdinner was fine, and I was particularly swell-pleased with the lamb chops I chose. But the bedroom would have been small even for one: with two of us, there was virtually nowhere to put our bags and organise things properly. So when it came time to pay Frank expressed his disappointment, and the charming young woman who had served us our breakfast told him that she’d get the proprietor to call him to respond to his complaint. (In the event we got charged for the price for single occupancy rather than for two, so I guess we got a second breakfast for free.)

Then it was off at 9:00. The first bit was the moderate climb back up top Steel Rigg on the Wall. It’s less impressive in morning light, as the face is in shade, but still a lovely part of Hadrian’s Wall. This is still the section where the Pennine Way and the Hadrian’s Wall Path are one and the same. It was also the most crowded bit of the whole walk: there were several small groups of walkers, and then a party of 30 or 40 teenagers. It’s still a very much up-and-down experience, and it was rather galling to see them dancing carefree down some of the descents where we placed each foot with great care: there are plenty of loose stones, and one can easily imagine coming a real cropper – and putting a premature end to the whole adventure – with a simple careless step.

Frank at the dip in the wall with the single sycamore tree

There were five or six sharp descents followed by equal climbs on the opposite side. They’re probably not much more than 30 metres deep, and simple variations in the height of the escarpment rather than caused by water erosion, but still make for slow progress. One of them has a sycamore tree in the bottom, fully grown but still lower than the flanking slopes, and much photographed as one of the highlights of the wall. The photograph had featured in our bedroom back at the Inn.

After a little more than a couple of miles it was time for the Pennine Way to leave the wall and strike off across the open country to the North. Looking back from a few hundred yards really demonstrates how impressive the wall is: sitting on top of a series of crags it really does appear impregnable. But what I don’t fully understand is why it’s there at all. The Romans had certainly pushed further North – and even built the Antonine Wall in Scotland – decades before starting Hadrian’s Wall in 122 AD. So were they effectively expelled from Scotland? It is difficult to believe when their military prowess must have been vastly superior to the capabilities of the Picts and Scots. A subject for more research, I think. (Or elucidation from readers of this blog!)

Looking back at the escarpment topped by Hadrian's Wall

The country here is open, rough grazing, mainly for sheep, but also with a few cattle. However, much of the open land has gone, now cloaked in conifers. This is the Kielder Forest Park, much of which is also designated the Northumberland National Park. It covers tens of square miles of the area. Some of it has been harvested, and has now been replanted with a more sympathetic approach and wider open margins, but most is relatively mature with complete canopy closure, dank and dark beneath the trees. At least the margins and clear felled areas now sport a wide range of wildflowers, which help to relieve the monotony.

At one point there was a notice about bothies in the area, provided for shelter in inclement conditions. This was difficult to understand: there was no bothy, or any other kind of building nearby, and instructions on how they should be used seemed rather redundant. Neither are any shown on the map, which as an Explorer Map is supposed to show leisure facilities, so it was all a bit of a mystery.

An adder sunning itself on a forest track

Fortunately the Pennine Way is at the Eastern end of the afforested area. After a mile of trees it was back for a mile of moorland before re-entering the wooded part. Here,, however, much had been clear felled, with a lonely mechanical digger operating a couple of hundred metres away from the track. It was tempting to think that it was grubbing out tree stumps, but I suspect it was actually preparing the tortured ground for the next generation of trees – conifers, no doubt. Its bucket seemed to be full of earth rather than tree debris. Thereafter the path became a narrow track through the trees. Towards the end we met the first walker we encountered on this section of the walk – a Frenchman, with virtually no English. How he survived in such a non-Francophone part of the world was a mystery, and we were surprised that he’d ever heard of the Pennine Way. Perhaps it is because the Pennine Way here is also classified as the E2 Long Distance Path, with EU motifs on some of the way markers. Given that we had covered a good five miles since Hadrian’s Wall it also served to underline the different popularities of the two long-distance paths.

The Warks Burn valley - from the far side

After emerging from the third and final forest stretch it was open farmland for much of the way. There were two burns to cross on the way. Both looked innocent on the map; both involved steep descents into valleys and climbs out the other side. The disappointment here was that the farm advertising refreshments at several points as we approached it turned out to be deserted except for a noisy trio of dogs. But it did allow us to fill water bottles.

The last bit was from the unattractively named (and unattractively looking) Shitlington Hall, which was little more than a rather untidy farm, and then up over the crags and past a television relay mast to the North. Finally it was down across moorland and rough pasture before the final mile on the busy B 6320 into Bellingham (pronounced Bellingjam), which claims to be the capital of the North Tyne. We crossed said river, and walked along its banks for the final stretch into the centre of the town. It was hard to imagine that this is a good salmon river: the water was extremely low, and long areas looked almost stagnant.

A placid stretch of the North Tyne at Bellingham

In the final couple of miles we saw our first raptors for three days – a kestrel, and later a buzzard. Perhaps the scarcity of such predators helps explain the exuberance of the meadow pipits and larks seen everywhere in the open areas: meadow pipits parachuting to ground with a steady descending trill; skylarks singing their hearts out higher up. The other abundant bird, heard everywhere with trees, was the willow warbler. But we saw little else, apart from a family of wheatears on Hadrian’s Wall.

After checking in to our B&B, where we were due to stay two nights, it was a very acceptable pint and later an equally acceptable dinner, at the Cheviot Hotel.

A much brighter start to the day, which remained pretty sunny throughout, with temperatures up to 20C. After an initial climb back to Hadrian’s Wall it was almost entirely grassy going, except for some woodland stretches with dirt roads. The final mile into Bellingham was on a busy B road. 24.25km, with 649m of climbing and 710 of descents. Boots still dry, and trousers unmarked by mud – a real contrast to the May days.

Greenhead to Steel Rigg

The previous day Frank had picked me up at home in London, and we had driven up to Greenhead, arriving after a long but easy journey at about 8:00 p.m.

The morning was spent on logistics. This involved driving back to Hexham, picking up a hire car, and then driving together the 63 miles to Kirk Yetholm. This is a wonderful journey through great country, initially on a dead straight road that must have had Roman origins, but something of a switchback with several blind summits, and then on reasonably fast roads into Scotland. There were splendid views towards the Cheviots, and great views of the Abbey as we drove through Jedburgh. Then it was winding country roads to Kirk Yetholm itself, where we left Frank’s car outside the Border Hotel, our destination for Friday. (Some minor difficulties from a woman at the hotel, Frank reported, but all speedily resolved.)

Frank Brierley - enjoying a beer at Haltwhistle

We made good time back to Hexham, despite one threatening stretch of road works, and a spell stuck behind a logging truck, and despite having to refuel the cat and complete the paperwork we were just in time to get the 12:55 train to Haltwhistle. There it was half a pint and a packet of nuts before our taxi arrived, and a short trip back to exactly where I had finished back in May. On with our boots, and we were on the walk just before 2:00.

This section is where the Pennine Way and the Hadrian’s Way Walk are one and the same. The acorn signs refer to “National Trail” rather than either of the specific trails. They only part company where the Pennine Way

Me at the beginning of our walk - starting where
I finished in June

strikes off to the North, which would on be the following day’s walk. In consequence there are many more walkers than I had encountered on any previous day. Most are doing Hadrian’s Wall, which seems to attract an enormous number of walkers from all over the world.

The astonishing thing was that we managed to get off track within less than ten minutes. It was all because I didn’t read the map properly, and failed to use all the technology I have at my disposal. Instead of cutting back just before the ruins of Thirlwall Castle we walked right past it on a track – to the North rather than to the East. Nor were we the only ones: two other walkers made exactly the same error. It was only when a local woman, walking her dogs, told us we were off track that we realised our mistake. So after a wasted kilometre or more we started on the right course. This was the first of several ascents along the wall, but at least there were refreshments available at the café at the Walltown quarry as some compensation. So we indulged ourselves as coffee apiece, and a bit of fruit cake for me, before starting out on the major part of the walk.

Back on Hadrian's Wall

I had walked all this part of the Hadrian’s Wall back in 2011 when I walked from Hexham to Carlisle over four days. The strange thing is that it seems surprisingly different when one travels in the opposite direction. I recollect the switchback nature of this section, but the vistas are different when one is looking in the opposite direction. And while some bits were obviously familiar, I didn’t remember many others, such as the wood one travels through at one stage of the walk. Perhaps it was that at least some of the day’s walk was on parts of the wall I had tramped through in lousy visibility and constant drizzle back in 2011.

Frank is good walking company. He walks at the same sort of pace as me, and is (almost) equally exercised by the steep uphill sections as I am. And there is always plenty to chat about. He has also done a lot of walking in this part of the world before, so we both have a degree of familiarity with the country we’re walking through.

I think the section between Greenhead and Steel Rigg is one of the best on Hadrian’s Wall. a lot of the wall itself is still in good repair (though I suspect much of this section has been rebuilt rather than simply survived for 1,800 years), and it for much of the way it runs on the top of sheer crags. The downside is that it’s very much up and down stuff. The highest point is only 345m in altitude, but there are frequent parts where one drops 30 to 50 metres only to climb the same again on the other side of the drop. In many cases there are steps, but these aren’t always easy.

The high point on our first day's walking -
at 345m above Winshield Crags

This was the section where we encountered several walkers. These included a number of teenagers who leapt along like mountain goats, but there were several others who were covering the ground more rapidly than us.

The final ascent of some ten to twelve climbs was to the trig point just before Steel Rigg, at 345m. Then it’s downhill to the viewpoint over the crags at Steel Rigg, and down the road to the pub at Twice Brewed. (Staff training note: bar staff have not been told why the place has this extraordinary name.) But the food and beer are excellent!

Other snippets: loads of meadow pipits; no merlins. Occasional curlews and oystercatchers. We were surprised not to see any stonechats. Blackcap heard, but not seen, in the wooded area by Walltown quarry. Wildflowers now in profusion, which hadn’t been the case just a month earlier. Huge areas of buttercups – some fields looked as if they had been deliberately planted with them.

Our resting place for the night

A great day, and a good start to the week. The only real pity was that we never really had the quality of light that a little sun would have provided really to bring out the scenery to its best.

Dry and warm (to 17-18C) all day, but sun reluctant to appear until evening after arriving at the Twice Brewed Inn. 13.05km (including an early mistake), estimated 500m of ascents and 460m descents. Dry underfoot all day – wonderful to have clean, dry boots at the end of the walk. All except the last bit down into Twice Brewed on footpaths – mainly grass underfoot, but some stony sections. 

Alston to Greenhead

Mike and I were pleased to have crossed the high hills from Dufton the previous day. Looking back we could see that the tops were covered in a dusting of new snow. It was cold, too, with a strong North wind. It would have been very unpleasant to have been making the crossing a day later.

The view back towards Alston

It rapidly became apparent that the Pennine Way doesn’t take the easy options. In this case it would have been too take the footpath alongside the South Tyne railway, which runs for a few miles to the North from Alston. It’s a narrow gauge track, now apparently operating only on summer weekends. Our route was across farmland and then up in a loop over the moors – wet, uncomfortable with the wind in our faces, and with chilly rain showers to add to the mix. The views may have been a marginal compensation, but with a long day ahead of us we didn’t relish too many diversions from the more direct route.

The end of the line - on the South Tyne Way

So after reaching the point where the Pennine Way paralleled the old railway, we opted for the South Tyne Trail which followed the old rail track for the next few miles. The Pennine Way itself was now off to the other side of the old rail track, and in part was along a busy main road, so the old railway looked both safer and easier. The rails ran out soon after we had joined the track, and it was extraordinarily wet in places before becoming a road. At this point, in the village of Slaggyford, the Pennine Way crossed the rail track and took off uphill across farmland. Rather than face unnecessary climbs and more wet cross country walking against the wind we elected to continue along the old railway track to the Lambley viaduct across the South Tyne itself. There we stopped for our lunch before leaving the rail track to rejoin the Pennine Way proper.

Lambley Viaduct

This involved what proved to be an unnecessary diversion downhill and under the viaduct before climbing back up to the village of Langham: we saw after doing the hard bit that we could have simply walked on the level instead of taking the low path under the viaduct. Then it was through the village and out into open country before getting back to the Pennine Way proper a mile later.

The next stretch, over rough grazing, was luckily well way-marked, though we still had to refer to the GPS from time to time to be certain of the way. Both Mike and I had the ViewRanger system with the Pennine Way maps, so even when my battery and booster gave out we still had the necessary technology to find our way. This is an excellent aid. Even when there isn’t any decent mobile signal it seems to be able to use the GPS functionality to fix its location within a few metres.

After a couple of miles of fields it was back to moorland. Even though the land here is a lot lower, averaging less than 300m in altitude, it soon became apparent that the moors could be just as bleak as at higher elevations. And despite the good signage across the farmland, there were no more waymarks where they would have been really helpful across the moors. Luckily there were enough walls to make the navigation relatively easy after we had gone initially astray, so we weren’t too incapacitated by the lack of Pennine Way acorn signs across the moors. We concluded that the powers that be are quite happy to put up signs where access is easy, but more reluctant to do so where it is harder to get motorised transport. It was also apparent that on less well-tramped parts of the Pennine Way, like the Alston-Greenhead section, there is less damage from overuse, and therefore less incentive to put in the paving slabs that characterise many of the wetter upland sections. This bit – across Hartleyburn and Blenkinsopp Commons – was incredibly wet and poorly-drained, so could certainly have benefited from some improvement.

Eventually we were over the top, and could see the heavy traffic on the A69 Carlisle to Newcastle road to the North. It was then an easy couple of miles to our destination in Longbyre just North of Greenhead itself.

The end of the road - TH and Mike Tobias
reach Five Wynds in Longbyre

We reached our B&B at Four Wynds just after 7:00. We were both pretty tired. The previous day had been pretty arduous, and this final day of my ninth session had been much tougher than either of us had expected. So after a cup of tea and a shower we took my car (left at the B&B the previous weekend) to the Greenhead Hotel for dinner.

Mike said that he’d enjoyed the two days, though he also said that the Alston to Greenhead bit had sometimes felt more like masochism than pleasure. I certainly appreciated his company. As well as making it  much more social experience I think that a walking companion helps one perform better, and makes the walking easier.

The following morning I drove Mike back to Dufton to pick up his car (a 50+ mile road trip that had been under 40 on the Pennine Way) and then drove back to London. My total distance travelled has now reached nearly 1,300km, with nearly 28,000m of climbing. It begins to feel like I’m really accomplishing something! The next session will take me into Scotland.

Dull, cold and windy all day. Occasional rain. 8-13C. 27.5km, 500mof ascents and 500m descents. Very wet across farmland and moor to start, and initially on the old railway, but then better going on a track. The second half of the day was almost entirely across farmland and very wet open moorland, with only the final couple of miles on easier going.

 

Dufton to Alston

This was the tough one: nearly 20 miles, and the highest point in the Pennines to boot. So it was irritating that the helpful Tracey Foster wouldn’t do breakfast before 8:00. We would have liked an earlier start, but with a long day ahead we judged that a cooked breakfast was the preferred option. The weather had always been a concern, as it had at best been “changeable” over the previous few days, with the highest hills often covered in cloud. But we were lucky, in that it promised to be reasonably fine, and the hills were clear.

While Coney Garth was beyond Dufton, where the required section of the Pennine Way started, there was a short-cut which allowed us to reach it without any unnecessary downhill walking. Both Mike and I intensely dislike starting a day with a downhill stretch when it’s mostly going to be ascents, or a climb at the end of the day such as the one we’d both “enjoyed” at the end of the day walking to Hebden Bridge. So we were grateful that we didn’t have a downhill start now.

After crossing a few fields and a farmyard we were on the Pennine Way – and climbing. Initially it was a rough farm track between hedges, but soon it was open country. The farm track petered out after a while, and then it was just open grassland. The way was fairly obvious, and steadily uphill. I really appreciated having company again. Mike is an excellent walking companion, and progresses at more or less the same rate as me. (if he could actually have gone faster, he was too polite to show me up!) I think it really helps on the  climbs, when each encourages the other, and if one plods steadily uphill without overdoing it one doesn’t need as many rests. There were a few stretches where it was quite steep, but mostly it was just a steady climb. Before starting out I’d hoped that we could climb the 700+ metres to the top in thee and a half hours. We were behind schedule for he first hour, as there was quote a lot of level going and a couple of points where we actually lost height, but we were pretty well spot on for the rest of the climb.

Mike Tobias and  the NATS Radar installation
at Great Dun Fell

This finishes at an area called, rather unimaginably, The Heights, at a metre or two under 800m. Then it’s a ridge walk, from The Heights to Great Dun Fell (848m), Little Dun Fell (842m), and the highest one, Cross Fell (889m). Each time you drop down into a col, perhaps 100 metres or more beneath the previous peak, and climb again to the next. There’s a road through the first col and on up to the top of Great Dun Fell, which has a radar station operated by the National Air traffic Control system. We were passed twice as we climbed by a cyclist, first on his way up, and then on his rewarding descent from the radar station. The road appears as little more than a track on the map, but in fact it’s fully paved. Those in the know can drive up to the point where the top section is gated off half a mile before the radar station.

Still snow = six weeks after it fell

Each of the peaks is about a mile from the previous one, so it was a surprisingly lengthy trip to get to the final one, Cross Fell. The cols between are largely paved, so the going was pretty good. We stopped at the top of Cross Fell for lunch. This is the highest point in the whole Pennine range. It’s not actually very grand, in that the top is largely a level area, but the views are terrific: to the East and South it’s all high country; to the West it’s across the valley to the Lake District hills; and far to the Northwest one can see the silvery waters of the Solway Firth. There’s a shelter at the top, built in the shape of a cross, so that there’s always one or other of the quadrants in the lee of the wind, but as we discovered it’s not as windproof as one might like: the stone walls give only so much shelter, and the wind while somewhat moderated still gets through.

Trap for vermin on the grouse moors

After lunch it was the beginning of the descent. This starts out across open grassland, but after half a mile or so meets a rough stony track, which gradually improves in quality. This goes on, and on, and on. After dropping perhaps a hundred metres from the top of Cross Fell, the next few miles are all pretty well between 600m and 700m. This is grouse country, with plenty of heather, expensive new fencing, and traps mounted on logs that span little gullies at regular intervals. We couldn’t figure out how they worked. There were entrances at either end to a semi-circular cage, and a sprung plate in the middle with a hole through the log beneath. They were, said a notice we subsequently discovered, to trap predators of “ground-nesting birds”. I suspect that was a euphemism for grouse. There are, of course, plenty of other types of ground-nesting bird in these high moorlands, but I don’t think protecting them in this way is economically justifiable. Besides, the notices said that the area was “under surveillance” – presumably by the local gamekeepers.

There are also various old mine workings and spoil heaps beside this track, so perhaps it had originally had other purposes. Eventually, after what must have been the best part of five miles since the beginning, it turns sharp right and goes down to the little village of Garrigill. When first you see it the village looks like a lot of little models below, which gradually get larger and become real houses as you get nearer. It takes a surprising length of time to accomplish the descent.

Garrigill in theevening sun

The village itself is very attractive – and has a pub. We felt we deserved some reward for the Cross Fell adventure. I had a pint; Mike a lime and lemonade.

The only snag is that, while it’s the end of the high stuff, Garrigill is still four miles short of Alston. (Some walkers stop in Garrigill and walk further the following day, but that means a 21½ mile challenge lies ahead.) So we were soon on our way.

This is now the valley of the South Tyne, which at this stage is a modest, clear, fast-running stream with several good holding pools. I imagine it’s good for trout, but I don’t suppose salmon make it up this far, even though the Tyne system as a whole is improving. The final four miles were a real pleasure. There was only one modest climb to cut a corner, and otherwise it was level going across sheep pasture fields. Stiles, of course, in profusion, but that was only a minor inconvenience.

We arrived at our hotel in Alston just before 8:00. It had been an eleven hour day. There was a choice, so we both elected for rooms with baths. The whole hotel looked as if it had been recently updated, and was excellent. So it was dinner, a couple of pints, and an early night. Not surprisingly we both slept rather well!

Sunny intervals, and a reasonable cloud base which meant that the mountains were in the clear. 12-17C. 31.50km, 1,112m ascent, 964m descent. Much of the distance on stony tracks. 50/50 open grassland and paved sections on the tops. Farmland at the beginning and for the last four miles into Alston.