After a good breakfast I started my climb out of Middleton-in-Teesdale. Although it was sleeting I was soon overheating. I had to remove a layer of clothing to avoid sweating, which I wanted to avoid as wet material is a poor insulater and I knew if I stopped I would cool down quickly as the temperatures were approaching zero. For most of the day it was on and off with my hat and middle layer as I climbed then descended hills, and as the wind changed in strength.
Although the moors were largely empty, there were flocks of Swaledale sheep. Their black and white faces, with cute little horns, turned to look at me as I passed. No doubt I was one of the more interesting things to happen in their day.
Much of my hike today was over wet moorland. Heather and grasses were shades of reddish brown at this time of year, between them bright green sphagnum moss warned that if you step on it, your foot would sink into a squelchy mass. There were also areas of rushes that marked wet ground, but if you stepped on them you could avoid the muddy ground around them. Mud was an issue. As I walked down a slope, my right foot slipped on the muddy path, causing my left leg to bend under me. My dodgy, arthritic left knee did not appreciate this maneuver and grumbled for the rest of the day. Of course I should have been using my trekking poles to stabilize me on these muddy tracks. That was my first mistake. Some time later I discovered my second mistake, I no longer had my GPS. I rely on it for navigation and although I could use an App on my smartphone that would not have been ideal. I retraced my steps back to when I last remembered using it. On returning I spotted it in the place where I slipped. It must have left the pocket in my shoulder strap as I lost my balance and fell to the ground. In hindsight I should have checked that I had not dropped anything when I slipped. I felt a need to give thanks to God for finding my GPS, a small device in a large landscape.
There were a few things of interest. For example a tuck box by one farm, but it only contained cold drinks which needed a hot day to enjoy. Later I stopped at Hannah's barn. Hannah lived nearby between 1961 and 1988 without electricity or running water tending her farm. She became something of a TV celebrity a person who seemed to belong to an earlier age. The barn now has displays about the surrounding nature reserve, which is a hay meadow. It was also a place to rest while eating a snack. I was however premature as a little later there was a barn with tea and coffee making facilities and various snacks. I stopped again for a coffee and flapjack to go with the apple I had brought with me. The final "sights" of the day were a couple of historic lime kilns and "God's Bridge". Here the River Greta had eroded a natural bridge through a patch of limestone. It was difficult to tell the rock type as the wet surface was encrusted with lichen. Lichen also coated the wet, wooden footpath fingerposts, so it was difficult to determine what was written on them.
Despite the wintery conditions I was not the only hiker on the Pennine Way, I passed a pair heading north, but that was it. As I climbed away from God's Bridge, I passed a few of the typical, grey stone buildings on a quiet, single track road which degenerated into a gravel track. A man in camouflage gear on a quad bike with a shotgun across the front waved as he passed me. A tractor was cutting the heather and rushes. After that I was on my own, crossing the empty, treeless moors, left to my thoughts. These were not profound, consisting of memories of old sitcoms while the cloying chorus of a pop song circled around my head.
A light snow was now falling. The path was a line of soupy peat, hidden beneath sphagnum moss. I tried to avoid this morass of mud by walking on the heather clumps beside the path. These were not kind to my painful knee as the heather hummocks pushed it from one side to the other and into unexpected holes. While avoiding the main path I found myself drifting off into the moor, fortunately periodic posts painted with a white top marked the Pennine Way, making it easier to find the correct route again. When I walked this way before I recalled seeing Tan Hill Inn in the distance but taking a long time to reach it. This time I kept looking for the Inn yet failed to see it. Fortunately it had not disappeared as I conjectured, the visibility was just too poor to see it until I was within a 100 metres.
I have now settled in, showered, left my wet socks to dry on the radiator and have eaten too much for dinner.
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