E2: Stoodley Pike to Diggle

After a day on the moors, this evening I am in a deep valley in an old industrial village.

Learning from yesterday I minimised my exposure to the cold wind by brushing my teeth while still in my sleeping bag inside the tent. After having packed my various dry bags of belongings inside my rucksack I eventually emerged from my tent to face the chilly morning. A cold easterly wind was blowing inconstantly but the wind turbines in the distance were stationary, just as they were last night when the wind was a steady breeze. (Maybe awaiting connection to the electricity grid due to delays in obtaining Planning Permission)? As I set off across the empty moors, the pink underlighting of the clouds soon passed leaving a grey, overcast sky. The line of gritstone slabs placed to provide a stable surface for the Pennine Way were frequently covered with grey ice, while the muddy sections were frozen hard, preserving bike tracks (despite a "No Cycling" sign). Reservoirs beside the path had signs which warned of cold water shock leading to death, and the water, rippled by the wind, steel grey with a little foam, certainly looked cold today.

Warland Reservoir.

Blackstone Edge was well named. Like Standedge later in the day there were multiple blocks of near black gritstone, that required walking on or around to make an irregular progress. The ground dropped away to the right and would have provided extensive views in clearer weather. What could be seen were the edges of urban areas. Patches of white ice attached themselves to the rocks.

Blackstone Edge.

The M62 motorway, the main route across the Pennines, slicing through the high moorland, could be heard well before it was visible. On reaching the A62, quiet now the motorway has taken its traffic, I left the Pennine Way joining the Oldham Way, barely 1 1/2 days walk from where the Pennine Way finished in Edale. At least one person walking the E2 went via Edale to complete the entire length of the Pennine Way, the first National Trail in Britain, now 50 years old. 

Oldham Way waymark.

The Oldham Way is a circular walk around the old industrial town of Oldham, once a major textile producer. I would follow it for only a short part of its extent. If I thought that leaving the Pennine Way would result in fewer hills I was mistaken. The first part of the Oldham Way was distinctly up and down. After passing near Diggle I turned off to reach my hotel for the night. I was disturbed to discover my route led me steeply downhill for a good distance. A hill I will have to climb back up tomorrow. The buildings I was passing were distinctive, built of blocks of blackened gritstone. I liked those buildings where the glass window panes were separated by stone uprights. Retail estates had names referring to the mills that once stood there. As a bonus I went by, and into, a café beside a river with lovely carrot cake (the nuts not crushed too small so that they added texture).

E2: Ickornshaw to Stoodley Pike

A bitterly cold start to the day, but welcome coffees at May's shop.

Overnight temperatures had dropped precipitously. I woked a little after midnight and answered a call of nature, admiring the lights of distant villages. On returning to my sleeping bag I decided to blow up the airbed I was carrying to lift me off the ground, as it was feeling distinctly cold. This ensured I stayed warm until morning, snuggled in the thick, warm folds of my soft sleeping bag. I soon cooled down as I left the tent, putting my feet in boots stiffened by the cold. Last night there were only a few scraps of ice, but this morning rivers of grey, translucent ice crossed the path. Packing and dismantling the tent was painful. My hands felt as if they were moving in ice cold water. I was wearing thin liner gloves as I could not manage the more delicate operations such as tying my laces or removing pegs in my proper gloves. All my hand movements were clumsy as they struggled to move properly in the cold.

What was a puddle last night was solid ice this morning.

Finally packed, things improved, walking warmed up my feet. My hands, now fully gloved, heated up more slowly, it took a while to stop them feeling ice cold, but my exercising them, clenching and unclenching, helped a little. The clouds, bubbling across the horizon with pink undersides distracted me. On the path through heathers and reeds, the puddles had frozen hard. The mud had solidified with the subzero temperatures, preserving in detail the tread patterns of hikers' boots and the pawprints of their dogs. As I walked I sprung grouse, who flapped into the air muttering complaints. Top Withens was one of today's sights. A ruin in a location said to have inspired Emily Brontë's book, "Wuthering Heights". It was certainly a bleak place today.

Top Withens.

I was now entering a part of the Pennine Way which has multiple reservoirs suppling the great metropolises of North England with clean water. Although I passed a couple today, my main interest was "May's Shop", an Aladdin's cave of many treasures well known to Pennine Way afficionados. I prepared myself for it being closed on a winter Monday but was overjoyed to find it open. I lunched on a pork pie, a buttered scone and two mugs of coffee sitting outside at a picnic table, slightly sheltered from the wind. The coffee was welcome as the water in my bottle had started freezing on the inside surfaces. So cold was the water that I could only managed a few sips before the chilling pain at the back of my throat forced me to stop, so the warm coffee was a means of ensuring I stayed hydrated. 

Sign for May's Shop.

After May's the next landmark was the deep Calder Valley, a highway used by road, rail and canal. The walk down the steep valley side was enjoyable, a change from bleak moors. The twisting descent on cobbled paths and steps went by houses so close you could look on their rooms.

Part of the walk down into the Calder Valley.

Unfortunately, it meant a steep climb through birch trees up the opposite side of the valley to reach Stoodley Pike on the moors above. Stoodley Pike is a prominent stone monument originally built to commemorate the defeat of Napoleon. The easterly breeze was bitingly cold, small blobs of ice were forming on the windblown grass, so on reaching a hollowed out area with a modicum of shelter where I had camped before I decided to pitch my tent despite it being only 4 pm.

The second abandoned Land Rover of my trip, Stoodley Pike in the distance.

E2: Airton to Ickornshaw

In contrast to previous days, today my journey was principally through farmland, green fields and sheep.

Felling excessively full after a cooked breakfast I ambled down to the valley bottom and the Pennine Way. I was not going to have a "Full English" today as I was still full from my dessert of the previous night, but the owner was in his chef's whites ready to prepare it and it seemed a pity to disappoint. As I carried the weight of my heavily laden stomach down the valley, burping periodically, I wondered on the breed of sheep I was now seeing. No longer Swaledales, they had broad white faces, Texels maybe or Cheviots? First stop was Gargrave where I stocked up with provisions at the Coop as I am camping tonight and tomorrow. Then I enjoyed a pot of tea at the Dalesman café, listening to the clipped Yorkshire accents of those other customers with louder voices. I continued over fields and modest hills, the weather cool but not excessively cold, the sun found occasional gaps in the clouds to pick out a distant slope or a nearby field. Black trees, naked of leaves, were silhouetted against dull green grass. There was a short section of walking on a canal towpath for variety. The canal went under a curious bridge, strange as it was built on top of an earlier, smaller bridge.

A winter scene as the Pennine Way crossed farmland.

Leeds and Liverpool Canal.

In my research I found no accommodation in Ickornshaw. Possibly I could have tried harder, looking at nearby towns and exploring options using a bus, however I decided to camp on the moors as a way of stopping myself over-eating with pub meals of chips and puddings, and cooked breakfasts. Maybe there was also a bit of "machismo", in proving to myself I could camp in wintery conditions. So I walked through the Pennine town of Ickornshaw with its stone built houses dating from the Industrial Revolution, continuing up through farmland to the high moors of heather and moss. On reaching rough ground the Pennine Way completed a tour of little huts that were spaced at regular intervals. Each had a chimney and waterbutt, all were padlocked, doors and boarded off windows, maybe they were used for grouse shooting with a stove to keep the customers warm. I did not wish to camp by these places, if someone visited them they would probably take offence to my tent on their grouse moor. Continuing on I was pleased to find a good spot, level with short grass, by the ruins of a small stone building, far more comfortable than camping on the surrounding tussocks of heather or in wet areas of grass and sphagnum moss. I set up my tent as the light was fading, pinning down the upwind side first with a tent peg before inserting poles to avoid the fresh breeze blowing the canvas away. Then I quickly escaped inside to avoid the rapidly cooling temperatures caused by wind-chill and the onset of night.

E2: Horton-in-Ribblesdale to Airton

An icy day on Pen-y-ghent followed by a climb into more snow before dropping down to Malham Cove.

Over breakfast with my sister and brother-in-law the owner of the bed & breakfast regaled us with various topics including his low view of the Pen-y-ghent cafe being closed and the lack of preparedness for some of those undertaking the Yorkshire Three Peaks Challenge among other things. The Three Peaks Challenge involved climbing Pen-y-ghent, Ingleborough and Whernside within 12 hours. At one time it appears you signed in at the Pen-y-ghent cafe when you started and when you finished, that way if you did not return due to a problem, someone would know. There is now no café in Horton-in-Ribblesdale despite the popularity of the village with walkers and runners, at least none open in February. 

After hugging my sister and reassuring her I would manage the steep climb down from Pen-y-ghent, despite the ice and snow that covered the peak, I started off for the mountain, ignoring the owner of the bed & breakfast who suggested that I bypassed it. As he correctly predicted, I was not be able to see anything through the cloud enveloping the summit. I was not alone on the mountain. Whether because it was Saturday or maybe they were in organised groups, many people were climbing the mountain, almost all heading in the opposite direction to me as they tackled the Three Peaks Challenge. The climb up I did not find difficult,  I could easily avoid icy sections of path by walking on the snow beside it. Going down from the summit, the Pennine Way drops steeply through an outcrop of rocks, requiring a little light scrambling, easy when the rocks are dry but they were treacherously wet and icy. When I reached the top of the outcrop a large and seemingly endless line of people were coming up what I assumed was the principal route. Seeing footprints in the snow suggesting others had chosen a different way down I followed that, carefully and cautiously climbing down a series of broken ledges of rock. However the final drop worried me, when testing a foothold my boot gained no grip. My rucksack impeded my movements. Seeing a competent looking hiker coming up I asked him to "brace" me. I took off my rucksack and placed it on a ledge, then he kindly stood prepared to support me if I slipped. In fact I didn't but I was glad I asked for help rather than risk a fall.

Ice, elongated by the wind, on a drystone wall on the summit of Pen-y-ghent.

People gathered on the summit.

After the Pennine Way departed from the Three Peaks route the trail became quieter, although I passed a group of girls twice as they ran first one way, then turned around and ran back, heading like me for Malham. I thought it was an all girl group but was proved wrong, the men were trailing far behind.

After descending from Pen-y-ghent and walking a short section of road below the snowline, I began the next climb, a climb I did not remember from earlier trips. The trail I was following might have been created to serve mining operations, for once I reached the plateau a sign warned against leaving the path due to open, unmarked, mine shafts. The high ground was again in snow and ice which cleared as I approached Malham Tarn. This was a big lake with National Trust buildings among trees on its north side. The trees seemed out of place, a patch of woodland among open moorland of faded grass and reeds, or fields of close cropped grass. Many people were visiting the Tarn, emanating from a nearby car park. A few were standing by the lake side looking at the water as it dissolved into the mist.

Malham Tarn.

From Malham Tarn the Pennine Way followed a dry valley down to Malham Cove. A dry valley like this was typical of limestone country. The water which once ran down the valley now travels through underground fissure and caves. At the end of the valley was a limestone pavement above a tall, curved cliff called Malham Cove, water wells up from the base of the cliff at the end of its underground journey. The "pavement" consisted of blocks of limestone called "clints" separated by fissures called "grykes". These fissures were created by rainwater slowly dissolving the limestone over many millennia. I followed the Pennine Way over the pavement, climbing onto the clints. Although this was something I had done several times before, today was different. The limestone, smoothed by both rainwater and the passage of many visiting feet, was wet and slippery. Access to the pavement involved walking through mud. My muddled boots had trouble gaining purchase on the wet rock. Recognising I was in difficulty I tried to effect a sideways exit. As the clints at the side were more eroded into curved channels this proved tricky. Before I had gone too far I slipped and fell. A passing hiker asked if I had broken anything, one of my trekking poles was the only casualty, now unnaturally bent. My pride had also taken a tumble. I should have been more gracious to the person who was enquiring if I was OK but I was cross at my own incompetence. 

Limestone pavement at the top of Malham Cove.

Maybe my mind was on the possibility of coffee and cake in Malham village. In this I was disappointed. I arrived at the café at 4:00 pm, just as it was closing. I did acquire a takeaway coffee from a machine at the village store bit it felt second best. Accommodation in Malham was either excessively expensive, full or closed for the winter, consequently I had booked a Bed & Breakfast in the village of Airton, an additional hour's walking down the Pennine Way in a valley beside a river. My hosts generously provided tea and a scone on my arrival, then drove me to the Victoria pub so I could buy dinner for myself. I am now back enjoying the warmth of my room as tomorrow I am planning to camp, having discovered no place to stay in Ickornshaw.

E2: Hawes to Horton in Ribblesdale

A fine day of walking made better by meeting my sister and her husband on the trail.

Drystone walls are a feature of the Pennines, bringing order to nature by dividing up the land. A variety of lichen covered their surfaces, usually in dull colours, so I particularly liked the more exuberant, orange types that brought colour to overcast days.

After leaving Hawes and its satellite suburbs of stone built houses it was steady climb up to higher ground, eventually rejoining the snow. From then on it was a brisk walk along good trails, an old pack horse route then a Roman Road. Puddles were frozen over and any mud was hardened by the cold so my boots stayed dry. The cold south-easterly wind froze any exposed skin, but with my gloves, buff, woolly hat and jacket hood, I made myself cosily comfortable. For a long stretch a "U" shaped glacial valley was visible to my right, then after crossing the highest point the distinctive mountain of Pen-y-ghent was visible, snow covering its rocky ridge.

Pen-y-ghent, a popular mountain, today topped with snow, visible in the distance.

Coming down into the Ribble valley, the multiple arches of the lengthy Ribblehead railway viaduct was visible, an elegant piece of engineering from an earlier age. Other sights included a pothole, where a stream disappears into a deep hole in the limestone. A caver was lowering helmeted youngsters and a few not-so-young down into the darkness. One of the men standing by in a blue hard hat offered me a harness to go down, however I excused myself as I had arranged to meet my sister and my brother-in-law.

A stream disappearing into a hole in the limestone.

The meeting was achieved a little later, they waved at me from the top of a hill on the trail. Soon we were descending in Horton-in-Ribblesdale. The village no longer has an open cafe it appears, at least not in February, so we drove out to the Ribblehead railway station for a coffee and cake at the Station Inn which had plenty of people in outdoor gear. Our evening meal was in the Golden Lion Pub, its walls lined with football regalia.

E2: Tan Hill Inn to Hawes

The best part of the day was high in the snow covered fells, with magical scenery and wind pulled ice. 

Unfortunately I felt distinctly stodgy for a lot of the day following a heavy meal last night and a lighter breakfast. My still full stomach needed a lot of effort to carry it. In the background an annoying headache played around my temples, which I felt unfair as I had not drunk excessively in the bar last night while exchanging pleasantries and views on different long distance paths with a couple on a neighbouring table.

Nevertheless my ailments did not prevent me admiring the scenery this morning. The Tan Hill Inn, England’s highest pub where I stayed last night, stands surrounded by high ground which today was covered with snow. Somebody was out before me, their clear boot prints stamped into the white snow. Rabbit trails headed this way and that. Standing water on the path had frozen over, and I was cautious to avoid slipping on its grey, translucent ice. Reeds and grasses poked their needle like leaves through the white blanket. Despite the overcast skies visibility was good. All the higher ground was white above a sharp line, a height below which extended valleys of dull green fields, marked out into large rectangles with grey, drystone walls. Each field seemed to have a drystone barn in the corner.

Pennine Way by the Tan Hill Inn.

Looking down at the valleys, note the snow on the distant fells.

I happily walked over this empty, serene landscape, eventually loosing height, and leaving the snow behind for a time to enter Swaledale. At the bottom of the valley I passed a waterfall, East Gill Force. All the waterfalls are called a "force" in this area of Yorkshire, and valleys are called "dales". After steeply climbing out of the valley bottom I diverted into the village of Keld. I thought I had stopped at a café here on a previous occasion but was mistaken, I spotted the café, closed until the end of the month, in the next village of Thwaite. However my walk into Keld did reveal a "Self Service, Winter Tearoom". Inside there was a warm fire, the equipment to make tea or coffee, and a wide selection of cakes. Despite not being hungry I could not resist a slice of Yorkshire Fruit Cake with a glass of blackcurrant squash. The latter was particularly wise as the water I was carrying had become so cold that I was unable to manage more than a sip at the time. Lacking any change for the honesty box, I made my donation through a card reader they helpfully provided. Very modern!

Self service winter tearoom at Keld.

Some of the stiles today were exceeding difficult to get through. Approaching Thwaite, there was a stile of a type where, to make absolutely sure no animal escaped, a small gate, held closed by a spring, was combined with a narrow slit halfway up the drystone wall. The narrow slit proved difficult for me to squeeze through and I do not consider myself as having a wide girth. After Thwaite the Pennine Way climbed gradually up Great Shunner Fell and back into the snow. As the path rose higher, the ice on the grasses and rocks became ever more fantastical in shape. Clear ice formed on needles of grass protruding from the snow. As more ice was deposited, the wind caused it to stretch out to form little translucent "daggers" pointing downwind. If the wind changed direction around obstacles, so the direction the extended shards of ice changed.

Horizontal icicles, shaped by the wind.

In this empty, cold, white landscape I saw a distant figure walking towards me in multicoloured clothes. One of two hikers I passed with heavy packs, evidently planning to camp. I also overtook a man out for a day trip. Finding someone progressing more slowly than me was so unexpected I exchanged a few words about the weather with him to make sure he was OK. In the last hours of the day the lowering sun made a few appearances, through gaps in the cloud, creating graceful shadows, transforming a dull, dark landscape spread across the valley ahead of me into one of warmth and beauty. Below me I could see the town of Hawes, my resting place for the night, where I arrived as the last of the daylight was extinguished.

E2: Middleton-in-Teesdale to Tan Hill Inn

A walk over the wet moors with showers of rain, sleet and snow.

After a good breakfast I started my climb out of Middleton-in-Teesdale on the Pennine Way which the western variant of the E2 follows south (the eastern variant leaves the village on the Teesdale Way). Although it was sleeting I was soon overheating as I gained height. I had to remove a layer of clothing to avoid sweating, necessary as wet material is a poor insulator 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 chilling 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 I stepped on it, my foot would sink into a squelchy mass. There were also areas of rushes that marked wet ground, but if you stepped directly on them you could avoid sinking into the mud around them. Mud was an issue. As I walked down a slope, my right foot slipped on the wet soil path, causing my left leg to bend under me. My dodgy, arthritic left knee did not appreciate this manoeuvre, gave a sharp protest and grumbled for the rest of the day. Of course I should have been using my trekking poles to stabilize me on these slippery tracks, instead they were strapped uselessly to my rucksack. 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 instead 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 on the shoulder strap of my rucksack 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.

The wet, boggy moor, so typical of the Pennine Way

Swaledale sheep

There were a few things of interest. For example there was a tuck box beside one farm with an honesty box for payment, 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.

God's bridge.

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 an ancient 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 my leg laterally 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 bunkroom radiator and have eaten too much for dinner.

Tan Hill Inn, surprisingly popular in a winter's night.

Some comments on the Pennine Way

I have commented on the Pennine Way before. My only additional insight is that it is a lot more enjoyable to walk in June rather than October. Better weather, greater camaraderie, especially if walking from south to north as most people do, more flowers, and more places open (in particular Forestview in Byrness).

Dufton to Middleton-in-Teesdale: E2 Day 59

One of the most scenic stages of the Pennine Way today, a long day with rain in the morning and sun later.

My day began with a climb up to High Cup Nick. A dramatic glacial valley...if you can see it. Of the three times I have walked this way, it has only been visible once. That was not today. As I climbed up out of Dufton, I climbed into the cloud. A herd of black horses, merging with the grey mist, grazed in the wet atmosphere. Sheep were numerous on the rough grazing, glaring at me as I walked by, before stalking off. At the top I could see the towers of rock at the edge of High Cup Nick, but not the valley bottom through the mist. The first time I walked this way I was relying on my compass to guide me through the cloud, finding the right direction, if not on the right path. This time I had my GPS with a map and route loaded, so I could follow the Pennine Way with more confidence, and in greater safety. 

Looking back towards Dufton as I climbed into the cloud.

Looking down High Cup Nick.

As I continued towards the Cow Green reservoir the rain picked up. The wind blasted the drops against my side, in a manner that was becoming more frequent over the last few weeks. The harsh, empty, treeless landscape seemed to match the weather.

On reaching the Cow Green dam, I had to climb down the rocks beside the waterfall of Cauldron Snout. With the recent rains the Snout was in full, foamy flow, tinged brown, dropping in closely spaced cascades over layers of rock. I moved cautiously over the wet rocks, set among heather on the steep slope, using my hands as well as my feet. The subsequent section, where the path is trapped between the youthful River Tees and cliffs, had some difficult parts where you have to cross boulder fields. In my youth I would have moved easily, stepping quickly and easily from one boulder to the next. But now I moved with great caution, aware that a slip could result in some injury, maybe a broken leg. Even last year when I walked this way, I was moving sufficiently gracefully that a group of bird watchers asked me to pass. They were looking for a "ring ouzel", like a blackbird with a white collar. As I ate my lunch on a rock, glad the rain had stopped, I looked for such a bird, but without success. I had seen many grouse today, included a black one. They seem to just stand around waiting to be shot. As I approach they fly off moodily muttering, moving slowly with their frantically flapping wings. An easy target I thought. 

Cauldron Snout, the foam peaty brown.

After a length of more open landscape the valley again closed in, and the moors began changing to more cultivated farmland. An unusual area of juniper bushes caught my attention, a little before a group of quarry buildings which were busy crushing and sorting rock. High Force was a substantial waterfall on the Tees, the foaming water falling over the hard rocks of Whin Sill, which I first crossed at Hadrian's Wall, and which was also responsible for the waterfall at Cauldron Snout. Some miles later Low Force had a smaller drop. Only yesterday, I was close to Tees Head, the source of the Tees, but by today it was a fast flowing river.

Drystone wall snaking up into the moors.

The distance from Low Force to Middleton in Teesdale was rather longer than I recalled from my previous trips, with sections I had no memory of. However the weather had improved, and although the fields were not yellow with buttercups as they had been when I last walked this way, at least the sun was shining and as a passing walker commented, it was a "cracking evening". The evening sun was bringing brightness to the changing colours of the autumnal trees, rich oranges and yellows mingled with the remaining greens.

Evening light on autumnal colours. 

Alston to Dufton: E2 Day 58

A sunny day with excellent views from Crossfell the highest point on the Pennine Way.

Leaving Alston the Pennine Way took me up the valley of the River South Tyne to the village of Garrigill.  My path, in the shadow of the sun on the east side of the valley, was white with frost. The crisp blades of grass outlined with ice crystals. On the other side of the valley the morning sun highlighted bright green frost free fields bounded by dry stone walls, and dotted with sheep. The river ran brown and fast, sparkling in the sunlight among the yellow and green leaves of the October trees.

Morning frost.

River South Tyne.

Arriving at Garrigill, thinking as I have on earlier trips that it would benefit from a tea shop, I looked in at the Post Office for a banana and bar of chocolate. Then I started the long climb up to the first of four summits I would cross today. The gravel road wound up among the heather covered moors. Grouse stood and muttered to themselves, then flew off as I came close, squawking with much flapping of their wings. As it was grouse shooting season I thought they ought to keep their heads down, out of sight. Other sounds included the trickling of water from unseen streams, and as I climbed higher, the noise of wind in my ears. Around me empty moors, stretched far away, cut by valleys, with few signs of any human settlement.

Empty moors north of Crossgill.

Renovations at Greg's Hut.

I climbed past the spoil heaps of an old mining operation. Low ruins of  buildings, their drystone walls blending into the surrounding rocks, were tended by sheep. Surmounting a rise, my next milestone came into sight - Greg's hut. There was much activity at the hut. A person who thought the hut saved his life (was he caught out in bad weather I wondered) made a generous bequest which was being used, together with donations from an appeal by the Mountain Bothies Association, to completely renovate the bothy in a traditional style. Builders were finishing the roof as I arrived. Stone flags were being used as slates on the new roof. The local builder in charge said the roof timbers had been replaced, sarking boards had been installed, new windows would be arriving shortly and cast iron guttering was in place with new drainage ditches. Work could not start until the nesting season was over and they were now battling the weather. The remote location did not help. The builder was proud he had used an ancient Egyptian technique of laying the stone "slates" on sand to stop them being cracked on the trip up the rough track to Greg's hut.

Leaving the workmen I continued to the summit of Cross fell, at 893 metres the highest point on the Pennine Way and my walk so far on the E2. As I ate my lunch, the walls of a drystone shelter on the summit provided a limited barrier to the cold wind that was blowing. In front of me I looked over to the mountains of the Lake District, the visibility was far better than on my previous visits to these mountains. 

After Cross Fell I had three more summits, Little Dun Fell, Great Dun Fell and Knock Fell. Owing to the Air Traffic Control radar dome on top of Great Dun Fell, the Pennine Way did not quite reach the top of this mountain. 

After the excitement of reaching these summits in good weather, from Knock Fell down to the village of Dufton, the path seemed long, wet, tiring and poorly signed. My knee was painful and refusing to bend properly at the stiles. There were also mud and cow manure covered farmyards to be negotiated. It was a long day at 32 kilometres and over a thousand metres of ascent, although it was the descents that my knees do not like. 

Stone slabs designed to make walking easier are under water. Either they have sunk or there is too much water.

I booked into the YHA at Dufton, showered and then visited the busy pub opposite for a a pint and a thick slice of chicken and chorizo pie. A reward for a long day. Finding my way back to the hostel, just the other side of the green, was made difficult by the lack of street lighting. After peering at a few buildings in the gloom I am now back inside.

Greenhead to Alston: E2 Day 57

A wet day over moors and fields of sheep, rather than on the old railway that I followed on a previous trip.

Breakfast was yoghurt sprinkled with granola followed by avocado and poached eggs on toast, it was that kind of hotel! Then I had to leave its cosy warmth. As I retraced my steps back to Pennine Way, the rain began. It continued with a few, brief intermissions until I arrived at Alston seven hours later.

I had a choice today. I could either stay on the official Pennine Way all the way to the village of Alston, or I could switch to the South Tyne Trail at Lambley. The South Tyne Trail follows an old railway line, nearer Alston there is a section of narrow gauge heritage line on which steam locomotives run at weekends. On previous trips, based on a recommendation in my Pennine Way guidebook, I have walked along the South Tyne Trail, enjoying its tree lined sections and the viaduct at Lambley. However, having claimed to have walked the Pennine Way, today I thought I ought to complete the official route. 

In general I thought the guidebook was right. The Pennine Way runs through heather filled, grouse filled moors and sheep and cow pasture. There is plenty of this on other parts of the Pennine Way, whereas walking along the old railway on the South Tyne Trail gives a different, more unique experience. Maybe the weather, wind and rain in my face, mud and lack of clear paths made my view of this section unduly negative. However even the National Trails website suggests this will be your least favourite day on the Pennine Way and they seem to have incorrectly assumed part of it was on the old railway line!

Looking down the South Tyne valley from the Pennine Way. 

Pennine Way going below bridge of old railway. 

There were some redeeming features. Part of the trail followed the route of an old Roman road, so ran straight over the hills. As I walked I wondered how the legionnaires knew where to build the roads given there were no accurate maps. A section of path ran alongside the River South Tyne, an attractive water course of tea brown water running over rocks and stones. In better weather I would have found it attractive and worth loitering. Finally, there was a Roman fort, Epiacum, or at least the earthworks associated with it beside the trail.

Owing to the rain I walked without stopping all day, so on arriving at Alston I was hoping a café would still be open. Sadly not. So I enjoyed a Magnum ice cream in a shelter in Alston's Market Cross, then a coffee from the petrol station. 

On checking into the Youth Hostel, the kindly receptionist whisked away my wet boots and, more bravely, my wet, possibly smelly socks to be dried. Having showered I am now at a nearby restaurant, full from a relatively healthy meal.

Hadrian's Wall to Greenhead: E2 Day 56

A shorter day's walk along Hadrian's Wall.

It was a bit far to walk from "The Sill" YHA to Alston in one day. I did it last year (in the opposite direction), but a year older, I do not feel anywhere near as fit and my limbs creak more (have I got "Long  Covid" I have wondered)? Consequently today I "just" walked 16 kilometres from The Sill to Greenhead. This included a circumnavigation of the village as the Pennine Way goes all the way around it rather than through it. On previous occasions I ignored this circuitous route and headed straight for the tea shop in Greenhead (a common ploy I expect), but today I had the time to follow all the turns of the Pennine Way, leaving it to reach the village on an overgrown footpath from its western side.

After being (slightly) restrained with myself at the "All You Can Eat" breakfast, I climbed back up to the ridge on which Hadrian's army built his defensive wall. Looking down as I followed it west, I could in places see the "vallum", or ditch that runs parallel to the wall to the south. Beyond that cars drove along the "Military Road", a "modern" road built along the wall in the 18th century due to the difficulty of moving troops from Newcastle to Carlisle.

Cows read about a turret on Hadrian's Wall. More intelligent than you might think!

A section of Hadrian's Wall with the remains of a Milecastle.

Two quarries straddled my route, which once exploited the hard dolerite rock of the Whin Sill on which Hadrian's Wall is built. These quarries destroyed sections of the Wall at a time before historical heritage was appreciated. Today the quarries, once filled with explosions and the noise of machines, were sites for picnics, car parking, toilets (locked) and the quiet enjoyment of nature around bodies of water filling large holes from which the rock had been removed.

Walltown Quarry, now a Country Park where Hadrian's Wall once stood. 

Having visited Thirlwell Castle on my last trip I continued onto a golf course where the grounds man on his machine made sure I knew I was on the Pennine Way and told me where it left the course. Having crossed the busy A69 road I left the Pennine Way to walked back into Greenhead on a footpath that the famous walker Alfred Wainwright might have used on his "Pennine Journey", described in his 1938 book. The footpath seems to have been little used since, it was difficult to see any track across the rough, reed filled pasture. One of the fingerposts had fallen down, and the steps going down to re-cross the A69 supported good sized weeds.

My first objective in the village was of course the tea shop for lunch, followed by checking into my hotel. My evening meal at the Greenhead hotel was the most expensive, and unusual of my trip. Starters was flakes of fish with little bits of strawberry and yellow beetroot with a sort of salty soup. For the main, an unusual sort of beetroot called crapaudine, turnip shaped but beetroot coloured, with various fungi, kale and venison, served suitably rare. One of my more memorable meals, and the portion size left room for me to enjoy bread and butter pudding for dessert. 

Bellingham to Hadrian's Wall: E2 Day 55

A sunny day in which, after an overlong walk in Wark forest, I reached the famous Hadrian's Wall.

Breakfast at the Cheviot hotel was, my stomach felt, very generous. So much so that it dissuaded me from my plan to buy some lunch at the Coop or bakery opposite. So suitably replete I began my trek south.

Initially there were fields. Often I was confused about where the Pennine Way exited these fields as the path was lost among sheep trails in rough grazing. Still full of breakfast I did not visit the "Pitstop" with its offer of coffee and chocolate in a little shed on a farm. There were a few other stops of interest. I stood for a while watching a farmer, riding a quad bike, driving a flock of sheep across my path at what seemed like a high speed, his collie dog racing around the back of the animals to keep them in line. A cliff edged river of fast flowing brown water after a fern lined valley was a welcome break in my trip across the Northumberland farmland.

Typical post marking Pennine Way in middle of field.

Reaching the Wark forest, another commercial plantation, there was an "Alternative Route" to avoid storm damage on the official route of the Pennine Way. I knew of this detour from the National Trails website, but seeing the sign saying "Alternative" made me think the proper route was still passable. However as they had made the effort of signing an alternative route I followed that. The National Trails website implied that the diversion did not add much distance. This was incorrect. The roundabout route along forestry tracks added around five kilometres by my estimate. Although mainly on good gravel roads, a section of the track lacked adequate drainage and I struggled to avoid the large pools of water by climbing over the surrounding heather.

Finally free of the forest I crossed a series of ridges among long grass, honey coloured in the afternoon light, to reach Whin Sill, a ridge formed by an intrusion of molten rock into the surrounding strata, millions of years ago. It solidified into a hard, dolerite stone that forms a cliff facing north. An ideal location for Hadrian's Wall, designed to keep the barbarians to the north out of the Roman empire. To the east of where I joined the wall there was a garishly painted, roofless house. I assumed it was the work of errant graffiti artists on an abandoned building, but my research has indicated that it was meant to be an artwork celebrating 1900 years since the wall was built.

Line of Hadrian's Wall, the Roman Empire would have been on the right of it. Light was a bit dull, not so good for photos at this dramatic location.

I followed the Wall for a few kilometres. This part of the Wall has a particularly dramatic setting looking over the surrounding countryside from the high ridge created by the Whin Sill. There were plenty of people about, walkers and visitors. An important historical site where once Roman soldiers patrolled the boundary of their empire, it is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and an inspiration for "The Game of Thrones" and other stories. Some of the Wall is thick and I assume the original, 1900 year old construction, although it was once much higher. Elsewhere it is only one stone thick and I thought this a more recent wall which nevertheless followed the line of its Roman predecessor. 

After explaining to another walker where the Pennine Way went, as opposed to the Hadrian's Wall Path, another National Trail, I left the Wall to walk down to the "The Sill". This is a rather modern "Discovery Centre" and Youth Hostel. I was too late for the café but picked up a coffee in the shop and looked around an exhibition on the subject of "Landscape", based around the idea of "Natural Capital", the sum of all the natural resources available to us. Not sure if I learnt anything. I had been expecting something on the origins of the Whin Sill, or maybe the Roman occupation. It did fill in the time until I could check into the Youth Hostel for the night, somewhat misnamed as it accepts over 60s like me. Quite different from when I first stayed in a Youth hostel when you had to do chores, like sweep the floor and there was a 10:00 pm curfew. Nowadays you can buy a glass of wine and food. I also paid to have a private room. While not adverse to dormitory accommodation, like most older men I now have to get up in the night to visit the toilet once or twice. Having one's own room means you do not have to disturb others.

Byrness to Bellingham: E2 Day 54

A tiring trudge against the wind through forestry and open moorland.

Candy floss pink clouds in a blue sky greeted me as I emerged from my tent this morning. Their beauty was offset by a cold, damp wind, reminding me of the coming winter. Somehow the wet, windy cold of Britain is more chilling than weather of a lower temperatures in other countries. My cold, damp socks and boots were not helping. Although my boots are waterproof, to a degree, after days of splashing through water, some eventually penetrates and the waterlogged trails and cool weather does not allow them to dry.

The first part of my walk was through the edge of the Kielder Forest, a gigantic (for Britain) commercial tree plantation. While the forest roads gave fast walking and shelter from the wind, the endless sitka spruce trees were monotonous, lacking the varied interest of more natural woodland.

Commercial forestry of Kielder Forest, a smaller birch tree, its leaves turning, has sneaked in among the conifers. The gravel road is the route of the Pennine Way.

Leaving the trees there was a long length of moor of heather, grass and reeds. There were few sites of interest on this long march. When I last walked it in June 2021, I had the company of another Pennine Way walker and their explanation of their PhD research into Woodcocks made the walk more enjoyable. Today it was a trudge against a headwind which had restarted my runny nose. I passed a Pennine Way walker coming in the opposite way, he was going to give up that evening. Later I thought I should have encouraged him, reminding him there was only another 1 1/2 days walking after Byrness before he could claim his half pint and certificate. The condition of the path was not helping my mood. Unlike when I last walked it in summertime, there were many wet and muddy patches. Avoiding them meant dealing with very uneven ground of heather hammocks, I was also helping to extend the width of the path. In places awkwardly arranged rocks on the path did my knee no good.

Moorland section, the Pennine Way runs through it somewhere.

On reaching Bellingham I was immediately attracted to a sign for a tea shop at a Heritage Centre. The café was in an old railway carriage. My mood immediately improved as I enjoyed my lunch. Through the window, beside the "platform", was a bird feeder. A pigeon was pecking at the seed on one side and a collared dove on the other, watched by a jackdaw. Something made them fly off, a flock of tits materialised, taking their opportunity to attack the seed. I almost expected the carriage to lurch forward leaving the scene behind, but there was no train and no railway line, so I left and continued into the village. 

The zip on the flysheet of my tent is starting to fail, opening up where it should be zipped. Running the zip up and down was only a temporary solution. Concerned that it could deteriorate before my trip was over making camping difficult to impossible I did not have too much trouble persuading myself to stay at the reasonably priced Cheviot hotel at Bellingham, where I had enjoyed excellent meals on previous occasions, rather than at its campsite.

Windy Gyle to Byrness: E2 Day 53

Lovely scenery over the rounded hills of the Cheviots, but I was feeling tired.

Clear sky greeted me this morning as I left my tent. The sun had not yet risen but it was being announced by a pinkish glow on the horizon below darker blue skies, a few stars still sparkling. A few strands of cloud on the skyline were catching the light. Although a fresh breeze was still blowing, it was much reduced from last night when the flapping flysheet made me concerned as to whether the tent would stay intact. Fortunately the pegs were firmly in, holding the tent in place, so I had difficulty pulling them out this morning. 

Sunrise over the Cheviots.

As I walked along the ridge line that the Pennine Way followed, I marvelled at the way the morning sun was turning the grass, heather and rushes a shade of red. An early milestone was reaching Windy Gyle, a summit on which there is a pile of stones with a trig point half way up one side. It had been painted a brilliant white, similar to one I saw yesterday evening. 

Morning sun turning the moorland red each side of the path.

Next milestone was reaching the refuge of Yearning Saddle, a small, single room cabin with benches located around the edge on which to sit or sleep. I sat inside to enjoy a snack and read the comments in the log book, adding my own. After the refuge I met several people walking in the opposite direction to me, both Pennine Way walkers and those out for the day.

Rounded hills with heather or grass typical of the Cheviots.

Having heard the sound of what transpired to be clashing horns, I walked over to a fence to see three feral goats having a fight, oblivious to my presence. Either there was a close combat of interlocking horns or else they moved back, rose onto their hind legs and then crashed down on each other with a sickening clash of horns. It was only after I moved away that I saw there was a fourth, diminutive goat with small horns. Were they fighting over her?

I continued over Chew Green, the site of a Roman fort, although there is little to see. By now I was feeling tired and looking forward to reaching Byrness. For much of day I had to be careful to avoid deep or slippery mud, working my way around pools of water on tussocky grass, reeds or heather with hidden holes. This irregularity of the ground meant that I put a lot of effort into where I placed my feet. I needed to avoid damage to my delicate left knee. Such worries made me timid in the placement of my feet, lacking fluid, bold movements, like an old man fearing to fall. All this effort added to my general feeling of tiredness. Even where there were slabs of rock laid over boggy areas, some of the slabs had sunk into the mud or water, making detours into rough ground necessary. There also seemed a lot more hills than I remembered from my last walk along this section. After over three weeks, most people in books claim to gain a level of greater fitness, sometimes I do, sometimes I do not, as on this trip.

Finally reaching Byrness I stopped at St Francis' church to sit down on a pew and check how to reach the campsite where I planned to stay. Dating from 1793 I gave thanks for my progress so far in the simple, small building. 

I would have preferred to stay at "Forest View", a guesthouse catering for Pennine Way walkers, a good place to chat with other hikers about our trips over dinner, and noted as one of the highlights of the Pennine Way in the comment book at Kirk Yetholm. Unfortunately it was closed for the season so I am now at the campsite. Apparently it had been a prisoner of war camp in the Second World War. A metal detectorist was looking for remains. He had found many nails, but also an officer's "star" from his uniform.

Unfortunately the zip of my flysheet is starting to give trouble, separating in places it should not. I am worried it will soon cease to function. 

Morebattle to Windy Gyle: E2 Day 52

Today I left St Cuthbert's Way and climbed into the Cheviot mountains on the more famous Pennine Way.

I woke up stiff and tottered to the toilet. Most mornings I am stiff. Some of it is due to the hiking but I experience a similar lack of flexibility getting out of bed at home as well. An effect of age and arthritis I suppose. A few exercises and my mobility gradually improves. At first I can only reach a few inches below my knees with my legs straight, but after gently trying it ten times I can reach the line between lightly tanned and white skin which marks where my socks end. I have always been rather inflexible, maybe as a child I could reach my toes but not since then. I dread to think of a time when I cannot do up my laces or get up off the floor if I fall, so I keep up with my morning exercises whenever possible. 

I went for a lighter continental breakfast this morning. The eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, toast, etc. typical of British hotel and bed & breakfast establishments (quite different from what people eat at home) can be rather heavy on the stomach when walking. 

Leaving Morebattle I climbed into the hills reaching the highest point on St Cuthbert's Way, Wideopen hill. The name is a good description as there should have been extensive views all around, however the weather was not so favourable, wishing to show off cloud formations rather than distant hills. However the Cheviot hills I am about to climb could be seen, topped by cloud. Before that I dropped down into Town Yetholm and posted the Southern Upland Way guidebook back home to (slightly) lighten my load. I am carrying two days food up into the mountains which adds to my weight, as the next few days are through remote areas.

View from St Cuthbert's Way, clouds obscuring distant hills.

A little farther in Kirk Yetholm I looked for a plaque unveiled in 1999, 23 years ago when the E2 was first inaugurated in Britain. Failing to find it I asked a passer-by and the lady at the Border Hotel, without success. Even the E2 waymark on the finger post for the start of the Pennine Way was missing, a waymark I had seen before. By the look of the post it had been recently replaced and presumably that was when the E2 insignia disappeared. 

The Border Hotel is where you can collect your free half pint of beer for finishing the Pennine Way, thanks now to a local brewery. You can also collect a Pennine Way completion certificate or even order a wooden plaque to mark your achievement. Over lunch I looked at the logbook where Pennine Way completers can leave their comments (or at least those walking the route in a northerly direction). Finishing the 435 kilometre Pennine Way, Britain's oldest National Trail, gave many people a lot of justifiable satisfaction at their achievement. I was pleased to see comments by an asthma sufferer and a 70 year old. Age and health need not prevent you finishing a long distance trail, it does not matter if it takes you a little longer.

Leaving Kirk Yetholm on a single track road I was hit by a sudden squall of rain. On putting down my rucksack to don my waterproofs I was shocked when it tumbled down into a ditch hidden by vegetation. Landing upside down my water bottle and Garmin GPS fell out of its pockets. The rucksack and bottle were easily retrieved but my GPS, loaded with my route and digital map were somewhere in the water lying in the bottom of the ditch. While I had navigational back up in the shape of my phone, the GPS was more suitable for lengthy use, especially in poor weather. Feeling around with my hands among the grass, thistles and water I was glad to find it, no worse for its wetting.

Looking back down the Pennine Way on the climb up the Cheviots. Given the blue skies it may be difficult to believe it was photographed on the same day as the others here. It shows how much the weather can change in the same day.

Climbing into the Cheviots I looked back frequently at the ever extending views, right over to the North Sea. Sometimes when plodding up a hill I forget to look around and appreciate the scenery and the height gain I have achieved. A herd of cows blocked my way. Some might have been the Belted Galloway cattle that I had been looking for on my walk on the Southern Upland Way, a breed unique to the area. They are black with a wide white "belt" around their middle. However some of these cattle were all black. Their thick coats were well suited to the harsh weather that can be encountered in these mountains. 

Reaching the first refuge on the Cheviot section of the Pennine Way at about 4:00 pm, I considered stopping the night in this small cabin. However there were still a few hours of daylight and I had not completed the 25 kilometres that I had planned for, delayed by lunch at the Border Inn, so I continued on, mainly in an upward direction. As the wind increased in strength, with intermittent rain, I began to wonder if I had made a wise decision. 

The path was wet, and muddy in parts, with standing water to avoid. Elsewhere, slabs of rock had been laid which made for faster walking. They also meant I could look at my surroundings rather than where I put each foot to avoid tripping or losing my footing in a wet or muddy hole. And the view was dramatic, light and shade, beams of sunlight, moving over hills near and far, under a generally grey overcast sky. Rain periodically attacked me, the wind driving the drops into my side.

A beam of sunlight over the hills.

A trig point painted a brilliant white stood out among the murky surroundings. 

I set up my tent with difficulty at a location I used on my first trip down the Pennine Way. A junction with a cross trail a little before the path climbed up to the summit of aptly named Windy Gyle. There was a rare area of flat grass, large enough for my tent, beside the crossing. Unfortunately as I unrolled my tent it began flapping madly in the wind, immediately anchoring it with a peg I managed to erect it, but am hoping nothing breaks overnight given the battering the thin nylon was taking.