A good night’s kip. The breakfast at the Greenhead pub lived up to expectation. Fantastic. I took my time, revisiting the breakfast bar and finishing the very big teapot. The forecast was bloody awful, but the sun was out and it was dry. It stayed dry, against the odds, until late on in the walk. This was the 17 mile walk.

A relatively straight trail; and the Way went forever on. 

The worrying feature of today was walking through herds of cows and hoping I wasn’t splitting a cow from its calf. They can get a bit lively if you do. There were bulls in there too and energetic young bullocks. Face forward, uncovered by my hood so they know I’m human. Vaguely. Eyes down to the ground, but keeping a sideways glance for any adverse movement which would herald the spoiling of my shorts. I would rather walk the plank. And I did!

This is cattle and sheep farming land. Sheep in the higher pastures and cattle lower down. I spotted a bull, alone in a huge field, which the Way passed through. On the other side of the wall were cows and calves. I jumped over the wall to avoid the bull and the farmer came over a hill on his quad bike and spotted me. He drove over and I said that I’d jumped over because his bull scared me. He said ‘It’s a cow, and the bull is over here with his cows.’ I felt a bit foolish. But this is what happened to the last bloke who wasn’t careful with cattle.

And just down the road this fat wasterd was eyeing me up. Waiting to pounce. 

Some of the barns were very old, built with rock that looked like it might have been pinched from Hadrian’s Wall.

The Way cut over the hills and started winding up the side of the South Tyne valley. The weather was still holding good and the sun was out intermittently. So much that at the end of the day my baldy head was sore a bit on top.

A delightful stream came down the hillside and it was a lovely view.

I reached Slaggyford and started out on the South Tyne trail along the rail track, meeting the PW at Alston four miles down the pitch. I’d heard that the views from the trail were great so I deserted the PW for a while.

It was true. The views were delightful.

My feet were soaked from the usual dunking in peat bogs early on in the walk and were blistering quite badly by now. The last three miles of this 17 mile door to door walk were excruciating and I hobbled into Alston station like a geriatric wasterd.

Tonight was a B&B called Highfield, run by Celia and Catherine. Celia is the elderly matriarch who was a member of the Northumberland Climbing Club and met her husband there. His ice axe is mounted on the wall. Serious climbers. Now she is a lovely old lady who greeted me with tea and warm scones. Delightful. I showered and hobbled down to the Victoria Inn, where the chefs are two Muslim Bangladeshi lads, had a couple of beers and a Special Jal Frezi. One of the best curries I’ve had in my life. These lads come up to Alston every day from Newcastle to cook in the Victoria and go back each night. Dressed in their normal Bangladeshi gear they look incongruous in Alston but everyone in the village loves them. England is…… alive and well and living in the South Tyne valley. I limped so badly back to the B&B that a motorist who was driving in the opposite direction stopped and gave me a lift. England is………

Night night.

Packed the tent in the rain. Had two Scotch eggs and a swig of water for breccy and hit the road. 22 miles today up and down hills and through bog from campsite to campsite. Climbing 3,000 feet and descending it too. Goodbye Bellingham – pronounced Bellinjam. Capital of the North Tyne. 

I avoided the waterside loop and cut down the road to the bridge on the Tyne, nobody else there. All mine, all mine, bridge on the Tyne’s all mine. And the sun came out briefly to celebrate my crossing.

The PW (don’t get brassed off at the initials – it saves me time, except on this occasion) climbed uphill and the view back to Bellinjam (sic) was ok. However the (sic) was inappropriate. Well spotted.

There’s some money round here. Look at this place.

Not cheap. Anyroad the road rose with me and dropped down over the other side. The view was dark but pretty good.

 
What was really interesting were the features. This kind of ancient stile over a dry stone wall.

And this tree clinging on to the edge of this river cliff for dear life.

He sun illuminating foliage at the side of Warks Burn.

And the delightful fly agaric, which has strong psychedelic effects. Russian noblemen used to have these boiled and drank the broth. The poor people on the estates would wait for noblemen to exit their halls and pee outside. The poor would scrabble, with bowls, to catch the urine and drink it. The effects were undiluted by passing through people. 

After hours of slog, with wet feet becoming blistersome, the lake below Hadrian’s Wall came into view.

The wall decorated the top of the escarpment it’s built on. An intriguing and enduring display.

There are gaps and I passed through one, looking southward.

Then I had a ten mile walk westwards alongside the wall. There were some great views and I’ll just share a few without commentary.

It was getting late and Maggie rang ahead to the guest house to let them know I’d be late. I was camping in their garden for £7. I legged it as fast as my sore shoulders, legs and soles of my feet would allow, turning up just before 7pm. Pitched the tent. Pub beer and burger. Booked myself in for breakfast tomorrow as well. Great end to an interesting day. In my sleeping bag for nine thirty. 

Night night.

Christ it’s rained. These are the routes for the last two days, Kirk Yetholm to Byrness, and today, Byrness to Bellingham. 

Great breakfast this morning and fantastic floorshow in the Forest View Walkers Inn. The owner and his wife want to sell, can’t sell and hate each other. She takes it out on the customers, shouting and gesticulating at us like Basil Fawlty. He shouts from the kitchen, so we all can hear it… ” I canna tak much more o this”. Classic. 

This was the first step off the road and onto the Pennine Way this morning.

The first five miles after this were ok, on a forestry road with the occasional lorry loaded with thick tree trunks rolling past. But boy how it rained! Very 1950s American. 

Boy how it rained! Sure did junior! Yeah pa!

As soon as the PW turned off the forestry road it was clear I was going to get down and dirty.

The mud lasted for another 5 miles and there was nobody walking the Way. In the end I met one other person all day. The wind was cold and was whipping through, the rain was coming in heavy bands and this Amazonian woman in all black shorts and t shirt strolled down the hill towards me. Relaxed as a Rastafarian on a hammock in baggy trousers smoking ganja. She looked like a rugby player and she was a really nice young un. Hard as nails. She was aiming for the refuge hut I stayed in two nights ago. Good luck to her. Judging by her accent she was a Kiwi. Greatest of respect. 

When the hills started rising up the mud cleared up a bit.

And the weather varied from rain to clearer (not shine) and back again. The featureless harshness of the borders was slowly giving way to Peak District/Yorkshire Dales type country below me. But up on top it was getting difficult to follow the Way. I needed my GPS to keep on track. This is the track that, apparently, 10,000 people come through every year. Yeah right.

There was a marked deterioration in the Way signs, and then Bellingham appeared below.

It’s a nice village, sheltered from mobile phone signals and busy with tourists. The capital of the North Tyne. The campsite isn’t flooded. I’ve put up ma tent, had a couple pints, bought some dinner and breakfast from the bakers and the co-op and I’m leaving this pub and going back to the site.  My tent is waiting for me. And it’s twenty to seven in the evening. Early night. Get some scran and kip. My face is burning with the wind and rain. Even the ground will feel soft once I hit my sleeping bag.

49 miles gone, 229 to go. That’s nearly 25%. Is that a fifth Bavs? Loving it. 

Night night.

What a grotty night’s sleep. Grotty. That’s a 70’s word, maybe slipping into the 80’s. Anyway the bench was hard, it was cold, empty refuges in the middle of nowhere are spooky and I kept waking up every 15 minutes on the narrow, hard, wooden slab. I also thought I heard people outside in the dark. As if. It rained a lot and the morning brought a cloudy but dry start. Weather forecaster? Cloudy but dry start.

Breakfast was my second can of cold beans and a swig of water. Then getting my wet boots on before pushing off. Grim. Nothing spectacular on this nine mile stretch. I set off at 08.30.

Rolling hills and deteriorating weather, without the very strong wind from yesterday. The army has training in this area and three lads with a trainer ran past me carrying heavy packs and machine guns. They must have been on officer training because they all said good morning. They also use this area as a firing range and they leave the empties lying about.

The mound in the near distance is an extensive Roman camp that must have been the worst posting for a Centurion. Cold and miserable. And that’s just the locals.

Over the last ridge the Way began to descend, with decent views; but by this time it was raining hard again. 

Dropping further down the path becomes a climb down a rock edge. Part way down I came face to face with a patch of ripe bilberries. Sheltered from cold winds and facing south they were ripe very early, and I stained my fingers collecting and eating them. Fantastic.

The path dropped further and became one long mud bath. There were sections where people had slipped and slid down in the mud. Wish I’d seen it. In two spots I slipped but on both occasions got my hand firmly down and pushed meself back upright before going a mucky pisser in the mud. 

Eventually in very heavy rain I got to the Inn where my tent pitch was booked. The camping area was flooded. Boo! But there was a bed available in a dormitory. Hooray! But three other people turned up. Boo! But they were in another room and I have a room to myself. Hooray!!!

Night night. 

Great night’s sleep at Blunty’s Mill in KY with a brilliant breakfast cooked by the owner Charles. Nice place too, all to meself.

Not as good a sleep as this badger though. Didn’t even wake up when I prodded him with me boot. Lazy budger.

The morning was overcast as I took my first steps on the PW. Today will be a good one for initials. 

The first few miles were country road and track, during which the main Way peeled off uphill to canter over mountain tops. In view of the low cloud and high wind I thought the lower alternative route made more sense. 

The route soon sprang uphill and the wind grew stronger and wetter. The rain felt like small pellets peppering my face and exposed arms. I had my Swiss army waterproof coat on and it has holes where the sleeves should be. But it covers me and my rucksack so it’s great. In fact it’s a great coat. Boom Boom!

The route crossed into England and back to Scotland, and in this photo I’m in both. 

The first peak was The Schil, regarded by many as the most beautiful hill in the Cheviot range that separates the two countries.

It was a struggle and the weight of my rucksack was slowing me down. The highest hill is The Cheviot itself which is around 2,300 feet but it was hiding in cloud, which was blasting through the valleys and over the tops. Under foot it was becoming increasingly boggy and although some sections were marked out by stone slabs some of these were under considerable water too. My feet had taken some boggy dunkings and my boots and socks were filled with muddy waters. Hello Muddy! 

And still the clouds came as the route switched round to the west to follow the ridge of hills at their highest point. I met four people all day. Most people do the Pennine Way, sorry, PW, south to north so I’ll meet most of them along the way as I wend southwards. One of them said he had walked through bogs for 16 days and they were the worst 16 days of his life. Moaning sod. He ought to live in Barnsley.

Windy Gyle is a significant peak, there were signs of an improvement in the weather and sunny Scotland spread out before me.

However light my spirits the miles trudged by and I wasn’t getting too tired but it was getting late. My progress was slow. There was a refuge hut at the 16 miles point and I aimed to spend the night there. Here it is…. my hotel! After 10 hours walking without a break. Well, not more than 10 minutes anyways. 

And inside it’s a palace. But the benches are hard as concrete and I won’t get much sleep tonight. A cold tin of beans, two tins of mackerel fillets and two mini Bounty bars. Fit for a King. 

And to make the walk an even happier hike, two rainbows came out to play. Funnily enough I haven’t seen any since sundown. 

A shorter one tomorrow. Nine miles to Byrness where I’ve booked a camping spot by an Inn. 

Night night my darling missus, family and dearest friends.

Great night’s sleep at Blunty’s Mill in KY with a brilliant breakfast cooked by the owner Charles. Nice place too, all to meself.

Not as good a sleep as this badger though. Didn’t even wake up when I prodded him with me boot. Lazy budger.

The morning was overcast as I took my first steps on the PW. Today will be a good one for initials. 

The first few miles were country road and track, during which the main Way peeled off uphill to canter over mountain tops. In view of the low cloud and high wind I thought the lower alternative route made more sense. 

The route soon sprang uphill and the wind grew stronger and wetter. The rain felt like small pellets peppering my face and exposed arms. I had my Swiss army waterproof coat on and it has holes where the sleeves should be. But it covers me and my rucksack so it’s great. In fact it’s a great coat. Boom Boom!

The route crossed into England and back to Scotland, and in this photo I’m in both. 

The first peak was The Schil, regarded by many as the most beautiful hill in the Cheviot range that separates the two countries.

It was a struggle and the weight of my rucksack was slowing me down. The highest hill is The Cheviot itself which is around 2,300 feet but it was hiding in cloud, which was blasting through the valleys and over the tops. Under foot it was becoming increasingly boggy and although some sections were marked out by stone slabs some of these were under considerable water too. My feet had taken some boggy dunkings and my boots and socks were filled with muddy waters. Hello Muddy! 

And still the clouds came as the route switched round to the west to follow the ridge of hills at their highest point. I met four people all day. Most people do the Pennine Way, sorry, PW, south to north so I’ll meet most of them along the way as I wend southwards. One of them said he had walked through bogs for 16 days and they were the worst 16 days of his life. Moaning sod. He ought to live in Barnsley.

Windy Gyle is a significant peak, there were signs of an improvement in the weather and sunny Scotland spread out before me.

However light my spirits the miles trudged by and I wasn’t getting too tired but it was getting late. My progress was slow. There was a refuge hut at the 16 miles point and I aimed to spend the night there. Here it is…. my hotel! After 10 hours walking without a break. Well, not more than 10 minutes anyways. 

And inside it’s a palace. But the benches are hard as concrete and I won’t get much sleep tonight. A cold tin of beans, two tins of mackerel fillets and two mini Bounty bars. Fit for a King. 

And to make the walk an even happier hike, two rainbows came out to play. Funnily enough I haven’t seen any since sundown. 

A shorter one tomorrow. Nine miles to Byrness where I’ve booked a camping spot by an Inn. 

Night night my darling missus, family and dearest friends.

Well, the Pennine Way starts tomorrow, but today the walking was pretty good too. I had an early start from Leeds by train to Berwick upon Tweed, with a 5am alarm. Berwick was drizzly and cool. I had a 30 minute wait and then the 67 bus took me to Kelso, crossing over the Tweed estuary

And the Scottish border. The sign looks a bit tiddly in this photo! Too much Scotch.

I’ve walked down from John O’Groats to Kelso in 4 stages, covering nearly 600 miles, so for this stage I need to start from where I left off in Kelso. And it was raining again like last time. But it’s still a smart town.

This leg is 278 miles long from Kelso down to Edale in Derbyshire, along the top of the Pennine hills. It will be great. Today’s target was a B&B in Kirk Yetholm, the official start of the Way, and a shortish walk from Kelso of 9 miles. I filled up at Aldi on food and water (and chocolate) and my rucksack had gone up from 14 kgs to 18. I’m a bit uncomfortable with that weight but there’s no way round it as there isn’t a cottage, never mind a village, for the following two days. 

The River Tweed was back down to normal levels and the salmon fishermen were out again.

The route cuts south east up the Cheviot hills, and I followed a mountain track that was barely used by vehicles. 

The views opened up as I got higher, looking northwestward to the hills above Melrose and the further hills not too far from Glasgow.

Higher up the hills I spotted some raspberries in the hedgerow and they were ripe. Fantastic. I ate dozens and the sugar rush kept me going. 

And you held her in the shadows,                                                                                                                          Where the raspberries grow wild.

I quite quickly made it to Kirk Yetholm and am lazing, waiting for tomorrow. A big breakfast and a long twenty mile uphill slog and camp in the wild. And the weather forecast is rain. I can’t complain. I’m lucky, me.

Night night.