Pennine waterWay – Byrness to Bellingham

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.