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.

That lost a few fans in the Bible Belt dint it John? But you weren’t too distressed. It was hyped out of context. The power of the fourth estate, even in 1965? Maybe 64. Forever young. RIP. Our hero.

Good night’s sleep. I’ve got used to sleeping on the ground without a mattress so tonight might be difficult. But probably not. We’ve had a waterbed for thirty years and the most recent version is the best bed in the world. There’s a membrane down the middle so Maggie can set the temperature on her side differently to mine. Mine’s right. But don’t tell her.

Because I’ve been walking up the Clyde Valley and down the Tweed Valley the ground has been great for putting tent pegs in without a hammer. Softer ground for sleeping on too.

It was dry through last night but by the time I’d been down to the toilet block on the campsite and got back to the tent the rain had started so I packed away a wet tent again. And it went on to rain all day. I walked with wet but less pained feet and felt a lightness of being, despite the dreich.

I stopped for breakfast at the far end of Melrose at a nice cafe and didn’t want to leave as it was warm and they had limitless pots of tea.

Melrose is a nice place. Kelso was my target, today and finally for this trip, about 15 miles of road walking again. Starting off Melrose Abbey is interesting they say but hidden behind walls so no photo I’m afraid. But further out of Melrose is the location of the northernmost Roman fort in Britain. Trimontium (the place of the three hills). But there’s nowt there but sign boards and cultivated fields. It was actually huge in its day, but had to be because the Scots were a bit of a handful. 

Fantastically there was a decent sized colosseum for entertainment on the edge of the old town. Get in!

The road crossed the Tweed again with a railway bridge, old road bridge and new bridge within a few hundred yards of each other.

The old road bridge takes first prize.

Over the river, up a hill on to Smailholm and a slow descent to Kelso. On roads in the rain.

Felt good. Could’ve done 25 miles today but glad when Kelso appeared. An elegant little town.

My last stop in Scotland so I got a couple of proper Haggis for the freezer from a local top quality butcher. The bus sped on through the rain, from Kelso to Berwick Upon Tweed, crossing the border to England just after Coldstream. I’ve just polished off sausage and mash in a hotel opposite the station. £6 for more than a normal man could eat, but I’ve been walking. And I’ve enjoyed the walk and will be starting from where I left off in Kelso on the 25th July heading south for a couple of hundred miles down the Pennine Way.

Thanks for reading the blog and maybe join me again in July. Cheers friends.

Night night.

In fact much better. The rain stopped early this morning, I slept well, again, with no pee breaks. I did it in the sleepingbag- boom boom – laughing again. The tent dried in the early morning breeze and I got up reasonably early. Almost had a shower but it’s only been 5 days so I’m not over-ripe yet. I haven’t taken my clothes off for 3 days, in or out of the sleeping bag. 

A longer than anticipated walk today, 18 miles as I found a path off the road along the riverside for much of the way. Innerleithen to Melrose. 

The sun was out as the early clouds scudded across the sky and all was well with the world. Walking was made for days like this. No, that ain’t right. Days like this were made for walking. And that’s just what I’ll do. The river was still in flood from yesterday’s rain.

The path crossed the Tweed and joined up with the old railway line again. Brilliant. My foot was really good. I strapped it up with plasters and blister plasters across all the painful bits and round the little toe, which particularly suffered. My boots were soaking still from yesterday so I wore my Salomon walking trainers and the pain throughout the day was much less. As the blisters affect my small toe and the front of my sole I tend to walk with my right foot pointing out rather than forwards. This doesn’t help so I consciously walked faster and pointed both feet forwards whilst walking, almost bobbing along. It worked today.

My foot was much improved by the end of the day, with plasters largely removed.

The sunshine took over and the villages scooted by on the other side of the river. My side was for posher ones as the railway track intersected with the road once in a while.

The air was not too warm, breezy but ambient, perfect for walking. The sun was hot but covered periodically by clouds, perfect for walking. The smells of dog roses, gorse, wild honeysuckle, wild garlic and the rushing water were a really lovely cacophony, perfect for smelling.  I missed breakfast and only had a small mouthful of fresh water in my flask so I was getting quite hungry by noon, I’d set off at 8.30. 

Fishermen were stalking the banks and trying to find a clear and quieter spot, before giving up and drinking cups of tea in fishermens’ sheds by the riverside. I was offered a cuppa when I asked for directions as the track fizzled out into dense overgrowth.

Up to a quiet country road and I put my foot (left one) on the gas. 

The road dropped down to the river and I followed another track down the banks, crossing an old bridge with a beautiful view upstream.

By this time, 13.00, I was starving. Almost jogging with my rucksack on my back I covered 3 miles in less than an hour and found a hotel with a decent cafe/restaurant and with reasonable prices. I stuffed myself and rolled out at 15.15 with only another three miles to go. The countryside was classic Scottish Borders. Look at this shot below. Just gorgeous. Not spectacular, not exciting, not breathtaking. Just gorgeous.

And the hill behind Melrose began to get closer.

Eventually the town where the heart of Robert the Bruce was buried came around the corner.

I put up ma tent and had a shower. Five days and I smell good, like I know that I should now! Good, so good, I smell good! Clean clothes. Yes. Early night tonight my matey boys and girls. 

Night night.

Thanks for reading. It makes blogging worthwhile. I hope you like it. Home late tomorrow. Night kids.

It’s bigger than you. And you are not me.The lengths that I will go to.                              Thanks R.E.M.

I remember that a DJ on Radio 1, I think it was Mike Read, had a show with guests reviewing new singles when this was released in the 90s. They were so busy talking that they missed the significance of one of the greatest rock singles of all time. They said it was tedious. 

It rained a lot overnight, I woke up a few times but only peed once. I know you like to know these things. Keeping tabs on my bladder. That’s fine, I’m not sensitive about it. But I was in the sleeping bag when I did it. Hoots of laughter. The rain continued into the afternoon.

I derigged the tent and took it into the laundry to fold up. Soaking.

I wore my boots and walked just half a mile to a cafe recommended by the campsite. A great breakfast with double haggis and tea.

Peebles is ok, no doubt better in the sun but a bit waterlogged today.

There’s a track running along the old railway line again, by the side of the Tweed, so I dropped down off the road to join it. Covered entirely by my camouflaged Swiss Army raincoat, up over the back of my pack as well. As here in this earlier photo. Better to be off the roadside, particularly when the pavement runs out. Should have brought a hi viz. 

The track was direct and well signed. Coming out of Peebles there is a huge quartz boulder carried down by the glaciers a few thousand years ago. 

Amazing how they built a seat for it to sit on in those days.

The rain continued. With an atmospheric ruined castle on the top of this hill.

The train line was great and my line of sight was narrow between the earth and the clouds. Going on and dropping rain forever. Well, at least until now. It was a short, four hour walk and they’ve spent some money on the walk. Not least the six figures spent on this bridge. Eddie Bingham – any idea how much it’d cost?

Coming into Innerleithen and looking back the view was overcast and damp.

The St Ronan’s Hotel beckoned, with a fire to dry out my coat and rucksack. I considered the wet tent wrapped up in its bag, compared to the dry, warm and hospitable option of a bed and breakfast. There were a couple of B&Bs available. But bugger it. Get that tent up Bladey Blade, you’ve not turned into a Hampstead pansy overnight have you lad? Sleep in a damp sleeping bag with water dripping down from the outer tent and a chill wind up your jacksie or you are not a real man. So there! 

Chill wind up my jacksie please sir!

Night night.

It isn’t but it would be ok if it was. Today was a 17 mile walk from the camp site in Biggar down alongside a stream to the River Tweed and on to Peebles. Biggar is a mile from the River Clyde, which runs on to Glasgow and down the Firth of Clyde to the Irish Sea and the Atlantic. But the stream that runs through Biggar turns left, instead of right, and runs on to the Tweed, which wends its way to England, the east coast and the North Sea.

The two white houses to the left in the photo above are on a tiny ridge that marks the watershed between the east and west coasts. Weird innit?

The site was alright, it’s a caravan club site and a golf club rolled into one. Clean bog, lots of bog roll, good washing facilities but that’s less relevant for Little Old Swine Stinker Me. The pond was full of fish too but you’re not allowed to fish it. Bullsh it.

I slept so well last night in ma tent. Eleven hours with only one tiddle. Big un though. 90 seconds easy, and free flowing. Not like my usual old man’s spray, dribble, spray, dribble. May I use your bathroom?

Heavy showers forecast. Oh well, here I go. By the way, Lanark is where William Wallace came from, of Braveheart fame. They don’t make anything of it. Local story is that he was only a pawn in a bigger player’s game. The fall guy that they shopped to the English and got taken to London to rot and then to be hung, drawn and quartered. Dirty English barstewards.

This is the stream, with tiny flowers, which runs past the site and later becomes part of the Tweed. I half expected Ophelia to come floating down.

The first eight miles were along a disused railway line. Fast walking flat and straight from a to b.

This lasted for eight miles but then it got rougher and unclear.

Where it was clear the farmers, as in Spain, tried to discourage folk. I couldn’t resist touching this and got a hell of a shock for my cheek. Well, for my arm actually. Scottish batarde farmer. Scuse my French. 

The hills breathe lovely life into the landscape. Just fab.

The shot above is where my stream, coming in from the right, flows into the Tweed, coming down from the hills ahead. My right foot is hurting like hell with blisters and at this point I had to change the dressings and my socks, which were soaked. I’d been walking in trainers to ease the pain but they let in water.

On top of one of the dry stone walls was an inscription and inscribed rocks. To Georgina Stewart, 1919 – 2014. A good innings and a lovely place to rest eternally.

Peebles was a long way. My foot is a bugger, but it’s a short one tomorrow. Eight miles I think, so that will be ok. The site is nice today as well. And I beat the rain showers to get the tent up on dry ground. Excellent.

The club on site opens at 5pm. Excellent. And I’m in it now. Excellent. But it’s horrible. Not excellent. And town is half a mile away and I don’t want to walk. Not excellent. And the club doesn’t do food on a Monday night. Not excellent. And I haven’t got a crum to eat. Not excellent. So I’ll have three pints, a packet of crisps and an early night in the fresh, clean air of the Scottish Borders. Excellent!!!

I’m worried about my foot. It’s identical damage to when I roadwalked the last two days in Spain. I’ve got to toughen it up or change my boots. The boots are fine. I’ll toughen it up then.

Night night.