I got up at 7.20am, and went down to the drying room to check on the kit I'd washed the night before. It was dry: clean kit again :-) We'd decided to have breakfast at the YHA too, but there were no free range eggs so for me it had to be beans on toast.
As usually happened when I wasn't in the tent, I didn't manage to get away quite as early as I'd intended. On the way back down to the river I finally managed to see the shop that I'd not been able to find on any of my 3 previous visits to Keld, and I was able to buy 2 cheese and onion pasties and a selection of post cards.
I took a picture of Keld from up on the hill during the climb out. It's the quietest place I've ever stayed, and I'm still hoping at some stage to be able to spend a night with the famous Mrs Doreen Whitehouse at the Butt House. I'd have been there this time, but she was full again.
About 4 miles from Keld is the Tan Hill Inn, set in the middle of the moor and said to be the highest pub in Britain. I'd read about it on a number of occasions, but I'd never been there before. I wasn't sure what to expect, but it was full of character. It's possible to camp, and I'd very much like to spend an evening there if I ever walk in that area again. I arrived just as Stephen was preparing to leave, and he told me that Dave had come and gone some time before. In terms of travelling time, this lunchtime marked the half-way point of the whole trip, so I celebrated with 2 packets of pistachios :-)
I also bought a pint of Speckled Hen and sat down outside in the sun, to decide whether to take the moor path or the alternative route. The real route, across Sleightholme Moor, can be an extremely wet and boggy place, and I was quite detemined not to get my boots and feet wet again on a day when it wasn't actually raining, now that I finally had dry boots for almost the first time since leaving Edale! Having said that, I wasn't keen to walk along the road, which sounded pretty boring and hard on the feet. In the end I decided to go with the original route, and so some 30 minutes later I set off with a packet of pistachios to keep me going.About 30 minutes later I was beginning to regret my decision, as I repeatedly had to backtrack in order to find a way round streams or wet bits deep enough to creep over the tops of my boots. At that stage 2 blokes approached from the opposite direction, and stopped for a brief chat. They told me that the ground was much wetter ahead, and they were sure I'd get a soaking if I continued, so I decided to cut up to the road after all. The trudge along the road was protracted but relaxing, and by the time I got to the junction with Great Cocker I was sleepy and so lay down for a bit of a rest.
Ultimately I had to press on, though, and so after a cup of coffee, a pastie and a bit of a flapjack I set off to meet up with the original path and begin my descent to the A66. Unfortunately my mind seemed to be elsewhere, and I managed to walk straight past the path to the Intake Bridge after Sleightholme Farm. I realised I'd gone wrong when I came to a cattle grid that shouldn't have been there, and it was immediately clear from a look at the map where I should have been.
To have retraced my steps would have added about 2 kilometres to the day's journey, and after a look down the bank towards the water I decided there was a 60:40 chance of being able to cross there instead, and so I made my way down a steep, thistly field towards Sleightholme Beck. At that point it's possible to walk across rocks above a waterfall almost all the way to the other side. To get right over involves one slightly bold final step onto an overhanging rock, but that overhanging rock was wet and I was afraid of slipping... I stood there for a few minutes, weighing one short step, on the one hand, against the certainty of a sweaty journey back up the hill through the thistles, followed by a 2k trek to get to where I ought to be, on the other, but when I looked again at the dark water swirling around some 15 feet below the rock I couldn't do it, so I turned round and made my way back to the bank :-( Unwilling to concede complete defeat I then added further to my lateness by tracking back up the beck for half a mile or so, in the hope of finding a shallower place where I could get across. I didn't find one, though, and so finally I headed back up the hill and eventually came out where I'd first dropped down, about 45 minutes earlier.
At that stage 2 walkers approached, asked whether I was doing the Pennine Way and then told me I was totally lost, and absolutely miles from where I ought to be. They couldn't imagine how I'd managed to do it, because I'd apparently walked straight past 2 clearly marked signs for the path to my left, absolutely miles back!! :-) I was more than a little dismayed to hear that I was absolutely miles from the path, and dug out my map to show them where I thought I was. They brushed the map away, though, saying they couldn't read it. After further discussion it began to seem likely that I was more or less where I'd thought I was, and after I got over the initial shock of thinking I'd made a navigational cockup of epic proportions I was relieved when they pointed out the way into the middle distance, towards the tunnel by which the PW crosses the A66. As I picked up my pack and prepared to set off, the rather pessimistic walkers delivered a number of helpful hints about places I could try to reach, should I find myself benighted on the way to Baldersdale...
After this I tried hard to get my head to take the day's walk seriously, and eventually I arrived at the tunnel before the A66. As is often the case on the Pennine Way at critical junctures, the way ahead was closely guarded by a group of slightly belligerent cattle. However, I arranged a hard stare on my face and tried to walk boldly through the middle, as it seemed likely that I'd otherwise be spending the night in a cow pat. This tactic was successful, and I filed it away for future use.
The ground wasn't difficult here, but the moors seemed to stretch on into infinity.
By now it was about 5.00pm, and I began to grow cold, tired and a little demoralised. I stopped to drink the last of my coffee, and to eat the second cheese and onion pastie of the day. I was struck by how very remote much of the route actually is. I've often walked alone and I suppose I've become a fairly confident walker, at least within the confines of my experience, but it occurred to me there that the last Pennine Way walker of the day on any particular leg risked a miserable night stuck out in the open, if he or she were to fall and break an ankle, or something similarly disabling. A little depressed by that cheerless prospect I sent a text message to a friend, hopeful of making some sort of human contact.
Eventually I just had to press on or stay there forever, and so I pressed on. This is the leg of the walk on which those doing the whole walk and using the National Trail Guides make the transition from Volume 1 to Volume 2, and most people go on to Baldersdale rather than stopping at Bowes. However, Baldersdale is very small for a place with a fairly long name, and the only camping that exists is at the Youth Hostel in Blackton, about a quarter of a kilometer off the route. That's where Stephen, Dave and I had decided to aim for, and at about 7pm - much later than I should really have been arriving - I finally got there.
I was too late for dinner, but I wasn't bothered about that, having eaten a pastie not long ago. I put up the tent and made a midge assessment. They were bad enough for me to put on the head net I'd purchased in Malham, but not as bad as they'd been in either Crowden or Ponden. It was difficult to see through the net, so I took it off and just tried to squash the midges as they were biting me. After that I went in for a shower, and then settled down to the luxury of a television room with a video :-) The others were still at dinner, and I put on "Too Long a Winter", an eye-opening documentary about the almost unbelievably spartan and lonely life lived by Hannah Hauxwell at Low Birk Hat, a remote farm next to the Blackton Reservoir.
I felt that the YHA at Blackton was the nicest one I stayed at, with a particularly enthusiastic Warden (Gordon) and a lovely selection of interesting teas and Fair Trade coffee (accompanied by an honesty box) as well as the television and (fx: swoon) video :-) It was a very relaxed and welcoming place, and it was absolute luxury to be able to make myself a really nice drink easily, and not to have to get out my little kettley thing and stove in order to boil water in advance. After my drink I went back to the tent, where I ate some real Wensleydale cheese (from Hawes) and oatcakes in my sleeping bag, read a bit, switched off the headtorch and lay down to wait for sleep.
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