I got up about 7.30am and intended to make an early start - hence my decision the evening before not to order breakfast - but once again I found it difficult to get up and out there quickly when I'd slept inside the night before. It was 9.00am before I got going, and by that stage all the others seemed to be long gone, except for one of the couples who were leaving just after me.
It didn't take me very long to get back to Saur Hill Bridge, but my feet were particularly sore and stiff that morning. The part of my left foot that I'd pulled or twisted when I fell over on the third day was still playing up, and the blisters that I'd popped at Horton-in-Ribblesdale had begun to grown and fill up again. Still, an hour or so later I'd worked off most of the soreness, and I began to make good progress along the path. There were a couple of particularly difficult bouldery bits where it was necessary to track up the hillside a little, and step over and around enormous boulders whilst making good use of hands and knees, but that came to an end fairly quickly, and not too long afterwards the waterfall intriguingly known as Cauldron Snout came into view.
The path climbed steeply up the side of the waterfall, and for a minute or so I was a little concerned that it might turn into the sort of scramble I'd encountered on Pen-y-ghent, but fortunately it didn't, and I soon emerged unscathed at the top. After that I continued through the farmyard at Birkdale, a mountain rescue hut, and stopped behind a wall on the far side for a cup of coffee and a bit of flapjack, which together constituted breakfast.
I noticed quite a few beautiful furry, brown and black striped caterpillars as I continued along the boggy ground, but unfortunately none of my pictures have come out clearly. (For the next trip I'm planning a new camera...) Here's a fuzzy one that nonetheless gives the general impression, in case anyone is interested to see exactly what was around. I'd picked this one up to move it off the path, and so it curled up tight into a protective little wheel :-)
Somewhere around Rasp Hill, before the path divides, I came across a bloke packing up after a wild camp, and stopped for a brief chat. Not long after moving on I found Dave lying on the ground, taking a cigarette break. I didn't stop, and said I'd see him later. By now I had the Polish couple in my sights, and since the ground was flat and relatively easy I simply followed their general direction of progress until I found that I was approaching a bit of a hill on the right with some low crags around the top. I decided to turn up there and take a break, as I'd been looking for an opportunity to stop for lunch for quite a long time, and by now it was past midday.
I climbed up the hill and tracked round to the right, where I found a seat between a couple of boulders. It was pretty windy but still a relief to sit down, and I got out my coffee and one of my pasties. Sitting up there I saw Dave pass by below and cross the stream, and not long afterwards he was followed by the bloke I'd first seen earlier on. They climbed the bank and stopped together at the top for a bit of a confab' about which way to go next, but then they split up: Dave stopped for another fag break, and the other bloke climbed a hill to the left instead of continuing along the route towards High Cup Nick. I let them both pass by.
A short time after that Stephen appeared, but as he picked a way across the stream I saw him slip and fall to the ground with a bit of a crunch. It was a few seconds before he moved again, but just as I was thinking of jumping up and going down he picked himself up and started checking out his ankle. He seemed to be ok, and he shook himself off and carried on.
By now I wasn't far from the fabled High Cup Nick but I'd still not found the sheltered resting place I'd been looking for for hours, and so I decided to push on to there and take a longer break. I couldn't quite understand why I wasn't there already, bearing in mind the good progress that I'd been making for most of the morning, but it was soon evident from a slightly longer look at the map that I'd accidentally taken the longer, alternative route near Watch Hill, which was my own fault for blindly following the people in front. Still, at least it was nice to have someone other than myself to blame for once, for route prolonging navigational cockups :-)
It didn't take long to get from the gorge, where I had stopped, to High Cup Nick, which turned out to be just as impressive a sight as all the pictures had suggested it would be.
My photograph doesn't begin to do it justice, but anyone interested can easily find much better pictures by running a quick search in Google. There was quite a congregation at High Cup Nick by the time I arrived - Stephen, Dave and the duo who'd left the YHA just behind me that morning - and since most people's mobile phones had just received their first signal of the day various phone calls were taking place. I was in two minds about whether to book Bed and Breakfast for that night because tomorrow was the killer 20 mile slog to Alston, and I was anxious to make sure I got a good sleep, and so I pulled out the Accommodation Guide and tried ringing a couple of likely sounding places. There was no reply from either of them, though, and so again I pressed on after a short break.
I finally found the sheltered place I'd been looking for as I descended past Peeping Hill towards Dufton, so I sat down to drink the last of my coffee and eat a bit of a flapjack. It was very peaceful, and I noticed some sort of interesting entrance built into the hillside above me on the other side of the hollow. If I'd had more energy I'd have gone up to take a closer look, but sadly it didn't even occur to me at the time. As I was sitting there Stephen came over the top of the hill and almost walked straight past me, so well camouflaged was I with my brown face, olive T shirt and muddy legs against the grass :-) I called over to him and he stopped for a brief rest. Shortly afterwards we walked together down to Dufton, arriving at about 3.15pm. That was much earlier than I'd arrived at any other destination, and it felt great to have part of the afternoon stretching away in front of me to get on with things like exploration, kit washing, reading and general slouching about.
On entry into Dufton we immediately passed Brow Farm on the right, which had a sign up for Bed and Breakfast. Stephen pointed it out, and I went to knock on the door to ask whether there was a room for one person, with a bath. There turned out to be a double room that I could have for a nominal supplement, and the kind proprietor then showed me upstairs to the most luxurious accommodation I had in the whole of the trip :-)
I decided to just dump my pack and walk on into the heart of Dufton village, where I'd been told there was a little shop on the village green which should be opening soon. 5 minutes later I was standing outside and peering in through the window when the door opened, and the owner let me in early to take a look around. It was bliss! There were all sorts of edible supplies for the next day's journey, as well as lots of lovely snacky looking things that I might be able to eat now... As I was drooling in front of the little cheese counter Stephen arrived - having checked out and chosen a campsite for the night - and we then noticed that the shop sold alcohol! It was still a lovely, sunny day and we were both thirsty, so after buying bits for the next day's lunch we settled down at a table outside with a can of cider each.
Not long after we opened the cider, Dave appeared with his pack at the top of the green. For a giggle (tired people are easily amused) we decided to pretend that we were drinking IrnBru, but Dave was too much of an expert to be fooled by that and in no time at all he'd joined us at the table. Not long afterwards the Polish couple arrived, and a little while later the wild camper I'd passed in the morning walked up to the green, bought a drink and sat down. Some time after that we saw 2 blokes walk past at quite a pace. They stopped for a moment and we called over to ask whether they were looking for the Youth Hostel, but they weren't, and they disappeared pretty quickly into The Stag Inn, where I think they must have been staying.
Sitting in the sun on the green in Dufton, sharing a drink and a chat with a bunch of other walkers, was one of the high spots of the trip for me. Pain free relaxation didn't happen very often along the way, and so it was particularly precious when it did. We all sat around drinking, talking and laughing until about 5.30pm, at which stage I set off back to my Bed and Breakfast for a longed-for bath before dinner.
The bath was everything I'd hoped it would be, and more, and as I was running it I experimented by trying to take my photo in the mirror :-)
There appeared to be limitless supplies of hot water, and I eventually spent about an hour in the lovely, deep bath, topping up the water at regular intervals whenever it showed any sign of cooling off. I soaked off my Compeed blister patches, read a bit of a book and actually fell asleep, and by the time I woke up it was getting on for 7.30pm and I jumped out quickly to get dried and changed in plenty of time for dinner at The Stag. On the way downstairs I asked whether it might be possible to run my clothes through the washing machine and dryer, and I was told that that was no problem at all, so I nipped gleefully back up and got them.
I then set off for the pub - a 5 minute walk - and arrived so late that the others - who were camping - had already finished their meals. That was ok, though. They all squeezed up around the table and I ordered deep fried Camembert with Cumberland sauce, followed by locally produced, free range lamb cutlets with salad (and chips, of course). It was all extremely yummy, and afterwards I managed to squeeze down a large bowl of sticky toffee pudding with cream, in preparation for the monster walk lying ahead of me the following day.
There was considerable discussion and some anxiety around the table in relation to the prospective 20 mile walk to Alston. The longest walk of the route so far had been the 16 miles from Edale to Crowden on the first day, and most days had been closer to an average of 13 or 14. They'd still been leaving us pretty tired, though - exhausted, in my case - and so we weren't quite sure how we were going to be able to cope with a 20 miler, particularly one that began with a fairly protracted climb which only ended on the top of Cross Fell, the highest point in the Pennines. What was clear was that a very early start would be required, and I'd already arranged breakfast for 6.30am (!), of 2 free range eggs on toast, with a pot of tea. (I wouldn't have dreamed of asking anyone to provide me with such an early breakfast, and had intended to set off without, but the kind woman with whom I was staying had insisted on providing it, saying that she had to be up at that time in any event to look after the children.)
After dinner, which was accompanied by a pint and a half of Black Sheep bitter, I set off back to the BandB. I had a bit of a backache and so I filled my Sigg waterbottle with boiling water, wrapped it in a towel and rested it against my back in bed. I set my watch alarm for 5.15am and fell asleep almost immediately. I woke up a few times in the night a bit hot and sweaty with the combination of large, soft bed, warm and comfortable blankets and hot water bottle, but I definitely didn't want a backache on the morning of my trek to Alston and so I took some Neurofen and left the hot water bottle in place. By the time my alarm went off in the morning, my backache was gone.
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