This was to be another near 15 miles day, and again I woke early - 0625 - needing to go to the loo. I did the necessary and crawled back into my sleeping bag for another short sleep, but in the end I didn't wake up until almost 0830! By that stage I should really have been on the road, so I crawled out again, went across to the shower block for a wash and started gathering my things together. Car campers in adjacent tents were beginning to cook their breakfasts, and, even though I don't eat it now, the smell of all that bacon, sausage and egg was certainly good.
It was almost 10am by the time I was ready to leave, and I still had to get into Bellingham. The weather was bright and promised sunshine, though, and this time I followed the route as described in the National Trail Guide, and so descended after the bridge and walked along the side of the North Tyne River to get back into town. The river was broad and elegant, and very beautiful in the morning sun. Fairly quickly, though, I left the river path for the small town centre, and made my way back to the chapel with an interesting tower that I'd noticed the night before, next to which was the Chinese gun.
Despite my late start, I was in a much more positive frame of mind this morning. The sunshine certainly helped, but also the knowledge that by the end of the day I would be in Byrness, from which many walkers have left in the small hours to complete a 26 mile epic hike to Kirk Yetholm. The end of the walk was now very definitely in sight, and I felt that when I made my entry into the pine forest at Gibshiel I would be leaving the first 240 or so miles of the Pennine Way walk very firmly behind me, and entering into a quite separate and final phase. I spent much of the day in reflection.
I was not sorry to leave Bellingham, but almost as soon as I'd climbed out of the town I began to walk through some of the prettiest pastures and scenery that I'd encountered anywhere on the walk...
...with some of the most contented looking sheep and cattle. In this field above Blakelaw Farm the animals had what seemed to me to be the best views of the entire walk.
The sun grew hotter as the morning wore on, and as I climbed towards Hareshaw House I saw a man giving a riding lesson to a girl on a feisty but elegant pony at a neat little outdoor school, down to the left, below. At the top of the field I stopped, sat down and leaned against the wall by a stile for my first cup of coffee.
The day was just gorgeous, and sitting in the sunshine with only birdsong, breeze and the sound of the insects to be heard I experienced the first, strong pangs of regret at the idea that in only a few days' time I'd have left all of this permanently behind me.I continued, and the path snaked on into the distance, the moors through which it found its way apparently extending to infinity.
For once, the miles seemed to be passing a little too quickly behind me, and I stopped at the top of Whitley Pike for a break, a snack and another interesting experiment with the self-timer on the camera.
After that, though, I began the inexorable descent towards the saddle at the bottom of Padon Hill, which was where the forest into which the route would soon enter first began.
I've no doubt that on a rainy day the little saddle can be a miserable place, but now, in the sunshine which followed on from a series of dry, sunny days, it was just about the most peaceful place that I can ever remember being.
I stopped and stood by a wall, and truly felt as though my time was standing still. As I lingered there wondering whether perhaps I could stay forever, Gabriel Yared's music began to play like a message from heaven through my headphones, and I shook myself free and walked on.
To walk the Pennine Way is to experience a series of amazing contrasts, and another began right now. The innocuous looking walk up the side of the forest towards the top of the hill turned out to be one of the boggiest, sticky muddiest, most festering and utterly malignant little paths on the whole route. By the time I got to the top my boots were coated in claggy gunk, and I was sweaty and and smeared with the corpses of a hundred midges and mosquitos.
I'd thought from the map that I would be entering the forest now, but the path wound on around a field, and there was still some time to go before I eventually came to the sign at the entrance to Kielder.
Once again my familiarity with pine woods at home had led me to believe that this would be the end of boggy paths, but again I was wrong. The path on entering Keilder is revoltingly muddy, but fortunately it only continued in that way for about a K, and after that the forest opened right up and to my relief I emerged into the sun once again.
Once I was back in the sun the walk was quite enjoyable. I'd thought that on entering the forest I'd be plunged into gloom until some time the following morning, when I'd climbed out again, but it wasn't like that at all. There wasn't much variety, but by then I'd seen variety and now was more interested in seeing rapid progress :-)
Quicker than I'd expected, the farmstead at Blakehopeburnhaugh came into view. I'd not seen a soul all day, and the sight of a couple of people walking up the hill towards me took me somewhat by surprise. Immediately after that, though, I was filled with a strong urge to run down the hill towards them, shouting, "Hey! I've walked all the way here from Edale, and I've almost finished the Pennine Way!" :-) I felt rejuvenated, and at least a couple of inches taller than usual as I strode purposefully down the hill past them, on my way towards Byrness Village.
The way then took me along a path deep inside a wood again, before emerging onto a path beside a lovely river.
Not long after that a little footbridge came into sight, and I knew from the map that Byrness lay just a little way along to the left, on the far side.
There was no camping in Byrness, and so Dave and I had attempted to arrange to stay at the Youth Hostel the night before, but Dave's phone had cut out in the middle of the call. I managed to get through now, and the Volunteer Warden confirmed that there was plenty of space. When I asked about dinner, though, he said it was entirely self-catering, and confirmed that it was possible to get dinner at the pub. That was fine by me. He told me Dave had not checked in yet, so I concluded that he was probably waiting at the pub. I said I'd go and get a drink, and maybe some food, and that I'd be along later in due course.
5 minutes later - about 5.45pm - I was crossing the road and climbing the carpark towards the Byrness Bar. A minute after that I poked my head round the entrance to the bar, and saw Dave ensconced and deep in conversation with the landlord. A few seconds after that I heard a terrific barking at the door, and a belligerent and yappy Jack Russell dived at me from the garden on the other side of the room. That wasn't a problem - I've owned Jack Russells before - but when it was followed by a Dobermann the size of a large donkey I was out of the room and barring the door far quicker than you could say, "You must be puddled if you think I'm sitting in a bar with a Dobermann!" This reaction had apparently been seen in guests before, and so the Dobermann was led away weeping to another part of the building, and the Jack Russell retired to sulk in the corner. I took off my boots and went back, and minutes later I too was ensconced at the bar with a pint of cider, in happy conversation with the landlord.
It was quiet in the bar. About half an hour later a local man arrived with his two friendly lurcher dogs, and later on he was joined by a friend, but I didn't really see anyone else. Dave and I wondered whether we should go along to the YHA, shower and change before returning for dinner, but the landlady said she didn't mind walkers and it wasn't necessary. In those circumstances we stayed where we were, and I ordered deep fried Camembert (again) and fish and chips (again). The food was good - particularly the fish - but tomorrow was going to be a long day and therefore just after 9pm we were getting back into our waterproofs (for warmth, this time) and torches for the walk along the road to Byrness.
The journey isn't far, but it was impossible to pick out the Youth Hostel from the other buildings without assistance. I rang the Warden again, and he opened the front door and waved to attract our attention. The Youth Hostel turned out to be two local houses linked together, with facilities shared between both. We were each given a room, and I went straight down to the wash room to wash out my T shirts, shorts, socks and long sleeved tops for the last two days. There wasn't a washing machine, but there was the most efficient little spin drier that I've used for a long time. I hung up my clothes and boots in the drying room, and retired to the kitchen for a cup of tea.
After the tea I returned to my room to unpack my sleeping bag and lay out my kit...
We spent some time talking over our plans for the following day. Although historically people have made the journey from Byrness to Kirk Yetholm into a 1 day epic 26 mile trek, there seems to have been a move in more recent years towards dividing the walk into two. I knew from discussions on the walking NG that there was B and B at a farm a few Ks off the path about half way into the walk, but I didn't want to go there. The two choices, therefore, seemed to be between wild camping at Clennell Street - as recommended by the National Trail Guide - which is an ancient border crossing about 13 miles along, or spending the night in what's known amongst PW walkers as the "18 mile bothy", but is actually an emergency mountain hut on the saddle beneath the summit of Auchope Cairn, about 8 miles from Kirk Yetholm.
Following discussions with friends before I set off, it had always been my intention either to stay at the 18 mile bothy or to walk straight from Byrness to Kirk Yetholm. I hadn't actually realised that the wild camp at Clennell Street was even an option, because I'd not used the National Trail Guide for my preparations. Dave, though, had been talking about camping at Clennell Street since the very early stages of the walk, and now we discussed which option might turn out to be best.
It had long been clear to me that walking straight from Byrness to Kirk Yetholm would not be an option for me with the weight that I was carrying. I might have been able to drag myself there eventually, but it would undoubtedly have turned my last day into an unmitigated nightmare, and after almost 3 weeks on the walk I wasn't prepared to spoil it unnecessarily like that. Today I'd finally been able to get the information I'd been waiting for about bus times from Kirk Yetholm, and it had turned out that in order to get the 2.45pm train (((home))) from Berwick-on-Tweed on Thursday afternoon I'd need to catch the 10.25am bus out of Kirk Yetholm. That meant the bothy was my only option, as there was no way I could possibly cover the 13 miles from Clennell Street to Kirk Yetholm in time to get that bus.
Dave now said that he was planning to stay at the bothy too, and so not long after 10.30pm we both went up to bed. Dave said he was intending to leave by 7am, and I hoped to get away not long after that.
Return to Home page -- Previous page -- Next page