Day 46: Greenhead to Stonehaugh

Walking along Hadrian's Wall was incredibly tough. Magnificent views of the Northumberland countryside but a roller coaster of steep ups and downs.


Hadrian's wall runs coast to coast where England is at it's skinniest. It was built in AD 122 by the Roman Emperor, Hadrian as a fortification to keep the Scottish rabble out of England. The wall is still visible in some places and a remarkable feat of engineering but in others it is completely missing, destroyed over the years to build castles elsewhere.





We were heading for Housesteads which conjured up visions of B&Bs, pubs, eating establishments, houses and "steads". It was instead a load of Roman rubble. Once a Roman Fort of course and there was a delightful museum but this was of no interest to us. We needed food and somewhere to stay.

This caused us to walk a further 6 miles and take a detour slightly off the map to a little village called Stonehaugh.

The moment we left the touristy Wall we were once again in isolation and on boggy moorlands


We walked the last few miles on forest trails. I became paranoid about map reading and did not fancy getting lost in this maze of spookiness. Tall pines lined the path and their tight interior was extremely dark, devoid of any vegetation but mulched pine needles piled in heaps around the tree bases.


More spookiness was to come as we entered Stonehaugh. This village was unlike any other that I had encountered. Was I now in Canada? What happened to the quaint English village? A forlorn stark sign signified that we had arrived in Stonehaugh. Big logging trucks and shanty buildings greeted us. All was quiet except for the calling of a strange bird. Spooky, spooky and Mick felt it too. Could this village be full of weirdo's and would we end up in a big pot for dinner? A confused mix of Blair Witch Project and Fargo were coming to mind.


But the village green made us feel a little more at home. This is the village in it's entirety. Strange but quite cute terraced houses of differing colours lined either side.


We fretted over what to expect of the campsite. We were surprised to find the field packed with campers and instead of just a basic farmers field, it was civilised with toilets, showers and even a social club. What were all these holiday makers doing in this strange, off the beaten path place?

We headed for the community hall and social club where we had heard they may make us a cheese toasty. The only reason this grand building fit into the village was because it didn't fit and was distinctly odd, like everything else here. No toasties and no food at all that contained any nutritional value. Our dinner was thus:


......Ales, whiskies, twiglets, scampi fries and fun gums.

But we entertained ourselves with pool and ping pong.

And did find out that this village was purpose built in the 1940s to house the forestry workers. So that fits.
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Day 45: Alston to Greenhead

Have been trying to find Internet access to post some if these blogs, but to no avail.

Today was a tough walking day. Seventeen miles of railway track, fields, stiles, moorlands and bogs to end at Hadrians wall.


Great name:





It is becoming apparent that not many people complete this trail.

This could explain why the path towards the end of the day just petered out onto a massive moorland devoid of any way marker signs. It was hard to believe we were following a national trail and assumed they couldn't be bothered to sign it because not enough people made it this far.



We are also starting to hear about drop outs. I forgot to tell you but we met up with the Yorkshire lads with the dog in the pub the other day. They are now sans dog and sans two people who gave up and went home. Haven't seen Sarah the vicar yet either and it makes me wonder if she has gone home. She said she would, if the weather didn't improve. Of course she could be way ahead of me.

Did meet up though with a group of four today going our way. We found it odd that we hadn't met up until now but they said they had heard of me. My reputation is proceeding me. Made me feel quite special!

We are staying in a bunk house tonight next to the ruins on Thirwell Castle. We walk along Hadrians wall tomorrow.


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Day 44: Garrigill to Alston

Not much to blog about today.

We were treating this as a rest day and only walked 4 miles down a gentle river path to Alston.





Alston is the highest market town in England, although this is disputed by the inhabitants of Buxton, that also claims this altitude record. So they recently measured it and apparently if you measure where the market is, then Buxton wins but Alston ended up with being higher overall so they feel they ultimately won. I suppose every town could claim to have the highest something....the highest toilet, the highest zebra crossing the highest pig pen etc.





Tomorrow I start on the third and final map of the Pennine Way. Ninety miles left on this trail and I am starting to think of the end.

What shall I do next?

I am holding up incredibly well. In fact, holding up is an understatement because I am feeling better than I have done for years. I was starting to feel old before my years, the arthritis making me stiff, tired and constantly achy. All that has gone, my flexibility has returned, my posture improved and I feel young again. I can squat, get myself up off the floor with ease, clench my fists and I am strong and fit. My arthritis appears to be in remission and I am now only suffering in a minor way from the damage it has already caused. As far as I can tell, I don't seem to be creating any more damage which is of course the danger of this.

For doctors that are reading this blog (and I know there are!) I can recommend this prescription for your patients "Take a long walk".





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Day 43: Dufton to Garrigill

Over breakfast (no veggie sausages) our landlord, Ray, insisted on presenting us with a terrifying picture of our day ahead.

The guide book does say this is the longest and toughest day on the Pennine way and these hills do hold the English records for bad weather. But I do think he went a little overboard and insisted we call him once off the hills and descending. If we didn't call he would call out the mountain search and rescue. Scary. I was more nervous about not having a cell phone signal to make that all important call.

Did we have good navigational skills? We assured him that we did.

We left the B&B and about 20 yards away, within full view of our concerned landlord, took the wrong path. We had to back track and nipped quickly around the corner in a hope that he had not seen us. At this point he was probably already on the phone to the search and rescue.

Once back on the Pennine way we confidently made our way up the long ascent to Great Dun Fell and then across broad sweeping plateaus to Cross Fell (i may have said this before but this is most definitely THE highest point on the pennine way - 893m)

And of course the weather was atrocious.

Torrential rain and thick clag (northern for mist). Visibility once more terrible and it became a wonderful exercise in navigation and I really enjoyed putting my new found compass skills to test. But also glad Mick was with me!

From out of the clag, two shapes in the form of wet Englishmen, descended and headed towards us.

It was Mick that initiated the typical English greeting:

"A good day for it, isn't it"

And the reply:

" Yes comes and goes....old chap, what what"

And they disappeared back into the clag.

Unable to break because of the weather (that hadn't "gone" at all but had been full on), we were happy to reach Greg's bothy (hut) to stop for a limp cheese sandwich, a YHA left over. Soaking wet from my non waterproofs and freezing cold, I layered on all the dry stuff I could find.

The door swung open and in walked Mr Dry as he is known to us now. I couldn't initially figure out why he looked so strange but then it registered. He was bone dry, clean, sporting a pair of binoculars around his neck and looking as though he had been on an afternoon stroll of bird spotting.

How could he have possibly been in the same weather as us? So unable to resist, I asked.

He proudly whispered as if letting me into a big secret, that he used a small umbrella. Oh, I said as if it explained it all, but could not for the life of me figure out how that had kept him so immaculate and in all that wind and wildness.

Will you be stopping the night here asked Mr Dry? As if we were in a plausible establishment.

I looked around at the cold, wet floors of the primitive rock bothy and could not imagine staying any longer than completely necessary in this dark place. Spend the night? Was he nuts?

Mr Dry then mysteriously disappeared.

As we left to once more brave the elements outside of the bothy, we both agreed that had been incredibly strange. Had Mr Dry been an apparition? Could he have been Greg?

It was a massively long ascent into Garrigill on a boring, hard track and we were so looking forward to the pub.

On arrival, the George and Dragon was all boarded up and horribly closed. But oddly enough and as unbelievable as this may sound, in the middle of a small roundabout in the centre of the village was a barrel of beer and hand pump. A couple of the villagers were pulling pints and offering us a glass to join in. More locals began to show at the pump, filled their sundry of containers with free beer and merrily sat on the roundabout in defiance of the closed pub.














We did remember that phone call to Ray in Dufton. I left a message to say we were down safely, so I hope that search and rescue are not out looking for us now....hic!





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Day 42: Langdon Beck to Dufton

This day has probably been my most favourite day of walking.

We left Langdon Beck youth hostel with the forecast being all doom and gloom.

And began walking up the remote river valley to follow the River Tees. Through meadows, fields and bogs, over stiles and boulders until we reached the impressive Cauldron Snout. Here the river boils furiously over a narrow rock gorge and we scrambled up the side over rocks polished by the boots of Pennine Wayfarers past.


As the path then ascended over the remote moorlands of the North Pennines and as if mandatory for this landscape, the forecasted mists and rains descended.

It was at this point, huddled under my hood, listening to the constant swish of rain trousers and confined to my own thoughts, that I decided not to eat any more veggie sausages. I am now officially fed up of English breakfasts veggie style. The veggie sausages eaten this morning were now playing havoc on my stomach. Yes, tomorrow I would have muesli and may not even have any eggs.

Amazingly as we arrived on top of High Cup Nick the mist and clouds lifted to reveal the most glorious valley I have ever seen. A U shaped valley with a river snaking its way along the bottom and into the distant mists. The valley sides rose smoothly up in a carpet of green with swaths of grey scree, to an impressive cliff that horseshoed it's way around the rim. As the mist lifted further we could see in the distance the eastern mountains of the Lake district and the Vale of Eden spread before us.








Looking back




The sun came out and the views remained as we began the long descent to the beautiful village of Dufton.






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Day 41: Baldersdale to Langdon beck

Had the most freshest, most delicious poached eggs for breakfast.

As I walked I thought about the question posed to me over breakfast "Aren't you scared walking alone?". This has been asked of me several times and I can never come up with anything better than "no". So now I was asking myself why.

I think it is because I am generally a positive person and don't believe that any harm will come to me. I don't think walking is particularly hazardous. I have a long history of walking and never get into any problems so I suppose I am also fairly confident. I could get lost or hurt myself but even then I feel I would manage and seek help somehow. I feel these are just the normal hazards I face in every day life. I am lucky because I don't tend to worry about what could happen. I find enough to worry about without getting anxious over the never ending possibilities of what may happen.

Perhaps foolish but I am glad I think this way, otherwise I would not be doing this.

And anyway I was about to have another walking companion. Mick had made last minute plans to join me again. I was going to meet up with him again in Middleton on Teesdale, about seven miles on.

Having always chosen to walk abroad and having completed numerous expeditions to the Himalayas, walking in Britain has never really been on Mick's radar - too tame I suppose.

But now it seems Mick has also been bitten by the long distance walking bug and even here, in Britain.

I really enjoy his company so I am happy to have him along again. Plus he is delivering my weekly shot to me.

One hundred and forty miles into the Pennine way and I am over half way there. Feeling pretty happy about this and my feet, despite feeling bad yesterday seem to have recovered again.


Mick found me hunkered down in a tea room, guzzling tea and engrossed in my James Herriot book (courtesy of last B&B). The Yorkshire Dales is James Herriot country and I always enjoy getting into the spirit of things with a pertinent book.

We walked on together towards Langdon Beck Youth hostel, another seven miles on but down a gentle river path by Low and High falls.





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Day 40: Tan hill inn to Baldersdale

Morning at Tan Hill


Breakfast at the pub was a lovely shambles. Too many people had been camping, bed and breakfasting or staying at the bunk house last night. Too many people for this quirky pub to deal with and everyone just ended up helping themselves.



Lesley was taking a cab to Kirby Stevens railway station and catching a train back to Horton on Ribblesdale to pick up her car, so we had to say goodbye :( She was excited though as the Settle to Carlisle railway is supposed to be the most beautiful railway line in the country and it was a favorite of our dad's - fitting in yet again with the greater theme of this story.

I was then on my own again, and set off north across the lonely, desolate and boggy moors and out of Yorkshire Dales National Park. I quickly gave up on keeping my feet dry and focused instead on not getting sucked up to my waist in bog. The flagstones that usually spanned the bogs were noticeably missing on this section of the Pennine Way making navigation tricky. Luckily the mist lifted as I descended and I could see marker posts at various intervals in the distance across the moors. It was fairly flat and I made good time despite an annoying pain in my toes.

Once off the moors, I followed a track for a short distance and a cute little tractor came up over the hill, followed by more cute little tractors. I waved at all the drivers as they passed and they proudly waved back. It was a sight to behold and could possibly explain a sign that had perplexed me a couple of days ago. The pennine way sign also had a plaque on it of a tractor labeled with coast to coast. There is another national trail that goes coast to coast and I do believe these tractors may have been following this path. Only in England. How brilliant.


My toe pain continued to get worse so I cut my day short about ten miles later at Clove farm B&B conveniently located right on the path. They were full but she squeezed me in her daughters room, brought me tea and cake and made me feel very welcome.


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