The Pennine Way
What do you do for a holiday if you have all the time in the world, but no money? The answer must be The Pennine Way! First problem was to get to Edale, and we decided, to hitch from Lancaster. Unfortunately the party included Britain’s ace, number one, top notch, world’s worst hitch hiker and after three hours we hadn’t moved so we gave up, caught the bus to Chapel and walked the rest to Edale. Day one began fine, and soon we located the summit of Kinder Scout. A quick look at the Wainwright here showed we were off route already, but as Kinder Downfall was in sight the fault was soon rectified. Downfall must be taken to mean the opposite of ‘fall down’ which is apparently what the water going over the edge doesn't do. In fact it falls up, driven into the air by a strong wind blowing up from Hayfield to descend like rain on the path to Mill Hill. Over Moss Castle and on to Featherbed Moss, a long squelchy trudge to the Snake Road, but a doddle compared with another Featherbed Moss that was to come later. The path onto Alport Low was clearly defined along Devil’s Dyke and a large party caught us up. We followed them onto Bleaklow then down Torside to Crowden youth hostel. Eighteen miles on the first day, not bad for a start but the weather had been good. A bivouac was decided on, halfway to the summit of Black Hill, and refuge was found in a cleft near Laddow Rocks.
Day two
began with rain falling onto my sleeping bag. Hurriedly this was packed up and
the party huddled further under the rocks, hoping that the rain would clear up
soon. Two hours later the rain
hail penetrated our shelter and we heard a large party pass close by so we
hurried out to catch them up, failed to locate them in the mist, but kept on up
Black Hill until the rain stopped and a break in the cloud enabled us to locate
the trig point. Imagine the sand dunes of the desert. Turn them black, fill the
depressions with a black acid porridge and surround the whole lot with mist and
rain. This gives a fairly good picture of the top of Black Hill. The descent
wasn’t much better and a compass bearing was the sole means of navigation over the
next four miles to the Holmfirth - Oldham road. Danny stepped off the road into
waist deep porridge. This was Featherbed Moss proper, an evil mixture of
floating peat hags and deep pools of black liquid mud that gripped legs like a
vice and twice more I had to retrieve my companion from the morass. We hailed a
large party, seen way off track
through a break in the mist and travelled in convoy over Blackmoor
where it was agreed the going was a little easier but the rain still poured down
like stair rods and on to the A62 at Standedge where
we knew there was a tranny. The thought of steak and
chips was the only thing keeping us from giving up the ghost and sinking into
horrible black gunge for ever.
Peter’s Transport Cafe was a derelict shell. Danny was wet through and I had
had enough. A fire was started on the floor using the inside walls of the
building and this was soon surrounded by wet gear in an endeavor to dry it out.
A miserable eight miles today.
The third day began in complete contrast although we weren’t entirely excused a small shower today. Millstone Edge first, easy in the sunshine then White Hill and on to the motorway bridge. A short pause here to watch the traffic 70 feet below then the next stop was Blackstone Edge where we were reunited with our fellow travelers. Stoodley Pike was easily recognised on the next horizon by its 200 foot high monument which would have been reached earlier than it was had not the White House Inn been in the way! Consequently our next stop was Hebden Bridge, a town entered by a road that gives a good view of the inside of a mill chimney before descending steeply into the valley.
The fourth day began wet and miserable and we cursed the weather as we forced a sodden tent into its bag. The path ascended 400feet then descended 400 feet then straight up the other side of Crowden Water which annoyed us again but towards the end of a long slog over Heptonstall Moor the rain gave way to drizzle and after a brew it cleared up completely. Widdup was passed and the climb begun to Top Withins. Wuthering Heights fanatics will recognise the name as the supposed location of the famous novel. There was another big loss in altitude to Ponden before a steep climb onto Icornshaw Moor where Stoodley Pike was seen for the last time but all attention was to the north where the familiar outlines and peaks of Craven could be seen thirty miles distant. Lothersdale was the end of the day a friendly little village sixty miles from Edale 14p for a pint, our first shops on route, a free campsite, and a water wheel driven mill kept Danny happy! Next time you visit Malham, if you want to appear knowledgeable, point your finger southwards and say Pinhaw Beacon, for it is the name of the hill just across the Aire Gap and our first objective of day five.
The large party met previously joined forces once again before Gargrave the only point of interest in the Aire Gap is the Leeds Liverpool Canal, a double arched bridge and a complete lack of paths and signposts. The journey to Malham was done partly in a thunderstorm, the first of four on the trip but being only of short duration didn’t bother us too much. A day off was decided on in Malham. Our stove needed repairs and a spare part had to be obtained from our support party (mum & dad). Consequently we only made Tennant Gill today, but now with enough fuel to finish the trip and enough butties, apple pie and cake to see us on to Hawes.
The last day of the first week saw us trudging up Fountains Fell in the usual heavy downpour. Then Penyghent in thick mist, the rain getting heavier as one got higher. Horton was missed out, we had followed the three peaks track off Penyghent by mistake and we weren’t back tracking for anything as first degree exposure was setting in. The night was spent in Dry Laithe Barn near Birkwith.
Next morning we awoke to the usual patter of rain on the roof but knowing we couldn’t get any wetter we set off to climb Cam End. A steadlily climbing path then down Ten End into Hawes, During this section the rain was interspersed by short periods of bright sunshine whereupon various items of one's gear were transferred to the outside of one's rucksack in an effort to dry it followed by a mad scramble to repack when the rain started again. Thunderstorm number two was sat out in a Hawes cafe. Our fellow Pennine wayfarers called it a day here and we never saw them again. Not satisfied with our progress today Danny forced us over Great Shunner before finding another barn to kip in. The hundred mile mark was now behind us. The sky was filled with a queer blue stuff the following morning. Unable to believe our luck the River Swale was followed downstream to Keld on a limestone shelf high above the river. Deciding it wasn’t going to rain today we prepared breakfast in the wooded glen just below the village before completing our journey to Tan Hill Inn. If ever a pint was hard earned, the climb was unending, always another ridge in front, but soon we were lounging in the sun in the car park, those wretched packs off our backs, and our favourite beverage to hand; ecstasy! Fifty yards from the pub I was struggling into my cagoule. IT had come again Sn a way peculiar to the Pennines, One minute - bright sunshine, the next - rain. The way on is described in Wainwright as ‘like walking in oxtail soup’ fortunately this was only a few inches deep and the weather helped keep your mind off the terrain. The end of the day saw us at Balder Head, an unkind reminder to those who are losing their hair but of special prominence on the Pennine Way - Halfway!!
The next day was of particular note. It was the first day without any rain. It was also of particular note that the route leads predominantly south therefore at the end of the day we were further from Kirk Yetholm than at the start. However opportunity was taken of the fine weather to get some walking done and twenty five miles were done through very pleasant countryside in the Tees Valley. The waterfalls of High Force and Cauldron Snout rating high on the list of spectacular features on the Tees.
Day eleven saw the rain back with a vengeance. A high altitude camp above High Cup soon became a little too moist as even Jim’s waterproof ’lending out’ tent succumbed to the horizontal ‘stair rods’. Navigation was again totally reliant on the compass but we located High Cup right on: The approach of this valley came rather abruptly when the stream running down the path suddenly plunged over the edge in a roaring waterfall into the misty abyss below. The next port of call was Dufton, reached by traversing around the steamy chasm of High Cup and descending to the valley floor at the far end. Unable to ascend Cross Fell due to the incessant rain we only managed six miles to a derelict farmhouse but a patch of wild gooseberries in the lane outside provided a change from the usual beans for supper and relieved Danny of the weight of half a pound of sugar.
Day twelve was most unpromising. Thick mist on Knock Fell, but as we ascended we seemed to be chasing it up the slope. The top was clear with fabulous views of the Eden Valley, The Lakes, and the Cheviots. The end was in sights Cross Fell was also clear by the time we reached it and the descent was made in a mine track, blue with fluorspar, to Garrigill and on to Alston for the night. Danny remarked that in spite of the murky morning that it hadn’t actually rained.
The route out of Alston and for some distance beyond is somewhat complicated in an endeavor to keep the Pennine Way off the road as much as possible but becomes increasingly easier once an old Roman road is reached but a boring section follows through a maze of fields, all too easy to stray off course. Spirits are raised however on arrival at the Roman Wall and the two hundred mile mark. The Wall is traversed for about ten miles, probably incorporating the best preserved sections and we took a detour to Housesteads Fort, leaving our packs at Rapishaw Gap to be collected later. Once rid of those packs was like walking with the gravity of the Moon. There now follows thirty miles through the border Forests. The scenery is uninteresting unless spruce trees hold some particular fascination for you: All sense of direction is lost, the forest road and the occasional signposts point the way, and the rain pours incessantly down. The little village of Byrness, a church, a garage, shop, and cafe is the last chance for supplies before the last thirty miles along the ridge of the Cheviots and so stocked up thus we began the climb onto the ridge at Byrness Hill. The rest was easy, slight gradient, the path followed precisely the watershed. The scenery was delightful ad we thought we would be excused rain today. At the top of Windy Gyle we met the two gorgeous blondes we had promised ourselves all along the route. Unfortunately they were going the other way on a John o’ Groats - Lands End walk - along the watershed. There’s always somebody doing better then you isn’t there? However they told us of a mountain hut a little further on in which to sleep. Good job they did too. That rain was gunning for us again. Thunderstorm number four, quite frightening. We hurried down to the hut, missing out the summit of the Cheviot before we got drowned - or struck by lightning.
The final morning we retraced our steps to the Cheviot then sauntered into Scotland and the finish at Kirk Yethom. Final message to George Cornes:—- So that I don’t have to clean that trophy for another year, just in case nobody does any better than this, I sign myself..... Anon Member.....
P.S. Richard wants it!!!