May 2020 – The Pennine Way

CLOVE LODGE TO DUFTON

Day seven Pennine Way
Distance: 40ish km
Cumulative distance: 243km

Pennine Way water — That’d make a tough jigsaw puzzle

I’m glad we’d fluked upon some shelter last night. Even with the security of a sturdy roof and four geometrically aligned walls, the temperature still plummeted to an almost unbearable chill overnight. I realised this at about 2am as I woke up right on schedule, my sleeping mat having deflated sufficiently to let me know a cushy pocket of air was no longer keeping my pointy pelvic bone from the chilly floor. Disoriented and utterly confused as to where I was exactly, I simply rolled over and willed myself back to sleep. With another 25 miles on the horizon I couldn’t afford not to.

We woke up and cleared out as quickly as possible leaving the place in the same condition as it was when Paul provided it to us last night. Our first stage today was a little contour-line heavy, but waiting for us a good few miles down the road lay a town called Middleton and it was there we hoped our dreams of a hefty English breakfast would be realised. Stumbling out onto the frosty ground we were greeted by a friendly sun, and before too long a little honesty shop that someone had set up to nourish hungry folk along the Pennine Way. We each helped ourselves to a chocolate bar, parted with a quid apiece and carried on over more rolling hills. Each mile was hard-earned over the rolling terrain and we distracted ourselves by trying to name the 92 clubs who compete in Englands top four football divisions. Disgracefully we fell about five or six short – unacceptable by both of our lofty standards.

Petrified dragonfly — Possibly a petrified dragonfly

Middleton appeared ahead of us, and we navigated a fairly steep descent which eventually left us at one end of town. We parted company with the trail, crossed a long bridge into town and perched up at a lovely little cafe adorned with the proprietor’s artwork and more importantly, offering all kinds of cholesterol laden breakfast options. Suffice to say we both ordered the fullest, heartiest feed on offer, our first such brekky on the entire walk so far, and had wolfed down several sausages, eggs and bacon rashers before paying heed to the artwork surrounding us. The lady in charge had recently moved to the area and taken over the historic cafe which. She showed us a painting she’d drawn of High Cup Nick and simply said:

“It’s my favourite place in the world. You’ll see what I mean when you pass it later today.”

Bridge to Middleton — A heart-stopping brekky awaited us across this bridge

Al and I took a closer look at what was to come – roughly 20 miles stood between us and Dufton and that would leave a touch over 20 more (and the small matter of Cross Fell) tomorrow before we settled into a cosy pub and watched Leeds pummel Sheffield Wednesday. So far the plan was coming together fairly well.

We’d clambered into the North Pennines Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty by now, and the trail followed the River Tees in a north-westerly direction. It was delightful walking, and as usual Al cracked on slightly ahead of me. I’m not sure how he was doing it giving his dodgy knee and the amount of Compeed that was holding him together, but I’m glad he was because it stopped me from dawdling. A few miles up the way we came to High Force Waterfall which tumbles about 21m in two stages. It is also often incorrectly mistaken as being the highest waterfall in England. But despite its false record status, it’s still a wondrous sight and we sat for about 10 minutes mesmerised by the cascading water plunging between cliffs. Several other waterfall fanatics had come out for a look on this particular Friday which was a distinct change from the usual deserted feel of the Pennine Way.

Pennine Way waterfall — No shortage of water today

Unlike all of them, we still had 15-odd miles to traverse before relaxing so we strapped back into our packs and powered ahead. The River Tees continued to keep us company and just past Cronkley Farm we crossed to its northern bank and then picked up the tributary Harwood Beck for a little while before leaving it behind and rediscovering the Tees. This is where it all became incredibly difficult. The path disappeared and was replaced by a rocky river bank which proved absolutely torturous for aching feet. Every step required undivided concentration and balance, which becomes exponentially more difficult when a 15kg backpack is thrown into the mix. I passed a mother and her two children out for a challenging stroll, then a middle-aged chap who was also through-hiking the Pennine Way – the first I’d actually met outside of Al, Jimmy and I (not including the chap we’d found on the second night who was walking Land’s End to John O’Groats). After what felt like miles of poking and prodding over the uneven trail, I spied Al ahead in the distance underneath Cauldron Snout where we’d decided to have lunch. This was another cascading stretch of the River Tees, just downstream of the Cow Green Reservoir. It also appeared ridiculously high, and was accessed only by some pretty severe scrambling, a feat currently being attempted by a gentleman who looked 80 from our vantage point, his body clearly several decades past its prime. I didn’t bother thinking about the climb until we’d cooked up a sensational feed of cous cous, vegies and sausage.

Steve, who I’d passed about half an hour earlier, came by while we were eating, and told us he’d been keeping a close eye on the old fella. He said Mike was a former secretary of the Pennine Way Association and that he’d walked this thing about 12 times already. Steve himself was a London lad who’d always wanted to do the Pennine Way, and he was finally realising that dream. But he’d met Mike the day before and wasn’t entirely convinced he was capable of covering the distance, particularly since he wasn’t carrying any food with him for the journey. Steve pushed up looking to catch Mike as Al and I took half an hour to replenish our calorie counts and take in the breathtaking scenery surrounding us. I whipped out a block of chocolate and snapped off half for Al. I chiseled off a little chunk for myself, and as I looked back at Al 10 seconds later noticed he’d already devoured what I’d given him. It’s impossible to convey just how hungry you get carting a massive pack across this trail.

River Tees lonely house — They should shoot the next season of Neighbours here

I went down to the water, washed out the saucepan and we were on our way again. The climb up Cauldron Snout wasn’t too bad now we were fed and from the top we had a delightful view back down stream of the River Tees. We also had another few little hills to stroll across, which took us high above the Tees, but this was an absolute luxury compared with the rocky terrain we’d been presented with before lunch. This time to pass the miles we played another football game. Al would name a club, then I’d have to name another club which began with the last letter of the most recently named team. This carried on for a little while before we realised how often you’d get stuck with a D (Leeds United, Colchester United etc), an N (West Bromwich Albion), a Y (Manchester City), or an H (Middlesbrough). To our credit we came up with an obscene amount of clubs beginning with the letter H (Hereford, Hendon, Hinckley United, Harrogate, Hednesford, Harrow Borough), but eventually the well went dry. But the game had soaked up several miles, and it wasn’t too long after that we spied Steve again off in the distance, and moments later the magnificent vista of High Cup Nick opened itself out before us.

High Cup Nick — This is what she was talking about in the cafe

It must be a glacial valley or something along those lines – the land had been gouged out in a V shape to the point we were now standing, and stretched on for a short while with a little creek meandering through the bottom. We took a few pics, then Steve took some photos of Al and I perched precariously on the edge before telling us we were absolutely mad for getting so close to the drop below. We walked on together for a little while before Al and I told Steve we’d catch him for a beer in Dufton. There were a few wild horses up here which was delightful, but I was trying to steel myself for the final stretch of the day which resembled a lengthy downhill romp of a couple of miles on groaning knees. Al pushed on ahead as I slowed considerably, desperately trying to find the will and energy to finish things off for the day. The descent into town just seemed to take forever, and even when I finally hit civilisation there was no sign of a campsite.

At last I found Al leaving the front yard of a house. He told me you paid for camping in there, and they’d tell me where to set up my tent. He had an extra spring in his step too, given he’d managed to blag a pair of flip flops off the owner for the evening given his had fallen into a state beyond repair the previous night. I went and parted with my cash before finally finding a spot to set up camp. It was outrageously hard ground and we were in for another chilly night, but the main thing was it was now time to rest up and go grab some food and a drink.

We found the pub and ordered a cider and a feed. Al then went and asked for the wifi password but was met with resistance:

“We’re not one of those pubs that gives out our wifi password,” the young bargirl said.

“But we need to tell our families we’re okay!” Al protested, and she eventually relented.

Pennine Way fence — Just your standard fence photo

After eating we went and found Steve, who was with another chap (Mick) also doing the Pennine Way. Both had a slightly concerned expression on their face, given Mike still hadn’t arrived and the sun had long since taken its leave for the day. We compared stories. We’d seen him climb out of Cauldron Snout, and passed him several miles before High Cup Nick. The walking was fairly straightforward between there and Dufton, even if it was long and there was a back-breaking downhill to finish. But he’d done it several times before and certainly had the experience, although the fact he wasn’t carrying any food was a concern for all of us. Just as we started coming up with a search and rescue strategy the pub door burst open, and there was Mike – his wispy white beard punctuated by a large, toothy grin. He went and grabbed a pint before joining us, bearing a look that said “What are you lot worried about, I could do this walk in my sleep.”

Mike regaled us with of the Pennine Way spanning several decades. He was as deaf as a post so we let him do all the talking, and he could certainly spin a terrific yarn. Today was his last day of the Pennine Way – instead of hiking all the way through to Kirk Yetholm he planned to instead fly to Spain and tackled the Camino de Santiago. It’s always great to meet someone with a mutual passion for long-distance walking, and Mike had clocked thousands of miles in his life which did indeed include a lengthy stint as secretary of the Pennine Way association. After a few more pints Al and I decided it was time to brave the cold and crawl into our tents. Cross Fell still stood between us and that Leeds Wednesday game, and before that another freezing evening on a punctured sleeping mat.

DAY BY DAY

MAP

HAWES TO CLOVE LODGE

Day six Pennine Way
Distance: 40ish km
Cumulative distance: 203km

Pennine Way frost — I can confirm northern England is a bit chilly in April

After an evening of pretty decent sleep under the novelty of a roof, Al and I convened in the drying room to pack up our washing and I delivered a little plan I’d just concocted. It was Thursday morning, and Leeds were playing the late game against the pigs, Sheffield Wednesday, on Saturday afternoon. If we could make it to Alston by then, we could treat ourselves in another hostel and find a pub showing the match. We had already been told there were pubs in town that showed football (these tend to be few and far between through certain stretches of the Pennine Way) and it would give us a little target to aim for as we looked to break the back of this gut-busting walk. Alston was a mere 75 miles (and several chunky hills) away, so if we averaged 25 miles for three days in a row we’d catch the Leeds game. Simple enough. And given yesterday was a lighter effort, and we were both now feeling much more sprightly, we resolved to try and go beyond 25 miles today and give ourselves a head start on tomorrow.

Pennine Way dry stone wall — The world’s longest dry stone wall. Probably.

Before I continue, let me tell you the story of British ultra runner Jasmin Paris who won this year’s annual spine race along the Pennine Way. At the start of each year during the depths of winter, a collection of male and female super athletes line up at Edale and race each other to Kirk Yetholm, some 268 miles away. Paris became the first ever female winner in 2019, knocking it over in 83 hours, 12 minutes and 23 seconds. That smashed the previous record (set by a man) by more than 12 hours. And to top it all off, she stopped at the aid stations along the way to express milk for her young baby. On virtually no sleep and at a time of year where only eight hours of light per day is on offer, Paris started hallucinating badly towards the end and kept imagining animals sneaking out from behind every rock she ran past. But she stayed strong and made history in the process setting a record that I can only imagine will stand the test of time, unless she gives it another nudge next year.

Pennine Way green hills — It warmed up eventually

All of a sudden 75 miles in three days didn’t sound like too much of a challenge at all really.

Careful not to look at the elevation profile of what was ahead, we left Hawes with a certain spring in our step and headed in the direction of Great Shunner Fell, passing a Duke of Edinburgh group along the way. There was an added benefit to reaching Alston by Saturday afternoon – it would put us on track to finish in 12 days after all, which would give Al an extra day’s recovery before having to attend a wedding in Nottingham the following weekend. For the first time we allowed ourselves a chance to think about the finish, but were quick to dismiss the fantasy as quickly as it popped into our heads given the amount of ground we were still to cover. Great Shunner Fell is the highest mountain in the Yorkshire Dales at 716m. It’s not overly steep but climbing to the top takes about five miles of walking. We distracted ourselves as we often do with football trivia, and reeled in the summit around mid morning before clambering back down and over to Keld for a coffee and an early lunch.

Pennine Way Al on Great Shunner Fell — Look what I built

It was a small cafe attached to a campsite and we snuck in the door in the nick of time. As the lovely but slightly frazzled owner was cooking up our brekky, a group of three campers approached looking for some sustenance of their own. But the door was broken all of a sudden, and refused to budge despite several minutes of jimmying. The poor lady was darting between the door and the kitchen, making sure our tucker didn’t burn, and had to tell the friendly group that their swift entrance to the café was second in line of priorities and that she would tend to them as soon as we were taken care of. As it turned out the brekky was grand, and with a few nifty tools from out the back she was finally able to admit her next customers.

Pennine Way never ends — Still waiting for confirmation there is an actual end to this trail

Leaving Keld meant going down an outrageously steep little hill to cross the river, but soon enough we were climbing once more with our target the Tan Hill Inn which claims to be the highest pub in England. The walking was easy and I struck up a yarn with a couple of elderly chaps heading in the same direction. One was a Leeds fan funnily enough, so I explained our intricate little plan to him. The other used to work for a finance company in London, and has a 12-year-old grandson who lives in Tennessee, and who happens to be a mad Manchester City fan. He flew him over for a game last season, and would you believe it – City lost. They lost two matches in 38 last season. I’m sure he still loved it though.

We found a table outside the Tan Hill Inn and Al rang his Dad as I ducked inside to grab us a couple of non-alcoholic beverages (look at us being all sensible). The chap behind the bar wasn’t blessed with speed of service, in fact he would’ve made a common snail look like Jasmin Paris. But after about 15 minutes I finally managed to get my order in, and five minutes later he’d managed to pour out a couple of pints. We knocked them over, refilled our water bottles and steeled ourselves for what was to come.

Tan Hill Inn clock — Is it just me, or…..

Way off in the distance we could see an endless stream of colourful specks which we worked out were cars on the A66. We knew we had to cross the A66 later on this afternoon (roughly the halfway point of the Pennine Way) but it looked a long way away from where we were sat, and we’d read the descent from the Tan Hill Inn was one of the boggier stretches of the entire walk given it wasn’t flushed with the flagstones of so many other sections.

It was just a case of strapping the headphones in, turning on a podcast, putting the head down and trying not to be swallowed up by the mud. Al stormed ahead pretty early on and I slowly but surely tried navigating the deep grass. I sank in one about halfway up to my knee, and that was the worst of the damage. But the path wound on forever, and pretty soon I lost sight of the A66 as we lost elevation. After about an hour I caught up to Al and we decided we’d stop for afternoon tea once we crossed the A66 which was still miles away. So we slogged on, and then stumbled across God’s Bridge a delightful bit of stonework laid on by Mother Nature which formed a small span over what was unfortunately a fairly dry creek bed. The A66 was thundering up ahead and we decided we’d earned a break so we sat down and admired the natural handiwork over some caramel cookies and a few swigs of whisky, which we’d raided from Jimmy before saying goodbye the other day. It truly was a sensational spot, and we both remained in pretty good nick despite the miles we’d already walked. This was crunch time we figured, fairly late in the day but with a bit of energy left to give. We probably had about six or seven miles to go until we hit 25, and anything after that was a definite bonus.

Pennine Way stream — Good spot for a swig of whisky

There was one small issue regarding where we might sleep that night, but we decided to just figure that out when we were both too exhausted to push on any further. So we hauled ourselves up the hill to the big road, and walked underneath it passing the first sign indicating we’d reached the halfway point. From here we left the A66 behind, and headed onward over more boggy ground, up and down several farmer’s fields over a vast expanse of nothingness. There were a couple of reservoirs up ahead and we were starting to flag, so we figured pitching up next to one of those would be as good an option as any. The first such reservoir was entirely unsuitable so we pushed on until we spied a lush patch of fairly flat green grass beside a little farmhouse. Nothing ventured, nothing gained we thought so Al and I approached the front door and gave it a gentle knock. This turned out to be Clove Lodge.

Paul answered and told us that field wasn’t his, and so he was unable to let us camp there.

“We actually do offer some accommodation but we’re full up tonight.”

“Is there anywhere at all we can pitch up?” Al ventured, telling Paul we’d started out from Hawes that morning.

“One second,” Paul said running back upstairs for a couple of minutes.

On return, to our sheer delight, he said: ‘We’re actually renovating the bunkroom next door but it’s not due to be finished for another month so there are no beds in there yet. But if you like you can just sleep in there, there are cooking facilities and a working shower.

Jackpot! This was incredible news and after about five minutes of thank yous, Paul showed us to our home for the night. Turns out him and his wife are from East Yorkshire, and recently bought the place with the aim of doing it up as an accommodation spot on the Pennine Way. There isn’t too much on offer around these parts, so I suspect it will prove a sensible investment for the lovely couple. And to top it all off, with the nearest pub four miles away, Paul’s wife has decided to get a bar licence. That didn’t help us this evening but Paul, who had quickly become one of my all-time favourite people, ducked off for five minutes and returned with a couple of beers for Al and I saying: ‘Since we don’t have that licence yet I can’t sell you these, so they’re on the house.’

We cooked up a glorious feast thanks to Paul and Vicky at Clove Lodge

Resisting the urge to bearhug this super human, Al and I thanked him profusely once more and he told us to enjoy the night before heading back to his house. We had a room to ourselves, and set up our leaking sleeping mats on the floor upstairs. I knew I was in for a night of discomfort but I didn’t care at all – we had a roof, a kitchen and a shower and cooked up an absolute feast of pasta and corn and little chunks of sausage. I whipped out a bit of chocolate for dessert and then doused myself in the hot water of the shower before retiring for the evening. What a delightful spot. Paul told us during the Spine Race earlier in the year him and his wife spied a deluge of head torches for three straight nights as competitors ran past. The first they saw was none other than Jasmin Paris.