Day 10 Pennine Way
Distance: 35km
Cumulative distance: 339.5km
Last night was fairly standard…I woke up at 2am on the freezing ground with a jagged rock trying to burrow its way into the pelvic nerves. The only difference was a heightened chance of supernatural activity disturbing my early am pee, but thankfully the resting souls opted to not bother me. All told it was a decent night’s rest, and in something of an added bonus the pub was already open down the road when we were leaving. And just to add a bit of cream on top, the magnificent landlady dished us out free plunger coffee over a Game of Thrones discussion between her and Al, before sending us on our was towards Hadrian’s Wall.
We left the delightful little village, strolled up a hill, took a wrong turn and finally realigned passing a ruined castle which I suspect would capture Mike’s interest at some point today. Further still we climbed up and left the road, finally thrust upon the footpath which runs west to east across the north of England following the ancient Hadrian’s Wall. Parts of this thing is almost 2000 years old, although neither of us gave much thought to its age as we huffed and puffed up and down its endlessly sadistic terrain. These relentless hills reminded me of the South West Coast Path but instead of overlooking the Celtic Sea we were rewarded with expansive views out across the north of England and the south of Scotland. At long last we could see something resembling the end of this brutal hike, although this was no time to get complacent with 48 hours of slog still ahead of us.
As we approached another punishing climb, Al and I came across a group of about 15 people resting at the foot of a set of stone stairs. Among them was a huge wooden cross which must have made an absolute ton. Their leader told us they were a religious group, making a pilgrimage along Hadrian’s Wall between Carlisle and the River Tyne. Each member would take turns lugging the cross, and the aim was to be finished in time for Easter which was now less than a week away. We wished them well and pressed on, upping the tempo to appease our ravenous stomachs which were not to be fed until we were done with the wall. That moment came eventually, after about nine miles, and we rested on the northern side of the wall using some of its old stone foundations as a wind break. It was was still chilly up here, but the view was spectacular and our cook up was one of the best yet – noodles with corn and ration-pack meatballs. “The hardest bit must be behind us,” we suggested to each other having just about halved the trip to Bellingham, tonight’s destination.
We knew the Cheviots were still to come tomorrow and the next day, but neither of us knew much about them other than they were Northumberland hills which connected the north of England to Scotland. Had we known what was to come, we probably wouldn’t have had such a spring in our step for the rest of this afternoon. We came down from the wall and the land flattened out into farming territory. Several horses greeted us as we strolled past their paddocks, and several much easier miles along we stopped to chat with a farmer who was quite keen to hear about our Pennine Way exploits. He wasn’t long back from a hiking trip to Mallorca, and just quietly that sounded like a fantastic holiday.
“I’ll be looking into that tonight,” I told Al after we bade the farmer goodbye and continued on our way. We had two more nights on this trail and we’d be done. Tonight we were headed for a campsite in Bellingham, and tomorrow we hoped a mountain hut deep in the Cheviots would serve us sufficiently. Al outpaced me for the last stretch over some gentle, hilly farmland until I looked up and saw him waving his hands madly at a fence. I made my way up the hill (not quite as rapidly as Al’s gesticulating suggested I should) and discovered a little lamb had its head stuck through some wiring. It appeared unconscious, but Al carefully maneuvered it to safety and it bounded away in a flash.
He put a space on me again as we approached Bellingham along a lengthy road, and I took a wrong turn which took me down a river instead of into town. Almost immediately I had the feeling I wasn’t going the right way, and fortunately there was enough reception on my phone to let Google Maps save the day. I headed towards the first pub I saw and lo and behold there was Al getting stuck into a well-earned pint. I sat down and joined him, before Steve walked in and informed us the campsite was closed. Hmmmm, this could prove to be rather a large fly in the ointment. Al and I finished our pint, told Steve we’d meet him at the pub for dinner and went to investigate.
There was a campsite there, but there was absolutely no way into it. We considered jumping the fence and just pitching up then spotted a youth hostel across the road and decided to try our luck there instead. We knocked on the door at the house next door and a lady came out saying they weren’t taking campers at the moment because it was lambing season. There was a silver lining though…the youth hostel was practically empty, and it was pretty cheap to secure a bunk bed for the evening. That would mean a decent shower, and a warm sleep so we decided to splurge.
Once we were all set up, Al and I hobbled back up to the pub for one last feed with Steve. He isn’t going as far as us tomorrow, but hopefully we’ll catch up with him in Kent one day. Geez he’s a good bloke. On the way home I ducked into the Co-op and grabbed myself some ice cream, and while Al went to bed I settled in the common room and tried catching up on the day’s news. Lo and behold, the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris was on fire. How many beers had I had? Surely this wasn’t happening. I flicked on the TV and that’s what they were talking about. Unbelievable. To finish off the night I checked my messages, and noticed my Scottish pal Erin had invited me along to her cousin’s wedding in Ireland as a plus-one next month. That sounded like a heap of fun! But before then, the Cheviots awaited and with that the toughest section yet of the Pennine Way.
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