Day 12 Pennine Way
Distance: 23km
Cumulative distance: 403.5km
BANG!
I woke with a start and spent a minute trying to work out exactly where I was. My mat had all but escaped from underneath me and I was sleeping on a cold, wooden bench top barely a foot wide. Then I heard Al mumble something under his breath and I was shocked back into reality. We were up in the Cheviots in a freezing cold mountain hut, on the verge of completing the Pennine Way. Al had rolled over amidst his slumber and managed to tumble the 18 inches down to the floor. It was bound to happen to one of us. I put off getting up myself as long as possible but finally swung my feet down onto the floor and readjusted my long deflated sleeping mat. I gave the valve a few puffs of air and resumed my cold broken sleep.
Al was awake earlier than me as usual, and it was long before seven when he began suggesting I pack up and we knock off the last 14 miles of this walk. We needed to be in Kirk Yetholm for about 2pm to meet Al’s dad and his brother for the ride home, and unbeknownst to us there were still a few decent climbs ahead of us before we could even dream of re-entering the normal world. It was still blowing a gale outside, and I noticed the fog had descended through the night as I stepped outside to relieve myself in the chilly air. Why the hell did we decide to do this thing in April, and not the middle of summer? We scrounged around through our packs and found a few hiker bars for breakfast, and then took off.
I’d assumed we were roughly at the top of the Cheviots, but apparently this was not the case. We walked side by side for a few miles before Al surged on ahead and I was left cursing the uphill under my breath. These things seem to triple in size and inclination when you’re so close to the finish line, and this is exactly what was happening here. The flagstones were slippery, the ground boggy and visibility almost non-existent. I managed to avoid the detour to the top of the Cheviot which would have added considerable time and exertion, and then finally came to what must have been the top of these God forsaken hills. I’d caught back up to Al, and spied a hill up ahead off to the side. Cheekily I told him we had to walk up it, before telling him I was joking. I shouldn’t have bothered – that’s exactly where the path chose to take us and once again we found ourselves slogging up the side of another yellow hill with virtually no energy in the tank, and chronic pain coursing through our bodies.
Eventually it flattened out, and before too long the fog started lifting, the sun made an appearance and we were into the downhill on the other side. This is Al’s specialty so I let him go on ahead once more, as I tried nursing my knees through one final effort. Every step was slow and torturous, but the view was spectacular and distracting enough to help me through. I knew there was another mountain hut at the seven miles point, but no matter how closely I scanned the horizon I couldn’t see it. All that was ahead of me was a steep descent, and the opportunity to misstep and go for an unwanted tumble down the hill. Was that a wooden hut up in the distance? And was that someone wearing Al’s clothes waving his arms outside it? That must be it…but it seemed so far away, and there was still a steep downhill, and then another uphill to navigate before I got there. Geez, he’s really put a solid effort in to get that far ahead of me I thought.
After 15 more minutes we reunited at the mountain hut, and polished off another couple of muesli bars for the last leg. We also allowed ourselves to fantasise about the forthcoming lunch menu and the free beer waiting for us on arrival. A quick check of the map confirmed what we were hoping…no more tough uphill climbs remained, the last seven miles would instead be a gentle stroll downhill to the Scottish border. Now we could reach out and touch it, and the pain started to disappear from our knees. We walked this last stretch together, navigating the usual conversational path of football trivia and so forth. Once we made it to the bottom of the Cheviots, we started to reflect on what we’d achieved over the last 12 days (or 11 and a half as Al kept reminding me).
It had been a huge effort, and every bit as tough as the LEJOG walk I did last year, just not quite as long. Each day had its unique challenges, and on most occasions at least one serious, murderous climb – Cross Fell, Pen Y Ghent and Kinder Scout spring immediately to mind. We’d lost Jimmy early on and that had been a big blow, to morale, enthusiasm and navigation. But we’d coped almost instantly and slogged on, just the two of us, through the north of England and finally up into Scotland. So much of the Pennine Way is bleak moorland, but it’s sufficiently interspersed with magnificent countryside like the Yorkshire Dales which motivates you to continue taking that next step. We became pretty good at cooking up a feast with limited supplies and resources, likewise setting up and taking down a tent at the end and break of day.
Weather wise we couldn’t have been luckier. There were a few drops of rain early on the morning of day two but otherwise we managed to stay almost completely dry. The wind was icy, and nights were freezing cold but it was manageable and we were just about adequately equipped to ensure comfort levels largely remained in our favour. And most of all, I was about to complete this with one of my closest mates, albeit a chap who lives halfway around the world. If I could have chosen anyone in the world who had the determination, tenacity, competitiveness and physical and mental tenacity to complete this daunting task, it would have been him.
We crossed the border, and finally came into Kirk Yetholm. The trail took us straight to the front door of the border hotel and after all that, we were done. We accosted an elderly gentlemen en route to his car after lunch and asked him to take a picture of us. Iphone technology had moved a bit fast for the poor bloke and when he handed it back all we had were some poorly cropped portraits of the photographer. We switched the camera over and he took a few more snaps which just about captured Al and I, before setting off on his way. Then we went straight inside and were given our complimentary (half) pints, and a certificate outlining what we’d just achieved.
Outside we had one last important job to do before we could relax. We had to call Jimmy. He was absolutely delighted for us, but gutted he’d had to pull out. It must have been hard for him, given the amount of time and energy he’d invested in organising this thing. Then we rang a few relatives and told them we were done before waiting for our lunch, and for Neil and Liam to ferry us back to Otley. What we just did in 12 days was about to be cancelled out by a three-hour car journey and we were both looking forward to piling into the back seat and watching the countryside whiz by.
