WARMING UP
Pennine Way the night before
Distance: 0km
Cumulative distance: 0km
“Close that f***ing door,” he said, staring deep into my eyes as shadows from the fireplace danced across his weathered, unsmiling face.
Al, Andrew and I had just walked into the Three Stags Head, a rustic pub in the middle of nowhere just down the road from where we had set up camp for the night, and my feeble attempt to shut the door behind me and keep out the chilly wind had clearly been insufficient. I certainly didn’t need a second invitation from the old, white-haired bloke stoking the fire whose gaze only left me once he was sure the door was no longer swaying in the gathering breeze.
Andrew had decided to bring us here, a pub he’d experienced on a previous trip to the Peak District. We were only too happy to follow along given he’d generously accepted our invitation to drive us two and a bit hours from Otley to the trail head of the Pennine Way, which Al, myself and Jimmy were starting tomorrow. Rather than stay in Edale where the trail begins, Andrew suggested we camp up at an old farm which had obliged him before for just three quid a head, rather than indulge in an expensive evening of accommodation nearer to the start of the Pennine Way. The added benefit was, of course, an excursion to the Three Stags Heads which we were assured was a place like no other.
In years gone by the carpark across the road was full of guinea pigs which were supposedly raced in the pub of a Friday night, but that pastime had been scuppered in the time since Andrew last stopped by for a pint with the grizzled locals. We could only find two guinea pigs in the carpark – hardly enough for a sporting race. They seemed happy enough where they were anyway and we were getting a little thirsty after our hefty pre-walk feed a little further up the road. After strolling into the pub and steadying myself following the death stare, I walked over to the only vacant table in the room and sat down. Above me was a hare pointing a shotgun in my general direction – one of the most disturbing pieces of taxidermy I’ve stumbled across and let’s be honest, that’s a fairly disturbing pastime without adding firearms to the equation. There were other stuffed animals who had once breathed throughout the room, a fire being stoked by Whitey who was still casting a suspicious eye over the three of us, and about 20 locals all seemingly having the time of their lives. An adjacent room had the capacity to hold more guests, but it was dark, empty and incredibly uninviting. Behind the bar a sign read ‘Please don’t ask for a pint of lager because a punch in the face might cause offence’. And next to the bar was the menu which read ‘Pork pies: £4’. Whether or not they were made with local guinea pigs was unclear.
We chatted to locals, drank our pints and generally tried to forget about the Pennine Way which we knew had the potential to all but destroy our bodies given we had 250-odd miles to cover in a maximum of 12 days over some of the hilliest ground in England. Instead we learned that Whitey by the fire was enjoying his last evening as the landlord of this pub, before handing over to the charming couple behind the bar. He certainly didn’t seem overly happy about the situation, but I suspected that weary, stubbled face hadn’t contorted itself into a smile for decades. One of the locals came over and felt us out a little with a suspicious line of questioning before deciding none of us were in the mood for a fight, after which he retreated back to his own company. We met a slightly strange couple…the man and woman involved were perfectly lovely, it’s just the coupling seemed slightly random. She was a lady from the Netherlands whose first marriage had failed and he was a chap from Rotherham. The Dutch lady kept remarking on my tanned skin (it must’ve been a trick of the fireplace), then followed me through the dark, cold room out to the toilet at one point. As I left the men’s room I heard her shouting out for help, and upon investigation discovered she had supposedly locked herself inside the women’s. I opened the door to what appeared to be sheer relief on her part then quickly turned on my heel and took myself back to the pub. I certainly didn’t want Mr Rotherham coming at me with the same look I’d already received from Whitey.
All said we would’ve put away seven or eight pints before leaving the Three Stags Heads, certainly enough to think that sitting in Andrew’s car and creating a mini disco while drinking a few cans we’d purchased for the road trip was a good idea. Never mind the 25 miles on the cards tomorrow, a testing opener which would involve scaling Kinder Scout, Bleaklow Moor and Black Hill. We were to meet Jimmy at about 8am in Edale and fortunately had just enough common sense left to drag ourselves away to sleep before drinking too many cans. “I really should’ve trained properly for this…” I thought as I drifted away into a surprisingly cosy sleep.