hiking adventures Archives

Surefooted

June 20, 2019

Today as I walked I thought about the word ‘surefooted’. I thought about it as I was descending a small, steep path in the woods that was covered with stones, some of them wet. I had to watch the ground, I had to be careful about where I placed each step, how my foot landed, making sure not to slip or stumble.

All the hiking experience in the world can’t always prevent you from taking a fall, but I do think experience counts for a lot. I’m not so nervous stepping on/over/around rocks anymore. When I first started hiking, before my first Camino, I was slower and shakier. I wasn’t sure where to place my feet, my steps were hesitant.

But sometime in these last years I’ve realized that I’ve become surefooted. I know where to step (most of the time!). But it’s my ease, too, my confidence and competence when I’m hiking. Inside, I can often be full of small worries and concerns, but when I start walking, the worries and concerns seem to quiet down.

Today’s hike required lots and lots of surefooted-ness; the path ran up and down through the woods, on often uneven and muddy ground. The trail was narrow, sometimes hugging the side of a steep slope. Parts were overgrown with thorny branches (wore my long pants- best decision of the day!), sections were covered with thick black slugs, and I nearly stepped on the absolute largest toad I’d ever seen (so maybe that’s not the best example of being surefooted…)

I began to feel tired today, the muscles in my legs started aching, my feet demanded a break. But this is being surefooted, too: knowing when to take a break, knowing that despite the fatigue I’ll be able to carry on.

Now it’s night, I’m alone in the gîte in Borce, I cooked a dinner of spaghetti and tomato sauce, I’m wrapped in blankets in my bunk bed. Inside, again, worries are starting to nag: tomorrow will be a day of steady rain. I have a difficult and long climb up to Somport. What if I’m tired, what if there is no place to stop for a break, what if my feet get soaked and I get blisters?

But then I remember that, when I walk- in the sun or wind or rain, through moorland or meseta or mountains, on pavement or grass or mud- I am surefooted.

So bring on the mountains and the rain, I’m ready.

Day 13 on the Pennine Way: Greenhead to Bellingham, 21.5 miles

April 19, 2019

(July 2018) I woke up in my bunk at the Greenhead Hostel feeling excited for day 13 on the Pennine Way. I’d be returning to Hadrian’s Wall! And I could start my morning with a hot breakfast and multiple cups of coffee!

After the morning fuel I headed out, back through the narrow pathway that had lead to Greenhead and onto both the Pennine Way and Hadrian’s Wall Path. The two routes overlap here, just for 7 miles, but these are 7 glorious miles and I was so happy to be walking them again.

When I walked Hadrian’s Wall Path back in the spring of 2017, I had mostly cloudy, windy days. I had walked east to west (into the wind, which maybe was a mistake), and spring had only just begun. The landscape was still feeling rough, and a bit wild.

But now I was here in the summer, walking west to east, and although my first steps of the day were under gray skies, after about 30 minutes the clouds rolled away and I was treated to more of that wonderful northern England sunshine.

It was so fun to be back at the Wall. I’d really loved my walk in 2017, walking through those long, gray, windy days along the ancient remains of what used to be a massive defensive barrier, imagining what the wall was like when it was built, who had walked the paths that I now walked on, what kind of fighting and battling must have taken place here.

This time, I mostly knew what to expect, and so I just enjoyed every second of those 7-miles. These miles follow the best preserved sections of the wall, from Walltown Crags to just before Housesteads Crags, taking in Great Chesters Fort, the trip point at Winshields Crag, my favorite milecastle (#39), and Sycamore Gap. I took so, so many photographs, I smiled constantly, I found an energy from deep within as I climbed up and down and up and down the steep small hills of the escarpment.

And the weather was perfect. It was perfect! This was the very best day yet, with clouds perfectly dotting the wide blue sky, a light wind that cooled the heat of the sun, the exactly right temperature for walking.

Here are a bunch of photos from the wall (and if you want to read a little more about that same section when I walked two years ago, here is that post). But keep reading after these photos, there were more adventures on the rest of the stage!

Approaching Sycamore Gap, Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

The Robin Hood Tree! (Sycamore Gap)

I split up my time on the Wall at the Northumberland National Park Visitor’s Center, which is just a slight detour from the path, in Once Brewed. This would be a good place to split the stage if you have the time; there’s a youth hostel here, and an Inn (named Twice Brewed), as well as a campsite a little further down the road. It would make for only a 7-mile stage (Greenhead to Once Brewed), but it would allow plenty of time for exploration and site-seeing and you can take your merry time. I’ll touch on this in a later post, but if I could plan another walk on the Pennine Way, I think I’d give myself 17 or 18 days, rather than 15. And one of those extra days would be here.

The Northumberland National Park Visitor’s Center is shiny and new (and I think it must have been under construction/being built when I walked through in 2017), and it was a nice place for a quick break. There’s tons of information and exhibits on the wall, though I didn’t have much time to linger. I just used the bathroom, bought a couple postcards, stopped by the little shop for a Twix bar and a bag of chips (essential snacks along the way!), reapplied my sunscreen and then headed back out.

After another two miles I reached my turnoff to continue on the Pennine Way, and I have to say, it felt really good to turn left at the signpost and walk north, leaving the Wall behind me. It felt right. Walking along the Wall almost felt like I was on a vacation (even though, technically, walking the Pennine Way was my vacation). But how can I explain it? I’d been there before, I knew where I was going. Even though it was early enough in the morning that I was avoiding the crowds, I was still running into other day hikers and tourists. For those 7-miles, I’d stopped walking north, towards Scotland, and was instead on a bit of a detour and going out of my way to the east. I can’t be sure, but it seems like as soon as I turned left at the signpost, everything grew quiet. And calm. And peaceful. I’d left everyone else behind. I was back on my walk.

But almost immediately I- quite literally- stumbled onto some excitement. I was climbing over a wooden stile and coming down the other side of a stone fence when I nearly stepped on a little lamb. The poor thing was stuck in the gate next to the wall! It was butting its head frantically, shaking its whole body, but one of it’s horn had gotten wedged under one of the railings of the gate and he was trapped.

His mother was standing further off in the field, watching us. I climbed down from the stile, put my pack on the ground, and approached the little guy. As soon as I reached down he froze, terrified.

I was kind of terrified, too. Sheep are great and all, but only when they’re at a bit of a distance, grazing in a field or tottering away down the path. I’m not scared of sheep, but to be honest I’m not sure if I’ve ever touched a sheep before. Petting zoos weren’t really my thing, and if they ever were, I’m sure I was only looking, and not petting.

But I couldn’t leave the poor little lamb stuck in a gate, and the whole thing was probably comical if anyone else was watching because I’m sure it took me far longer to get the guy unstuck than it should have. But after some maneuvering and gentle pushing I got his head unstuck and like lightening he dashed away to his mother and then they ran off together.

After my valiant lamb rescue, I continued on, down a forestry track, briefly into a forest and then back out into the open land. My guidebook mentioned a small enclosure just off to the side of the path which would make for a nice rest spot (or wild camping spot). I saw it from a bit of a distance and when I approached, I found that it was- indeed- the perfect place to stop for lunch. I climbed over the low stone wall, found a flat spot on the ground, and settled in for a little picnic. Even though I was in the open country of Haughton Common, I felt secluded away, protected and safe.

Haughton Common, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

My perfect lunch spot!

A satisfying lunch and then more walking, on and on, the sky wide above me, the countryside stretching out before me. It was sometime during this afternoon section that I had one of my perfect walking moments. It’s a little hard to describe these, only that I know I usually have one or two on every long-distance walk I’ve ever done. The moments are made up of similar ingredients: usually there is nearly perfect weather, making for very comfortable walking. I feel strong and energized, full of food, my feet free of blisters, my legs free of any pain. I am all alone, with no one ahead and no one behind. Sometimes I am listening to music, sometimes I am listening to the wind.

This time, all I know is that I was walking along and this feeling was building and building- I think it was joy, or maybe utter happiness- and then it nearly overwhelmed me and I felt like I could fly. Or at least run, or dance, or spin, and so I did all three: there, alone in a wild field, spinning and dancing down the trail and smiling up to the sky. I feel so free in those moments, so certain that where I am is exactly where I’m meant to be. I feel like I want to do this- I want to walk and be free- forever.

The moments never last forever though, but I have to say that this time, the feeling of happiness followed me all the way to Bellingham. I had miles to go, but I can’t remember much of them, other than they felt easy and I felt strong.

But before Bellingham- maybe a few miles before?- I passed through a farm and saw a sign painted on an old green door, reading ‘Pit Stop’. “What’s this?” I asked myself, before venturing inside.

The little shed to the side of the main house was a walker’s oasis. It was a dark and a bit dingy inside, but obvious care had been taken to provide walkers with everything they might need. There was a fridge stocked with rows of cold drinks. There was a basket full of packaged biscuits, and jars of candy. There was a notebook registry, and a basket of medical supplies. There was a box full of things that walkers had left for others to use. There were couches and there was even a bathroom, with rolls of toilet paper! Toilet paper!

I only had a few more miles until Bellingham and I was still feeling strong, but I had already walked nearly 20 miles and I was starting to feel tired, so I gratefully sat for a few minutes with a cold drink. I left a few coins in a donation box and signed the registry, leaving a note for the friends I’d met that were somewhere behind me.

On my way out I met the owner of the farm and his wonderful black Labrador, chatted for a few minutes, then continued on. And because this was shaping up to be a wonderful day, the path continued to provide so much beauty and joy around nearly every corner.

Once in Bellingham, I found my lodgings- Demesne Farm Bunkhouse (I wrote about it for the Independent Hostels UK website!)- was shown up to my room (alone again, naturally!), showered and washed my clothing and then set back out into town, to buy supplies from the grocery store. Along with lunch and snacks for the next day, I bought stuff for dinner and took it back to the bunkhouse, and set up my little feast in the kitchen. Just as I was about to head up to my bunk room, I met several cyclists who were in the middle of the Reivers Coast to Coast Route. While they made tea, I answered their questions about the Pennine Way, and in turn, asked them about their own adventure.

Then my usual routine in my empty bunk room: a few ginger cookies, a few chapters of Jane Eyre, and then fast asleep under the heavy blankets with a cool breeze blowing through the open window.

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Day 12 on the Pennine Way: Alston to Greenhead, 16.5 miles

April 11, 2019

(July 2018) Day 12 on the Pennine Way took me from Alston to Greenhead, and overall the walking was straightforward and uncomplicated. It had been a few days since I could say that (field wanderings, a missed dinner, a drained cellphone, exhausted legs, hill/mountain climbing, no coffee), and so I was looking forward to this stage.

I think, however, I need to add a note about the weather. If you’ve been following along, you may have noticed that I’ve written- “It was another day of blue skies and sunshine”- in nearly every post. If I didn’t write it, the photos have shown you how great the weather was during my walk.

And, you guessed it, my 12th day was no different and the weather was perfect. So when I say that this stage was straightforward and uncomplicated, it’s especially easy for me to say that because of the weather. A fellow Pennine Way walker is posting photos from his trek over on Instagram; he walked in the fall and I think he walked at least half of his trek in the rain. He had 8 days in a row of soggy boots! He just posted some photos from the same stage I’m writing about today, saying that he walked through what is the wettest and boggiest section of the entire Pennine Way, at first trying to walk with plastic bags wrapped over his shoes, then forsaking the bags and just tramping through the mud and water and soaking his boots clean through.

I look at his photos and I remember what the same walk was like for me. I, too, walked through the fields that are known as being the ‘wettest section of the way’. What do I remember from this section? I only remember focusing on navigation and looking for signposts. Maybe I walked through a small puddle? Maybe one? But I doubt it.

The Pennine Way wasn’t an easy walk, it was the most difficult one I’ve done so far. Sometimes I wonder if I would have loved it as much as I did if I hadn’t had such nice weather. I remember how miserable so much of that first day was, my only day of rain: how difficult it was to navigate and keep to the trail, how cold my hands were, how wet my socks and shoes became. As I’ve been trying to churn out these posts, it’s meant that I’ve immersed myself in memories from my walk, and it’s so easy to long to be back on the trail, it makes me want to plan another walk in the UK. And I’m sure I will, but I also need to always remember that the beauty of my experience had a lot to do with the weather.

Okay, enough rambling, back to Day 12!

The weather was good, yes, but my last few days had been difficult and so I took an easy alternate path for the first 6 miles of the day and it was the best decision I could have made. The South Tyne Trail follows an old railroad track and runs roughly parallel to the Pennine Way. But where the Pennine Way climbs up and down little hills, traverses farms and is constantly taking you through a series of gates and stiles, the South Tyne Trail is totally flat and straight and stile free. Stile free! Plus, there’s no need to even worry about navigation or looking for the next marker or constantly checking maps to make sure you’re on the right track. It was free and easy walking, the kind where you can just let your mind wander and cruise along easily and happily.

And cruise along I did. I had sort of missed this kind of walking, and I was grateful for the break. Now, purists would probably shun the South Tyne Trail (or at least choose to stick to the Pennine Way) and once, there would have been a time where I would have made that choice. But in my 5 years of long-distance walking, I’ve learned a few things. And one of them is this: if there’s a much easier path that is running parallel to a more difficult (yet official) path, take the easy one. (I feel like there’s a life lesson in here somewhere…)

So I walked for about 6-miles on the South Tyne Trail, moving quickly and easily and happily. I took a slight detour to see about a snack or a cup of coffee at the Kirkstyle Inn (well-worth a visit, my guidebook told me) but I came up short and the Inn was closed (I think just for the day, so future Pennine Way walkers should try their luck). I didn’t mind too much- the morning had been easy and I was still full from my breakfast at the B&B in Alston, so I continued on.

I moved away from the South Tyne Trail and back onto the Pennine Way, immediately climbing out of the valley and walking through fields and fells, marsh grass growing high around me. I continued on through farmland, then reached Blenkinsopp Common, the fabled “wettest and boggiest” section of the Pennine Way. My guidebook also told me that navigation would be nearly impossible here, the path disappearing into the grass and heather, but just to look for the fenceline and follow it north. At first I couldn’t even see a fence but I eventually spotted it, far off in the distance. I headed towards it, picking my way through the moors, hoping I wouldn’t sink into a bog. My fears were unfounded; there were no bogs to be had, and the path was mostly dry.

I think the highlight of my afternoon was finding a Pennine Way marker in these fields: my guidebooks says, “Chufty badge for navigation if you find this” and when I did I let out a small cheer. I didn’t cross paths with another walker for the entire day, I was alone with my thoughts and my footsteps for miles and miles and so sometimes, finding a marker in an otherwise endless field of green feels rather exciting.

After another few hours I arrived in Greenhead, the Pennine Way having just overlapped with Hadrian’s Wall Path. I was excited about the next day’s walk- I’d get to walk about 7-miles along Hadrian’s Wall (some of the best part!), and ever since I walked the route in the spring of 2017, I’d been eager to go back.

In Greenhead I’d booked a bed at the hostel, which is in a converted Methodist chapel, and as usual I had the room all to myself. Just as I was thinking that my Pennine Way had turned into a very solo trip (despite having made several friends within the first few days), I ran into the Dutchman- Luke (or Luuk?)- at dinner! The Greenhead Hotel was just about the only place around for food, and there were a few other walkers there as well. Luke and I ate together and talked about our experiences along the way, and it felt really good to be able to share my experience with someone else. It felt like a long time since I’d said goodbye to David back in Horton-in-Ribblesdale, and while I’d had some nice encounters with locals, I hadn’t really met or talked to another walker like me. I’d resigned myself to a very solo and isolated walk until the end, so having that meal with Luke was an unexpected treat. We talked about the next day’s stage and he told me he was breaking what I would be doing in one day into two, so I knew that I wouldn’t see him again. But this is something I love so much about these long-distance walks: the chance to have a drink or a meal with a stranger who quickly turns into a friend, for the shared camaraderie, the understanding, the ease of it all.

Then back to my bunk in the hostel, under the covers, a chapter of Jane Eyre and then lights out, already dreaming about the next day’s walk along Hadrian’s Wall.

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Uncaffeinated on the Pennine Way: Day 11, Dufton to Alston, 19.5 miles

April 6, 2019

I woke up in my tent to discover- almost shockingly- that I’d gotten a good night’s sleep. I was in the Camping and Caravan Park in Dufton, a little over halfway through the Pennine Way. For this 268-mile walk, I was carrying a very heavy (heavy to me, anyway!) pack, my tent and sleeping pad adding to the weight. I only ended up using my tent for two nights on my 15-day walk, and maybe it seems a bit unnecessary to have carried all that extra weight for only two nights of camping.

But honestly, having that tent set my mind at ease. I had reservations for every night along the trail, but the thing was, this route was kind of tough. There was never a point where I thought I’d need to cut a day short and pull out my tent and make camp somewhere, but I think having that option added an extra layer of security to the walk.

In any case, the night in my tent in Dufton was the second and final night of camping on the Pennine Way, and overall, it was a good one. The temperatures were warm enough (unlike my first experience in my tent!), and I was so tired that I fell asleep quickly and easily.

After I woke up I broke down my tent and attempted to dry it out in the very early morning sun (dew drops everywhere!) while I got ready for the day. But there was really nothing to linger over- I didn’t have a stove so I couldn’t make myself a cup of coffee, and there were no open shops or pubs where I could have breakfast. So I wiped down the tent as well as I could and then stuffed it back in my pack, figuring I would really dry it out somewhere along the day’s walk (turns out that I forgot all about the damp tent and had to later air it out in my tiny B&B room, but that’s for later).

I left Dufton, heading out for day 11 on the Pennine Way, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. I like this kind of walking, the kind when absolutely no one else is around, but to be honest, I was pretty nervous for the day’s hike.

Out of Dufton on the Pennine Way

There was going to be some difficult walking, with a lot of elevation gain, up through the mountains where I wouldn’t pass any resources until nearly the end of the stage. Normally this might not be so bad, but the previous day had me spooked. I’d walked on very, very tired legs for the entire day, and I was dreading the possibility of more fatigue. What if I couldn’t make it up the final mountain? What if I didn’t enjoy the walk, what if I couldn’t have any fun, what if the rest of the Pennine Way ended up being a long, slow slog through the last bits of northern England?

These fears and also, I would be doing the 19.5 miles on no coffee. No coffee! Yes, the day before I’d only slurped down a bit of lukewarm instant coffee but at least it was something. But this day held no possibility of caffeine, and this might have made me more nervous than anything else. I remember how, on my first Camino, I walked through the Meseta for maybe 13-miles before my first cup of coffee, and my head was pounding and I was grumpy and didn’t really want to talk to anyone. But those were 13 flat miles with a much, much lighter pack. Uncaffeinated on the Pennine Way might be a whole other kind of beast.

But at least my blisters were totally gone! I’m not sure if I’ve clarified this in the last few posts or not, but it’s a good time to mention that my feet had completely healed, and I was totally free of blister pain. Little victories!

Full of fears but free of blisters, I set out from Dufton and began a gradual ascent on a lane that passed through several farms. When I reached the ruins of Halsteads, I passed through a gate and was in the open countryside and heading for those big hills. At this point the walking became a little steeper, my breathing became heavier, but I was feeling okay. I stopped for a sip of water, I felt okay. I kept walking, I felt okay.

Heading towards Knock Fell, Day 11 on the Pennine Way

I took lots of tiny pauses and breaks in my climb up to Knock Fell, the first summit of the day, but incredibly, I continued to feel okay. The bone-weariness feeling of the day before had lifted, and I had my hiking legs back. This isn’t to say that 1500ft ascent up to Knock Fell was easy, because believe me, I stopped to catch my breath quite a bit (but with another clear day, I was able to see all the way to the Lake District!). I stopped only for a small break when I reached the trig point- just enough time to take off my pack and drink some water- but then I continued on. As long as I was feeling strong, I wanted to keep walking.

Looking out towards the Lake District on the Pennine Way

Summit of Knock Fell, Pennine Way

Down from Knock Fell, onto stone slabs for a bit of level walking and then back up again, higher and higher until I could see the great white dome of the weather station growing larger in front of me and soon enough I had arrived at Great Dunn Fell. I didn’t take off my pack this time, only pausing for more water and a fist raised in victory and then I continued on, down then up then down and then up, up, up, all the way to Cross Fell, the highest point in the Pennines.

Radar station on Great Dun Fell, Pennine Way

Line of sheep on hill, Day 11 on the Pennine Way

Up at Cross Fell I took off my shoes and socks and stretched out in the sun. I’d waked 8 miles and still had 11.5 to go, but from here it would be mostly downhill. I knew I would be okay.

Summit of Cross Fell, Day 11 on the Pennine Way

Nearly as soon as I started the descent from Cross Fell, I saw several men running up the hill towards me. They were breathing heavily, totally focused and wearing racing bibs, but each one took a moment to nod and say hello as he passed. I continued down the hill, a few more men ran by. Then a woman, then another man, and as I looked down through the fields I could see a line of them. Another race! You know, there’s nothing like seeing a mass of people running through the same hills I was huffing and puffing over to make me realize that what I was doing wasn’t exactly extraordinary. That’s not to take away from my own accomplishment, but still, all morning I’d been totally alone, battling the inner voices that had me questioning whether I had the strength to climb each summit, feeling like I was in wild countryside, on my own epic course. Then, suddenly, here come the runners!

Nothing to do but smile and say hi to each one as they passed, and continue walking. There was a point where I had to help direct some of the runners- they’d gotten confused and couldn’t see the runners ahead of them, but since I’d just walked down where they would have to run up, I was able to act as a guide. “It’s up that way!” I yelled, pointing up the hill, my voice carrying away with the wind.

“Thank you!!” the runners yelled back.

A race on the Pennine Way

From here the Pennine Way continued on a rough and rocky dirt path that wound for nearly 8-miles down through the hills and towards the village of Garrigill. At first the walking felt rather easy as I picked my way around the larger rocks, but soon my feet grew tired. I passed the lovely stone structure of Greg’s Hut, another place that would be a relief to stop in during bad weather, and a little further on, resting on the hillside, was the Dutchman. We waved at each other as I walked past, and then I continued on and on, further down that rocky road, the bottoms of my feet protesting as the miles accumulated.

Greg's Hut, Day 11 on the Pennine Way

The rough and rocky Corpse Road, Day 11 on the Pennine Way

At least my guidebook was hilarious. Each little map had something to say about the awful experience of walking Corpse Road: “The path is rough and stony and there are miles to go before you sleep.” “As you round a bend and see the path ahead snaking away into infinity, the heart sinks. It’s a long, long way to Garrigill, I kid you not. And as for Alston…” “View of Garrigill, a sight for sore feet.” And, finally, “I’ve had enough of this…”

Arriving in Garrigill was, indeed, a relief, but I didn’t stay long. I stopped and used a toilet but then kept walking, wanting to push on to Alston where I could finally put my feet up after a long day. The rest of the walk wasn’t as bad, and honestly I can’t remember much. I’m pretty sure I was on auto-pilot, just moving forward until I arrived in town.

Bridge over South Tyne River, Pennine Way

And then, when I finally walked into Alston, I felt a bit triumphant. It had been a long day… it had been a long several days, and I’d made it. There’s something about staring down a fear or a challenge, walking into it and walking through it, and coming out on the other side.

With my arrival in Alston I only had four more days left on the Pennine Way, but I think this was the first moment where I felt like I could do it. That it didn’t really matter what else came my way: unless something disastrous happened, I was going to be able to finish this walk.

And what better way to celebrate a feeling of accomplishment after 19.5 miles and 3500 ft of ascent on no coffee than with a night in a B&B? My reservation for the night was in the Victoria Inn, a small and relatively cheap establishment on one of the main streets of the village. I was welcomed and escorted up to my tiny room on the top floor of the building, and the owner apologized over and over for how small the room was. But when I walked inside I couldn’t stop grinning: the room was perfect. Yes, it was tiny, with just enough room for a bed, a dresser and a little nook with a sink and a mirror, but I didn’t need anything more. There were three windows surrounding the bed with views over the rooftops of the village. I instantly fell in love with my little nest, deciding that I would only leave to go out to look for food.

My perfect little room in the Victoria Inn, Day 11 on the Pennine Way, Alston

And that’s what I did. I aired out my tent and took a shower and washed my clothes and hung them from the curtain rod over the bed, then set off for the grocery store where I bought dinner and hiking snacks and lunch supplies and tiny bottles of wine. I took my loot back up to my room, opened a bottle of wine and a bag of chips, and sat on a pillow on the floor in the corner of the room where I could get wifi. I spent the evening feasting and relaxing and writing in my journal and reading- you guessed it- a few chapters of Jane Eyre.

Food supplies for the Pennine Way

It was a good day. A long, tough day, but a good one. And now, with only four more days left on the Pennine Way, I was in the final stretch.

Victoria Inn; a view over the rooftops of Alston

Next Post: Day 12 on the Pennine Way

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Day 10 on the Pennine Way: Holwick to Dufton, 17-miles

March 31, 2019

(I had a little trouble with my website last week, so in case you missed my recap of Day 9 where I found myself lost in a field for an hour or two, here it is!)

I woke up around 5:00am in the camping barn in Holwick. I hadn’t set an alarm because the battery on my phone was low, really low. There was no electricity in the barn and so I’d powered down my phone the night before, hoping to save what little battery I had, in order to take a few photos the next day.

The bright sun woke me up, and despite the early hour, I decided to get out of bed and start the day. I moved slowly through the morning tasks: brushing my teeth, loading my pack, eating breakfast. My food situation was not ideal, but still okay- I’d eaten my bread the night before but still had a granola bar and banana for breakfast, and I hoped it would be enough to keep me going until my lunch of cheese and tortillas and an apple and another granola bar. I had a few other snacks as well, but the day’s route was isolated and wouldn’t pass by any pubs or restaurants or stores.

There was no good way to make coffee, but I tried anyway- dissolving a packet of instant coffee into some hot water, shaking it up and gulping it down. It was bad, but I think it got at least a little caffeine into my system, which I suppose is better than nothing?

I left early, before 6:00am, and I was glad to be moving on. The camping barn was adequate but after my misadventures of the night before, I was ready for a new day.

But within about 20 minutes of walking I realized that my body was tired. It was a particular kind of tired, and not the kind that I could shake after warming up my feet and my legs. It was a drained kind of tired, and later I would wonder if it had anything to do with not eating enough the night before. In normal life, a dinner of quinoa and bread wouldn’t be a lot but it would be enough. Maybe I wouldn’t be satisfied, maybe I would be tired the next day but it wouldn’t really affect me too much. But when hiking day after day, on an often strenuous route no less, my body was burning through the calories and needed the right kind of nutrition.

Or, who knows, maybe the Pennine Way had just tired me out, and I was having an off day. In any case, my weariness persisted the entire day. Just about every single step felt like a great effort and it was probably one of the most difficult days of walking I’ve had yet. This was also the sort of day where the mental challenge became almost as difficult as the physical challenge: I had to work hard to keep my mind focused, to not overwhelm myself thinking about all the miles I still had to walk, to not stress over the challenging sections ahead.

Because this day’s stage, from Holwick to Dufton, wasn’t going to be easy. It’s one of the more popular stages of the Pennine Way because it passes several great spots: three big waterfalls- Low Force, High Force, Cauldron Snout- then a long, slow ascent up to High Cup Nick, one of the most iconic images of the Way. And I had a great day for it, too, another day of blue skies and sunshine, but almost from the get-go I couldn’t enjoy it. As I walked, all I could think about was sitting down. I fantasized about a food truck appearing in the distance. I pictured a bed with fluffy blankets and lots of pillows.

I wasn’t enjoying the walking, and I also couldn’t whip out my phone every few minutes to take photos, because the battery was almost dead. Every time I reached a waterfall I’d pull out my phone, turn it on, take a photo and then turn it back off. And then I’d keep walking, moving slowly, my head down, counting steps, trying to distract myself from how tired I felt.

One of my worst parts of the entire Pennine Way came in the approach to Cauldron Snout. It was a flat section of the route that ran along the River Tees, but the path was through what felt like a small boulder field clinging to the side of the river bank. This section took me forever- I had to watch every footstep so carefully, picking and choosing where to take my next step, needing to climb up and over rocks, watching my balance. I nearly stepped on a dead sheep (this is probably way too much information, but it just felt like either a bad omen or else more proof that the day was not a good one), and when I finally reached the end of the boulders I had to scramble up a rocky wall alongside the raging waterfall of Cauldron Snout. I climbed up the rocks mostly on my hands and knees and when I reached the top I stopped for a long break, relieved that I’d made it. The scramble wasn’t dangerous or even too difficult (I thought the scrambling section up Pen-y-Ghent was harder), but I was bone-tired and scrambling makes me nervous even on a good day.

Walking through boulders towards Cauldron Snout, Pennine Way

Raging water of Cauldron Snout, Pennine Way

From here it was a lot more walking until I would reach High Cup Nick, a geological formation that’s kind of hard to describe. It’s a valley, a chasm, an enormous chunk scooped out of the earth and the Pennine Way takes you right up to the edge. To get there, I had to walk through moors, up Rasp Hill, through the long and open valley of Maize Beck. Along the way I met two old men, both shirtless, coming from the opposite direction. They stopped me to comment about the weather, and one of them, gesturing to the clear blue skies, said, “Ahh, but you’re so lucky!”

And despite how difficult the day’s walk had been, I had to agree. I was lucky to get to do this. I was lucky that the weather had been so beautiful, that- aside from my first day– navigation had been easy, lucky that the ground wasn’t boggy, lucky that my socks and shoes could stay dry. I was lucky that my mishaps so far had been small, lucky that it was only fatigue that I had to walk through, and not something much worse.

High Cup Nick was, indeed, beautiful, and the few photos I was able to take on my now nearly charge-less phone don’t do the landscape justice. If there is ever time for a wide-angle lens, it would be here. But it’s not about the photos, is it? It was about my ability to sit at the rim, peel off my shoes and socks, lean back on my pack and lift my face up to the sun. It was about a good chunk of cheese and a crisp apple, chocolate that hadn’t yet melted. There was a large school group off to my right, the kids must have been between 8 and 10 years old and I watched them, how they listened to their leaders talk about how the valley was formed, how they smiled and laughed, how they dutifully went off into the bushes for a bathroom break before continuing their trek.

High Cup Nick, Day 10 on the Pennine Way

A couple other hikers drifted in and out, but after the school group left I had the view mostly to myself. And then I carried on, and although my body was tired, the walking from here on out wasn’t too bad- just four more miles until I reached Dufton, all downhill.

Dufton is a small hamlet, not much more than a few streets, a restaurant, a corner shop and post office, a youth hostel (completely booked) and a camping caravan park. I walked through the village and before figuring out my campsite for the night, I made a stop at Post Box Pantry, the little corner shop. I walked inside, then had no idea what I wanted. Do you ever have those moments when you’re just so tired that you can’t make basic decisions? I looked at the food on the shelves, I looked at the small menu, and then I ordered a strawberry milkshake. But the milkshake wasn’t really a milkshake, not the kind with ice cream anyway, and I was handing a large glass of pink milk and so I took it outside to drink it on a bench in the sun.

There was a Dutchman sitting at the next table who was also walking the Pennine Way. “I couldn’t find a bed in this village,” he told me, “So I’m staying a few miles away and the owners of the B&B are picking me up.”

This had been my dilemma, too, when I’d been making reservations. There were no beds available at the only Inn or in the hostel, and so I’d settled on a campsite. But now hearing that being shuttled out of Dufton and back in had been an option, I realized that maybe I hadn’t needed to bring along a tent at all. But before I could sink further into these thoughts, the Dutchman introduced yet another stress.

“Look where we need to go tomorrow,” he pointed. “It’s going to be a really, really hard stage.”

Far off in the distance, way above the village and into the mountains was a round, white radar station. It was jut a pinprick on the horizon and tomorrow, I would have to walk up there, and then I would have to keep going. I couldn’t imagine having the energy.

I pushed those thoughts away, too, telling myself that I’d worry about that tomorrow. So I finished my strawberry milk, said goodbye to the Dutchman, hoisted up my heavy pack and headed off to my campsite. Once there, I found a sign that said I needed to call a number to check-in. My phone was dead (and I didn’t have an international calling plan or a local SIM card so I wouldn’t have been able to call if I tried!), but there was an address listed on the sign so I set back out.

I arrived at a house with a fenced in yard, so I let myself in though the gate but stopped short when I heard loud, angry grunting coming from a small enclosure. I waited, and then a huge black pig appeared, and can pigs ever be aggressive animals? Because this one did not seem happy to see me. And why in the world was I standing in someone’s yard, in a showdown with a pig? Things were getting stranger and stranger.

But I was in the right place and a man came out and took me back over to the campsite, showing me where I could set up my tent. It wasn’t the most ideal situation- I was on a patch of grass in the middle of a circle of camper vans, where people were parked on holiday. There were no other tents and for the life of me I can’t figure out where other Pennine Way walkers stay in this village. Maybe there weren’t other walkers that day, maybe they’d taken up all the rooms in the Inn.

I mentioned that I was planning to have dinner at the pub that evening, and once again, I got a concerned look and the manager asked if I’d made a reservation. “You might not be able to get dinner,” he told me, “you really need a reservation and at this point they’ll be all booked up. But go over anyway and ask at the bar. You might have to wait until every else is served, but if you ask nicely they might be able to make you something.”

My heart sank. I needed dinner that night, I couldn’t face the possibility of another difficult day on not enough calories. The corner shop had already closed so there wasn’t the possibility of buying food items there at this point (note to self: stock up when you have the chance!!), and so the restaurant was my only option. This is something that I wished my guidebook had pointed out. Maybe I was supposed to have known that I needed to make reservations at restaurants (and not at pubs?), but there was no mention of this in my guide and I assumed that as long as I showed up at the right hour, I would be able to order some food. But this was now the second night in a row where I was running into problems!

After I showered and washed my clothes and set up my tent, I went over to the restaurant. It was around 6:00pm, and I went to the bar and asked about the possibility of food. The response was along the same lines of what the owner of the caravan park had given me, and once again, the barmaid looked at me a little sternly, showing no sympathy. But I persisted, asking if there was any way she could ask the chef if he could fit one more meal in. She disappeared into the kitchen, the came back a few minutes later.

“You can sit at one of these tables,” she pointed to a section of the restaurant in front of the bar. “You might have to wait awhile but the chef said he’d make you something.”

Nearly two hours and a couple of beers later, a piping hot meal was placed down on my table. I ate every single scrap and then left a very generous tip that I hoped would make its way to the chef.

The sun was beginning to set as I arrived back at the caravan park, but the golden light was still pouring onto my tent and the inside was toasty, and warm. I snuggled deep into my sleeping bag, my belly finally full, listening as children and dogs ran together in wild glee, watching their shadows dance across the walls of my tent, watching as the light dimmed and faded to darkness.

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Day 9 on the Pennine Way; Tan Hill Inn to Holwick, 20+ miles

March 25, 2019

Day 9 on the Pennine Way started with another full English breakfast in the dining room of the Tan Hill Inn. Actually, it started with something better.

Have I mentioned my little trick when it comes to breakfasting on the Pennine Way? When I stayed in a bunkhouse or B&B that served breakfast, I’d make a note of the starting time and always arrived at least 5 minutes early. Often I was the first one there, and the tables were set and the cooks were in the kitchen. Within moments I’d have a hot cup of coffee and my breakfast ordered placed, the food being cooked up quickly. I could have a good but fast breakfast and be out the door before others had even tucked into their eggs.

But on this morning, in Tan Hill, I experienced a little coffee magic. The owner or manager of the Inn, who I’d seen milling around the night before, came over to my table.

“Good morning,” he smiled at me. “Coffee, or tea, or…, ” he paused. “Maybe a cappuccino?”

Now I’m not sure if I got the cappuccino offer was because I was early, or because he offers cappuccinos to everyone (I didn’t hear him offer one to anyone else, but I could have been mistaken), or who knows, maybe he was being extra friendly and trying to flirt by offering me good coffee (and if so, he was on the right track).

In any case, you better believe I ordered the cappuccino and the coffee was strong and milky and GOOD. I think I said this in my last post but I’ll repeat it one more time here- if you’re planning a walk on the Pennine Way and are interested in staying in the Tan Hill Inn (Britain’s highest pub and all-around cool and isolated place), consider booking a bed in one of the bunk rooms. I lucked out and had the room to myself, but even if you have to share it’s a good deal. The beds are basic but comfortable, you get a towel (a towel!) and use of a bathroom with a shower and a tub. Breakfast is included in the price and if you’re lucky and smile at the cute owner, you might just get yourself a cappuccino too.

But back to business, I had walking to do. I finished breakfast, laced up my shoes, and headed back out into the wide open countryside.

As usual, it was another blue sky day with full sunshine. The walk out of Tan Hill through Sleightholme Moor can be boggy (and probably IS boggy 99% of the time), but aside from a couple slightly wet sections, the walking was dry and not too difficult. In foggy conditions I imagine it would be really difficult to follow the path; even on a clear day, it was hard to keep track of the faint trace of a path through the tall grass. My guidebook recommended keeping an eye out for the white posts that dotted the landscape, and this is how I followed the path out of Tan Hill: scanning the open field for a marker somewhere far in the distance and when I found it, I’d head there, then start scanning for another.

The walking went on and on, and I remember it being mostly pleasant and not too strenuous. After a few hours I reached a milestone: I was halfway through the Pennine Way! Just a little past the halfway point I stopped by a small hut; there aren’t a lot of these on the route, but when the weather is bad I can imagine that being able to stop and rest and get out of the rain would be most welcome. I only stayed for a few minutes, taking time to read some of the notes left on the walls. The one pictured below caught my eye; what an incredible way to honor a 50th birthday! And those words- “Enjoy the freedom”- echoed in my head as I continued to walk and walk down the trail. The freedom to walk under trees and through meadows and along the reservoirs, the freedom to kick off my shoes or drink deeply from my bottle of water, the freedom to walk as fast or as slow as I wanted or needed.

7 more miles to go, and on tired but content legs I walked into the very charming village of Middleton-in-Teesdale. I wouldn’t be staying here; my reservation was in a bunkhouse another 3-miles down the path, but I stopped in the village to look around and buy some snacks for the next day.

I was feeling happy. It had been an all-around good day on the Pennine Way. The sun was shining and I was smiling and even though I was tired, I felt good as I walked away from the village and onwards to my bunkhouse.

Everything was going fine as I continued to congratulate myself on a walk well done when, all at once, things took a turn.

My reservation was for Low Way Farm Camping Barn, and my guidebook’s very basic, hand-drawn map showed the location of the barn to be in the middle of a field. There was a faint, dotted line on the map, veering off from the Pennine Way and straight towards the camping barn and so I assumed I would be looking for some sort of path. I walked up, I walked down, I walked back and I walked forth, over the same stiles and stone steps and through the same gates several times. I could see a few buildings in the field, so I headed towards one, making my own path through the tall and rough grass.

I arrived at the first stone building, circled around it a few times, peered in windows and shook on the locked doors. There was no one around and there didn’t seem to be much going on in the building, either, but I thought that perhaps this could be my camping barn. I wasn’t sure. I scratched my head, considered the expanse of green field, and continued walking. Back to the the path of the Pennine Way, up and down and back and forth, through the fields again to try another building, with no luck.

So then I set off further into the fields, attempting to reach a road that was running parallel to the Pennine Way. I went up and over hills, to climb over fences I had to navigate around barbed wire, I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going but I could hear an occasional car drive by so I knew I was close to the road.

And once I arrived at the road, I easily found the pub where I planned to have dinner later that night. It’s not that I’d been lost at any point, it’s just that I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where my camping barn was! I headed towards the pub to ask for help but before I could get inside, a white van pulled up beside me, the window rolling down.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice called out. “You’re not Nadine, are you?”

This was the owner of the camping barn, and she’d come to find me. I suspect that a farmer must have seen me wandering cluelessly around the fields and sent out the SOS on my behalf. Who knows. I was just grateful to have a key in my hand and easy directions to my accommodations. I followed a gravel path and arrived at one of the stone buildings I’d been convinced couldn’t have been the camping barn. From outside the building I could look across the field and see exactly where I’d been traipsing up and down, hopelessly confused. I think my wanderings cost me nearly 2 additional hours of walking- you should have seen the things that came out of my shoes! The owner of the barn had warned me that the pub might stop serving food around 7:30, so I showered as fast as I could and then raced back out again: up the gravel path, over the hill, down the road where I arrived, breathlessly, at the pub.

I checked the time on my phone. 7:18pm. “Perfect,” I breathed to myself. I went inside, up to the bar, and was promptly informed that the kitchen had stopped serving food.

I’m not sure what I said, though I probably asked if they were sure that no food was being served. I didn’t want to beg but I certainly pleaded, explaining that I was walking the Pennine Way and that it had been a very long day. The woman behind the bar didn’t seem to care, she just shrugged and said I could order a beer.

I sat at a table, watched as another couple were served heaping plates of hot and delicious-looking food, drank my beer quickly and then headed back out: down the road, onto the gravel path, over the little hill, past the sheep in the field, into my camping barn.

How many miles did I end up walking that day? A lot. Over 20. I was alone in the camping barn, and feeling very alone in general that night. I opened my pack of emergency quinoa, tore off a hunk of bread that was supposed to be breakfast the next morning, and sat glumly on a bench, eating my simple dinner.

I had enough food, I’d found where I needed to be, I had a bed to sleep in and my body was tired but feeling fine. All of this was true, all of it was important, but I still felt kind of defeated.

But the light in the fields was golden, and little sheep wandered up to my door, sometimes peering inside. I still had a couple ginger cookies left and so I ate them and read more of Jane Eyre, I read in the dimming light until I could no longer see the words on the page.

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Day 3 on the Pennine Way: Standedge to Hebden Bridge, 19-ish miles

November 11, 2018

We left off on our Pennine Way adventure with packing up my tent on the morning of Day 3. I was in Standedge and would be heading to Hebden Bridge, a distance of approximately, well, I’m not sure exactly how many miles. My notes said the day should be 14.5 miles, but the actual mileage ended up around 19, so somewhere, I’d miscalculated. Either that, or I’d walked more than I was supposed to (spoiler: I walked more than I was supposed to).

Nevertheless, the day wasn’t set to be particularly challenging; there was much less ascent and the sun was shining brightly. But there was a new element, one that had appeared late around lunchtime the day before. I’d started to feel it as I walked along the reservoirs and at first I thought maybe my sock was just a bit bunched up, or perhaps there was a pebble in my shoe. I tried to shuffle and shake my foot around but after awhile there was no mistaking it: I had a blister developing on the bottom of my right foot.

And as I started walking away from Standedge I could feel the discomfort immediately. For the first few hours of the walk, as I walked along Millstone Edge and then up the path to White Hill, I could mostly ignore the irritation, but as I continued to walk, things grew worse. I noticed a rubbing on my left foot as well, both on the bottom of my foot and on one of my toes, and when I finally stopped to take off my socks and assess the situation, there were a total of three little blisters on my feet. (A fourth would also develop sometime either this day or the next, ayy!).

What caused this? Careful readers might remember that I had purchased a different hiking shoe model before this walk (my beloved Keen Voyageurs had changed!), and a new shoe before a long walk/hike can be quite the gamble. But I had done plenty of training in them before I’d left for England, and they were as comfortable as the old Keen model. So, ultimately, I don’t blame the shoes. I suspect it was that first 20-mile day through the rain, walking in very wet shoes and socks (I still think a non-waterproof hiking shoe is the best option for summer walking, at least for me, but if it rains hard, it does mean wet feet).

In any case, there was nothing to be done now. The blisters were here.

It was when I stopped to look at my feet that I ran into Charlie. She was a 25-year old girl from Norfolk that I’d briefly met that morning, as we each packed up our campsite. She had walked the first two stages of the Pennine Way in one (long and crazy) day, and was currently recalculating her plans.

“I only have 12 days to do the walk and I thought I could do it, but now I’m not so sure,” she said. “My body is exhausted and this is only my second day.”

We continued on together for another hour or two until we reached The White House, a perfectly situated pub next to the trail, and we arrived just in time for lunch. (Tip: there really aren’t too many opportunities to stop for lunch in a pub on the Pennine Way. So when you come across something and the timing is right, take advantage!). Nigel and Judy (my Pennine Way angels that had helped me get to Edale) were seated at a table in the corner, and just as Charlie and I were finishing our lunch, David (my trail angel who helped me find the path on that first, rainy day) came through the door.

I was barely three days into the Pennine Way, and the biggest surprise was the community that I was finding along the trail. I’d known that the Pennine Way- or any hiking in the UK- wasn’t like the Camino, and my experiences on the West Highland Way and Hadrian’s Wall were pretty solo. People were friendly, but I certainly hadn’t made any friends. But so far, this route was different, and it reminded me a little of the Camino: how in just a few days, you regard the people you’d met as something like family. Walk into a pub, and everyone shouts your name in greeting.

Charlie and I continued on, and walked together all the way into Hebden Bridge. The day continued to be sunny and warm, and we talked about everything as we walked: our impressions of the Pennine Way, our lives at home, our families, differences between grocery shopping in the US and the UK, the pain in our feet, the places we wanted to travel to. I suspect that we inadvertently added a few miles onto the day’s walk sometime after lunch at The White House. Actually, now that I’m looking at my guidebook, I suspect that we veered off the Pennine Way to walk the circumference of White Holme Reservoir. In hindsight this makes sense, because this section seemed endless. Charlie and I were walking at a pretty quick pace, and yet, we seemed to be getting nowhere.

During all these afternoon miles, we could see good ol’ Stoodley Pike in the distance, a needle-shaped monument that was supposed to celebrate the defeat of Napoleon (but, after he escaped from Elba, the celebration was a moot point). When we finally arrived at the monument, we threw our packs on the ground and climbed the winding stairs up to a small observation deck, where we could look out into the countryside.

The landscape of the Pennine Way was changing. Where we had once been walking through peat moors, we’d now be heading into a more pastoral countryside, with green fields and limestone.

The walk into Hebden Bridge also seemed to take forever. Hebden Bridge is a bit of a detour from the path of the Pennine Way, but I think it’s a worthwhile one: the walk into the village is along a flower-lined canal with houseboats floating lazily in the water and music drifting from nearby gardens. Hebden Bridge itself is an artistic town full of independent shops, great cafés and restaurants, with a lively arts and music scene.

Charlie and I passed straight through town and up a large hill to get to our hostel (I wrote a post for Independent Hostels UK about this hostel!), and later, went back into town for dinner.

I was happy to have company for the night. I’d expected to be mostly alone during my trek on the Pennine Way, and to have found another young, solo female walker was unexpected and fun. We ate a huge spread of food at a Greek restaurant and later, back at the hostel, we made mugs of tea and split a bag of Maltese candies and spread out our maps and planned the next few days of our walk. Charlie would be walking a shorter day in order to meet up with her mother and sister, and had decided to later skip over a few days of the trail so she could finish by her end date. I suspected that I wouldn’t be seeing her again, so that night we gave each other a big hug and exchanged contact info. “Now you have a friend in England,” she said.

I crawled into bed, happy and sore, the blisters on my feet throbbing, the sights of the day running through my head. 3 days down, 12 more to go!

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The Pennine Way: the adventure begins

July 31, 2018

Here I am, finally getting around to writing about my walk on the Pennine Way. I finished the 268-mile trail about four weeks ago (!!), and I have so much to say, so I figured I should probably get started.

I didn’t really think I’d blog while on the walk, and mostly because I didn’t have a computer or iPad or keyboard with me. But even if I had, I think it still would have been challenging. My days of walking were long, and usually rather exhausting. Many of my evenings were solo, but it was all I could do to go find dinner, return to my bunkhouse/hostel/tent, read a few chapters of my book and then go to bed… usually by 9:30 (if not earlier). So these reports are, sadly, not coming to you in real time (spoiler: I finished the walk! I made it out alive!!).

So, let’s begin. My first thought is this, and I probably say it with every trip: travel amazes me. It throws you into these new situations and suddenly you are having coffee with someone you met on your flight, or are now friends with the bus driver, or are sharing a cab with a couple you’d met only minutes before. This kind of sums up my first day of travel, as I left the US for England: I had all of these really wonderful, friendly, helpful connections with the people around me. I lucked out on my flight; I had the aisle seat, a man from Goa, India, had the window seat, and no one was in the middle (otherwise it was a pretty full flight). The man (whose name I now forget) made a few comments throughout the flight, but we mostly kept to ourselves. But when we landed in Dublin and had a two-hour layover, he suggested we go find some coffee together, and I agreed. Just like that I had a new friend, and we spent the time talking about travel. He was intrigued by my long walks and I answered lots of questions, and it was the perfect thing to help with my transition from regular life into my summer adventures.

Next step: getting to London and catching a train to Edale. I’d made the train reservation months before but for some reason I didn’t give myself much time to get from the airport to my train, especially not with all of the errands I needed to do: ship a box of extra luggage up to Scotland, purchase a SIM card for my phone, find a grocery store to stock up on food for the first few days of the walk. The only thing I managed to do was ship my extra luggage, and I made it just in time for my train. One of these years I’ll remember what it’s like to not sleep on the flight and to arrive in Europe with jet lag, and maybe I’ll actually give myself an extra day of adjustment before I start a long walk. (One can hope).

This is a good place to note that, in the flurry of shipping some of my things ahead to Scotland, a few items got a bit mixed up. I had my backpack and smaller day pack and packing cubes and gallon-sized ziplock bags spread out in the corner of a small post office, trying to very quickly load my pack with my hiking stuff. I was sweating from the heat and anxious about catching my train, and for the most part I got things where they needed to be, with a few exceptions: all of my pens went in the box to Scotland (this would prove to be very annoying over the next few days, not having a pen). So did my bag of Sour Patch Kids (my hiking candy!!). On the other hand, in my hiking pack was a navy blue men’s sweater, that I was returning to a friend later in my travels once I got to my writer’s retreat. That’s a bit of a story in itself, but I realized that I’d forgotten to remove the sweater once it was already too late, so it meant that I’d need to carry it across England.

In the end, I made my train and arrived in Sheffield, where I had to get off and make a connection to go the rest of the way to Edale. But when I looked at the displayed timetable I didn’t see my train posted. It turns out there was a strike (happening on that particular Tuesday, along with Thursday and Saturday), so my train wasn’t running. Ahh, my first challenge! I was directed to a bus station and a couple of very friendly workers helped me figure out the two buses I would need to take that would hopefully get me to Edale. The first one, the #272 from Sheffield to Castleton was fine, but when I arrived in Castleton there were no other buses in sight.

My bus driver, who was waiting around until he could leave for his next run, suggested I look up time tables on my phone. I explained that my phone didn’t have any data (the first time on this trip that a SIM card would have come in handy!!), and after a few minutes he came over with his phone and tried to help me find my bus. We looked and looked and finally he said, “I’ve been driving buses for 30 years, and if I can’t figure this out then I think you’re out of luck.”

There were two people waiting nearby, they had backpacks and were reading signs and scrolling through their phones. They’d been on the first bus with me and I thought I overheard one of them mention the Pennine Way, so I walked over and asked if they were trying to get to Edale.

“We are!” exclaimed the man, whose name was Nigel. “We’re going to walk the Pennine Way.” He was with his wife, Judy, and the three of us talked about the walk and then how we were going to get to Edale. Eventually, Nigel found a cab company that was willing to drive out and pick us up, and before long (and after I ran into a small shop and bought a sandwich and a large bottle of water for the next day), we were on our way.

I was tired when I finally arrived in Edale but I had the adrenaline that travel and a new adventure always seem to provide. Our taxi driver was very concerned about the fact that I needed to walk an additional 10 minutes down a small path to get to my bunkhouse; she suggested that she could drive me there but I insisted on walking. After all, soon enough I’d be starting a much longer walk.

I’d made a reservation for the Stables Bunkhouse at Ollerbrook Farms, and I had the place to myself (something I would soon discover to be a trend on the Pennine Way… I think bunkhouses are the way to go!). My room had a window that looked onto a field of cows and the hillside beyond, and the kitchen had a fridge where I could keep my breakfast and lunch cold for the next day. I grabbed dinner in a nearby pub and ate to the sounds of a World Cup game on TV (Russian vs Egypt), then made my way back to the bunkhouse and was in bed by 9pm.

Despite the challenges, I thought this first day was a really good way to kick off my adventure. Things hadn’t gone quite according to plan, but it all worked out okay, especially with the help of others. I thought that maybe it was all a bit of an omen- would my walk have more challenges ahead? (For sure). Would I meet kind people, would I rely on them for help? (Yes, and yes). Would I have to sometimes readjust, and come up with a Plan B? (Oh yeah).

And these are all reasons that I travel. Real life has some challenges, but for the most part I know what to expect. I have my routines, I have my people. Sometimes, it’s just really good to shake things up, to go some place new, to throw yourself into the unknown. To go off, and have an adventure.

And this one had just begun.

Next Post: Day 1 on the Pennine Way

That it Might Last Forever

July 15, 2018

How do I begin to write about my walk on the Pennine Way? I’m at my writer’s retreat in France now; I finished my walk 11 days ago. I’m here to work on other projects, but I know I also want (and need) to write about this walk.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Each walk I do is so different, my experience with it is so different. As I walked the Pennine Way I thought- I don’t need to do this again. It’s beautiful and wonderful but it’s also hard and that hill seemed endless and one time on the Pennine Way is enough.

But yet, I sit here in a small village in France and I wonder who’s out there, hiking the Pennine Way right as this very moment. I think of them with their packs and their walking sticks and I’m envious. I wonder if they have the beautiful weather that I had. If the bogs are still mostly dry. If the heather has turned purple.

I jotted down some words, some memories this morning, and I think this is as good a place as any to begin. I’ll blog more- surely- about this walk in the weeks and months to come, but for now, here is what the Pennine Way was to me:

It was openness, it was the moors. It was the Brontës. It was walking in the soft morning through the bracken. It was reading chapters of Jane Eyre and eating thin ginger biscuits in empty bunkhouses.

It was a cappuccino from the good looking owner of the highest pub in Britain. It was a Greek meal and a glass of good wine on a terrace with a girl from Norfolk. And fish and chips in a pub with a man from LA by way of Liverpool and talking about Meatloaf and toasting to sturdy ankles (mine).

It was the full English breakfast.

Half pints turned into pints, and restaurants that stopped serving food in the early evening and cold quinoa from a bag and a loaf of bread.

Rescuing a lamb stuck in a fence, retreating from a field of bulls and being helped over a high stone wall by a man running a race.

It was entire days of walking alone, it was struggling over the stiles and figuring out the locks on gates. Taking the shortcuts. Missing the shortcuts. Conversations about life and death, and how an endless field with racing dogs and a seat in the sun was probably some version of heaven.

It was hills and mountains with names like Bleaklow and Cross Fell and Kinder Scout and Great Shunner Fell and Pen-y-Ghent and The Schil.

It was not thinking I had the strength to get over these hills, and counting to ten with each step, and repeating this over and over until I reached a top I thought might never come.

It was 268-miles minus the 20 I skipped with a train ride, plus (possibly) an additional 20 I added with wrong turns and mistaken detours.

It was learning not to follow what I thought was a path along Kinder River.

A pack that started heavy and grew heavier, and learning how to shoulder that weight. Four blisters and aching feet, sunburn on the tips of my ears and a fall into the soft grass that startled all of the sheep.

Walking through a heat wave and discussing the weather with everyone I met.

Nights in a tent wrapped in a borrowed sweater, wind that pushed me sideways, air and a sky that made me feel alive. Dry and prickly heather weeks away from its bloom, puffy white flowers growing from the bogs, a deer bounding along train tracks, and the constant scattering of hundreds of sheep.

Tarns and burns and crags and fells and becks. The moors and the mountains. My stride, sometimes slow, sometimes fluid, as I moved through this landscape.

A small tub of Wensleydale ice cream on a bench in the shade. An apple on a rock in the sun. A muffin and a cold coffee drink in the middle of the heather when I thought I couldn’t walk any further. So many rounds of Babybel cheese and flour tortillas.

A clear blue sky nearly every morning. Horse flies and honesty boxes and bad coffee. Duckboards and slabs. Signposts with a white acorn.

And: standing alone at the top of a great expanse and feeling as though this might go on and on, and that it might last forever.

Planning a Walk on Hadrian’s Wall Path

January 19, 2018

One of my intentions with this blog is to begin to provide more useful content for others who are planning their own long-distance walking adventures, and so in this spirit, I’m going to be writing up a few short guides to some of the walks that I’ve done. And first up: how to plan for a walk on Hadrian’s Wall!

Along with a friend, I walked Hadrian’s Wall Path in the north of England over the course of 5-days in early April, 2017. I loved it. Originally it was a trip that I’d been planning to do solo, but when my friend heard of my scheme she asked to come along, and it was great to have some company. But because I do the majority of my traveling and walking alone, I want to point out that Hadrian’s Wall would be an absolutely fine walk to do solo; it is safe, not too difficult, and the people of northern England were so welcoming and friendly and helpful.

Here are my posts from the walk, with general thoughts and impressions of the route and my experiences:

Day 1: A Walking Stick and a Loaf of Bread; Newcastle-upon-Tyne to Heddon-on-the-Wall, 15 miles

Day 2: Beware of Shortcuts; Heddon-on-the-Wall to Grindon, 23 miles

Day 3: Hold Onto Your Hat!; Grindon to Gilsland, 15 miles

Day 4: Adventures in the Rain; Gilsland to Carlisle, 20 miles

Day 5: A Race to the End; Carlisle to Bowness-on-Solway, 15 miles

Let’s start here: what exactly is Hadrian’s Wall?

In 122AD, Emperor Hadrian gave orders to build a wall to mark the northern limits of his empire, in order to protect Roman England from the tribes of the north (what is now Scotland). The Wall stretched from one end of the country to the other: 84-miles/135km from Wallsend to Bowness-on-Solway (or, the other way around if walking west to east). This path was designated a National Trail in 2003, and was carefully designed to follow the path of the wall. Only 10-continuous miles of the actual remains of the wall are visible, but these are glorious miles and spotting remnants in other areas of the walk makes it like a fun, centuries old treasure hunt.

In its heyday, the Wall was an impressive work of defense: it stood at 20 feet high and 10 feet thick, with a 20 foot ditch on the ‘Scottish’ side, and milecastles, turrets and forts sprinkled along its length to provide extra fortification. There is a long history of how the wall survived and did not survive the centuries that followed, and now what is left is just a trace of what it once was. But the Wall was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and great care has been taken to preserve what remains.

How difficult is this walk, and what is the terrain like?

My answer: not that difficult. In fact, Hadrian’s Wall is largely considered the least difficult of all the National Trails in the UK. Now, a walk can be made considerably easier or difficult due to several factors: if camping or staying in B&Bs, if carrying your pack or having it shipped ahead (info on that here), if you complete the walk in 4 days vs 8 days (more on this later). But aside from a few sections of constant up and down, much of the walk is relatively flat, or over easy rolling countryside. My guidebook has these words of encouragement: “… a week-long romp on a grassy path through rolling countryside with the highest point, Green Slack, just 345m above sea level.”

There is good variety to the terrain, as well. The aforementioned countryside, wild moorland, and the vibrant and bustling cities of Newcastle and Carlisle. The way marking is thorough and frequent (plus, the Wall itself is an excellent way marker), making it very difficult to get lost.

You mentioned walking this route anywhere between 4 or 8 days. What’s the recommended number of days?

I think this answer depends on what you’re looking for in your experience, as well as any time constraints you may have. My friend and I did the walk in 5 days, and while this was very do-able, it made some sections challenging. Ideally, I would have liked 6 days for the walk, with this extra day I would have felt more comfortable taking time to linger at the forts, or to examine the wall for inscriptions.

Another factor to consider is the type of accommodation you want for your journey. My friend and I did a combination of hostels, bunkhouses and B&B’s, and this gave us plenty of options in terms of how we wanted to break up our stages. From most of the information I’ve seen, the first and last stages are nearly universal (due to lodging restrictions): Wallsend to Heddon-on-the-Wall at 15 miles, and Carlisle to Bowness at 15 miles. The middle stages are where it’s easier to play around and devise them to your liking, and these are the stages where you’ll be walking alongside sections of the Wall, so they are the most interesting and you might want to do smaller mileage to take in their splendor.

What’s the food situation like?

For most of the walk, finding food to eat (and sometimes very good food!) will not be a problem. All B&B’s and most bunkhouses will provide breakfast (free or for a fee, depending on the type of lodging), and this tends to be very good: from full English breakfasts to fried egg sandwiches. We were able to eat at a pub or restaurant on all but one night, and on that night, our host at Slack House Farm cooked us a hearty and filling dinner. Some days we passed through a village with a pub where we could stop for lunch, on other days we packed items with us and had picnics (one day our guidebook promised not one, but two open spots for lunch, but we arrived to find each location closed). I think it would always be wise to have a backup of food in your pack, but this is not a route where you have to carry 3 days worth of food with you.

What is the weather going to be like? Isn’t the north of England supposed to be very… wet?

When I told people that I was going on a long walk in the very north of England in early spring, they laughed and said, “I hope you have good rain gear.”

Rain is going to be a factor regardless of the time of year that you walk, though in the summer (particularly July) there is a better shot at more sunshine and less water falling from the sky. The typical Hadrian’s Wall season is from Easter until the end of September/beginning of October; any later or earlier than this and you’ll find that many B&B’s and bunkhouses will be closed. Winter is not an advisable time to walk the path, in fact it’s encouraged that you don’t walk during this time, in order to give the path a rest and to prevent damage.

I had great luck on my springtime walk; we had one morning of steady rain, and another full day of heavy gray clouds and a lot of wind, but otherwise cool-to-almost-warm temperatures with plenty of sunshine. Flowers were coming into bloom and baby lambs were being born before our eyes (quite literally, so be prepared for that), and I can imagine that later in April and into May would be an even more stunning time to walk.

Speaking of all this rain, what am I going to need to stay (somewhat) dry?

I’m going to link here to my Camino packing list, which is very similar to what I took on my Hadrian’s Wall trip. It’s easy to go light and carry only what you need: a couple hiking outfits, an evening outfit, a sleeping bag liner (hostels and bunkhouses all had sheets and blankets on the beds), basic toiletries, etc. (See the packing list for more detail). But being that this was the first time I was walking in the spring, I did need to make a few additions to this list.

In addition to my rain jacket (a Marmot PreCip , which I love), I added a pair of rain pants (also Marmot, because I had such good luck with the jacket. They’re not the most flattering, but then again, a long walk isn’t a fashion show). These pants worked perfectly over a base layer for my legs (fancy way of saying long underwear?), keeping me warm and dry. I also brought along a pair of Crocs rather than my usual flip flops, so that I could sport the very classy look of Crocs and socks in the evenings (and then just the Crocs as shower shoes). I also brought a Smartwool top that kept me cozy on the windy days, along with a light and packable insulated jacket and a headband to cover my ears (a hat would work fine too). I didn’t bring gloves, but I think they would have been useful.

The rain jacket and rain pants really worked well on my morning of heavy rain, and I also used my buff to cover my head/hair so water wouldn’t drip down my forehead. Some people bring gaitors, and maybe if we’d encountered more rain they would have come in handy, but I didn’t find a need for them. My hiking shoes (Keen’s Voyageurs, I can’t sing their praises enough!) are water resistant, not waterproof, but I’ve found that they do an amazing job in the rain and tend to keep my socks fairly dry (unless walking for hours in a downpour. Then, nothing will keep the water out).

What tips do you have for me?

*Most guidebooks will orient the walk from east to west, beginning in Wallsend and ending in Bowness. This is the direction my friend and I walked, and generally I just really like the idea of moving east to west. However, you might want to consider the benefits of walking in the other direction, from west to east. First of all, and maybe most importantly, the wind will be at your back, rather than blowing straight into your face. Not only is this less of a nuisance, but it will actually make it much easier to walk, without having to fight against the wind (I’m convinced this is why our 15-mile Day 3 took so long and felt so difficult). Secondly, I think it’s possible that you get a better view of the wall from this direction. Our views were fine, but often I found myself turning around, saying “Wow!!” and snapping a photo. And, finally, you would end the walk just outside of Newcastle, which could make for a very comfortable and celebratory city to spend your last night in.

*Don’t forget to consider the tides when you get to the Solway marshes on the last section (or, possibly, first section) of your walk. This stretch of the walk is at sea level and when the tide is in, the trail can be completely underwater (and, possibly, knee to waist level making it dangerous or impossible to walk). Tide charts can be found here (and guidebooks will direct you to tide charts as well).

*Don’t miss the Robin Hood Tree (unlike me, who was so focused on the walking that I passed by this large tree filmed for the movie ‘Robin Hood’ and just thought, “Oh, that’s a nice tree”). It’s actually rather hard to miss, given that there are lots of tourists around this section of the trail and tons of people taking photos of the tree. Also, take some time to read the plaques and maybe pay a visit to one or two of the forts along the way. Walking in an area with such a rich history makes this long-distance trail different than any other I’ve walked.

*Keep an eye out for Roger, an elderly man on a bicycle when you arrive in Port Carlisle, just a mile outside of Bowness-on-Solway (the end of the walk for most). He mans a large sign and changes out the cities and mileages for everyone he meets. Turns out, Philadelphia is approximately 3500 miles away from Port Carlisle. This is a great place for a celebratory photo, just be sure to leave Roger a coin or two for his services (and if you’re not interested, it’s totally fine to just keep walking right past).

*Respect the Wall. This is an important one: it may be tempting to walk on sections of the wall, or to take a selfie perched on top with arm raised in victory. Don’t do it. The Wall is nearly 2000 years old, and it amazes me that it was so well built that some parts have survived this long. But it is not immune to destruction and the more that humans interfere with it, the most risk it has of crumbling to pieces. (Alas, I was so tired at the end of one walking day that I accidentally walked across part of the wall. There was even a platform so people wouldn’t have to step on it but in my fatigue I passed through the gate and just bypassed the wooden platform altogether. Picture as evidence of my crime).

Helpful Resources

-I used Henry Stedman’s Hadrian’s Wall Path: British Walking Guide for my trek. It orients the walk from east to west (so be prepared for that if you are planning to walk in the other direction), and the hand-drawn style of maps have a lot of detail and are easy to follow. Overall I was pleased with this guide, but be warned, some of the villages you pass through on this walk are really small, and a pub that might have been opened when the guide was written could now be closed (grr, Stag Inn).

-UK National Trail Website: https://www.nationaltrail.co.uk/hadrians-wall-path

-Hill Walk Tours: https://www.hillwalktours.com/hiking-england/hadrians-wall-path-overview

-Where to Stay: This website has a good listing of accommodations, and you can also find a good selection in most guidebooks. For a thorough listing of hostels and bunkhouses in the UK (and, specifically for Hadrian’s Wall), check out the Independent Hostel Guide (one of my photos is used on their site, so this automatically makes me a fan!). As I previously mentioned, I stayed in a variety of accommodations: from a hostel to a bunkhouse to a B&B. I was happy with all of these options, and I’ll include the names of those places in case it could help any of you in your planning:

Newcastle: The Albatross Hostel

Heddon-on-the-Wall: Houghton North Farm

Grindon: Old Repeater Station

Gilsland: Slack House Farm

Carlisle: Howard Lodge Guesthouse

I hope some of this information may be useful to you, and please let me know in the comments or by using the Contact Form (at the top of this blog) if you have additional questions.

Happy Walking!

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