Before leaving the Forest View Inn, Oliver, one of its owners, took a photo of me, standing in the doorway looking as if my hands were clasped in prayer. Maybe praying the good weather continues? Then I headed off in the wrong direction, Oliver corrected me and I was away, powered by my breakfast of scrambled egg and smoked salmon.
A steep climb was the first obstacle, through tall trees and then on the moors. I was fresh so, unlike my struggles later in the day, I reached the first high point without too much difficulty. The trail then spread out before me, over multiple summits, which were along the same ridge. Ten hours of plodding made pleasant by the extensive views beneath lines of fluffy clouds as if left by formations of celestial steam engines.
The Cheviots, which I walked across today, are rounded mountains clothed in grass, with rectangular patches of darker green coniferous plantations, and irregular areas of brown heather. When I walked this way several years ago it was soggy, wet and muddy, which made progress slow and unpleasant. However the recent lack of rain meant the paths were dry, which, together with the paving slabs being laid during my last visit, made today's walk much easier (although the dry sphagnum moss did not look to happy). In addition to the extensive view there were sheep and cows, and I also saw a family of feral goats. A group of cows had surrounded one of the two emergency shelters on today's section of the Pennine Way. The shelters contain very little, a bench, some notices on what to do in an emergency, and various comments scrawled on the walls. They are somewhere to sleep if you have no tent, or shelter from a storm. There is nowhere else nearby. The 43 kilometres across the Cheviots is the most remote stretch of the Pennine Way with few signs of habitation much less villages. Such remoteness is part of its charm.
I passed just a handful of people on the trail today, all hikers. While having lunch, my mouth full of pitta bread, an elderly, local man in an orange shirt and red trousers engaged me in conversation. I asked what was at Windy Gyle, the halfway point between Byrness and Kirk Yetholm. He said there was a pile of stones at the summit (on which a trig point balanced) and a sheep fold. It was where he recently camped in his new MSR tent, bought online in the idle days of lockdown. He left me and later I passed him engaging others in conversation.
A few kilometres before Kirk Yetholm I made my camp. I could have reached the village but it would have been late and I had no accommodation booked. As I pitched my tent on the summit of White Law, blades of sunlight were piercing the now generally overcast sky, spotlighting distant fields in the panorama before me. Now the sun is colouring the sides of the grey clouds a dusty pink, marking the end of a long day and almost the end of my walk up the Pennine Way.
No comments:
Post a Comment