Walking with Plato (15 page)

Although the walk from Melrose hadn’t been a long one, it had – thanks to my tender feet – been a slow one. So it was early evening by the time we arrived at Jedburgh.

Jedburgh is an attractive town, situated just ten miles north of the Scottish/English border. It has a ruined abbey, a castle jail, shops, cafés, riverside walks, and whatnot. But Wendy and I passed straight through it to the busy camping site nearby.

From Jedburgh, our plan had been to walk northeast along St Cuthbert’s Way to Kirk Yetholm, at the northern end of the Pennine Way.

However, mindful of the days we had lost, due to Wendy’s trashed feet, on the first stage of our journey, and mindful of the fact that we wanted to finish JoGLE by mid-October when the autumn weather would begin to bite, we decided instead to head southeast and pick up the Pennine Way at the village of
Byrness
, in England.

This shortcut enabled us to claw back two days of lost time, but at the cost of having to endure a nineteen-mile slog along the A68 to Byrness.

The highlight of the walk was stopping for Mars bars and coffee at a snack-bar called The Borderer, on a concrete layby on the A68, at the Scottish/English border.

The day – and the fourth stage of JoGLE – ended very pleasantly, though, with our arrival at the Forest View Inn, in Byrness.

This former YHA hostel is managed by a retirement-aged couple, Joyce and Colin, who offer free camping in their garden to backpackers who agree to purchase their evening meals at the inn.

Wendy and I knew we had stumbled upon somewhere special the moment we arrived. We were greeted by Colin, who sat us down in the conservatory with tea and biscuits while he scuttled off to clean and dry our boots.

We had expected that camping in the inn’s grounds would be a rough-and-ready affair. But to our surprise we found that campers (and Wendy and I were the only two) got a nice, clean bathroom, with hot shower, to themselves.

Throw into the mix a warm lounge with comfy chairs, a three-course meal, draft ale, and the convivial company of slightly tipsy fellow hikers, and you’ll understand why we look back on Forest View with enormous affection.

Standing on the bare ground – my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space – all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson, N
ature

Chapter Five

Getting There

Byrness – Bellingham – Once Brewed – Greenhead – Alston – Dufton – Langdon Beck – Baldersdale – Keld – Hawes – Horton in Ribblesdale – Airton – Skipton – Cowling – Hebden Bridge – Standedge – Crowden

The haphazard route Wendy and I had taken from
Milngavie to Byrness had been largely forgettable. But the next stage of our journey certainly wasn’t.

The Pennine Way, Britain’s oldest and most celebrated National Trail, steers a 267-mile course through some of the wildest, remotest, and most captivating countryside you could ever hope to see.

It stretches from Kirk Yetholm, just inside the Scottish Borders, to Edale in Derbyshire, winding its way through the Northumberland National Park, the Yorkshire Dales, and the Peak District National Park. For most of its length, it follows the line of the Pennines, a range of mountains and hills forming the ‘backbone’ of the north of England.

Because of its remoteness, because of the varied and often difficult nature of its terrain, and because of the extremes of weather encountered in its high and wild places, it’s the most challenging of all of the National Trails. But it’s also – for those very reasons – the most rewarding.

Wendy and I joined the Pennine Way at Byrness rather than at Kirk Yetholm. This meant that we missed the first twenty-nine miles of the trail. But, being End to Enders rather than Pennine-Wayers, we were able to do this with a clear conscience.

End to Enders are honour-bound to walk a continuous line between John o’Groats and Land’s End. But apart from that, anything goes.

Our first day’s hike along the Pennine Way took us sixteen miles across farmland and moors, and along forest tracks, from
Byrness
to the village of
Bellingham
.

Although the walking was fairly level, it was slow and difficult because there was often no clear path, and because of the mud and the water.

My clearest memories of that day are of wet boots and sodden socks, of slipping and squelching along muddy forest paths, of sinking ankle-deep in moorland bogs, and of frequent backtracking and rerouting to find tolerably firm ground.

It soon became clear that the Pennine Way was going to be much tougher than either the Great Glen Way or the West Highland Way.

We spent the night at a busy campsite, just past Bellingham, and then set off, the next morning, on a fifteen-mile trek along yet more squelchy forest tracks and boggy moorlands to
Once Brewed
, a tiny village consisting of a youth hostel, the confusingly named Twice Brewed Inn, and a smattering of farms.

A few miles short of Once Brewed, the Pennine Way joins the Hadrian’s Wall Path for a time. This part of the route requires a lot of scrambling up and down crags. So, by the time we reached the Once Brewed YHA, we were worn out, physically and mentally.

The hostel, which was soon to be demolished and replaced by a state-of-the-art eco-hostel, was in a tired and tatty condition. But a real bed is a real bed, a comfy chair is a comfy chair, and a hot shower is a hot shower. So we weren’t complaining.

For the seven miles between Once Brewed and the village of
Greenhead
, the Pennine Way continues to share a route with the Hadrian’s Wall Path.

This is a notoriously tough section, with steep ascents and descents over hills and crags. But it’s delightful. For much of the way, the path runs alongside exposed sections of the old Roman wall and past the remains of ancient turrets and milecastles. These add interest and drama to the walk.

Furthermore, because the route follows the top of a ridge, it offers glorious views of the surrounding countryside: a green patchwork of hills, fields, and forests, stretching away for an immense distance before meeting the sky.

We set up camp, early in the afternoon, on the grass outside a campers’ barn close to the ruins of twelfth-century Thirlwall Castle, and then passed a couple of pleasant hours in the tea-room at nearby Greenhead.

That night, the sky was clear and moonless. So I stayed up, past midnight, lying on a picnic bench beside our tent, gazing up at the stars.

Andromeda lay in the east, stretching out an imploring arm towards Perseus. The Great Bear stood low in the north, watching the Herdsman sink below the northwestern horizon. Directly overhead, Cygnus, the swan, stretched out his massive wings and glided silently along the Milky Way. The Andromeda nebula, 2.5 million light-years distant, stood out clearly: a tiny luminescent cloud in an ink-black sky.