Captain's Log

Brown Rigg Campsite

It had been another cold night. I poked my head out of the tent to find a world cloaked in fog. I looked up and saw a blue tinge to the mist. Presumably I was in a cloud inversion and the mist would either evaporate or I’d climb above it. There was a white coating of frost on the tent which I wiped and shook off before packing. I then trotted over to the Brown Rigg campsite’s excellent utility building to brew myself a coffee and prepare a bowl of muesli. It was like getting under a warm duvet as I entered the centrally heated building. The Sandstone Way cyclists who I’d met yesterday were early risers and were just finishing off their breakfasts. I didn’t envy their 50 mile stretch they were attempting today. My challenge for the day was a 15 mile hike southwards from Bellingham to Winshields campsite near Hadrian’s Wall. From my previous Pennine Ways, I remembered this section as being a field-hop from Bellingham , followed by a traverse of forestry plantations. The sting in the tale was the last 2 or 3 miles along Hadrian’s Wall that always felt surprisingly hilly and difficult, no matter how many times I walked it. I left the comfort blanket of Brown Rigg’s utility building and stepped back outside. The mist was already thinning as I made my way back on to the Pennine Way. 

Three Ladies And Their Hounds

By the time I started climbing, the mist was already dissipating to the extent that I could see the north side of the valley, where I’d descended into Bellingham yesterday. I met three women walkers who were struggling to get over a high style with their pack of dogs. For some reason, the critters took exception to me and every time I passed the women, or they passed me, a cacophony of deafening barks would commence. I chatted long enough to find out that they were section hiking the Pennine Way and were heading for Housesteads today. 

Despite the early morning mist, it really was a lovely morning. This was my fifth day of good weather. The women and their pack reached the radio mast on Ealingham Rigg before me and I gave them some time to get over a stile and continue the field-hop southwards. I would catch up with them later in the day. 

Shitlington Hall Spiritual Encounter

The path descended down Shitlington <snigger> crags and crossed more fields to the farm at Shitlingon <snigger> Hall. The Pennine Way went through the hall's farm yard. As I pottered through, a woman who had been chatting on a phone near the house walked over to me.
‘Hello, do you mind if I give you a testimony of my experiences?’ she asked. I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that and so I stopped to see what would happen next. Over the next five minutes, I was told a sad and some bizarre tales. She lived at the farm, together with her husband whom I’d seen on his ATV checking his sheep a few minutes earlier. A few years ago their son died; she didn’t disclose how or why. Ever since then, the lady had experienced all sorts of visions and revelations. Most of these seemed of a divine nature. They were as diverse as seeing the face of Jesus in clouds or as a pattern on fungi, or God’s Rays or rainbows highlighting things that she needed to do. Her testimony of these revelations went on and on. After a couple of minutes I wondered about the purpose of her recounting this. Maybe she was building up to an announcement that she was the Second Coming or maybe even God him/herself. I’m an atheist and consequently found it a difficult listen. After about 5 minutes, I took an opportunity as she paused for a breath, to declare that I was not a spiritual person and that her experience of reality was out of the scope of mine. I define my reality by what has been reasoned in the world using the scientific method. That is my bedrock. I appreciate that it isn’t infallible, but I think it’s the best that we have got. I also wouldn’t totally trust my lived experience either. I’ve experienced occasions where my brain tricks my perception of things. I’m willing to doubt my experience. As for supernatural and divine beliefs; I can understand how believing in such things may have an evolutionary benefit to the human species in terms of social and cultural cohesion. That doesn’t mean that supernatural entities and divinities exist though. I consider that it is highly probable that such beliefs are delusional. That does mean that I probably consign a vast proportion of the world’s population to being delusional. That conclusion does amaze me.

My interruption with the lady seemed to break the spell. I think that she could see that whatever climax to her account she was building to, would be lost on me. She said that she’d ‘lost’ family and friends due to her visions. A visit to a psychiatrist hadn’t been able to resolve these experiences either. Sadly, she said that she’d recounted her testimony to other walkers on the Pennine Way and they had become verbally aggressive. I wondered about recounting Plato’s ‘Allegory Of The Cave’ by way of some consolation to her, but I thought that might lead us down another rabbit hole. She ended the conversation by saying that she was off to the market with her husband in the afternoon to sell some cattle. 

Pit Stop

I proceeded along deserted country lanes and boggy fields. At Horneystead Farm I came across the remains of a blackboard with a message in whitewash lettering:
‘PIT STOP - 2 MORE FIELDS TO GO - OPEN 24 hrs - HOT BROTH’
It was so intriguing, I was almost tempted to try it out. Were they really open 24 hours? Would they mind if I knocked on their door at 04:00 am in the morning and asked for some broth? Would a cauldron of hot broth be bubbling away on their Aga if I took them up on their offer? The only thing that put me off was that I guessed there would probably be meat in the broth. They really needed a vegetarian option. 

I met the 3 women and their hounds on the descent to Warks Burn. The women were having lunch and the hounds were straining at their leash to extract a pound of my flesh. I left them to it and never saw them again. 

Forestry Walking

The day had become rather hot. I entered the forestry plantations and welcomed the cool shade that the trees offered. This section became a mixture of woodland trails, forestry roads and the occasional deserted tarmac road. Sometimes I’d come across a farmstead such as the wonderfully named Willowbog. A lot of the area had been nuked by the forestry companies. In fact, these areas had been devastated the last time I was here 7 years ago, and nothing appeared to have changed. I thought the roots might have rotted down a bit, but they still looked very much intact. Halfway across one of the blast zones, I met an elderly couple of NoBos. We chatted for a while and they asked me what I thought was my favourite section of the Pennine Way. I said that I probably thought the bit from Keld to Hawes was the most picturesque.
‘Great answer’ they responded. They lived in Swaledale.    

It seems the Ordnance Survey wasn't quite up-to-date in terms of depicting the area covered by the plantations. There again, maybe it was. I guess even the nuked zones get the green woodland allocation on their maps. Even so, the expectations from the map and what you actually see in reality can be a little confusing.    

No matter how many times I walk it, I always underestimate the section from the plantations up to Hadrian’s Wall. The route was full of false summits and false walls for that matter. It seems to take an age to traverse the hills, make your way between the Greenlee and Broomlee Loughs and climb to the final ridge supporting the incredible Roman Wall. There’s no mistaking when you reach it though, not least because of the number of day  and Hadrian’s Wall Path walkers that now share your route.  

Hadrian's Wall

I’ve walked the middle section of Hadrian’s Wall Path many times and it doesn’t get any easier. The path was restless, heading uphill and then downhill via surprisingly  steep sections. I followed a trio of French youngsters. The two females had their boots hanging off their rucksacks and they were wearing their sandals…never a good sign on a long walk. On the path above Crag Lough I made way for an ample, elderly chap descending the other way. Out of curiosity and given his size, I asked him if he was walking the whole Hadrian’s Wall Path.
‘Oh no. I flew into Newcastle this morning and I’ll be working on the Vindolanda dig tomorrow. I’m just having an afternoon walk along the wall’ he told me in a broad American accent. He looked more like Oliver Hardy than Indiana Jones. I wished him luck in finding treasure and to let me know if he found the Legion of the Ninth. 

I descended to the sad stump at Sycamore Gap. The cyclists I’d met at Brown Rigg campsite had said that one of the idiots that cut the tree down had been released from prison yesterday. A National Trust sign tried to give some hope by saying that the stump was sprouting again. Hopefully humanity will be a little more intelligent by the time it regrows to its former glory. 

The last haul of the day was up to Winshield Crags, the highest point on the Hadrian's Wall Path. For once, the ascent was quite gradual from the last saddle along the wall. At the same time as I approached the trig on the summit, a runner approached from the other direction. He had his phone at arm’s length and was filming himself. Whilst he jogged those last few metres to the top and comically patting the trig, he maintained a narration of what he was doing. His name was Paul Marchant and turned out to be a cheerful character. He was running the length of the Hadrian’s Wall Path and he was posting his videos on his YouTube channel. He asked me to take a photo of him next to the trig, which I dutifully did, and then he disappeared eastwards chatting to his phone at arm’s length. It seemed an intrusive way to do the Hadrian’s Wall Path. His experience seemed more about getting good footage for the channel than appreciating the event of running the wall itself. I may be a hypocrite here since I do take photos, but the process takes a very small amount of my time on the whole walk. Most of the time I’m enjoying the experience of the walk itself. 

Winshields Campsite

Winshields campsite was about a kilometre south from the wall, but involved a 100 metre vertical drop. It wasn’t much the dropping down to the campsite that bothered me; it was more the climbing back up to the wall tomorrow morning. Just before I entered the campsite, I came across a woman who had a phone glued to ear and was looking westwards over the fields. She was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn’t see me, or she chose to ignore me. 

I’d camped at Winshields before and had hit it on a day when a platoon of Duke of Edinburgherers were staying. It had been a little chaotic on that occasion, and I thought it might be the same again today. The campsite was pretty much empty though and much more relaxed. As the owner Malcom showed me where I could pitch, he pointed out half a dozen youngsters in the fields to the west that were gradually making their way towards the farm. The woman who I’d seen with the phone must have been a teacher and was guiding the kids towards the farm.
‘The youngsters get tired of the ups and downs along the ridge and think it will be easier in the valley bottom’ explained Malcolm. ‘They don’t realise that there are fences and that gates are locked’ he continued. I find it odd that anybody can get lost nowadays assuming their mapping software on their phone was working okay. He recounted a story where he ‘rescued’ some youngsters who were struggling under whiteout conditions on the wall. He led them down to his farm. 

As I finished pitching my tent, the youngsters stumbled into the campsite. They didn’t look like a happy bunch. A crow celebrated their arrival by flying across the campsite and shitting on my tent. It had been another fine day on the Pennine Way. I guess the good weather had to break some time. I didn’t want to look at my Weather App in case it brought bad luck. The day had started with that unusual and unexpected encounter with the Lady of Shitlington <snigger> Hall. The afternoon had been a dry and difficult affair across plantations and moorland. Eventually I’d trudged that rollercoaster path along  Hadrian’s Wall. Tomorrow would introduce my alternative section to the official Pennine Way route and I was quite looking forward to it. Tomorrow though was another day, as Scarlett O’Hara once said.