Captain's Log

Trowup Burn

The overnight rain that had intermittently interrupted my sleep had finally stopped. I poked my head out of my tent to find a grey slab of a sky. The weather prospects didn’t look good. I decided to pack up whilst it wasn’t raining and postpone breakfast until I reached the Auchope Mountain Hut. I’d only made a measly four miles along the Pennine Way yesterday due to my idea of walking from Kelso to Kirk Yetholm (see the Captain’s Log, Kelso Preamble To The Pennine Way). Consequently, I was already well behind schedule. To get back on schedule I’d have to walk the rest of the Cheviot ridge to Byrness Hill today; I reckoned a distance of  around 22 miles with over a 1000 metres of ascent. I chuckled at the very idea. Most probably, I’d be wildcamping somewhere along the ridge. Although I’d walked this section before, I wasn’t 100% confident of the water sources. I didn’t fancy nipping down into one of the neighbouring valleys to fill my water bottles.  I’d have to take enough for today and some for tomorrow in order to guarantee that I’d stick to the ridge. Despite the overnight rain, the Trowup Burn looked to be just at the same level that I left it last night. I filtered 3 litres of water and stuffed it in my rucksack. With all that water and 3 days worth of food, my rucksack would never feel heavier along the Pennine Way. I heaved it onto my shoulders and started making my way back up the steep valley side to get back  on to the Pennine Way trail. 

The Schil

The ascent soon warmed me up and I was practically boiling as I regained the ridge and the Pennine Way path. The day definitely looked a bit grim. Mist drifted over the tops of the higher hills at the head of the valley that I’d just escaped. I started following the wire fence along the ridge towards the clouds. It was a gradual ascent and the path was grassy. I made good progress and soon made my way beyond the head of the valley. There I found a fingerpost that indicated that the lower level Pennine Way path from Kirk Yetholm had now climbed up and joined us. The lower level path was just as deserted as the higher level one. I continued onwards and faced a steep climb up to The Schil. I entered mist at the top and felt a distinct chill with the strong breeze. I dropped down the other side from the summit and below the mist. In the far distance, I could see the Auchope Shelter on a ridge at the base of a climb up to Auchope Cairn. My stomach was vocal in wanting some breakfast and so I pressed on towards the shelter. It was hard work though due to the very boggy terrain. Presumably a farmer had been up here on an ATV or motorbike and a lot of the path had disintegrated into bog. It was a bit of a frustrating section, but I gradually made my way around the head of the valley to the Auchope Shelter. 

Auchope

There was a strong, cold wind blowing up the valley and I was quick to get inside the mountain shelter. It was dark inside and quite empty. It was basic, but it did have benches around its walls. I brewed up a tea and prepared myself a bowl of muesli. The refuge was at a spectacular location based on a ridge that separated valleys to the north, west and south. To the east was the intimidating climb to Auchope Cairn that was just visible on the ridge. At the side of this climb was the fearsome ravine of Hen Hole. Local folklore recalls tales of the Border Reivers hiding stolen cattle within the ravine. A few days later, I’d chat to a fellow in Bellingham who reckoned the Border Reivers would lure cattle traders into the ravine at night by lighting torches at its bottom. It certainly didn’t look like a very accessible place. I could see waterfalls running down its crags. 

Stomach finally satisfied, I left the shelter and started the long climb to Auchope Cairn. I’m not sure whether it was the steepness, the weight of my rucksack, or a combination of both, but it seemed to take a long time and a good deal of effort to reach the top. I wandered over to the tall cairn. It was a wonderful, extensive view from its position. The cloud was lifting and the sun was trying to break through now. Things were looking up. That strong, cold wind hadn’t departed though and I headed off in the direction of the Cheviots' main ridge. 

Cheviot Rollercoaster

I soon reached a junction where a decision had to be made. I could either start down the main Cheviot ridge or first do an out-and-back to the summit of The Cheviot, the highest hill in the range (815m). The latter addition would add a couple of hours of walking to my day. The summit of the hill still appeared to be holding mist and I’d been to its flat top before. It didn’t really hold any appeal to me today when I needed to make progress southwards. The Cheviot is really best left to day hikes. Within a second or two, I’d talked myself out of a summit attempt and I started heading south along the Pennine Way. 

I met my first NoBo Pennine Wayer, who happened to be a Brummie. He’d been using B&Bs to hike his way northwards. He was excited to be finishing today. A lot of today’s walk was over slabs and many of these had sunk into the surrounding bog. Frequent detours had to be made to get around flooded areas. It was on one of these frustrating deviations that my right leg disappeared up to the knee in a watery quagmire. Half an hour later, exactly the same thing happened again. I was disappointed to get wet socks on the second day. I met an exhausted looking NoBoer who told me that he’d progressed along the Pennine Way using a mixture of camping, B&Bs and hotels. He asked me where the Scottish border was since he wanted to do his first wildcamp tonight. I was astounded that he’d not done one so far. He seemed worried that if he camped on the English side of the border he would be ‘caught’ and so wanted to ensure he was on the other side. I assured him that it was very unlikely that he’d be ‘moved on’ from these remote locations. He didn’t look convinced. I told him the wire fence along the ridge line was roughly the location of the border. I’d noticed that there were the occasional posts with a metal shaped thistle/star on their top along the ridge. I presumed these were indicators for the Scottish Border.

The sun came out and the day became cheerier. This really was a vast, remote area. Over in the distant  north, I could see twin the humps of the Eildon Hills near Melrose. By lunchtime, I reached Windy Gyle and it lived up to its name. I found a reasonably sheltered spot on the leeward side of the large Russell’s Cairn on its summit and sat down for my grub. Just before reaching the summit, I’d found a fingerpost pointing southeast with ‘Clennel Street’ and Alwinton listed on it. A few years ago, I’d carried out an epic walk from Alwinton on the old droving road of Clennel Street to Bloodybush Edge. I felt a little nostalgia for that day. I made a note that I should revisit the place at some point. Routin Well (spring) was south of the summit. It would have meant a 0.5 km hike and 50m descent to get to it. I still had plenty of water and so didn’t bother on this occasion. 

A man and a dog had appeared on the Clennel Street path and then headed southwards along the Pennine Way. I packed my stuff up and followed him. I was so engrossed with the vast landscape to the north that I didn’t realise that I was drifting northwards too. The fellow and his dog in front of me were now taking a different path to the Pennine Way. It just goes to show how easy it was to miss a Pennine Way marker and drift off path. I returned to the ridge, hopped over the fence and continued westwards. Between Mozie Law and Beefstand Hill I did find some filterable water, but it was only a trickle and a source that looked intermittent. 

Yearning Saddle

It was pretty clear that I was never going to reach Byrness Hill today. It was now late afternoon and I started to look for places to wildcamp. After traversing Lamb Hill, the Yearning Saddle mountain refuge came into view. There looked to be a grassy pitch in front of it. This looked ideal; I could prepare a brew and a meal inside the shelter and pitch my tent in front of it. The shelter was a replica of the Auchope one with the exception that wooden struts had been placed across the bottom of the door entrance to prevent sheep making use of the facilities. The pitch was excellent and I soon had my tent up. As I prepared a brew and meal, the sun started to go down making the surrounding hills glow golden. There was a definite chill in the air.   

It had been a tough day over a rollercoaster of terrain. I’d managed around 14 miles which wasn’t bad given all the ups and downs and the uber heavy rucksack. I reckoned I still had another 9 miles of the ridge to cover before reaching Byrness. I was loving it though; the remoteness, the views and the walking. I’d even met half a dozen NoBos. It felt freezing as I left the mountain hut and headed for a night in my tent.