Captain's Log

Lambley Common

I opened my eyes and my first thought was that there must be a wildfire outside since my tent’s inner was glowing pink. My second thought was that it must be a very cold fire since it felt bloody freezing in the tent. I stuck my head out of the tent’s entrance  to see a frost strewn world. The sun had just started to poke his head above the ridge that supports Hadrian’s Wall and had cast a red-orange hue to the sky. It looked like I was in store for another fine day, but with a frosty start.

Today’s walk would be my longest yet with a 20 mile haul from my wildcamp at Lambley Common to Greg’s Hut, a bothy just beneath the summit of Cross Fell. There would also be over 900 metres of ascent, most of which would be at the end of the day. The climb to Greg's Hut is probably my least favourite part of the Pennine Way too, a soul-destroying 6 mile trudge along a stone road. It wasn’t a good idea to think too far ahead though. I started packing my gear up. It felt too cold to precede my walk with breakfast; I’d leave that until I reached Slaggyford, a village 4 miles further down the trail. That would give the sun time to rise and heat up the world. I’d soon packed up and I was on my way. 

South Tyne Trail

The sun was soon high in the sky and the day became warmer. I made short work of the fell section from Lambley Common and I dropped down to the A689. I climbed a well worn track up the side of the railway embankment and found myself on the South Tyne Trail, the route of the old railway line between Alston and Haltwhistle. It should be noted at this point that the official Pennine Way path doesn’t follow the old railway track initially, but field-hops its way to the collection of buildings known as Merry Knowe, before joining it about a mile further down the track. The Trailblazer guide says ‘...navigating Merry Knowe is a dog’s dinner…’ and so I’ve always thought it better to get on to the obvious South Tyne Trail early, since that’s where you eventually end up anyway. I stayed only on it for about a 1.5 miles anyway before I diverted off to the village of Slaggyford.     

I took the opportunity to set up a temporary camp at one of the village green’s benches. I brewed a tea and prepared some muesli. I pegged my tent outer out so that it could dry in the sun. The residents of Slaggyford seemed remarkably cheerful. Everyone who passed me waved, one stopping to chat about my trip. Maybe they wouldn’t have been so accommodating if I’d pitched my tent on their village green last night. There again, who knows. 

Field-Hopping And A Roman Camp

There was a wonderful short section where the Pennine Way ran alongside the River South Tyne, before it branched away and started to field-hop its way along the valley. I heard some chugging and then a small railway engine towing carriages came into view. The railway is supported by enthusiasts and runs from Alston to Slaggyford.    

The outskirts of Alston started to come into view further up the valley. I always think the Pennine Way takes a rather cruel turn at this point since it crosses the A689 and takes a rather hilly and frustrating tour of the hills on the west side of the valley, rather than heading straight for Alston. Presumably the reason for this diversion was to visit the site of Whitley Castle (Epiacum), a Roman fort. The embankments of the fort are obvious and there were a couple of information boards to fill you in on the details. It’s the highest stone-built fort in Britain and was built in the 2nd century AD (partly demolished and rebuilt around 200 AD). Its purpose was to protect the local lead mines and provide support for Hadrian’s Wall. Numerous banks and ditches ring the stone ramparts making it among the most complex defensive earthworks of any fort known in the Roman Empire. Crikey! It’s also unusual in that it is diamond shaped, to fit in with the landscape, rather than the normal ‘rounded-corner’ rectangular shape.   

I continued tramping along the hillside. The day looked a lot greyer. I felt the odd spot of rain in the wind. Would I get my first rain of the week? The trail seemed to be taking me away from Alston, rather than towards it. At last, it started descending into the valley and then back towards Alston. I crossed the A689 again and some field-hopping brought me to the outskirts of the town.

Alston

It was a Sunday and I’d been worried about failing to reach the town before the Co-Op’s early closing time. I needn’t have worried; it was only midday. Alston is a very remote town. Look at a road map and you’ll see its location surrounded by hills for miles. Those winding hilly roads though attract the motorcyclists. It is the biker-hub haven of the north. Not only does the pretty village have cobbled streets, quaint shops and a beautiful river, but it also has a large community of leather clad bikers astride their growling machines. Well, it did on this particular Sunday. I bought my lunch from the Co-Op and sat beneath the Market Cross shelter to eat it. I couldn’t hear myself think as the bikes revved and roared across the nearby cobbles. It wasn’t the most relaxing lunch I’d ever had. While taking the break, I tried to book a room at the Middleton-on-Teesdale hotel for a couple of days time, using their App. After filling in a plethora of details I finally got to approve the payment in my banking App when the hotel App crashed. I didn’t know whether the transaction had gone through or not. I sighed. There was no way I could ring up the hotel with the cacophony of noise that was blasting from the road next to me. I packed up my things and headed out of town. 

Garrigill

A mile out of town, I phoned the hotel and got everything sorted out in less than 5 minutes. Sometimes it’s just better to talk to people than try to use machines. The greyness of the morning had now been replaced by sunshine and my mood improved. A field-hopping section that reminded me of the Dales brought me back to the South Tyne river. It was much narrower now than it had been when I joined it at Haltwhistle. I crossed the river using a footbridge and followed a pretty path along its riverbank. Eventually this delivered me to a road that led into the village of Garrigill. 7 years ago, I’d visited the village’s Post Office and managed to procure a couple of chocolate bars from a meagre selection. It had felt like the place was on its last legs. Given it was a Sunday and the sorry state I found it in last time, I didn’t hold out much hope that it would still be there. To my surprise it still existed, although it wasn’t open. The front window held displays of produce that looked so ancient, I wondered whether she shop had been turned into a museum. There were no opening times displayed that I could see. I Googled the place and found that it was still in active service. Who would have believed it? 

Lonely Road

I didn’t hang around in Garrigill. It was pointless ignoring the inevitable; I started out on the dreaded 6 miles stone road to Greg’s Hut. The day greyed over to reflect my mood. I felt a few spots of rain in the air. The last time I walked this road, the estate owner had just laid a fresh layer of larger stones on top of it. This had made it into an ankle-turning, painful trudge. Today, I found that those stones had been crushed to a smaller size and compacted onto the road. This made it a lot easier to walk along.  I take consolation where I could find it. I found a bench with an intriguing plaque stating: ‘Richard F Phillips (Icelandic Dick)’. Later research revealed Icelandic Dick to be a former resident of Alston. His Icelandic association was due to his love of Icelandic sweaters. He died in 2019 and the proceeds from the sale of his property were gifted to the Alston Moor Community Fund. 

Another mind-numbing mile along the road, I met  a day walker who lived at Barnard Castle, coming the other way. Our chat got onto discussing the various merits of different sections of the Pennine Way. He hated the Dark Peak, saying that it was a bog-strewn monotony, whereas he loved this particular area. This was like a red-rag to a bull with me. How could he decry the Dark Peak as 'boring and monotonous' when he’d been walking along a stone road over these dull and endless moors for the last 3 miles? I told him so. Well, he rather took offence at that! I suggested pistols at dawn to settle the matter for good. He never turned up at Greg’s Hut for the ultimate judgement, which rather proved my side of the argument.     

Together with some false summits, the landscape moved very slowly on this section, making time slow down. To be honest, it wasn’t that the views were unpleasant; they were epic really. It was just that they didn’t seem to change that much. The actual summit of Cross Fell came into view and the speck on its side of Greg’s Hut materialised. Further south along the ridge, I could see the ‘golf balls’ of the radar station on Great Dun Fell. I would get a close-up view of them tomorrow. More plodding and I came to an area of disused mines. Presumably, the workers used to climb all the way up here for a shift. 12 hours underground must have seemed like a holiday compared to the commute along this road. The track bent around to the west and flattened out. It followed a contour along Cross Fell’s chest. I found a stream and filled my bottles with water. Greg’s Hut came into sight and I gradually hauled it in, eventually touching its stone wall. Thank God the Long Road was over. 

Greg's Hut

I’d visited  Greg’s Hut a few times but never actually stayed in it. Tonight, I intended to sleep there. If the place was full, then there was always a wildcamp option nearby. As it happens, the place was empty. Since it was nearing 8pm, I thought it was unlikely that anybody else would arrive. Looking at its Visitors Book, the place looked to be well used. The bothy was split into two rooms: a communal area and a sleeping area. The sleeping area had a raised platform and could provide space for up to five or six people, depending on how fat they are. I inflated my sleeping mat and got my sleeping bag out. It was getting dark now and so I lit some candles to spread a little light and warmth. They did neither. I brewed a tea and ate my evening meal. It had been a long, hard day and by 9 pm I’d blown out the candles and got into my sleeping bag. I didn’t expect anybody to arrive this late, but you never know. I drifted off to sleep. I awoke, hearing a noise in the communal area. It sounded like somebody was in there although I couldn’t see any light. I got out of my sleeping bag and pottered my way next door. The noise was coming from the front door that was rattling about because of the wind. I went back to my sleeping bag and fell asleep again. The next thing I knew I was awoken by scratching. I knew exactly what that was though. I’d heard similar in the plywood walls of Nepalese lodges. Vermin! I’d packed my food deep into my rucksack, which I'd dragged up beside me onto the sleeping platform. I checked the platform and room to see if I could see any of the critters scuttling about, but they were keeping their heads down. I drifted off back to sleep again. The next thing I knew, daylight was streaming through the window. There were no other people on the sleeping platform and so it seemed that I and my scratching, furry friends had had the bothy to ourselves for the night. At least I didn’t have to pack up a wet tent today.