Day 12                                                                    Map

 

 

 

The wind was crying Mary throughout the night or perhaps it was the ghost of Cathy that had followed me from Top Withins. This would be understandable. My animal magnetism is more than a match for the long dead and fictional Heathcliff. Whatever it was I slept quite badly. The wooden rattle of the window frame kept waking me up and it wasn’t very comfortable hiding beneath the bed. I could have done with an extra hour in the morning but managed to drag myself out from under at about 7.30.

 

                                                 One of the patches of scree below Falcon Clints 

 

 Breakfast wasn’t up to much. I don’t normally have all the ingredients of a full English/ Scottish/ Welsh/ Irish/ Yorkshire/ Northumberland or whatever, though it would be nice to get a bit extra of what I do have. There was no chance of that and what I was given would have hardly satisfied an anorexic supermodel; slices of toast were rationed to two.

 

The only other mug paying over the odds for a stay at the Langdon Beck Hotel was the miniature lady who hadn’t been catching butterflies yesterday. She told me she intended to go to Cauldron Snout but wasn’t sure whether to go along the road or the Pennine Way. She had a map of sorts but not a proper one so I went to get mine. I showed her the way I was going: over Widdybank Pasture to rejoin the Pennine Way at the Tees.

 

‘Yes I was thinking of that way’, she said ‘but I heard it was quite difficult near Falcon Clints.’

 

‘It might be a little bit’, said I ‘but I’ve done the route before and I don’t remember any particular problem.’

 

I think I persuaded her. It was true as well. I had done the route, in the other direction, once before, but it had been ten years ago and I can’t remember the minute details of every walk I’ve ever been on for God’s sake.

 

I set off at a stroll down the road just after 9.30 pleased that it was cool enough to wear my fleece, by far the easiest way of carrying it. Turning the corner there was a large gang of bullocks hanging out on both the field and road side of the gate next to the stile I was to use. They gave me the “who you looking at?” stare but of course moved aside as I approached. As I went on my way they bunched up by the stile again, murmuring to one another,

 

‘If he comes back ’ere again I’ll ’ave im.’

 

‘Any dumpy little ladies who look like they’re out catching butterflies try to use this stile’ll be for it.’

 

‘You know, it’s funny, but even though you know you haven’t got your balls anymore you can still, like, feel they’re there.’

 

‘Yeh, I know what you mean. Mine keep itching and I can’t scratch them if I don’t know where they are, can I?’

 

I don’t know which is worse: talking feet or talking bullocks.

 

Feeling guilty I wandered my way down towards the river below Falcon Clints which of course made me feel like a cad and a liar. Every Pennine Way walker will remember the name Falcon Clints even though hardly any will have seen them, I certainly haven’t. They are on top of the cliffs above. What sticks in the mind is the fun they’d have had negotiating the large chunks of scree next to the river. These are impossible to avoid and really are an absolute bugger to cross, much more difficult than I remembered. It’s rather as though every stone has been place by sadistic design at an angle that makes it the most awkward for traversing by bipeds. They also have a smooth finish to them from the thousands of boots which have picked their way across them over the years. This gives them a dangerously slippery appearance, which they are not, but I believe extra care is needed in the wet. Even though the bad parts are quite nasty they only cover a few yards, though, and shouldn’t delay you too long.

 

Cauldron Snout is a surprise. You know it’s around here somewhere but it’s nowhere to be seen until you turn a corner and it’s right there in your face. I’m always more impressed by Cauldron Snout than High Force, possibly because I’ve seen it a lot less often and probably because you’re much closer to it. If there is anyone else within earshot while you’re standing at the bottom you can indulge yourself in a bit of pedantry by telling them it’s not a waterfall but a cascade and they can reply that as they are professor of Geography at Durham University they already knew that.

 

 

The clamber up the side was again more difficult than my obviously very selective memory recalled. I imagined tomorrow’s headline in the Upper Teesdale Gazette:

 

‘Lone middle-aged woman rambler bundled by bovver boy bovines, sprains ankle in stumble on slippery rocks before tumbling into torrent of death at Cauldron Snout’

 

“She should never have gone that way” says local man, Noel Itall, 51.

 

I was hungry and the thought didn’t put me off my sausage sandwich while sitting on the wall at the top.

 

 

A particularly scarce species of litter only found near the upper reaches of the Tees. The frog's as common as muck. 

 

As I was approaching Birkdale Farm I noticed two people behind me in the distance. A few minutes later I turned again and could make out that they were a couple, carrying day sacks and two sticks each on the end of arms which were pumping up and down so fast they looked like two frantic cross-country skiers in a dash to the finish. They were certainly moving a lot quicker than me and when they got close I stopped to wait while they passed by. Before they did so they screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust and exchanged a few words. They were also Pennine wayers having started the day after me. They were very quick to tell me that they had been carrying full rucksacks and had only started the Sherpa baggage carrying thing at Bowes. I must admit to not taking to the chap more or less immediately. It might have had something to do with the first words he said to me. After following me for a mile and a half he asked if I was doing the Way north to south! It was also the way he pronounced the word schedule, which he did in the American way, as in skedule, my favourite pet hate, though I don’t mind Americans doing it.

 

I passed them a mile or so later as they were eating their packed lunches and of course they caught me up soon after and we arrived together at High Cup Nick so we could do the usual with each other’s cameras: saying “back a bit” to whoever was posing near the edge at the time. As we were walking along I noticed that it was the wife that was doing all the map reading, so the little darlings must be able to hold them the right way up, otherwise they would have been approaching Coventry around about now. I bet she asked every local they came across for directions, though, just to be on the safe side.

 

It turned out they were staying at the same guest house as me, Hall Croft, which hadn’t been my first choice as it is a vegetarian establishment, something that was news to them. Their whole walk had been booked as a package through Sherpa who therefore had arranged their accommodation. I was surprised that they hadn’t bothered to tell their clients they’d booked them into a veggie b & b, I’d have thought that sort of information quite important.

 

I stayed at High Cup for some time to let them get a good head start and make sure I wouldn’t catch them up if they stopped again. There are not many better places than High Cup Nick, in this country, to dally for a while and take in the view, when the weather’s pleasant.

 

 

Even taking my time I arrived at Dufton at four. Both the pub and shop were shut so I couldn’t get a fizzy drink. The b & b was at the far end of the village. Walking through there is a confusing sign saying that Appleby is 8 miles away. The sign, apparently, is only for cyclists, if you walk it or go by car it’s only 3 miles. Serves them right I say.

 

Hall Croft is a lovely detached Victorian villa at the end of the green and an excellent guest house. When I arrived my fellow wayers were already in the lounge with the owner, Ray, having tea and cake. I joined them and we chatted for a while, or more accurately we listened to Ray who is a keen talker, sorry, I mean walker, and involved in mountain rescue. He mentioned that in mid summer he sometimes walks on the hills in the middle of the night, as it never gets properly dark. The idea of this greatly appeals. I’ve walked fairly late into the evening on quite a few occasions and standing on top a hill at 10 in the evening knowing you’re alone for as far as you can see is a wonderful feeling. Walking throughout the night is something I’ll really have to try.

 

The house is large and the rooms are excellently large to fit in it. They are very pleasantly furnished and the owners have obviously gone out of their way to think of what would make their guests more comfortable. The rooms were lacking nothing and there were several little extras, for instance: a small bowl of chocolates on the mantel piece, which didn’t last long, and you could help yourself to orange squash from the fridge on the landing. There were quite a few books and even videos to play on the tv/video machine in the room, though I couldn’t find the porn so didn’t bother.

The only place for dinner, The Stag, opened at six so I went there shortly after and ordered lamb henry for a tenner. While I was waiting the couple came in and were going to sit at another table until I invited them to join me. During the conversation my initial impression of the husband was reinforced. Somehow the conversation drifted onto the subject of Iraq and I mentioned that I’d been so much against Bush’s War I’d been on a demo against it before it started, the first time I’d demonstrated against anything since a 1970 anti Vietnam War protest in Grosvenor Square. He immediately got quite agitated, making the ridiculous assumption that anyone who was against the war must be for Sadman Hussein. We agreed to change the subject. It turned out that he was very much a football fan. There was not much to talk about after that.

 

I went back to my room for a read and an early night. It was going to be a long day tomorrow but I’d had four very easy ones in succession so was in reasonable nick to cope with it. I still didn’t have any blisters but that didn't stop my feet continually moaning, though I was learning to turn a deaf ear to them.