Fair to Middleton

Day 10

In the morning I wandered into Richmond town centre to buy water purification tablets; something I’ll always carry in future should I try any other long distance walks. I also needed more maps, or I’d be dropping off the edge a few miles past Alston. Ordnance Survey have a clever knack of dividing up their coverage so you have to buy more maps than you ever thought you’d possibly need no matter what your route might be. I have several maps with square mile upon mile of blue on them even though there is no way I’m ever going to attempt to walk, cycle or even ride a horse over either the North or Irish Seas. The only mistake they’ve made, that I know of, is the North Pennines Outdoor Leisure/Explorer map which you can use for three or four days along the Pennine Way. I bet whoever was responsible for marking the dotted line round that one got the boot pretty sharpish.

I spent some time in the newsagents unfolding maps and longer folding them back up again. From the looks flashed in my direction from the girl behind the till I think she suspected I was trying to save the purchase by memorizing them. The problem I had was that one of the Explorer maps I wanted only had ten miles of the Pennine Way on it. That would work out at 75p a mile for a map I’d only be likely to use the once! I eventually settled for two Landrangers even though I was very dubious about the 1:50,000 scale. I was also not too happy about the lack of the last few miles down from the Cheviots to Kirk Yetholm that this would leave me with but, after all, there is that old Yorkshire saying: “Eet’s better to lose thy way than to lose thy money.”

Looking back in the general direction of Tan Hill without any sign of the A66

After a good Sunday lunch and relaxing in the garden with the shears and lawn mower I got a lift back to the A66. As well as

leaving behind several maps I lightened the load by the weight of my jumper. My bag was noticeable lighter as soon as I took it out, though the effect was probably more psychological. The label reads thermalite and in spite of the misspeling doesn’t weigh much but the thought of lugging it round day after day in such heat did. I also, reluctantly, left one ofthe encyclopedias behind.

I set off from the Pennine Way tunnel at four thirty. The road was very busy, as always, but after a few hundred yards you wouldn’t know it was there. I was surprised by the sudden appearance of a group of about ten who’d obviously nearly competed their day’s outing; they were bounding towards the road looking very eager for the pub. I didn’t see anyone else for the rest of the evening’s walk, apart from a few anglers by the reservoirs I passed near.

It took me an hour and a half of very easy walking to reach Baldersdale, a place I d

idn’t know existed until I was checking out the route for this walk. My father would take us all over the northeast in the car when I was a child but as there’s no pub we wouldn’t have ventured up this valley. I didn’t see any sign at all of Ravock Castle, I must have blinked as I raced past it. I was glad to see that Hannah’s Meadow was in full bloom when I walked through. If it had been cut and left to dry my eyes would have been itching madly, from the inside and I wouldn’t have stopped sneezing all evening. I am rather a heartless sole and flowers don’t do a great deal for me but it was a pleasure to see a proper hay meadow rather than just a field of buttercups with a bit of clover.

After Baldersdale there were some short but steep hills and I was back in fields which necessitated frequent consultation of the map so my pace slowed considerably. I carried a note pad on the trip which I scribbled in every evening and some mornings. A direct quote from this indicates perfectly my frame of mind on reaching this, the half-way point:

Baldersdale

I keep thinking I’m going to make it, then I go up a short hill and with the weight (of the rucksack) and heat I have to stop a couple of times for breath and wonder how I’m going to get over Cross Fell. I thought I’d get fitter on the way but looking back on going up Jacob’s Ladder with hardly a stop I’m getting unfitter by the day.

It shows how important these sort of notes are to refresh your memory. I’d totally forgotten I’d written this and my recollection of then is much more upbeat than what I obviously felt at the time.

You're looking for signs to show the way and three turn up at once

An interesting little incident happened on my way down into Lunedale. Entering a large field, where the path spread and vanished from view a short distance from the style there was a herd of cows, many with calves, in the middle, right where I guessed the path should be. When the cows saw me coming they didn’t just give the usual dirty looks they started mooing urgently to their calves and herding them into a tight group. Their actions were just like settlers in the wild west days forming their wagons into a circle against a band of hostile Indians. Even without a dog I think it’s probably best not to get between a cow and its calf so decided against the confrontational approach of walking straight through them and skirted round instead.

I’d booked a room earlier at the Brunswick, in Middleton in Teesdale, which I reached at about eight thirty. I was given room number one, which you can see a picture of on their web-site if you like. It was very pleasant, if rather pricey for the size of it. The floorboards creaked in accompaniment with my aching bones.

I didn’t need a full meal though I could have polished off a bag of chips quick enough had the nearby chip shop been open. Wandering round the town I found quite a large Co-Op which was still open so bought a couple of fizzy pops and some snacks. Since giving up the booze I’ve become quite addicted to fizzy drinks, particularly on those occasions when I would normally have had a pint or a few. It’s quite worrying really and I don’t like to tell people that know me.

I hadn’t bothered with the weather forecast over the last few days. Watching the BBC weather crew pointing to the outline of the U.K. saying “scorchio” every evening was getting boring. I accidentally caught tonight’s and it wasn’t for hot and sunny. Tomorrow I was to expect showers with thunderstorms over the hills later. Wonderful I thought, later was when I’d be back on the moors and the only thing sticking out from a featureless landscape for the lightning to aim at.