This has been 5 days of complete contradictions and contrasts. After a very comfortable night at Naomi's in Carlisle, onto Hadrian's Wall. I didn't realise it was such a popular walk, particularly with North Americans. In one conversation I was asked whether I'd had an argument with my boyfriend which had resulted in me walking for three months. I like meeting Americans on walks - there is not a lot of reserve about them so the conversations are always pretty deep and often funny, and they always seem to be having a good time. The first photo is of a little self-service refreshment hut by Crosby on Eden where I was watched by a tiny wide-eyed cat. I saw two or three of these wonderful places in only two and a half days on the Wall. Not long after this hut, I met an 80 year old Nova Scotian walking with his brother, son and daughter in law. He was so overcome when he learned what I was doing, that he interviewed me for his youtube video! I can't remember what he said the title would be though. As the Wall moves east, it becomes higher and wilder, and windier too. 'Robin Hood, prince of thieves' fans will recognise the second photo - Sycamore Gap, or as it has become known, the 'Robin Hood tree'. No sign of Kevin Costner, or Alan Rickman, unfortunately. Only an early morning runner and an early morning photographer, who turned out to be the only people I saw all day, until the third photo - another old barn in a farm called Horneystead, after long stretches of open moor and lonely forest in the wind and rain. They had a kettle, all kinds of drinks and snacks, including a wagon wheel - the first one I've had in years! As I was leaving the farmer came out to help move the horses who were leaning on the stile and wouldn't move for me.
Day 53 moved into lonelier, remoter places, with the feeling of being very far north, where hardly anyone seems to go, and where it's important to stay on the right side of the complete anxiety and agoraphobia line .... which, if you start thinking about it too much in that lonely place, you might stop moving altogether. I saw no one all day, between Bellingham and Byrness, in spite of being on the Pennine Way. The first half of the day on wide open high moor, and the second in the massive, empty, silent Keilder forest. It had rained all the previous night, and the forest was steaming in the sun (fourth picture). Into the lovely, strange, tiny village of Byrness, on the remote A68, consisting of three long terraces of houses and not much else. I camped in the garden of the Forest View Inn, in the old yha building, and met Christine, and Martin and Edmund, doing the final stage of the Pennine Way. We were regaled all evening with PW horror stories over pints of local ale. The proprieters were the kindest of people, in a strange but hospitable place. During the evening another camper turned up - Rhys, who had been wild camping the whole of the Pennine Way, sustained mostly by weed and chocolate. I'd passed his tent earlier that day although no sign of life from it. He had been carrying a ukulele from day 1 but couldn't play it as it was out of tune. I tuned it for him, to make his last couple of days worthwhile! He then disappeared off up the hill.
Into day 54 and the final push over the Cheviots into Scotland. A steep uphill through forest and out onto the ridge in cool early morning sunshine, with views all around of the Cheviots and the forests and the Scottish Borders. I had been anxious about this day for weeks but the night in Byrness and the clarity of the weather made the anxiety cease. If you know the PW you'll know that it actually fgoes in and out of the border a couple of times. The fifth photo is a sign by the first border crossing. What is it about borders and military firing ranges? I passed Rhys' tent but no movement from it. He was probably stoned, and clutching his freshly tuned uke. Then, high up in remote northern England, I finally crossed for the last time, and into Scotland properly! The last two photos are of the gate , and my feet, one in England and one in bonny Scotland. 775 miles done and a huge milestone. I even made a video. It was silent except for the skylarks. No huge welcome (the gate was stiff and the fastening rusty!), no political statements, no words ... just the silence of the high, remote earth. As I stood, in silent celwbration, I saw a person coming towards me! A lovely Scots lady, out for the day, and we stood and chatted, she in England and I in Scotland. Then, on leaving the PW at that point a long trudge on Dere Street, all the way to Jedburgh, from where I write this, having a rest day. 787 miles done. Halllooooo Scotland.
No comments:
Post a Comment