The Pennine Way

The following is a sample of one chapter from the book.   If you wish to purchase an electronic version of the book [on CD] for £12 click here.  It is 360 pages long and includes a full photograph gallery of the entire run, comprising many hundreds of photographs.

At the Top of the Cheviots

Day 1 – Kirk Yetholm to Cocklawfoot

[13 ½   miles - 1 August 1998

I began my day at 8 am being joined by Carol for a 40 minute yoga session in order to prepare for our run.  Supple limbs are less likely to be injured.  After yoga we breakfasted and I showed Ian on the map where he was to collect us.  There is no convenient point on this section of the Pennine Way to be collected, unless we were to run all the way to Byrness, some 31 miles.  We had planned to run 11 miles on the Pennine Way to Clennell Street, an ancient pathway which bisects the Way between King’s Seat and Windy Gyle.   By leaving the Way here and following Clennel Street for 2 ½ miles we could reach the car park at Cocklawfoot our rendezvous point

This is a severe run for an introduction to the Pennine Way.  It takes in some very high, hostile terrain and is very boggy in places.  There was plenty of mist about and that made our run and our route-finding more hazardous.  I had rehearsed myself for most of this route already, having previously run from Kirk Yetholm to the top of the Schill and having also run up Clennell Street from Cocklawfoot to the Pennine Way.   I was not, however, familiar with the route between The Schill and Clennell Street.  Carol had run only twice on the Pennine Way and was simply not prepared for what lay ahead of her for the next 7 days.  The first day’s run would be a total shock to her as she was to experience steep climbs, deep bogs, muddy paths and mist.  Wouldn’t it be fun!

The route would start at the northern-most end of the Pennine Way, Kirk Yetholm in the Scottish Cheviots, beginning along a scenic country road and then taking the valley route up to The Schill which is 601 metres above sea-level.  We would then run along a ridge to Birnie Brae and Red Cribs and ascend to Auchope Cairn [720 metres], by-passing the Cheviot itself and then follow a long, high and boggy ridge over Crookedsike Head, Score Head and King’s Seat before finally escaping from the Way at Clennell Street on a route that would take us to Cocklawfoot.

Most people travel the Pennine Way from south to north.  We were asked many times why we were running it from north to south instead.  To me the answer was logical.  The Pennine Way in the north is of a higher elevation than in the south, and there would be more downhill running than uphill [although not by much], but more importantly, we would be running in the direction of our homes.  Psychologically this is more embracing than running away from them.   At this time I was not missing home, having only left it yesterday, but towards the end of my run I was to become terribly homesick and it would become of considerable comfort to me that I would be  running nearer to my home each day. 

As we commenced our run the sky was overcast, laden with heavy rolling grey clouds, but for the present it was dry.  Our run started literally outside of the doors of our overnight accommodation.  We ran along the road a mile or so to a cattle grid near to where the Halter Burn meets the Shielknowe Burn and where a choice had to be made as to which of two possible routes should be taken up to The Schill.  The Pennine Way here proceeds both along the ridge top of Stob Rig, White Law and Black Hag, and also along the valley of the Halter Burn.  Both paths then re-unite at Corbie Craig, about a mile before the summit of the Schill.  We decided to take the valley route as I was familiar with it, and in any event there was mist on the mountain tops and the valley route would be safer.

When I was here previously both of the aforementioned burns were in spate.  It had been raining very heavily the night before and both burns had become raging torrents, thundering down their courses.  The Halter Burn had burst its banks and was covering the lower sections of the road.  The fords were difficult to cross, not just because of the depth of the water but also because of the velocity of it.  Now, however, despite the rain of last night the water level and velocity were considerably lower.  Today the Halter Burn emitted a peaceful, lazy, murmuring sound.

The road continued after a cattle grid until another one was reached, and the path changed to a stoned track.  My feet, ever sensitive to the ground beneath them immediately felt the difference.  I dislike running on metalled roads because there is a harder impact on the leg joints and spine.  I also dislike running on stone or gravel surfaces because these cause more ankle injuries.  I much prefer to run on grass, peat or mud.  I knew there was plenty of that ahead of me.

We followed the track to a farm where we left it and took a narrow path to a ford at Burnhead and then a footbridge. The path then climbed part way up the north flank of Bught Knowe and then along the side of the Halter Burn valley to Burky Knowe where it crossed a gated fence.   The hillsides here were covered in fern and further down the valley there were many different shades of green, broken by small moving patches of black and white where cattle moved among the verdant grasses.  The dark shadow of the Burn could also be seen snaking its way back along the valley we had just ascended. 

It was now raining, not heavily but sufficient to wet us through.  At first this was a little uncomfortable, but the coolness of the rain heated by our bodies soon became warm, and the discomfort gradually subsided.  I actually enjoyed running in the rain.  I also enjoyed the subtle aromas that the grasses and earth gave out, as these smells stimulated nostalgic memories of younger days in the mountains of Wales and Scotland.  It is curious how smells can invoke far more forgotten memories than photographs.  It is as though the smell unlocks a secret cache of memories filed long ago in the deepest crevices of the mind and long since forgotten.

Mist was now partly obscuring our view of The Curr, the steep slopes of which had been clearly visible to us before, barring our forward path like some devilish sentinel, and forcing us, as we ascended, to deflect to our left, to the pass between it and Black Hag.  The mist today did not keep us company all day but lifted and fell at will.  As we ascended toward Corbie Craig we were afforded, every now and then, a view to the Row Hope valley below on the far side of the Curr, which we had now rounded, after having crossed a fence stile.

Carol was more than a little anxious now.  Although she had trained for this run, her training had not been as thorough as mine, mainly because she was unable to travel as often as I to the Pennines to run, living much further away from them.  She had not experienced such rugged terrain, so much mud, such steep mountainsides or mist.  She said nothing to me yet, but she later confessed that she did not at this time believe that she would have been able to carry on the following day.

We stopped to listen, holding our breaths.  There was not a sound.  Just profound silence.  We could feel the mist on our faces, damp and clinging, carrying the scent of the earth and the marsh grasses.  There were sheep around, but we could neither see nor hear them.  There were no aeroplanes, no traffic, no birds – just silence, beautiful peaceful silence.  It was wonderful but also a little scary.  There was no one to turn to if we needed assistance.  We were on our own.

The border fence [between Scotland and Northumberland] lay just ahead of us.  Once we reached this and crossed its stile we left the path and followed the Pennine Way south east to follow the border fence to the summit of The Schill.  Our former path continued on its own down the far side of The Schill to the College valley. We would now be following the border fence for a very considerable distance, not just today but tomorrow as well.

The Schill was very steep and rose to 601 metres.  The path up it was covered in deep mud and as we pushed off with our feet they kept slipping back, our shoes failing to grip in the oozing mud.  This slowed and tired us considerably.  At the top there were castlelated rocky outcrops.  These had taken on an eerie appearance in the mist on the last occasion I was here, but today the mist had lifted and I had a grand view both of the summit and of the valleys below, more particularly the College valley.  There was also a magnificent view towards Red Cribs and Hen Hole.

Here I had my first drink.  I needed to slake my thirst, and as my isotonic water found its way down my throat I enjoyed the pleasure of its coolness.  Carol had already many times dipped into her water supply but I had been trying to conserve mine.  I had sweat a lot and was dry inside but wet and sticky outside.  I did not feel hungry and did not yet avail myself of one of the two energy bars I was carrying in my back pack.

We now ran down the slopes of The Schill, at a slightly faster pace than we had run on the way up. It is not easy in this type of terrain to build up much speed as running downhill can be quite dangerous.  As we neared Red Cribs further along the ridge, our proximity to the College Burn had increased.  The slopes of Red Cribs were steep and barren of vegetation and took on a red earthy appearance.

Hen Hole had become the dominant landscape feature now.  On three sides steep mountains rose from it, swathed in a dense blanket of white cloud that ever danced its long fingers up and down.  The sometimes thunderous, sometimes tinkling sound of the College Burn was an orchestra to my ears as it plummeted steeply through Hen Hole, sandwiched as it was between Auchope Cairn and The Cheviot. 

At Red Cribs there was a footpath following a fence down to Cocklawfoot.  Taking it would save about 3 miles from our journey.  No one would know.  We were very thirsty.  Carol was very tired.  We were both anxious.  It was very tempting.  It would also obviate the need to climb the 720 metre slopes of the Auchope Cairn, rising further to 743 metres on the path near to the Cheviot turn off.  The loss of 3 miles would be counter-balanced by the additional 2 ½ miles added by having to take the escape route ahead of us at Clennell Street.  But it felt too much like cheating.  We were here to face a challenge, not to avoid it.  It was not a difficult decision.  We would carry on as planned.  We could not cheat ourselves.

On Red Cribs was a red, wooden mountain refuge hut.  We checked it out.  It was sufficient to preserve life in an emergency.  Other visitors had left food in there for anyone who might need it.  It is always comforting to know that there are shelters like this around.  We knew that if we ran into difficulties we could backtrack to this hut and await help.

It was now time to ascend Auchope Cairn.  The ascent was very steep, so much so that it was impossible to run.  Not only was the ascent steep but the path extremely muddy.  We met a hiker coming down [with the utmost difficulty and with the help of two walking sticks].  This was his last day on the Pennine Way, having hiked the entire length.  He had come over from Belgium just to do it.  This was his twenty-second day and he was traveling alone.  I admired his nerve and his determination.

As we attained the summit the vista changed remarkably.  The Cheviot remained shrouded in mist all of the time and we were never able to catch sight of its summit, but we now had a clear view down the Cheviot valley and a glorious view in the opposite direction across to the conifer plantations of Scotsman’s Knowe and of Comb Fell.

As we descended Auchope Cairn the path became very boggy and difficult but further down its slopes there was a good length of duck-boarding over the most difficult areas.  The terrain in this area was so boggy that I am quite sure it would have been completely impassable without the duck-boarding.  The swampy, miry mud looked deep and dangerous and I could almost hear the sound of its oozing and sucking at my feet as I passed safely above it on the boarding.

We soon reached a footpath junction and clearly signed in one direction was the Pennine Way.   A separate detour was signed to the summit of the Cheviot.  The Cheviot itself is not on the Pennine Way, but because it is the highest peak of this mountain range I had already voiced my wish to climb it, and although Carol did not she had agreed to wait for me in the event that I still wished to climb it when reaching this junction.   Now that we were here I had to decide whether to proceed with the climb or not.  It was apparent, however, that our run had already taken far longer than we had originally planned due to the unexpected rigour of the terrain and it was clear that we would far exceed our expected time of arrival at Cocklawfoot even if I did not proceed to the summit of the Cheviot.  I did not wish to find that the emergency services had been summonsed by Ian because I had decided to take a detour.  I reluctantly decided against it. 

The duck-boarding gave way to yellow stone flags, but these soon expired and we reverted to running once again on the boggy path.  We had been able to make good time while running on the duck-boarding and flags but our pace now slowed.   This kind of terrain was difficult to run on because of the risk of ankle injury.  From time to time the paving reappeared and each time it did our pace increased.

We would not now be far from our escape route to Cocklawfoot.  I was looking out for a fence that I expected to find just after a cairn near Crookedsike Head.  This was about a mile before Clennell Street, but I did not see the fence.  We seemed to be going too far not to see it and I was starting to panic a little, thinking that we may somehow have veered from the Way, although as we were still following the border fence I could not see how this was possible.  At long last I spotted it, and upon our approach I realised, with elation, that it was not the expected fence but in fact our escape route.  We had reached Clennell Street, somehow having missed the fence we had been looking for.

We stopped for an energy bar and a long drink.  The energy bar, being my first food since breakfast, tasted beautiful.  It was packed with cereal and coated with chocolate.  The smallness of the meal was well compensated for by the value of its nutrients and small though it was it might just as well have been a Sunday roast! I now did something silly.  I left behind my maps and compass, which I had put down while opening my bag to remove my energy bar.   I did not miss them until reaching Cocklawfoot.  I knew the escape route, having run it before and did not need to check my maps on the descent and so I did not miss them.

We ran down Clennell Street very quickly.  The path is easy to follow and is mostly dry, save for a modestly boggy part of Cock Law.  As we neared our rendezvous point I saw a coniferous plantation ahead of us, with a wide gap splitting it.  Our path passed through this gap.  I remembered it well, knowing that it lay very close to the end of today’s run, and was watching for it.  The ever dependable Ian was there waiting, having walked a little way uphill to meet us.

Carol and I stretched and then changed.  I had brought my recording equipment and I set it up to record the sound of Kelsocleugh Burn while we were stretching.  This is one of the tributaries to Bowmont Water.  It was after stretching that I realised I had left my maps behind.  I was not sure for certain that I had left them at the top of Clennell Street, although I thought this to be the most likely place.  It was not feasible to go back up and look for them as I might not have actually left them there and it was a long way back uphill.  I would be here again tomorrow to return to the Pennine Way, but I could not afford the risk of not finding them.  I decided to purchase another map and compass, which I was able to do from the relatively nearby town of Jedburgh.  Following the purchase I had to re-write all of tomorrow’s compass bearings onto the map.

I later went out alone and made a sound recording of Bowmont Water, where it ran through Kirk Yetholm.  I was late in returning for dinner and Ian was not amused.

Thus ended our first day’s run.

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