Distance: 27.0km (260.1km), time spent: 9:11.
Weather: Rain, the wet.
Rain and thunder all night, and a comfortable bed, had secured a good nights sleep for me. Then I was dry and warm inside the Tan Hill Inn, located alone in an ocean of moorland. But the fact was, I had to leave that safe home for the rainy onslaught outside its doors. It would be a very wet day, and I would be assaulted from more than one side on this walk. From the windows, I could stare out at that empty wet expanse I would have to cross, no mercy from the Pennine Way there.
There is no escaping the moors and the rain today.
Henry and Ana left before me, I could see them as two small figures heading their way into a large open moorland. For from Tan Till, the route takes you straight into the heart of the Sleightholme Moor. There was no denying it, I was going to get real wet on my feet today. In a way, I probably would have been better off walking barefoot, the surface would have been very soft to walk on.
Sleightholme Moor.
Fortunately, and with a false hope, the rain had stopped when I stepped out of the door from the warmth inside to the chill outside. However, it did not take very long, both in time and distance, for it to start up again. Even without the wet element pouring down from the sky, this would be the most squelchy surface I have met so far on the Pennine Way. I feel that the sounds I am making when I push my feet up and down drowns out the sounds of the rain.
Sleightholme Farm.
Bleak farms and scenery.
Sleightholme Moor is a wide and flat expanse of dark moorland, made even darker by the grey and heavy clouds covering every direction of the horizon. It is with a yearning to go back that I look back at the Tan Hill Inn, getting incrementally smaller as I slowly progresses forward. For the going is slow. Not only because of the peat and bog, but also from finding the route. Over the moor, the route the Pennine Way takes follows white-tipped wooden marker posts. Problem is, there are several of them, not all of them going in the same direction. The creek forcing its way through the heath, Frumming Beck, is then a navigational marker good as any. I cannot imagine a more bleaker place on the Pennine Way.
God's Bridge.
Finally reaching some firm footing, in the form of a gravel track, the route ventures to go a little above the creek and goes past a line of small cubicles used for grouse shooting. It is a long walk on the gravel track, in the same weather, seeing the same denuded scenery around me. Sleightholme Farm is passed by, looking just as soaked and sodden as I must be looking. Further ahead of me I can see Henry and Ana going around a field in a wide circle, avoiding the path. Arriving at the same spot, I understand why, there appear to be a bull standing firm in the middle of the field (and path). I go around in a wide circle.
Henry walking over wet moorland on Dryrigg Moss.
This is the part of the trail where the Pennine Way hits another loop. Only this time there is no funky town to talk about. As an alternative to the main route, going in the uncertain route ahead regarding accommodation, there is a signposted route to Bowes. If there was something drawing my attention thither, it would be the mentioning of a castle in the guidebook, but my thoughts do not send me in that direction. I head for the continuing bleakness on the original path. The loop is closed just after Clove Lodge in Baldersdale.
View back from Cotherstone Moor.
If you do not consider the wet, bleak and dark moorland already passed through after Tan Hill a highlight, there are not that many to speak of on this stage of the Pennine Way. Counting as one might be the huge slab of stone forming a natural bridge over the river Greta, God’s Bridge. It is an impressive piece of rock and whatever is the reason for its name, it is the closest thing to being funky on this stage.
Cloud formations.
The Way crosses a busy road, thankfully under it, through a tunnel with a small creek as floor. Henry and Ana are having a rest at the end of the tunnel, along with the cadets I briefly saw through the torrents of rain and thunder yesterday. Pasture End it is called here, although I could not remember being at the start of it. The houses here feel misplaced in all the emptiness of the surrounding moors.
Hay bales, rain and Blackton Reservoir after Clove Lodge.
Blackton Reservoir.
Another long and bleak moorland traverse follows. When Henry, Ana and I arrives at the Clove Lodge, we have had our share of trying to escape the peaty wounds, open waterholes, expanding creeks and muddy pits thrown in our way. In the guidebook, Baldersdale is the end of a stage where you might or might not find a place to stay for the night. When we walk soaked and slightly cold up to the farm, we are greeted by a welcoming signboard. There is accommodation to be found here at a bunkhouse provided by the farm, and walkers passing through are also welcomed to take a break inside.
Cadets in rain.
That is something we appreciate in full and venture inside to find a cozy place where we can cook up a cup of coffee each for a small donation. There was supposed to be cake in the refrigerator, but I guess somebody else beat us to it. This is a place I know I would be happy to stay at for the night, with a nice fireplace to sit in front of too. The owners also advertise they can prepare a dinner meal upon request. You have to give credit to the owners of the Clove Lodge farm for this place. Too early to stop, though, it was tempting.
Grassholme Bridge. Henry and Ana crossing over the Grassholme Reservoir.
Rain is intensifying when we leave the place and water is everywhere as the route goes past several reservoirs. We cross paths with the cadets several times, and even though it is raining, I fall behind. Still obsessed with looking around, braving the occasional picture here and there. There is a farm with a known garden open to the public called Hannah's Meadow passed by, but in the soaking I get and that it appear closed, I do not look it out closer. Another nice bridge is crossed, Grassholme Bridge, but there is nothing natural about this one.
Grassholme Reservoir.
Going up towards the Harter Fell, there is a change in the air. The rain slowly abates but leaves the gloomy sky to promise us more. I have caught up again with Henry and Ana, on the slopes going past some empty looking farms and barns. In one of the farms, we find a tuck shop. An evil tongue will probably say that this is something they have put out to extract some extra money from the weary travelers, but I think otherwise. For some hikers, this might be what gets them through the day, actually, and I like to encourage this further. Not really necessary, but I have a can of soda water and pay accordingly in the trust box.
A path through Lunedale. A solitary path through a solitary field leading up to a solitary farm. Henry and Ana approaching the top.
This is the last hill of the day, before the way heads down towards the final respite from the rain in Middleton-in-Teesdale. We talk about what I will do when I have finished the Pennine Way (if I make it). I have a return ticket from Edinburgh, and they inform me that I would be there in the middle of the Fringe Festival. It will be really cool they assure me. I do not doubt that, but I also fear that it will be another shock to the system after returning from so many days without being in the throng of people.
Looking back beneath Harter Fell.
The walk down to Middleton-in-Teesdale is pleasant. There are actually blue dots in the sky above us. As earlier mentioned, they have their place booked for the night, I have not. I follow them to the same place they will stay at, the Belvedere Bed & Breakfast. There is a room for me there too, and it is a wonderful room also. Almost too good I feel, walking into it with all the rain dripping from my clothes and backpack. It is always so strange, that good feeling to take a hot shower, after being out in a shower almost all day.
Approaching Middleton-in-Teesdale in a sudden clearing on the sky.
A slightly quirky town this is, at least when we are visiting it. There seems to be have some sort of a contest going on here, making the place full of strange and weird dolls and installations. It is fun going around looking at them. There is even a knitted shark threaded down upon a streetpole. Humpty Dumpty can be found too, and more.
A knitted squirrel streetpole.
Sometimes simple is good enough. We go for dinner at a small local pizza parlor, Pizza Force. Just a few tables and chairs inside, but it suffices for us. The man serving us asks for our names when ordering, to call out when we should collect the food. I have a difficult name when it comes to travelling abroad, Tarjei, but the man is of the pragmatic type. Looking at my bill I see that he has written ‘man with beige shirt’ on it. I have to give him credit for that, and a big hearty laugh.
Apparently the 1st prize in a contest here in Middleton-in-Teesdale.
This was a wet one, the wettest day since I walked from Malham to Horton in Ribblesdale (is there a connection between the use of 'in' in the name of the places I am going to, the word rain has 'in' in it too?). But for all the rain, I feel fine about the day. I have not paid much heed to my blood blisters lately, except keeping up my routine of cleaning them with antiseptic every morning and evening, they appear fine for the moment. The collapsed bridge in Grinton made the headnews on the TV and is on the front page of newspapers.
When you have a difficult name when travelling abroad...
<< Tan HillHigh Cup Nick >>
No comments:
Post a Comment