The Pennine Way // day 19 // Cottonshopeburnfoot - Auchope Rigg

The Pennine Way, day 19.
Distance: 36.2km (466.5km), time spent: 11:59.
Weather: Mostly nice, rain around me, and then very windy later.

Morning arrives, after a good night sleep. Awaiting me is the last obstacle on the Pennine Way, The Cheviots, and the promise of awful weather. While I prepare breakfast in the small kitchen provided for campers at the campsite, I see Sid leave. From Byrness it is about 45km to Kirk Yetholm, from here it is slightly longer. If I had pushed on further yesterday, I would probably have tried to go all the way to Kirk Yetholm today, like Sid will. Instead I have set my sight on a small mountain shelter just after The Cheviot itself, named Hen Hole Hut in the guidebook. Plan is to camp outside, then go inside if the weather should turn too bad. The final day would then be a short day.

Byrness Chapel.

I say goodbye to Gil, then I leave too. From the longest placename on the Pennine Way it is roughly 2.5km to Byrness, the last place before Kirk Yetholm and the end of the Pennine Way. Those kilometres are a pleasant stroll through trees before crossing over the River Rede and arriving at the tiny chapel in Byrness. The Pennine Way is a long trail through the backbone of England culminating at the bleak and remote Cheviot Hills in the Northumberland National Park, which now stands before me.

The Cheviot Hills from Byrness Hill.

View of Catcleugh Reservoir from the ridge.

Several options are available for the hikers after Byrness. Some, like Sid, goes all the way. Others opt to either camp out along the way or go down from the hills to find accommodation somewhere, or are being picked up by the hosts of the Forest View Inn halfway (at the time of writing this, the Forest View Inn has changed owners, I do not know if the new owners will provide the same service). Whatever the option you choose, the path leaving Byrness is muddy and rather awful. Reaching Byrness Hill is a boon.

Danger signs and an archaeological area sign (do not use a shovel in case you either hit an archaeological or explosive device).

The cairn at and view from Ravens Pike.

A boon not only for escaping the toil of the ascent, but for the view of the ridge spreading out in front of me. A green and rolling landscape with a small and narrow path making its way through it. The view resembles that of the approach to Great Shunner Fell earlier on the Pennine Way. May I hope for the same display of light now? The upcoming weather report is just as dark as is was then, possibly even more, but there is no darkness to see in any of the horizons. Clouds are inbound, but no mean looking ones.

The Pennine Way through the Cheviot Hills.

I start making my way over the grassy hills, the path only visible by being trodden solidly down. Behind me lies the trees of the Redesdale Forest, I can see a lake in the valley nearby, but ahead of me the only view is of bare and lonely hills. The only company is the usual sheep, it does not take long before I start wondering about how many of them that wanders aimlessly into the military firing range nearby. The path of the Pennine Way protects me from venturing into the same range, but the same cannot be said about any stray bullets (although I do not fear that).

A network of undulating valleys.

The Cheviot in the distance.

These hills might just be the inspiration for the Barrowdowns in The Lord Of The Rings books by J.R.R. Tolkien, or so I can imagine. It is not difficult to imagine getting lost on these rolling hills if the clouds are down, then imagination can conjure up whatever it might see of barrow-wights, will-o-the-wisps or other mythical creatures lurking in the mist. One of the hills I pass over is even named Ogre Hill, but the only Ogre-looking being walking over there now is probably just me. I am venturing further into the Cheviot Hills on a mix of soft path on grass and hard flagstone paths. The flagstone paths alternates between being of stone and wood, gently swaying up and down as it follows the contours of the land.

The path to Windy Gyle.

The walk is enjoyable and I feel that I make good progress. I take a break at a site where the Romans once had an outpost, only the dents in the grass reveals that it may have been a settlement here. Being at the opposite end of the Pennine Way, this area is also in the opposite end when it comes to the amount of people around. I meet almost no one else, whereas Kinder Scout was crowded. A signpost announces the direction to what is only referred to as The Street, quite amusingly.

A fence and The Cheviot.

View north from Windy Gyle, The Cheviot now clear of clouds.

Feeling hungry, I sit down on the porch of the tiny and very basic shelter of Yearning Saddle Hut, guessing the Hen Hole Hut will look quite like it. Close to Scotland, the 'border fence' is a good navigational waymark and should probably be followed closely in thick fog. I venture off route once, by chance seeing my error when taking a look at the map. The scenery is a hilly landscape criss-crossed by sinuous valleys, quite fascinating.

Rain showers around me.

A father and daughter is having a rest below Windy Gyle, on a daytrip coming up from Trows, they sometimes felt it was difficult to find their way. Up to now, I have only had a few rain drops, but while climbing Windy Gyle I can see dark clouds here and there in almost every direction, I feel I have been lucky so far. Standing on top, I can see the bulk of The Cheviot ahead. There are now other hikers approaching behind me on the Pennine Way, I assume it is the Australians. When I am down at the amusingly named Clennell Street (it is just a name, there is no actual street here), there is a rain shower moving over Windy Gyle and others are visible too. Omens of what to come perhaps, I am still walking uncontested by rain.

View of the sea.

Leaving Clennell Street and heading towards King's Seat I come in talk with a dayhiker, warning me that there will be a storm in the night, maybe even before. I appear to be heading for a night in the basic shelter, but first, The Cheviot. Many hikers omit the spur route to the summit of The Cheviot, as you have to walk up to the summit and back again on the same trail to continue. I know Sid would omit it, but he had been at the summit before. As dark as the very near future is, the sky is cracking open with sunlight as I begin my ascent of The Cheviot.

The Cheviot.

The Cheviot, at 815m, was one of the places I had targeted as a place to camp, the last camp of the Pennine Way in fact. The boggy climb up, helped by the flagstone path, is enough to tell me how far away from reality that plan was. The summit plateau is so boggy and squelchy that I can hardly imagine finding any place to put out my tent, though I might be able to squeeze it in just next to the trig point. It matters not now, I have some more to go. Above me, the sky is surprisingly blue, with only a few scattered clouds. And I can see the sea for the first time. Why that feels so comforting I cannot tell.

Dramatic clouds, storm approaching?

Going down, a young woman passes me by as if she is not touching the ground at all, then floating past me again on her way back. I feel old. Auchope Cairn stands guarding over the last of my walk today, although I have been fiddling with the idea of going all the way to Kirk Yetholm. From the cairn, I can see the young woman moving away at an impressive speed. The descent from the cairn is by far the worst descent on all of the Pennine Way. Not muddy at all, but my feet actually hurts going down that slope. My feet (or probably more likely my shoes) has not been good to me on this trail, starting off with the blood blisters, but they have slowly been steadying themselves. With the hurting feet, I discard any notion of going to Kirk Yetholm and is happy to see the square wooden box they call a shelter at Auchope Rigg, above Hen Hole.

Looking down from The Cheviot Hills.

Above Hen Hole, looking down at Auchope Rigg with its small shelter.

The hut is just as basic as I had expected it to be, there is just one room inside, with three benches in the inner part. And no porch or overhanging roof outside like at the Yearning Saddle Hut, but I have no need for anything more, it has all the space I need (and the benches here are better than in that hut). While walking here, the wind really started to pick up. Perfect for drying my tent. So, in the wonderful light outside, I pitch my tent on the grass in front of the hut, using the wind as a dryer. In the wind, the tent is being pushed down. Someone has left behind some tea bags, which I am grateful for. I heat up a cup of good hot tea and go outside to watch the sun and the wind over the hills.

Auchope shelter.

I have a wonderful (basic) evening in the hut, but the wind makes it chilly to sit outside for too long. The light is great, if it had not been for the strong wind, I would have difficulty believing a storm is coming. After preparing dinner, I sit inside reading and relaxing. It is a good feeling sitting warm and safe inside, listening to the creaks of the hut as the wind pounding at its walls. When the sky turns darker, I put down my tent and hang it over a cord inside. Maybe one of the best evenings I have had on the trail.

Sunset at Auchope Rigg.

And so the last night, tomorrow Kirk Yetholm and the end of the Pennine Way awaits. And a storm. A great day on the lost hills of the Cheviots. I go to sleep with the sounds coming from outside and the creaks from the hut increasing, wrapping my sleeping bag gently around me.

Inside the Auchope shelter. Only me here so I have made myself at home.

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