Day 44- Dufton to Garrigill 16 miles

From the very first day of my walking Land's End to John o'Groats I'd dreaded today's challenge. Having had such great weather over the course of the last week my trepidation had lifted. In good weather you're meant to see a long way from the top of Cross Fell.It is the highest point of both the Pennine Way and the End to End and you'd have earned it having climbed from 160 meters to just under 900 within 9 miles on open moor land.

  I woke to rain and as I climbed out of Dufton along Hurning Lane was forced to concede that the weather forecast was correct and I'd be forced to tackle rain, mist and winds- just like last time. The climb wasn't so bad, I trudged very slowly but with no breaks and was shocked at how much easier I found it. As I began to get higher the wind picked up and visibility dropped to five or so meters. With my boots on my back dry and protected my feet remained exposed in my sandals. For a large part of today my feet were deep in water and bogs and it was inevitable that I slipped and fell flat on my face at least once. When it did happen it was dramatic but quick and relatively painless. My mood was more affected than anything else, and my left half was now covered in mud. At some point the wind had also ripped away my sack rain cover and my once protected boots were steadily been soaked.

   By the time I skidded down Cross Fell I was shacking with cold, soaking wet and desperate to escape the winds. I reached Greg's Hut and struggled to write in the blog book because my hands were too cold. In this shelter I cooked myself some soup and dipped my last two wraps into it. Food helped a lot and I left feeling considerably warmed. I can imaging Greg's Hut having saved a few lives, it's still high at 700 meters but sheltered from the wind has a wonderfully welcoming feel. Other hikers have left a mountain of things, soups, lighters and snacks. The path down is easy enough. The first time I did it, two years ago, it shredded what was left of my feet but they've toughened over the last few weeks. In the Hut I changed into my boots.

  At reaching Garrigill my earlier weariness had lifted and I was tempted to walk on but with no certain destination and a free camp behind the hall I dropped my stuff and pitched my tent. By this point I was out of food except for a packet of instant mash, the pub wasn't open and the post office was also shut when I reached town at 4:30. The only upside to a far too Spartan night was a basket of moisturizers in the ladies toilets- although I'm unsure if they had any affect when layered over several millimeters of grime.

Day 43- Low Farm to Middleton-in-Teesdale 19 Miles

High Force

     I was woken by a sheep making a rather strange noise not far form my tent. I ignored it and began to pack up. If I'd pocked my head out of my tent I'd have seen a lamb been born about a hundred meters away. She was nudging some curious lambs away with her head and standing protectively over it by the time I climbed out.
  The path from the camp wonders along the river Tees from Low Force to High Force before splitting away towards Widdy Bank. The smooth trodden path changes to a rather horrible scramble across Falcon Clint's until you reach Cauldron Snout. It slowed me down and I really struggled, the backpack catching me off balance and threatening to knock me into the river.

Falcon Clint

  Cauldron Snout is a wonderfully dramatic waterfall, the torrents crashing down from Cow Green Reservoir and the path no where in sight. You have to clamber up the sides, at times lifting yourself up a meter, again this would have been great fun if I were not carrying the backpack. It was still fun but a little intimidating as well.

Cauldron Scout

  Several mountain bikers passed me, some looked experienced while others had the look of day bikers taken aback by the roughness of the terrain. From the reservoir the climb begins up to High Cup, and the walk while not too difficult is relentless and wears you out. Just past a farm I sat and ate my humus and wrap smiling at the farmer sheepishly as he passed on his quad.

  High Cup is worth the slog and seems to come from no where. You fall down before crossing a steam. Just after one last clamber you're there. I dropped my bag and collapsed onto it. The weather been clear I had a stunning view down the valley, the high sides grand and steep.
  Just after beginning my decent from Nick and Dod Hill towards Dufton I encountered a wall builder. The stone walls that divide the fields have such a timeless look to them it's easy to forget that they'd need repair. To see someone doing this job, a task that is the same now as a hundred years ago, struck me as rather wonderful. He said it took him a day to construct about 4 meters, and he'd been doing it for the past 20 years. I stood and chattered while throwing a stick for his dog who didn't care a joy what it did to my back bending down to pick the thing up.

High Cup

  I reached Grandie Campsite and finding the owner discovered that, since I wrote and was offered a free pitch, the owners had changed. It was a rather awkward situation, I offered to pay a few times and in the end we settled for half price. Tired, I made myself a portion of rice and settled down. I'd felt lifeless all day and was happy to sit back and watch a Buffy on my phone.