Day 2: Friday 2nd June

In contrast to yesterday, the morning was fabulous. Blazing sunlight hit me as I opened the curtains. Got a great night’s sleep – soaking my feet in the room’s large rubbish bin full of water (in lieu of the promised bath) helped immeasurably last night and I was amazed not to have any niggling aches/pains/ricks/strains. Just very tired.

Heather had to go to work today (nearly 40 miles to Newcastle along the A69) and as she stole out at an unearthly hour I promised faithfully I had retrieved everything from the car that I would need (I had filled the rucksack up with waterproofs(….WHY…?) a Gore-Tex bivi bag, food, water, stove, change of socks, spare t-shirt, camera, phone, sunglasses, spare shorts…etc. etc.) so basically I would be OK for the whole day. I bade her farewell and got my head down for another couple of hours.

I sat down for brekkers (definitely full English this morning as no running today) with a feeling of foreboding rattling around both brain cells…….BALLS! My wonderful painkillers that numbed the aches yesterday. They were still in the car. In Newcastle. Ach! Never mind – didn’t start this in the knowledge that I’d get through unscathed did I? Didn’t get through 9 years in the TA using pills did I? (Actually a haze of alcohol helped a lot of the time.)

So, bacon, egg etc. along with strong tea inside me, I settled up and was dismayed to find no discount for the breakfast Heather hadn’t eaten (if you get my drift). So I got my rucksack and bimbled off in a huff. As the B&B was about a kilometre away from the wall itself, the proprietor had helpfully advised me ‘just to follow the path’ round the back of the farm buildings and ‘the wall’s straight ahead of you’. Ha! You can see the route I took below.

A rather circuitous Route

There was no bloody track there. Nothing. The map I had showed marshes all around me (remember I had no boots) so I was debating going back to the main road and walking the long way around to the start when I found a National Trust sign that had fallen over about 400 metres away – only then did I know I was going the right way.

As usual, pursued by daft sheep that wanted their breakfast. Honestly – I might have been brought up in a town but I’m not entirely unfamiliar (not in the biblical sense, you understand) with livestock after much time spent at Otterburn, Catterick, Sennybridge et al. But these buggers were something else. I’ve decided I don’t like things with horns now. Or big shaggy things that might well hurt you if they sat on you.

They were just bloody tiresome. There you are, trying to work out where a 73 mile-long World Heritage Site of masonry, bricks and German walkers is and:

“Meeeeeeeeehhhhhhhh” said Sean the b****** sheep in me lughole (at 70 decibels).

Do you know how far a map can be blown when you’ve dropped it in a high wind?

I eventually rejoined the wall after an hour’s flailing about with the map and a 20 minute yomp uphill to the hilariously named Cockmount Hill. I seemed to have lost quite a bit of time. But the views were definitely worth it. Looking East towards Caw Gap, Winshields Crags and beyond was stunning in the fantastic sunlight.

The Views

Anyway – back to walking. I was struggling to keep a decent pace as the sun was starting to beat down now quite harshly and I could feel my legs starting to heat up. I took the rucksack off for a shufty around for my sunblock. After quite a thorough shufty with the entire contents emptied smartly on the grass I came to the conclusion that my happy pills weren’t the only thing I’d forgotten to get out of the car. Balls. Thank God I had a hat.

Here on in, I wish someone had come with me. Again, the views were spectacular but some of the clambering was quite dangerous with a full rucksack – I felt that maybe I should have done a little more training over terrain like this with weight on my back. Sycamore Gap in particular was daunting and when I got to the top I was confronted by dozens of whinging American school kids complaining about the hills, the flies, etc, which helped my humour no end.

Sycamore Gap

Lunch was a blessed relief out of the sun for me as I was started to cook nicely (on one side only, for added comic effect). I traipsed the best part of a kilometre from the wall through Houseteads fort to the visitor centre next to the B6168 Military Road and bought lunch there.

Houseteads

I was quite tired and much in need of a rest after 4 hours of up and down climbing and descent that most people take a whole day to complete. A cheese sandwich from a cheesed-off lassie at the counter and a bottle of coke later I had a wee nap. If the screaming kids had let me, that is. It was very busy with lots of tourists and bikers who sat round boiling in their leather suits. The sun was very intense now, but as there was a fierce wind you hardly noticed it until you were sheltered.

I had decided not to bother trailing all the way up the steep track back to the wall just to hit the path at the top and saw on the map that if I went along the main road for a couple of KM I could follow a bridleway back up to the wall covering about a third of the distance and ending up further East that I would have anyway. Sorted.

At this point I would like to mention that pretty much constantly I had been receiving text messages from my colleagues since the preceding afternoon (which helpded my morale immensely - thank you all. But Linda and Janet, shame on you) and several times had had to postpone a tricky descent because a text arrived at a critical time. Just as I was about to step off a high stile to start the climb back up to the path, Saf on our helpdesk sent me a text. Oh dear! Crack! went my ankle as I tried to read my phone and step off at the same time.

Now I have to admit that on occasion I do employ the odd profanity or two to get my point across. This happened to be one of those occasions. I honestly thought it was game over like Michael Owen last night.….I know - I'm such a drama queen…

Dalkin

I digress. After swearing at every living thing within a mile of me (I was glad to have an excuse to have a go at the sheep anyway – although (again) not in the biblical sense, you understand) I took a few tentative whining “ooh, ahh, eeh” steps and realised it wasn’t that bad. Obviously all you lasses would have given yourselves a shake, run off, completed the thing at a canter, collected the kids from school, done the month’s shopping and sneered at the men complaining about a little bit of pain…but us blokes take pain seriously. Childbirth? Pah! It merely smarts a bit, I’m sure!

So I dragged my sorry ass back up the hill, rejoined the trail andpresently came to Sewingshields crag.

Sewingshields

Now those of you who know me well will know I’m a Big Girl’s Blouse anyway. But the lack of painkillers, the sunburn and my aching ankle all started to work against me now. Another thing was I had failed to reccie this part of the walk properly and had assumed that the ground (which you can see from the road) was nice and level where in fact it was like marching over sand dunes - the odd gradients and hillocks placed a great strain on my ankle which wore me down quickly.

From here until the end of the day things started to slow right down. I was uncertain I would make my RV with Heather at 5 o’clock but I did. Just. Just short of Chollerford and about 16 miles covered for the day.

H. picked me up with my trainers and most of the kit strewn out on the ground next to me. I was in a grumpy heap trying to get out of the sun, working out the route to our accommodation for the night at Sue Jackson’s gaff at Haydon Bridge.

Add to my near sunstroke, a healthy limp and the general weariness the fact that Heather had had a stinker of a day at work and was obviously expecting a more grateful passenger than could be deduced from a grunt of “You’re late” as I shoved my kit into the car and you have a recipe for a colourful ‘domestic’!

Nevertheless we made it to Haydon Bridge albeit with the minimum of conversation and to Sue’s country club! Wow! What a place. A wonderful three storey townhouse it has it’s own bat colony, an ensemble of bright, friendly and polite children (Ed and Tom) and a BFG (Dr. Mike) to boot.

The BFG

With a curry house across the way and their own fishing rights to the South Tyne river it seemed very grand! Although I’m SURE there were priestholes in that place I couldn’t prove it. After a post-mortem of the day’s events (a chance to show off my sunburn) and a hobble (a more advanced limp) into the shower cue the promised curry.

Curry Time!

Lovely jubbly! Beef Rogan with Garlic naan and a glass of white wine ‘cos I was in polite company. Really, the hospitality was exceptional and we even got to see the best of the Ripping Yarns series: Golden Graham. A great day’s walking and a fantastic 17th Century bedroom to sleep in. Doesn’t get much better than this. And with a selection of mood-altering drugs inside me I dropped off to sleep ready for the next day’s travails.