A Homecoming of Sorts
Five days healing in the Cheviots
By Trevor H. Smith
August 2023
Part Four: Reuniting with an old friend.
At dawn on day four I packed up my kit but did not get back on the trail until around 9:30, my latest start yet. Granted, I needed some extra time to dry out my gear and take my only shower of the expedition, but that had all been taken care of by half eight. For the previous two mornings I had woken up in the wild and got myself breakfasted, packed, and away in double-quick time. This morning, after waking at the only campsite on my route, I pondered on my tendency to linger in the presence of such novelties as hot and cold running water, toilets, and a roof.
Time eventually came to make tracks and, having initially planned to hop directly from my tent onto the Pennine Way a few feet away, I felt a change of heart the instant my warm, dry, feet squeaked into my cold, damp boots. If, instead, I headed north out of the campsite I would be back on that MOD road I was using yesterday, where I met Steve. That would take two miles off the day’s scheduled total before I set foot on the trail. And that climb out of Byrness is a lot more palatable when viewed from a gently rising tarmac road half a mile to the east.
I have never, ever chosen to hike on tarmac when an alternative has been available, but after yesterday’s detour around the MOD firing ranges, a quick cost-benefit analysis reminded me that I had rather enjoyed bashing through the miles when the opportunity had presented itself.
Two and a half miles of tarmac later and I was beginning to doubt my morning wisdom. Besides, I could no longer resist the pull of the Pennine Way up to my left. 250 metres of ascent would take me to Ravens Knowe, where I would set down for my first bag-off break of the day. Only I stopped short when I saw that there were people on the top. Quite a crowd. On my journey so far I had encountered only six people on day one, four on day two, and only one – Steve from Otterburn – on day three. The gathering on top of Ravens Knowe constituted a crowd that threatened to equal the total of those sparsely populated days.
All those meetings had been fine, I had not minded them, but today I was not feeling it. I had clocked the group as I hauled myself up the green road towards the summit and assumed they’d be on their way by the time I reached them. No such luck. I arrived at the junction of my green road and a route up to the top with a decision to make. I could continue at this elevation and join the Pennine Way a mile down the trail, or I could turn left, ascend the final fifty metres to Ravens Knowe, and gauge the social situation from there. Obviously, I would say hello – encounters on trail are mercifully brief, ‘Where have you come from? How far today? Are you doing the whole thing?’ etc – after which we would go our separate ways. Instead, I took a third option and dropped where I stood. Bag off. I’m here for twenty minutes, ‘I’ll wait them out,’ I thought, ‘they’ll be gone by then.’
The morning mist had cleared but the ground remained moist with dew, and I struggled to find a comfortable seating position. My socks, while dry, had started to leech the moisture from the leather uppers of my Berghaus Supalite boots. I was still reeling from the double disappointment of rehydrated breakfast of ‘Posh Pork and Beans’ which came with tasting notes of consumerism and sorrowful regret, and then a cup of watery porridge that I managed to kick over while tending to my blisters back at the campsite. For the first time on my trip, morale was low, raised not even by the prospect of my imminent reunion, for the first time in five years, with my old friend The Pennine Way. Not only that, but my favourite stretch – Byrness to The Cheviot. My apple and flapjack devoured, I looked to the hilltop. The group were still there. How long were they stopping for? My morning of disappointments had cast a darkening raincloud over my judgment, and I resented this group’s presence at the point where I would reacquaint myself with Britain’s oldest national trail. Didn’t they know what this meant to me?