August 22, 2015: Kirk Yetholm to Wooler
A day of steep climbs. Gavan titled this photo “The Boss in his Study.”
Wanting to make a quick getaway on the fifth day of our walk, we brought our bags down with us at the 8:00 breakfast hour, finishing our meal rapidly enough and stepping from the front door of the Border Hotel at 8:40. Gavan had not been that comfortable with my daypack – from which he had banned the sunblocker as unnecessary weight – and, to my surprise he now produced one of his own from the depths of his large canvas bag. He would wear it today, though to it we also transferred my raingear, my liquid and my sweatshirt – which I felt I could do without on a regular basis.
We were now ready for what promised to be our longest day, thirteen miles to Wooler, with not one strenuous summit to overcome like yesterday, but two. Again skies were bright enough to lighten our spirits, though there was still much cloud – and quite a strong wind as well. As we left Kirk Yetholm on the road to the Halterburn Valley I could note that the spot I had claimed as my b&b all those years ago was no longer offering accommodation.
Wainwright calls the last section of the route that his Pennine Way walkers must surmount “the cruelest hill of all.” It was no gentler doing this in reverse and I often paused for retrospective views. Much of the countryside had been harvested and green fields had given way to a dull yellow. I was full of thoughts about the last time I had walked this surface – I remembered a party of horsewomen, one of whom, an unfortunate young lady, had been made so seasick by the motions of her mount that she was green at the gills.
Having used Wainwright’s original entry to the Halterburn Valley I would today be following a later version of the Pennine Way, now coterminous with St Cuthbert’s Way, to climb to the famous Border Fence. So we crossed the little burn at valley bottom and began a steep climb up the flanks of the green hills above us. We had a useful track as well as well-worn paths to follow and also the amusing sight of a bull on our right as he and one of his ladies had a little early morning foreplay.
Shortly before reaching the fence the PW sloped off to the right and we continued on to a well-marked crossing, one that welcomed walkers to England and/or Scotland depending on your choice of destination. We had reached the Cheviot crest and our first great climb of the day was behind us.
The way forward had a few ups and downs but it was not too strenuous and the bare hillsides were interrupted by woodland on a number of occasions as we slowly lost elevation. Eventually we reached a farm track that wound down to Elsdonburn Farm itself and, having cleared this landmark, we reached the solid footing of a tarmac road. It was quite lovely down here, with wooded hills all about and sheep on the hillsides and for a mile or so we had very easy walking indeed. At about noon we made a right turn to walk down to the hamlet of Hethpool, passing a b&b that provides a rare chance of on-route accommodation for some walkers and allows for some variation in the usual stages.
The famous cottages at Hethpool.
We had walked five miles – with eight still to go – and while we were standing opposite a row of the Arts & Crafts cottages designed in 1926 by Robert Mauchlin I told Gavan that I wouldn’t mind sitting down somewhere. (As in so many other UK long-distance footpaths a comfortable place to accomplish this simple task is hard to come by.) Gavan said he wanted to try down at the river so we continued on to the College Burn and, finding nothing suitable here, we continued forward through a countryside dominated by gorse, wildflowers and woodland – still heading east but gradually rising on uneven surfaces as well. There were a number of dramatic hills about us but we never say any feral goats on Easter Tor.
Again we used the risers of a stile for our resting place, diving into our lunches at the same time. Other walkers were few and far between on this route. After lunch we passed the farmstead at Torleehouse, where a chicken momentarily blocked progress, and, turning right, began our second great ascent of the day, following grassy tracks with a burn on our left. The guidebook suggests that in adverse weather conditions there is a turnoff up here than provides the safety of solid tracks for those uncertain of their way forward but on this afternoon the skies, if anything were, brightening and there were moments of sunshine. The back of Gavan’s neck was turning red – but he had banned the sunblocker.
Gavan nears Tom Tallon’s Crag
Near the top we sloped off to the left and headed toward the rocky outcrop of Tom Tallon’s Crag, passing this spot on the right and following stone fences with the use of the occasional ladder stile. The most prominent feature of this day’s high level march was the heather, which stretched in glorious strength for mile after mile. I found it difficult to measure our progress on my map but much of our way forward was on fairly level surfaces – though these had to give way as we rose to the summit plateau of Gains Law.
As we began a gradual descent in the heather Gavan spotted a hawk snatching a smaller bird from the skies. I didn’t see this but his next sighting I did see – “It’s a squadron of bees!” Indeed I could see this black swarm crossing our path but their choice of route was clear only when we cleared a small woodland and looked back –over a dozen wooden hives were perched just outside the trees. No wonder they were well-satisfied animals; the heather here was so thick and sweet that you could actually smell its perfume.
With Humbleton Hill down on our left we continued forward in the late afternoon sun, making rather rapid work of the job, utilizing a number of tracks and paths to drop down through the remaining woodland as we at last approached civilization. In fact St Cuthbert’s Way continues from this spot in a southerly direction before reversing itself to head uphill in a northeasterly direction though yet more woodland. But it was getting late and I had no trouble convincing Gavan that there was a much less challenging and more direct alternative – just turn left on the roadway we now had before us to reach Wooler in a far more direct fashion.
A portly couple with two similarly-shaped Labradors were heading for the parking lot here and they immediately reminded us of this shortcut as well, even offering us a lift. “You must be tired,” the chap said, and, looking at his wife’s Kronenbourg 1664 t-shirt, I replied, “Yes, and I could use one of those too.” Road walking was easy, there was not too much traffic and after a northerly section we rounded a hill and headed east. A memorial on the right honored two local lads who “Died in Siam in 1943 Prisoners Of War in Japanese Hands.”
Soon we had reached the pavements of Wooler and Gavan stopped a local to ask if there were a shortcut to our b&b; there was but it was complex and, at any rate, I wanted to head straight for a pub. So we continued forward as Common Road became Ramsey’s Lane and a final bit of downhill brought us out on the Market Place. Across the street was the Black Bull and here we headed for our reward. It was 6:00.
The Bull was a crowded and busy local – with every other visitor arriving here with a dog. Some chaps wore their Newcastle black and white supporters’ shirts, mothers were here to keep an eye on their teenage daughters, and a slightly older group of young women were getting in the mood for a big night out. The beer was delicious and shortly before 7:00, with Gavan pausing at a cash machine across the street, we had only a short distance up the High Street to our b&b.
Our landlady showed us to our room on the first floor, warned us that there was also a wedding party resident in the place, and apologized for offering a bathroom with tub only. Well she might have – for it took twenty minutes to get the tub half-filled with a tepid water supply. I did persevere and at 8:20 or so we retreated to the precincts of the Bull, where an alleyway led us back to the Milan Italian restaurant. We were early for our 9:00 reservation but the staff promised to hunt for a likely table as we sat in the vestibule with our gin and tonics.
I had a second of these as we studied the menu. The Milan seemed to be playing host to a number of anniversary and birthday parties and the noise was dimmed only when the famous birthday song was sung by all. Gavan and I shared a rich antipasto selection, then I had the garlic shrimp and a sculptured lemon tart concoction – which I photographed for Makiko’s attention. It was completely dark when we at last returned to the High Street – and a few drops were falling. Time to hit the hay after a most successful day.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: