Posts tagged High Cup Nick

Into the WILD! Days 4 & 5: High Cup Nick to Cauldron Snout & beyond

High Cup Nick was spectacular. A gouge out of the landscape, we agreed it would probably be yet more breathtaking 1) were we to have approached it from the other direction and 2) had the weather been even half-way decent… But it was amazing nonetheless.

Right on its very top, we bumped into a walking party who told us the tale of an 18 year old girl they had encountered a little way back. They had spotted her apparently waiting for somebody, only to discover that it was indeed they for whom she was hoping… or anyone really… to help her out of the bog in which she had become stuck. Her story is one of bravery, actually. She had, at her tender age, started the walk with two friends; one of whom had twisted her ankle and had to leave, and the other had given up and gone home. But on she soldiered (not too happy to be identified by us, when we encountered her the following day, as the girl who had got stuck: “Does everyone know?!”) Anyhow, our walking party walked on and we filled our Aquapure in preparation for the first cup of tea we were to have on our funky stove.

Balanced Precariously above High Cup Nick

Balanced Precariously above High Cup Nick

And the rain it did rain and the wind it did howl… And our faces became fixed into the grimace of those who are determined to look like they’re having fun… We couldn’t stop for said cup of tea until we could find somewhere even vaguely sheltered, so we paused to rest our weary shoulders in a small dip, atop a rock, and ate a Snickers bar. From. The. Gods. It’s amazing, as one who is generally enormously snobby about chocolate (my favourite being Lindt 90% cocoa) how good a Snickers bar tastes under such conditions. It just wouldn’t have the same effect here in my comfy sitting room.

And on we marched, over that vast and exposed expanse of soggy grassland. And something miraculous happened… As we descended into Upper Eden Valley (yes, that really is its name), the sun emerged from behind the clouds, which blew away with alarming and delightful speed. And it stayed. We could see all sorts of revolting weather going on behind us, but overhead and before us were simply blue skies. We began peeling off layers: waterproof coats, fleeces, the legs of trousers…! Our path took us along the Eden River: a wide, babbling, rocky river of awe-inspiring beauty and proportions. We came to a bridge, rearranged some rocks to sit on, hunkered down out of the still rather powerful “breeze” and (drum-roll, please) made our first cup of tea on our funky stove. The water boiled in such a short time we were speechless. I opened a packet of plain chocolate Digestives and our bliss was boundless. Listen carefully to this next bit (especially as you’ll have to take care to remember these words when it comes to describing our supper): there is nothing in the world that can make you appreciate the smallest comforts when you are out in the wild with only the possessions you carry on your back. Nothing. You take only what you can carry. You possess, in time, only the moment in which you are living. Your company is only that person with whom you walk. Your entertainment is the awesome power of the nature that surrounds you. That afternoon I felt, possibly for the very first time, soaring  contentment and an utter sense of peace. I should have been nervous: yet again our little book had misled us. We didn’t know where we were going to sleep for the night; we were once again in the middle of nowhere without a plan (our forte) and yet… It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. The world felt right.

We pushed on through that scenery, keeping an eye out for a suitable spot to make camp. We passed through deserted farmyards, greeted many, many sheep, and all the while the Eden River gargled nearby.

Shortly before dusk we were attacked. Yes, you heard right. Attacked. By blooming midges. Thankfully, my ever-prepared companion had had the foresight to read many an article on the absolute necessities of such an outing and we applied, most liberally, our insect repellant. Repeatedly, as it happened. It was necessary!

And then!

We heard it before we saw it. The crashing, thunderous roar of gallons and gallons of water falling tumultuously from great heights. Cauldron Snout (unhappily named, in my humble opinion, for such a spectacularly beautiful piece of natural architecture) is dramatic and regal and irresistible. We scrambled down the rockslide that passes for a path down the side of the falls and (I can hear celestial voices singing as I recall this bit) there, at the bottom, far from any hint of civilisation with one of the most beautiful of natural wonders this country can provide as our backdrop, was the perfect spot for a tent.

Making Camp at Cauldron Snout

Making Camp at Cauldron Snout

I washed our clothes in the river, marvelling at the happiness such basic living could inspire.

Washing Clothes in Eden River

Washing Clothes in Eden River

Behind me the thunderous falls and my view: our tent and the open vista of the Northumbrian Fells.

View of the Fells from the Falls

View of the Fells from the Falls

Nothing but the distant bleating of sheep for company. And weren‘t we pleased with ourselves:

Smugness Personified

Smugness Personified

That evening, we had wine – cleverly decanted into a plastic bottle to keep the weight down – to accompany our tuna and Smash. Yes, you heard right. Smash. Just add water! Tuna, Smash, a little olive oil, salt and pepper and some garlic flakes. My God, it was good! Yes, I mean it (remember I said you needed to mark my words?) So good to have hot food with some flavour (thanks to the bits and bobs we’d brought with us – plastic travelling bottles and pots from Boots are perfect), a glass of wine and survey the incredible scenery.

Smash and Tuna Gourmet Delight

Smash and Tuna Gourmet Delight

I hope I’m not waxing too lyrical, but I have to say that that afternoon and evening were the most perfect and magical of my life so far.

To wake up to that view isn’t bad either (she understated).

We were up with the lark, wild-camping style, packed up and off in the direction of High Force with this for our view:

The Eden River

The Eden River

Can you beat that?

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Into the WILD! Day 4: Alston to High Cup Nick

Blenkinsopp Common had taken its toll. My feet were in an uncomfortable state of disrepair, blisters are serious business when you still have 80 or 90 miles to walk. So I hobbled up the hill on a quest for soothing beer that night, and chatted drunkenly with mad old women who were visiting Alston to take an art course while troughing lasagne. I managed near on 4 pints of Black Sheep, which – incidentally – is far better than the bottled variety; they put fizz into beer when it goes into bottles and that degrades it considerably.

The next morning we determined to go to the outdoor shop in the village to find some magic solution to our predicament; our boots, which started  very happily, had become completely permeable to the wet: not surprising considering that we’d waded the best part of 15 miles through the neverending puddle that is Blenkinsopp Common; but I could hardly walk uphill due to the blisters on my heels. Alice, had the opposite problem due to a recently diagnosed case of patellofemoral syndrome (or runner’s knee if you prefer the vernacular) so she was struggling to walk downhill. Somewhere far off, the Gods laughed.

Alston is quite probably the village featured in the Hovis adverts. I half expected to be taken out by a freckled ginger kid on an old fashioned bike, but the local youth were nowhere in evidence. Alston is famous for its sausages (apparently), for being the highest market town in England and all the streets are cobbled thus:

alston

Down the hill in the picture on the right-hand side is the Angel Inn, scene of the previous night’s shenanigans. We briefly met another couple who were walking the Pennine Way in the opposite direction in the pub and they told us of the interminable slog they’d endured over Cross Fell and along the dubiously monikered “Corpse Road” that day to reach Alston; it was not the first portent of doom we were to have relayed on the subject of the next stage of our itinerary and with my disintegrating feet and Alice’s hurty knee we were already beginning to question the wisdom of trying to make it to the next point of civilisation: some 21 miles away in the remote village of Dufton. Neither of us felt particularly optimistic about such a gruelling march across some very inhospitable country so we decided to see if we couldn’t find an easier way.

Besides, I rather liked Alston, but clearly, not everyone felt so positive about the place.

alston2

It wasn’t an especially easy decision, and there are those, purists and long-distance walk fanatics who would surely have scoffed at us for even considering such a soft option. We were learning very quickly though that the Pennine Way is not an easy walk. The difficulty in navigation, the roughness of the terrain, the wet, the lack of shelter, the remoteness of the fells and the sheer distances that you are required to cover to get to civilisation all combine to create a challenge that is far more gruelling than we had expected. Besides, we decided that since this was our holiday, there was no sense in making ourselves miserable, so instead of setting out at some unearthly hour on a death march to Dufton, we decided to find ourselves a public transport alternative and take some time to eat, rest and recover from our two days of slogging over the interminable marshes of Northumbria.

Our first task then was to try and find some way of keeping our feet dry. We called in at the Hi-Pennine Outdoor Shop and found the staff there to be incredibly helpful and after discussing our predicament they even telephoned the youth hostel to see if anyone was driving to Dufton that day and would be willing to offer us a lift. Sadly, the fates were against us in that respect  but we did invest in a pair of Sealskinz waterproof socks each. I cannot even begin to convey how wonderful these things are, although they are not remotely cheap, so they are not the kind of socks you can stock up on. From this point forward I was blessed with completely dry and problem free feet – and that boon cannot be remotely underestimated when you’re on a long-distance walking holiday. Apparently, you can stand in water with them on, confident that your feet will remain completely dry, but the miracle is that they are like normal socks; they are breathable and warm and soft; it’s not like putting plastic bags or the like over your feet. We also, crucially found some butane for our little stove.

Eventually we found a convoluted route out of Alston and went next door to the Blueberry tea-rooms to wait for said transport, of course, with time on our hands and feeling rather hungry (in spite of the great feast of beer and lasagne from the night before) we ordered breakfast from the most surly waitress which it has ever been my displeasure to encounter. She stopped short of actually swearing or spitting at us, but we sat for a few stunned seconds in the aftermath of her taking our order before embarking on a discussion of exactly why anyone would take a job when they were clearly so unsuited to it. Even so, the breakfast, when it did arrive was delicious, so I cannot complain too much.

Our revised plan was to make our way to Dufton and camp at High Cup Nick, so I went back to the camping shop while Alice hunted down our transport options at the other end of the village. I bought a cheap plastic container and decanted a bottle of Jacob’s Creek Shiraz into it before joining her. The woman in the camp shop promised she’d think of us as she sat warmly and dryly in her house watching telly that night. If you ever find yourself in Alston go and say hello and please convey our warm regards to those in that fine establishment, they were most fine and friendly.

To cut a long and rather tedious story short, we eventually arrived in Dufton and proceeded to walk the 4 miles or so to High Cup Nick. Vertically. With a hangover.

Okay, I whined more or less incessantly, like a big girl’s blouse. Alice very stoically ignored me for most of the way, although (in my defence) she’d drunk less than me and even palmed off her last half pint of Black Sheep Ale onto me the night before. I realise that she didn’t put a gun to my head or anything, but still, it would have been a shocking sin to leave it to be tipped down the sink, so I felt that I’d really had no choice but to drink more than was sensible. Goodness, did I feel it though on the long climb out of Dufton that morning. For the first time we met substantial numbers walking the opposite direction; indeed, 80% walk the Pennines from South to North, but with Uranus rising, I wasn’t going to fall for that convention. The weather wasn’t especially wonderful either; more rain, wind and cold, August was beginning to feel distinctly distant and mythical.

alston3

We carried on, not sure where we were going to sleep that night, but knowing that we’d have to find a remote spot in any case because we had dallied overlong in Alston and couldn’t hope to reach human habitation before nightfall. It was looking grim, the weather was ferocious and so we marched on; little were we to know that it would turn out to be the best day so far.

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