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Contents :: PENNINE WAY :: Day 7                       INTRODUCTION DAY 4 DAY 9 DAY 14   PREPARATION DAY 5 DAY 10 DAY 15   DAY 1 DAY 6 DAY 11 DAY 16   DAY 2 DAY 7 DAY 12 DAY 17   DAY 3 DAY 8 DAY 13 PREP RUNS                     THE PENNINE WAY ATTAINS ITS GREATEST HEIGHT     NATIONAL TRAIL GUIDES UK           Day 7 :: On the Brink of Survival :: Garrigill to Dufton :: 17 miles           Although I slept well last night I was tired when I awoke this morning, having been roused by window cleaners at 6.45am – they were very noisy, shouting across the town square to each other.  While I was doing my yoga routine in the bathroom (for want of space – it was a large bathroom) with Carol the window cleaners began cleaning the bathroom windows and we had to move to another, smaller room as neither of us wished an audience.  After yoga we ate breakfast and packed.  Tonight we would be staying in Dufton. We would be running today from Garrigill up Cross Fell, Little Dun Fell, Great Dun Fell, and, weather permitting, Knock Fell.  We would then descend into Dufton.  If, as we suspected, the weather was very misty, we would take an alternative route after running Great Dun Fell that would use the radio transmitting station road which stretches between the summit of the latter fell down to Knock. From Knock we would then run to Dufton, thus avoiding Knock Fell.  This would not be until after facing Cross Fell, however, which is an absolute nightmare to cross in mist. Ian dropped us off at Garrigill, where we had finished running the day before.  Carol’s leg was extremely sore now, and although I had already informed her that today would be very difficult she nevertheless wished to proceed.  Because I was so concerned about mist I had asked Ian to meet us on the latter-mentioned road at the top of Great Dun Fell, as a precaution because I feared for Carol.  Not only were her shin splints very sore but her ankles were badly swollen by many minor sprains and her feet were badly blistered and cut.  Further, the burser sacks at the back of her knees were inflamed and caused considerable pain when running or walking uphill, and the toe that I thought had healed was once again swollen and inflamed.  The wealth of her pains were well disguised and I learned of much of her discomfort only as we proceeded and then only bit by bit, when she was unable to disguise the pain any longer. As we began running up the drove road toward Cross Fell, in light drizzle, we could see a very low cloud base lying before us and I knew we would be in heavy mist far before reaching Cross Fell and I knew then that this run would be difficult and dangerous. Cross Fell is the highest part of the Pennine Way, and is extremely remote, surrounded on all sides by vast boggy moors. I expected to do more walking today than running, for as soon as we hit the mist it would be too dangerous to run and in any event I suspected Carol would be forced to walk very soon. The first few miles were relatively easy (at least for me).  There is an excellent path from Garrigill to the base of Cross Fell.  It follows the route of the Corpse Road (which continues across this range of mountains to Kirkland in the Lake District) to the very base of Cross Fell, where the Pennine Way then turns off on an indiscernible path to find the summit.  A mile or so out of Garrigill the Pennine Way takes a short cut where the Corpse Road makes a wide bend, but in view of the mist I decided to stick with the Corpse Road even though it meant adding an additional ½ mile to our route. We rejoined the Way ¾ mile further on, just after Black Band.  At Black Band Carol’s leg began causing her considerable distress and I told her she must return along the good track we had just followed, to Garrigill and wait for me in the village.  I proposed to proceed as quickly as I could, meet up with Ian on Great Dun Fell and ask him to return for Carol while I proceeded to Dufton.               Corpse Road towards Gregs Hut   Long Man Hill from Black Band           Carol insisted on continuing.  She did not want to fail now that she was so near to completing her part of the run. Because of Carol’s injuries we were now obliged to walk.  This caused other difficulties.  We were dressed for running and did not have suitably warm clothes or fell boots.  We had with us only the bare essentials.  Had the weather worsened we might have found ourselves in very serious difficulties.               Pennine Way marker stone near Cash Well Springs   Shake holes near Backstone Edge           Near Cash Well Springs the Pennine Way met many trails, mostly miner’s tracks and bridle ways and in the mist it was sometimes difficult to tell which path was which, especially as the mist had now become far more dense.  The comfort of seeing a Pennine Way marker stone, therefore, after passing some confusing trails, was a welcome blessing.  We pressed on, knowing we were still on the right path and not wandering over the moors on some distant and obscure trail.               Gill near Gregs Hut   Gregs Hut           For a short while there was a break in the mist and we hoped fervently that it would now rise permanently.  We quickened our pace as we ascended Backstone Edge, which seemed to go on forever.  This was a bleak and dreary place, made up mostly of loose dark stone and there was evidence of much former mining activity.  We started to descend Backstone Edge and were surprised to meet a girl (aged about 20).  She was alone, although there were hikers not far behind her.  She had just come over Cross Fell, in the mist.  I was amazed at her pluck.  She had thought nothing of the venture although she admitted to having had to use her compass.  Traversing Cross Fell from her direction would have been easier than from ours for she would have a clear path up the Fell and she could not really go far wrong coming down, as the Corpse Road stretched across the entire base of the Fell.  This is not to make light of her accomplishment, however, for however easy she may have thought it, her crossing cannot have been so in actuality.  Coming from our direction we would be leaving a clear track to navigate up and over Cross Fell and would be looking for a small, faint path that it would be crucial not to miss.  Cross Fell was precipitous on 3 sides and further, the route down could only be crossed to Little Dun Fell by the small faint path – any other way would take us through an impassable morass of bog and off in a direction from whence we may never find our way back.  Many people have died in this area, having become lost and hypothermic. The mist had come down thick once again and  a hut could be seen opaquely, as we neared Greg’s Hut, an emergency bad weather shelter near the base of Cross Fell.  I had informed Carol, all the way up, that we would stop at Greg’s Hut, and that we would there eat and drink.  This had provided a target for Carol to aim for and she was looking forward to the rest.  As we approached it, however, I informed her that I did not wish to stop.  I reasoned that if we stopped Carol’s injuries would swell and stiffen more.  Every time we had stopped for a moment’s rest she was in greater pain upon re-starting.  I thought that if we stopped she might not be able to continue at all.  Our toil had allowed us to accumulate sufficient warmth to see us over the top of Cross Fell, if we could retain it with our scanty clothing.  However, once stopping and re-starting this advantage would be lost.  Further, Carol’s bloodstream would have a considerable supply of adrenaline at the moment, which would be deadening the pain of her injuries.  Once she stopped the adrenaline would cease to be produced and the pain would return.  I could not chance any of this and insisted that we proceed, barely listening to her objections.  She took this quite well, given the circumstances.               Summit cairn on Cross Fell   Carol at Weather shelter on Cross Fell           We walked passed the hut with longing sideways leers, each silently reflecting on the warmth and protection it promised.  We were still walking uphill and after ½ mile we came to the signpost which told us to leave the Corpse Road and make our way as best we could up to the summit of Cross Fell, in the ever thickening mist and try if we could to pass beyond its veil. The moment of truth had arrived.  The next mile would either make us or break us.  If we were to become lost it would happen very soon.  We could see only 20 or 30 metres in any direction.  Cross Fell used to be known as Fiend’s Fell, and I could well understand why.  Before ascending we stopped momentarily for a drink and to unpack an energy bar, which we would consume during the ascent. The path was murderous, right from the beginning.  For the first few minutes we could make out a path by the darkened grass where boots had scuffed it, but it was shared by a wide watercourse and as we proceeded our feet sank further and further into the mud.  Carol was terrified.  I think she had forgotten her injuries now and was just trying to deal with her terror.  She was ascending a steep mountain (she is scared of heights) up a very boggy slope (she is scared of water) in very dense mist and could not see where she was going.  But neither could she now turn back.  She was very scared but very brave. As we veered away from the watercourse to find a passable route we seemed to leave the path.  With each step upwards the entire ground seemed to wobble like jelly and sometimes our feet began to sink without reaching solid ground and we had to keep fumbling around to find safer ground.  Thus we drifted further and further from the path.  As we cleared the watercourse the landscape changed.  It now looked as if we were about to cross a lunar landscape.  Before us lay a wall of loose boulders and stones, which we were obliged to scramble over.  This terrified Carol even more.  I knew from the map that we should be heading south south east.  My watch contains a compass and I took a quick bearing with it.  We were heading south south east.  Phew! We eventually cleared the rocks and found ourselves on a solid, well drained plateau which looked the same in every direction.  I had already marked compass bearings on my OS map and knew that upon reaching the lip of the Cross Fell plateau we should proceed on a bearing of 150 degrees to reach the summit cairn.  However, I was not sure where on the map we were as although our general direction had been accurate we had strayed from the path.  The bearing would only be accurate if we were near to the Pennine Way route.  We had no choice but to take a chance. My Silva compass now came out and I set it for 150 degrees.  We walked in that direction, but my senses were telling me that we should be heading further to our west.  We continued to follow the compass, however, continually re-checking it every 50 steps or so.  We spotted the cairn – not directly in front of us as it should have been if we had taken the bearing from the Pennine Way  route, but just off to the side.  The bearing had been accurate enough.  At least now we new where we were, exactly where we were.  We crossed quickly to the cairn, lest some malevolence stop us from reaching it! The mist was so dense that it had not been worthwhile taking photographs for some time, but I now stopped to take one.  Nothing much can be seen in the photograph but it means much to me.  Our next landmark was the weather shelter nearby.  We should find this on a bearing of 110 degrees.  We found it before losing sight of the cairn.  More photographs.  I now felt a modest degree of triumph and relief, assuming as I did that we had navigated the most hazardous part of the route.  This was not so, however.  I still had to navigate over the plateau, looking for cairns that I knew where few and far between.                Author at Cross Fell weather shelter   Ascent of Little Dun Fell           I never could understand why the cairns on Cross Fell are so widely spaced.  Most Pennine Way walkers know that Cross Fell is in mist for most of the year.  So why place cairns so far apart that they cannot be seen one from the other in mist?  We still needed to follow a bearing of 110 degrees.  We soon lost sight of the weather shelter and I was now frightened.  Carol had complete confidence in me.  I was grateful that she did not know how scared I was.  I could rely now only on my prayers and my compass. I had never really navigated in dense mist and never with a compass.  Learning how to use one at home and relying on it in hostile territory are two entirely different things.  The mental strain was starting to get to me.  As we continued Carol espied another cairn, just discernible over to our left.  Even following the compass we had strayed in a short distance a considerable way from the path.  But for Carol espying the cairn we would have missed it.  This time we were lucky.  After crossing to the cairn we proceeded once more, again on the same bearing.  There was still no path, even though we knew we were on the Pennine Way.  The surface was stony and hard and not possible for a track to be worn into it.  The ground, however, was now starting to slope gently downward.  For this to be so we must have found the egress from our mountain, a relatively narrow section between precipitous cliffs.  However, this was not enough.  We had to be extremely accurate, for in the saddle between Cross Fell and Little Dun Fell was to be found Tees Head and Crowdundle Head, two extremely boggy areas that would be very difficult to cross and in this mist almost impossible, unless we were able to strike the exact path which contained a paved route between the two Heads and which led across the boggiest parts.  Too far to our right and we would eventually meet a very steep sided valley where ran the Crowdundle Beck; too far to our left and we might wander aimlessly across desolate, boggy moorland for legions.  In this mist there would be little chance of finding shelter before night-time.  Our scanty clothing would render this very dangerous.  We were dressed for running, not walking. We had waterproofs but other than that our clothing was thin and light and offered no warmth, and we were already wet through.  Our situation was precarious and much now depended upon choosing our path with accuracy.  Carol, of course, was completely oblivious to the full extent of our peril.  I knew our situation only too well, however, and it was this that was inducing the mental strain I now endured.  For Carol’s sake, if not for my own, I could not afford to make any mistakes.  I had written onto my map a bearing of 130 degrees once the descent from our plateau began, and I altered my compass setting accordingly. Unexpectedly we discovered another cairn and this time there were footprints around it and leading down.  A wonderful warmth enveloped me as I realised we were still proceeding the right way and I enjoyed a considerable release of tension.  I thought we would now have a proper path to follow, but my elation was short lived.  No sooner had we started than the path took its course over another stretch of rocky ground and disappeared.  We soon seemed to be following the course of a fast flowing stream or sike, but I could find no trace of it on my map. For a while this troubled me considerably for I thought we must have strayed from the path and I could not pinpoint our present position.  I surmised that the stream might in fact be our path, having filled with rainwater.  This was an incorrect, but lucky guess.  Had I looked more carefully (although a magnifying glass would have been needed) I would have seen on the map that our descent should run parallel to a stream.  On the map the stream was so close to the path that it was barely discernible.  My guess, therefore, although incorrect, took us the right way, and eventually footprints began to appear to the side of the stream and I knew we were on the right path. With a significant tingle filling my entire being I saw ahead the paving flags I had been steering for and gratefully relayed the information to Carol.  She was pleased, of course, but did not grasp the full import of their meaning, as I had not informed her of the consequences of missing them.  Carol had been getting increasingly agitated with me because I was always moving ahead of her.  She had not realised why – I was scouting ahead for the path and for the paving flags.  I was not purposely moving away from her. Once on the paving flags we crossed Crowdundle Head where the full horror of what could have awaited us had we missed the path became very evident.  Each side of the path were deep, miry pools, black, foul and unwholesome looking.  I wondered how many skeletons lay within their waters. We were now on an accommodating path, having successfully navigated the worst and most dangerous part of our route today, the crossing in dense mist of Cross Fell.  I felt great.  To Carol, however, we were still in mist and nothing much had changed as far as she was concerned.  She was tired, hurting, hungry and thirsty and just wanted to get to safety. Our route would now take us up Little Dun Fell.  This is not as high as Cross Fell.  Cross Fell is 890 metres high; Little Dun Fell is 842 metres.  The paving soon disappeared and a small track took its place.  Near the summit, however, the path disappeared completely.  My stomach was starting to knot up again.  I had a horrible sickly feeling as I realised the worst was not yet over.  I had assumed that after Cross Fell the rest of the route would be straight forward.  It would have been if not for the mist.  But there was mist. The view before us was so eerie and scary.  The shape of this fell was such as to make it relatively easy to ascend and walk across to the other side.  But the mist was very dense all around us, and near the top the wind started to howl with such a ferocity that Carol had now become distressed, thinking she would be blown away.  The wind was shrieking around us and the dome of the summit seemed to curve the walls of the mist in such a way that it looked to us as if we were sharing a fantasy nightmare and that we were on a set designed for a horror movie.  It did not look real.  It was a struggle to walk upright. On the top we espied a weather shelter but just walked past it, hurrying on to conclude our travail as quickly as possible.  I started to doubt myself again.  I knew the path must lie immediately in front of us but all I could see was a curved brow ahead and no indication of a path or even of a route down.  From our position it looked as though when we reached the brim of the Fell we would just fall off the end. We did, however, find the path down and took it eagerly.  Obligingly there were paving flags near the bottom of the saddle between this Fell and Great Dun Fell, which now rose before us.  Great Dun Fell is 848 metres high.  On the top of Great Dun Fell are a number of masts and a radio transmission station.  A unique feature of this is a huge golf-ball like structure.  I had been on Great Dun Fell twice before, but never in mist like this.  When at last we reached the end of the paving flags we took a narrow track upwards and quite quickly we spotted the comforting silhouette of the golf ball. We were quite close, now, to where we had arranged to meet Ian.  We pressed on, but once past the transmission station we again lost our path.  I knew that the path would cross a very steep sided hush (a mining stream) shortly and then meet the road between the station and Knock village.  The road could only be several hundred metres to our right.  If we strayed from our path the hush would not be crossable. As we proceeded I could make out two wooden posts, one downhill in the direction we were traveling, which I assumed to be a Pennine Way marker, and the other upwards at a 120 degree tangent to our route.  I did not know what this post would be marking.  We crossed to the lower marker, but could not make out any distinct path.  I did not wish to mess up now, after coming this far.  An idea suddenly occurred to me.  If I were to head exactly west I would be bound to meet the road.  It would not be possible to miss it (I hoped!), provided I continued to head west.  Further, the road must be very close and provided there were no obstacles, the crossing would take only a few minutes. I told Carol what I intended.  She was fearful because we would be forsaking our path, but trusted me.  The upper marker post was now lost in mist, and so we walked until we could just make out the lower marker post (I wanted to be able to retrace my steps in case we had to abort).  I told Carol to stay where we were while I walked on, keeping her within visibility.  With Carol still visible behind me I was able to make out the higher marker post I had spotted earlier.  I beckoned Carol to me and we then walked to this post.  As we neared it I saw another, taller post and we walked to that.  Carol almost jumped on my back when she realised it was marking the road and that we had successfully crossed to it.  Suddenly everything was alright again, and Carol wanted to begin running, completely forgetting her injuries and the trauma of the last few hours. We ran easily down the road for about ¼ of a mile until reaching the point where the road meets the Pennine Way, and there waiting for us was Ian.  He was relieved to see us.  After studying the map in detail he had realised a little of what we would be enduring.  He was skilled in mist navigation using a compass and knew that we would need some skill and luck to come through today.  Where he was parked the mist was still very dense.               Great Dun Fell from road   Dufton Pike from Knock Pike           Carol and I decided, after drinking our fill, that we would continue by foot into Dufton, but that we would take the road and not the route over Knock Fell.  To navigate over Knock Fell now would be very foolish and irresponsible.  Ian drove ahead to Dufton.  Carol insisted that her injuries would not preclude her from running so we set off at a fast pace down the road and were soon out of the mist.  We continued running to Knock village but here we had to walk.  To run further now would be too telling on Carol.  She had done well, very well indeed. Once through the village we found a quiet spot on the roadside and stretched for 10 minutes.  This made us feel a lot better.  We then continued into Dufton, where Ian was waiting for us  and then made our way to our overnight accommodation,  where we were welcomed by Bracken, a beautiful tame black labrador belonging to our patrons.  She met us with a large stick in her mouth and a huge smile that said “please throw this stick for me”. Once we had unpacked we were able to examine Carol’s feet.  Her ankles and one of her toes were so badly swollen that she was unable to put on her shoes once she had removed them.  There could be no question of her carrying on the next day.  This was very unfair, for it would have been her last day.  Any possibility of her running tomorrow, however, was simply out of the question.  She could not do it, no matter how badly she wanted to.  In any event, I think that she was so badly shaken by what she had endured today that she was grateful she would not have to endure it tomorrow, which held another difficult run over High Cup followed by a very misty moor. That night Carol was unable to sleep because of the pain in her legs.  She came through to my room at about midnight.  I was still up, writing my notes.  She asked me to massage her leg to relieve the pain.  It seemed that her sciatic nerve was giving her shooting pains throughout the length of her leg, probably because of swollen soft tissue pressing against it somewhere.  I did what little I could to help and it seemed to relieve the pain and she returned to her own room. Ian decided he would step into her shoes on the morrow (which was to be their last day), provided I agreed to run and walk as opposed to just running (a jog of 400 metres followed by a walk of  400 metres and so on).  He had not trained at all and this was rather an heroic posture on his part.  Much of the route tomorrow in any event would be difficult to run, unless there was a considerable improvement in the weather, and that did not happen.  I would be grateful for Ian’s company. I was glad to hear my wife’s voice again tonight when she telephoned, as she had done each night.  I had now been away for a week and was really starting to miss her. With Carol in my thoughts I drifted off to sleep to await whatever the morrow would bring.  I was certain, however, that it could not be worse than today.  But not too certain!         Day 6 Day 8       Author - Roy McKee Copyright © Roy McKee 2006