We kicked off day one bathed in glorious sunshine and a healthy dose of hikers optimism.

We had stayed over at the YHA in Edale the night before, which meant we only had a 2km skip and hop to reach the official start of the Pennine Way.

The launch pad is a modest gate, tucked around the corner from the Old Nags Head pub. Fun fact: they serve a really spectacular plate of veggie sausages, mash and gravy btw. On another day this might of been a useful way to get some additional calories in but it was 8.30 in the morning.

We trekked up towards the start of Jacobs Ladder, a climb we’ve done so many times before. The walk started so easily – life was good. We were happy in the sun and delightfully deluded about the path ahead.

Day one was supposed to be around 28km (30km if you count the bonus mileage from our YHA). My only minor concern was the short descent off Kinder Scout after Kinder downfall. Why? Because I am a chronic over thinker of rocks. Give me a steep uphill or a nice grassy slope down and I’m fine. Give me a sharp rocky descent and my brain forgets how to function normally. My depth perception takes a holiday and I have to stand there like a buffering computer just to focus on the next step. Happily this particular down was a lot easier than I’d remembered it. Unhappily, Chris still made it down in half the time and I celebrated my triumph by catching my foot on the first step and attempting to tumble down after him.

Rewind to the start. We were basked in a warm sun as we continued over Kinder, climbing over the stones and rocks on repeat like an old fashioned step class without the leg warmers. Mid workout we met a lovely man called Luke. He told us he was walking bits of the Pennine Way, following his own custom itinerary. Further north he intended to ditch it all together and divert to Newcastle to run the Great North Run – so very cool.

Once we reached the bottom of the rocky down I nearly tripped over, we found ourselves on a long stretch of ground with a path made of flagstones. These were the first ones we came across but as the Way continued on we would soon find this was a very common way to help walkers avoid the peat bogs. Most of the flags were solid but occasionally they would wobble leading to a minor ‘woah’ moment. Thankfully they were all bone dry and so without a bench or large rock to sit on, we opted to simply sit on the stones to have our lunch. There was literally no one else around so it didnt seem to matter that we were directly on the path. We enthusiastically got out one of our stoves and cooked up noodles and a coffee. Looking back it seems funny. Later on the journey we tended to shove cheese butties in our mouths as we walked on like dead eyed zombies, the naivety of day one long behind us.

At the end of the flagstones we crossed the Snake Pass and stepped onto Bleaklow – a chaotic wilderness where easy paths quickly devolved into a maze of giant peat shelves and bogs. Navigating became a bit of a guessing game; we relied entirely on the glowing purple line on our watches to stay on track. After a short scramble up to the plateau, the heavens opened. We immediately looked like two swamp monsters from the deep and forged past the trig point. Mercifully the trail smoothed out onto a gorgeous ledge flanked by heather, giving us a brief reprieve.

The relentless rocky terrain that followed, however, felt like a nightmare at the time – largely because a tendon in my leg had decided to complain. Since we’ve been home I’ve seen YouTube videos and thought – ‘oh its not that bad.’ This has led me to question my own mind and I’m looking forward to doing another reccy to see if it feels better. The final drop down from Bleaklow is steep but not overly so.

A few kilometres later, after a short woodland walk and a short climb up a road, we found ourselves at Crowden Camping site. We’d booked our tents in to stay but when we got to reception we noticed they had some pods. Chris asked about the price. The lady explained it would be £16 extra for us to stay in one. Don’t mind if we do then. We’d heard that the weather would be bad overnight so it seemed like a no-brainer for so little extra.

As I was hobbling about the place causing alarm to people that saw me, we came across Kate and Maren. Little did we know that these two would become a recurring theme on this journey – we crossed paths so often they eventually felt like old childhood friends. Sadly, I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly on night one. As we stood chatting my back had a violent tantrum and went into spasm. Standing still was agony so I had to awkwardly abandon the conversation and move to our pod to sit down. The back-sabotage completely wrecked some of the early days on the trip for me in terms of socialising. Thankfully we found a solution later down the line – but more on that later.

We slept well in our pods and woke ready for day two in sunshine again. It didn’t appear to have rained at all, leading us to think we could have just camped after all.

Day two was mostly a solo affair, apart from an early encounter with Phillipa – an absolute legend who had already conquered the Pennine Way and was now cherry picking the best bits, while a company moved her bags for her from one pre booked accommodation to the next.

She was more than capable of the terrain as we started stepping over rivers and walking up steep rocks but we were faster so she wished us bon voyage and on we went. The weather took on a rainier turn and we donned our ponchos.

Clambering up steep, slick rocks my brain randomly asked: ‘Hey, remember how you want to do this in the dark in January?’ Mental stability questioned. After a hazy maze of stream-crossings and flagstones that completely ‘bypassed’ my waterproof socks, we finally camped up on White Hill. We had seen the spot on a YouTube video of the Pennine Way and had checked that we would get good weather for it. However, after two days of rubbish phone signal, we missed the memo that ‘good weather’ had been replaced by a torrential downpour and 40 mph winds.

We found our spot and took a moment to think about which way to face the tents so that the narrowest part was facing the oncoming wind direction. As we did this, it started to rain and the wind picked up. Pitching the tent went from ‘a bit tricky’ to ‘full on comedy sketch.’ I’d smash one peg in the ground, shuffle to the other end of the tent and look back just in time to see the tent fly off the first peg. In a moment of pure, unadulterated genius, I decided it was time to insert the centre pole. Huge mistake. I hadn’t built a shelter; I had built a plane. The tent suddenly had wings, lift and a desperate desire to fly into the sky. I spent the next ten minutes hanging onto the thing for dear life, airborne and aggressively cussing until I finally relented and asked Chris to come over and help me pin it down. Once anchored in a few places I was able to get the rest of it down and sorted.

Job done, I now crawled inside the swimming pool. As it had been raining hard for the duration and due to me and essentially most of my stuff being wet, it’s hard not to let some of that water get into your inner canvas/sanctuary. I dried the floor off as best I could and got the essentials laid down – my mat and sleeping bag. Now to deal with all the wet gear. I sorted it into piles: ‘miraculously still dry’, ‘might dry tomorrow hanging on the back of a rucksack’ and ‘nothing but a drying room is dealing with this stuff’. This sadly included my hiking boots and socks.

Listening to the 40 mph gales whip my tent sides back and forth, I lay there questioning my life choices.

A few other pics from the days: