Day 9.

We headed out of the pub into sunshine and followed Cycleway 70 for a few miles before rejoining the Pennine Way. We had heard this would skirt the worst bogs. Naturally, we later found out they weren’t that bad after all.

We finally picked up the pace on some blessedly walkable trails. Naturally we found a patch of bracken to get lost in – a theme of our time on the Way. Otherwise it was smooth sailing to Clove Lodge Honesty tea shop at 17km.

This place is a minor miracle. Set up in side a barn, it has chairs, tables, the standard teas, and pot noodles, but also proper cafetières, posh coffee, and even paracetamol. There wasnt a price list in sight, just a donation box and a sign inviting you to give what you want. Faith in humanity: restored.

We got chatting to two guys hiking the Pennine Way north to south. They’d been lounging there long enough to see Bethan, Kate and Maren and Leuan breeze through ahead of us. A sweet barn cat was curled up on a nearby chair, and while I desperately wanted a cuddle, I skipped it upon learning he was currently hosting a tick. Fully refuelled after a long, lovely pit stop, we set off for our final 10km stretch to Middleton-in-Teesdale.

The final stretch to Midgeville – sorry, Middleton-in-Teasdale – was easy going apart from the mandatory twenty minute detour when we lost ourselves in the bracken. Again. Seriously, what is wrong with us?

The village itself is lovely; we even had a ‘fancy seeing you here’ moment bumping into Kate and Maren stocking up in the Co-op on their rest day.

Back at the campsite, the facilities were brilliant, boasting lovely showers and a proper laundry room. The midges, however, were weaponised. While Chris washed our gear, I braved the outdoors to assemble some hummus and Quorn ham butties. After a losing battle with the little bleeps, I threw in the towel. I retreated indoors to join Chris, where we stood next to the tumble dryer, elegantly eating our picnic in the warmth of the laundry room.

The saving grace was getting to spend a little time catching up with Bethan and her plans for the next few days – she had been outside braving the midges cooking up her own tea.

Day 10.

This was the big one. We’d heard this stretch was breaktaking, and the prospect of seeing both Cauldron Snout and High Cup Nick had us buzzing. That said, with 34km of seriously hilly terrain ahead, we were equally keen to get out early. The first 10km offered a gently introduction, following a pleasant riverside path past Low Force and High Force waterfalls. By the time we hit High Force, the temperature was climbing, so I paused to change into my shorts.

Here we bumped into Leuan, who was also tackling the long haul to Dutton. He and his wife had a brilliant holiday logistics system on the go: a camper van and a car. They’d drive both vehicles to the next stop, leave one, and use the car to get back. She’d then pick and choose whatever scenic walks took her fancy, while Leuan continued on the official Pennine Way.

Leaving them to it, our path began a gradual relentless uphill climb that set the trend for the rest of the day. Naturally, just as we hit a long, exposed grassy section by the river, the heavens opened. We dutifully donned our waterproofs for the next few miles. When the rain stopped we repacked our ponchos and started making our way along the last couple of miles to Cauldron Snout. These start as grassy terrain with some rocks to a scramble over boulders. It’s slow going but quite enjoyable.

Finally, we reached the base of the waterfall. I’ll admit to a spike in my nerves – my scrambling resume is practically blank – but the climb up the side to the road bridge at the top was actually a breeze. Aside from a few giant steps where my walking poles got a little in the way; it was absolute magic. More please.

A kilometre on, the heavens opened again. This time the wind joined in, forcing me to tuck my poncho into my trousers to stop myself from taking flight. Then began the climb to High Cup Nick. I don’t remember the ascent too well; mainly because there were no visual clues as to what we were doing. The weather deteriorated so much that visibility reduced to 20 metres ahead. My overriding memory of the climb is that I’d accidentally put my oversized waterproof trousers on backwards, so they spent half the time around my hips, turning my attempt at hiking into a waddle. Total facepalm.

We followed the purple line on our GPS for what felt like an eternity. It’s incredibly disorientating when the mist rolls in and wipes out the world. Eventually, our watches told us we’d reached the top. We stood and stared blankly into a wall of white. Brilliant. But then, for a split second, the clouds parted and teased us with a glimpse of what High Cup Nick actually looks like – and wow! Chris scrambled for his phone, but by the time he’d unlocked it, the curtains had closed again. Back to staring at the fog. Ah well.

The biting wind and relentless drizzle were freezing us to the bone. With no view to enjoy, we were now only interested in getting down off this fell. After what felt like an age of slippery rocky trails, we finally dropped down below the cloud line. The final miles into Dufton were along a stony path that was simple enough for brains to switch off.

We were both shattered.

Ironically, we arrived at the campsite during a brief, mocking window of dry weather. Sensing the sky was about to open again, my sole focus was pitching the tent as fast as humanly possible. The site was tiny, complete with a miniature drying shed that was already crammed to capacity with other people’s gear. I claimed a small table to layout a few of my wet things, which is exactly when a couple we’d met earlier on the trail decided to strike up a conversation. They meant well, but I was on a desperate mission to secure my shelter, and with my back in a new level of agony, I had zero social bandwidth. I kept hinting that I needed to get on with it, but they weren’t catching my drift. In the end, I had to rudely walk away just to pitch my canvas.

Because of the delay, the rain started the exact second I began assembling the poles. That threw me into an even darker mood. My current clothes were damp, my gear from yesterday was still wet and now the inside of my tent was taking a beating. Once it was up, I frantically wiped down the groundsheet, crawled inside, looked around at the damp misery surrounding me, and completely dissolved into tears. I was exhausted, in pain, and drowning in self-pity. I just needed a proper sob.

After a hot shower and the grim task of forcing feet back into wet shoes, Chris and I managed to get ourselves to the local pub, The Stag Inn. For some reason the pain reached new heights and as we sat down at a table, the floodgates opened again. Chris was wonderful, offering a sympathetic ear while I let it all out.

Just in the moment I was feeling a little better, Leuan and his wife Ginette arrived and joined us for a drink. They were staying at the same site but in a different section due to being in their campervan. We swapped stories and it was a beautiful distraction, especially hearing all about their incredible sons, who had tackled the brutal Spine Race. By the time they left, our pub meals arrived, followed by some heavenly, whiskey-laced hot chocolates. There, there. Much better now.

Day 11.

The day started in the same brutal fashion the last one had ended. We were heading to Garigill, just 25km away, but barely an hour into our standard uphill grind, the rain started, the wind roared, and Chris let out a string of superlatives. I realised then, that I wasn’t the only one suffering. I secretly worried my black mood from yesterday had broken his spirit, too. Stuck in our isolated headspace’s, neither of us had the energy to talk. We were low on rations and Chris was getting hangry, so I gave him my snacks. I genuinely wasn’t hungry. My own misery had other causes. In hindsight, we desperately needed a rest day; on future trips, we’ll definitely leave our schedule more flexible so that we can do that if necessary.

We soldiered on, silently battling our own demons. We ticked off Green Fell, Knock Fell, Great Dun Fell, Little Dun Fell, and finally the highest one: Cross Fell at 893m. Right on cure at the summit, the clouds began to part, signalling that better weather was finally on its way. Its is truly miraculous how a bit of light can instantly evaporate a dark mood.

It was still cold and windy, so instead of stopping at the walled cross, we kept our momentum going and continued on down the hill. A few miles later, we rolled up to Greg’s Hut in blazing sunshine – you honestly make this stuff up. I was dying to peek inside, having heard so much about its legendary status as a haven for Spine Race competitors. It was empty inside, but the exterior was swarming with day hikers basking in the sunshine and eating lunch.

Eager to hit Garigill before the post office closed, Chris voted to push on, so we contentedly munched our cheese sandwiches on the move. The trail ahead was several miles of stony path that looked recently relaid, making for wonderfully easy walking. We smashed out such a blistering pace that we marched into the Garrigill Post Office by 3pm on the dot, successfully retrieving Chri’s pre-ordered food parcel alongside a few extra treats we couldn’t resist.

We spent the night at Garigill Village Hall Bunkhouse. I highly recommend it – it is dorm-house heaven. The drying room was huge and boy did we make the most of it. The kitchen was brilliant (complete with honesty cupboard), and the lounge boasted dining space alongside some irresistibly plush, reclining armchairs. Absolutely divine.

It was in this comfortable amazing place that I made the decision to buy a new rucksack. Somewhere in between inhaling a quiche, cheese pasty and a pile of baked beans, Chris and I discovered there was an outdoor shop just down the trail in Alston, which we’d be walking through tomorrow. Having this much back pain every day simply wasnt sustainable or a lot of fun. Maybe donning a proper hiking pack rather than my fastpack would help. Armed with this epiphany, a beautiful room to relax in and a family bag of maltesers in my mitts, life suddenly felt really good.