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Day Five – St Cuthbert’s Way

I woke up on my final day’s walking to thick fog. I had pitched my tent so I could get up in the morning and look out across the sea to Holy Island and I couldn’t see a thing.

I had plenty of time this morning as I had to wait for the tide to go out. I had checked and re-checked the tide times, looked at several different websites and was confident I had the safest start time for my walk across the sands. I decided I would treat myself to a proper breakfast. Sadly though much as I enjoyed it something was off – not the food which was excellent but my sense of taste.

It was time though to set out on the final stage of this walk. Holy Island and four nights in Marygate House retreat house was my reason and my reward for the previous days walking. I set out in my sandals down the track, once I got on to the sands I would walk in bare feet. It was still foggy but I was confident I would be able to see the poles showing me the way.

Just as I was taking off my sandals some other walkers arrived. It was the mother and son who I had noticed briefly on the road to Morebattle and again at Kirk Yetholm Hostel. The son had the biggest backpack I had seen. It was good though to share this final stage of the trail with them. WE didn’t always walk together each of us walked at our own pace but I was glad of the company.

The walk across the sands was full of expectation as to what lay ahead mixed with memories of the walk and distant memories of the days I had spent barefoot on the beach as a youth. Other thoughts you can read here

Holy Island did eventually appear and I was pleased to walk up the beach to the handily placed bench. I looked back to see my companions for the morning just appearing through the fog.

I had done it – it was a struggle and a few anxious moments were mixed in with the beauty of the countryside but the hard part was over.

Day 4 – St Cuthbert’s Way

Once again I woke up with a renewed sense of enthusiasm and purpose. I only had one more full day to go and I wasn’t far from the coast wasn’t I? According to the map there seemed to be just three ridges of hills to cross, I could do this.

It was a pleasant enough walking out of Wooler in the early morning sun. The town was quiet and I had opted to grabbing breakfast and other supplies from the Co-op on my way out. After a steady climb onto Westwood Moor it was satisfying to look back a few times and reflect on how far I had come. It was certainly more encouraging than looking at the next hill I had to climb.

The scenery today felt different again from all the other days. I felt privileged to have the opportunity to walk through this wonderful countryside. I had a couple of stops and my scheduled mid day rest break was St Cuthbert’s Cave but there always seemed to be another hill before I got there.

I was struggling up the track towards the ridge before St Cuthbert’s Cave, feeling the heat and conscious of my lack of strength when I turned the corner and had such a wonderful surprise. There was St Cuthbert, or at least a carved statue.

There was a bench to sit on and a sign on the fence beside it.

I was so thankful for the kindness of strangers and especially that the message was directed at Pilgrims not just walkers. I felt so confident now that I had made the right decision to walk and make this pilgrimage on my journey to Holy Island.

My euphoria wasn’t to last long, I still had one more ridge to climb before St Cuthbert’s Cave before I could begin my long descent to the coast. It was hot and despite drinking loads my strength began to fail. I felt like I had just made it as I got to the cave and sat down on a rock, and had some lunch. I knew I needed a rest before I could go any further…… Then I woke up!

I had either passed out or just fallen asleep – I am not sure what but it scared me – what would have happened if had really been ill and unable to carry on. There were a few people around as it was a sunny Sunday afternoon but if I’d been really on my own. I wasn’t feeling at my best as I carried on, the main feeling was a determination to finish this, not matter what.

As I continued on I came across a large bull surrounded by his harem of cows. I wasn’t in a mood to diverge from the trail and add more kilometres to my journey so I remember praying to St Cuthbert as he had this affinity with animals, to protect me as a passed them. Thankfully all I experienced was a bored look from the bull.

Somehow I don’t think I appreciated the countryside so much on this final stage to the coast. I certainly don’t have any photos. I could see the coast through the haze but was more concerned that I wasn’t quite there and I was running on empty. As always seems to be the way on the final stretch of my day’s walking the destination seems to get further and further away. When I got closer to the coast there was a path diversion which meant a bit longer to go and the short cut to the campsite wasn’t an option because of wild bird conservation. As I trudged up the footpath from the sea to the campsite once again I had nothing left.

Day 3 – St Cuthberts Way

It’s amazing what a good nights sleep will do. I felt much better though I was beginning to think that yesterday’s struggles might be more than the heat and the weight of my backpack. It was thick fog when I woke up but as my Met Office App assured me it would burn off quickly I thought I would take my time and not push to leave at my normal 6.30am. I had a liesurely breakfast then set off even though the fog was still lingering. I knew today was a shorter walk than yesterday.

I was climbing into the fog and was wondering how much of the Cheviot Hills I would see. I didn’t feel too bad though and was confident I could do this.

I was climbing steadily not being able to see very far – though I could see the path fine until I got to the border with England. I wouldn’t have noticed it was the border if I hadn’t noticed a waymaker on a post mentioning Public Rights of Way. I am sure it’s just the way the hills are but it seemed strange that Scotland was still shrouded in mist but England was basking in sunshine; for today at least!

As I looked over the hills I thought it was so good that so far every day had very different scenery. Apart from a brief Nordic walk the previous January this was my first experience walking in the cheviots. Just after the border I met a large group of walkers coming in the opposite direction – they were on a day walk from Tyneside which reminded me how close to home I actually was, and that it was the weekend. I had lost track of the days of the week since it wasn’t really important.

As I walked into Hethpool I stopped and chatted to a couple walking again in the opposite direction to me. They were out for a day hike but were happy to share stories of other longer walks they had been on. Despite walking on my own I met several interesting people on the way. I stopped for some lunch just after Hethpool in some shade – accompanied by loads of flies sadly.

I was trying to pace myself better than yesterday afternoon so stopped more often. It was getting hotter so I made the most of any shade I could. I was still a bit concerned about my lack of energy though and the beginnings of a cough.

I managed the climb past Yeavering Bell and was trying to convince myself that it would be easier from now on and that I was almost at Wooler. Except that I never seemed to get there for ages at least. One ridge led on to another.

I did finally start the decent towards Wooler through some welcome woodland with it’s shade. I decided once I got to the car park and picnic spot at the bottom to walk into the town via the road as there were signs showing a diversion from the official route. I wasn’t feeling so good by this point and was desperate to get to the campsite.

As I was walking on the road I was thinking I could call at a pharmacy and get a lateral flow test. I hadn’t packed any since it said they they shouldn’t be stored above 30C and I knew that my backpack would be hotter than that. However I was too late getting into town so the only shop that seemed to be open was the Co-op. On that road I fantasized about Lucozade for some reason and was grateful they Co-op stocked it. I was able to have a short rest on a bench and summon up the strength to walk to the campsite.

Day Two – St Cuthberts Way

The day dawned fine with mist quickly disappearing and leaving only dew soaked grass in the early sunshine. I wanted to be up and away at six thirty as I knew I had one of my longest days today. This was the first full day of walking with a fully loaded backpack. Soon the tent and everything else was packed away and I set off to back track a short distance to rejoin Dere Street.

I was back at the trail after wading through waist high rough and very wet grass to the site of Lilliards Grave.

I was thinking that St Cuthbert might well have travelled on this section of the trail as Dere Street seemed to have been a recognised route well into the medieval times. There were views on both sides and looking to the right I sought out Rubers Law in the distance. I remember one summer when I was unemployed stopping a couple of nights with my Dad’s army friend in Bonchester Bridge and climbing that hill on his recommendation. A return visit another time maybe.

I felt fine along this stretch of the trail, though it was downhill at this stage. As I approached the River Teviot it was back into woodland around the Monteviot House estate. To get across the river the trail has to go the long way round. It reminded me of other walks I had been on where the private landowners exclude the public from their land.

I was then faced with the footbridge across the River Teviot. It was a well constructed bridge but perhaps because I felt unbalanced with a heavy backpack on I found crossing it really scary. I do suffer from vertigo much more as I get older but this was quite intense.

I walked along the vanks of the Teviot for a while and then over the Jedfoot Bridge before rejoining Dere Street. This seemed a bit mor like a Roman Road – even if it’s condition I am sure owed more to it being a farm track too.

The next part of the walk was a delightful mix of woodland, pasture and arable fields.

It was in this section of the walk that I began to struggle. It was getting hotter and hotter and the ups and downs were getting steeper. There was a lovely valley, a steep track through woodland then a path up through the field opposite. I was able to exchange greetings with a family on this section but the walk up the steep hill was a killer. After reaching the farm at the end of the field I was faced with a stretch of road going directly up to the brow of the hill. It was a struggle I would walk and then stop walk and then stop. I got there but I felt the weight of my load in contrast to the family I met who just had day packs and were staying in hotels and B&Bs. There was a little bit of respite as the gradients didn’t seem so bad but it was getting hotter.

I did feel at this point I was running out of energy, snacks and electrolyte tablets in my water didn’t seem to make much impact. I was focussed on getting to my rest stop at Morbattle before going on to my overnight stay at Kirk Yetholm Hostel. I did distract myself though by looking at the fields around with the farmers gathering the straw and musing how different it would have been for my ancestors working the land in this area. My family history research had shown that my 2x and 3x Grandfathers were from this area and were agricultural labourers.

Sadly I was at this point my energy levels had dropped really low and the approach to Morebattle was mainly roadwalking with little shade. I got there and found the village store which had some seating at the back and got something to eat and drink. I had some serious thinking to do, I knew the next section was really steep but had some of the best views but I wasn’t sure I could make it. I had a booking at the hostel and I knew I had to get to Holy Island because that was the real purpose of my walk. In the end after much agonizing I decided to catch the bus. I had a while to wait so sat on a bench and watched other walkers pass me by. It was difficult not to feel something of a failure because I wasn’t going to walk all the way.

Once I checked in to the hostel and chatted to the volunteer wardens, had a shower and something to eat I did feel a whole lot better. In my heart I knew I wasn’t there just for the walk but this was my pilgrimage in honour of St Cuthbert. Getting there was more important than how I got there.

Day One on St Cuthberts Way.

I got the first bus to Melrose from the campsite with the intention to leave Melrose at 6.30. I like an early start, the sun was shining and I was excited. This was the longest walk I had attempted but thankfully I was walking back to my campsite and had left most of the contents of my backpack there.

After a pleasant bus journey on an almost empty bus I got off in the Town Centre. Of course nothing was open at that time of the morning so after taking a few photos at the Abbey I set off to find the steep climb which I knew awaited me.

The route up over the Eildon Hills starts using an almost hidden passage beside some bins before a long flight of wooden steps. I stopped to get my poles sorted because I knew there was no way I could do this day without them. I was right!

I stopped several times on the way up to look at the views. I would like to say they took my breath away but that was probably just as much the effort of climbing the hill. Taking photos is always a good excuse to rest.

It was with a great sense of relief I made it to the top, not to the top of highest of the three hills thankfully. The trail crosses between the two highest peaks. I can remember thinking that St Cuthbert didn’t come this way if he was travelling somewhere unless he wanted to take in the views. They were worth every bit of the the climb though.

Then it was downhill through beautiful woodland and lovely wooded valleys towards the River Tweed. I met some local walkers at the bottom who stopped for a chat as we negotiated a gate. As I walked on aIongside the Bowden Burn it was almost completely dry

Just before I got to Newtown St Boswells it was great to look back and be so suprised to see the Eildon Hills in the distance and think – I’ve just been there.

It was just a short walk through the town and then downhill through woodland to the River Tweed. It was time for a break and I came across a handy seat with a view do die for – well I think so anyway. I was able to take my boots off and rest and have a snack.

There seemed to be a lot of minor ups and downs along the river but it was cool under the trees and there was the ever present sound of the river. My second conversation of the day was a man from Sunderland walking his dog. To be fair he had moved up to the local town.

I stopped for a more extended break at a cafe in St Boswells then it was back down to the river again skirting the edge of a golf course then through some pastures thankfully without cows.

I passed the Mertoun Bridge which made me think of my Great Grandfather who was born in the Parish of Mertoun. This was the first of several times when I wished I had more time to wander around and visit places associated with my ancestors but on this occasion I was a man with a mission.

I passed Maxton Church but again did not stop. My next waypoint was joining Dere Street after a stretch of road walking.

Dere Street was a section of the road built by the Romans. I had pictured in my head roman roads wide enough for carts and for soldiers to march six abrest. Sadly over the intevening years it has degenerated into a rough footpath with loads of tree roots to trip the unwary. Nevertheless it made for another change of pace and scenery.

This was the last section too before I could branch off the trail to return to my campsite. I couldn’t wait. I was hot and at the limit of my strength. The last couple of kilometres are always the worst. I remember grabbing an ice cream and coke at the camp shop and then I was flat out beside my tent for a while.