Day 38 - More Moors and Bags of Bogs

Bellingham proved to be a pleasant little town with sufficient cafes and shops to keep Suzanne entertained this morning, whilst I headed into the previously unchartered Kingdom of Moor, where the capital can only be called Bog City.

I was again following the Pennine Way, which rose gradually to around 370m but where there was nothing but bog and heather to be seen for miles around. The path, such as it was, cut just a narrow strip in the heather and was easy to lose sight of. Even if you managed to stay on the slightly beaten track, it was still interspersed with...well, not just mud but streams, pools, marsh and any other water feature you may wish to name. For once, Speedo Mick would have had entirely appropriate clothing on.

The picture above is a typical example, where you can just about see the track snaking ahead and waiting for me once I had snorkled my way across the lake in front. Going was slow but my longer than average legs proved pretty useful as I was able to hop, skip and jump my way through the morass to emerge with my clothing and dignity just about intact, although boots and gaiters required a severe seeing to - where are you when I need you, Phil?

From when I left Suzanne around 8.15am, I saw only one other person in the next four hours, during which I only covered about 8 miles. Fortunately, that one person, John, turned out to be a bit of a diamond: walking from Byrness to Alston over the next few days, John's rucksack was on wheels, a little like a shopping trolley. When we met, it was strapped to his back in standard rucksack fashion but he was able to pull it behind him whenever the surface was firm and wide enough. He would still have three hours to go before the wheels could roll again. John also gave me £20 sponsorship money, which was greatly appreciated.

The noise from the skylarks was deafening on occasion. If I strayed too near a nest site they would fly vertically to around 10 feet, furiously tweeting and ready to peck my eyes out if I ventured nearer. Without my GPS, I could easily have gone round in circles and seeing the same scene repeated plays tricks with your mind, similar to a mirage in the desert. If it wasn't for the £20 in my pocket, I may have thought I'd just imagined a man with a shopping trolley on his back.

After one final vertical climb up through the heather (where it actually proved useful, as I pulled myself along), I was in Kielder Forest and on a firm track for the final seven miles to today's camp site at the the imaginatively named Cottonshopeburnfoot. The sign is bigger than the hamlet itself. 

I must have passed 50,000 trees on this walk so far and am still to see a treecreeper. I consider them now extinct. Indeed, there wasn't much to see but trees in the forest but it was just good to know every step was on dry land.

Tomorrow is my last on the Pennine Way as I head on to The Cheviots, cross the border fence into Scotland and divert to Jedburgh. I've only read the first paragraph in the guide book but it mentions The Cheviots being made of 'peat, water and bath sponges' and that the author 'sank up to his thighs'. I'll pack my armbands.

Thought I'd try and post a video below to emphasise how much moor I was on...