Introduction

I have been aware of the Pennine Way from an early age. As a seven year old I was left with my grandparents in Wythenshawe, along with my brother and sister, while my parents set off to walk the Pennine Way. On departure from Edale we all accompanied them onto the Kinder plateau before us kids went back to Manchester to be indulged by our grandparents. I also remember the weighing of the rucksacks on the bathroom scales before departure and thinking that these packs weighed as much as I did, which I think was four stone (56 pounds or 25kg). Reading my dad’s account of their walk, the packs weighed 5 stone (70 lb/32kg) – though I wonder whether there was an element of exaggeration here.

It was only three days later that they arrived back, having completed 36 of the 270 miles, with tales of blisters, peat hags, and exhaustion. To quote my dad’s journal: ‘In retrospect it was rather a mad idea to attempt such an expedition with little preparation and little or no planning’.

The following May they resumed their battle with the path. Having discarded non-essential items, such as a heavy radio, their pack weights were between 24 and 32 pounds (11 to 15kg).

I don’t know whether we had been badly behaved the previous year, or whether he was a willing volunteer, but Dylan joined them for this leg of the walk.

Over the next few years they slowly made their way north in stages. I read that for the 1970 edition Dylan made a late plea to be excused from stage 4 and be left with myself and Sian. ‘For various reasons this request was unacceptable’.

The following year (1971), perhaps because of Dylan’s previous reluctance, he was left with the grandparents and I was brought off the sub’s bench to walk the final 60 miles from Housesteads to Kirk Yetholm and claim the glory of finishing. Memorable occasions are by definition those that are out of the norm, particularly if they involve effort and adversity. So I have snatches of memory of this time – leaving Hadrian’s Wall and entering the interminable Wark forest; the border fence; skipping over quivering peat and pools of water on the Cheviots; sheltering from rain while eating porridge for lunch; the descent and approach into Kirk Yetolm.

Camping in Wark forest –me in foreground, note the plus-fours!

Living in Manchester and walking in the Peak District, the Dales, Hadrian’s Wall, etc I would often meet the Pennine Way. Yet I had no real urge to walk the thing as a complete route. Indeed I saw it as a wet and grim route of potential unmitigated misery – a friend’s brother wrote a very entertaining account of his experience of the route. Oh how we do like to read about the sufferings of others.

When Sue, my partner for the past 35 years died in May I felt that I wanted to do something to mark the transition. For the final 12 months we knew that she was very likely to die, and spent as much time together as possible during that rather bittersweet year. I do a lot of walking but the bleakness of the Pennine Way was never on my to-do list. It was a spur of the moment thing, partly to give something positive to aim for, provide time to think and reflect, and I guess there might also be an element of escapism in the decision.

Doing the walk from North to South indicates that I’m not really escaping and running away, but am walking back to re-join family and friends. I’m hoping that by heading south into the sun I will get a better tan than facing north. I’m also hoping it will be downhill from Scotland, that the weather will be getting better rather than worse, and a general homing instinct will carry me over the finish line.

My decision to backpack and camp is because 1) it is tougher and therefore more rewarding, 2) makes the planning much simpler, 3) there is no accommodation on the route for the northernmost 30 miles anyway, 3) frees me from a schedule and 4) the luggage service on the route runs from south to north.

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