LEJOG Day 61: Bellingham to Byrness

Weather: Light & heavy drizzle, then rain all day, miserable

Distance covered today: 24.8km (15.3mi)

Last night's B&B: Lyndale (£40)

Cumulative distance: 1210.2km (752.0mi)/ % Complete: 63.2%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 61 (click!)

It was every bit as difficult as I had anticipated! The weather was foul. It drizzled from the start and didn’t let up at any time. The only variation was between drizzle and rain, and by the time I arrived in Byrness, I was wet through. On top of that, the path was poorer than anything I have experienced on the Pennine Way so far. I encountered mile after mile of very wet bog, so that every step was potentially hazardous. At first I was quite careful, but eventually, I just lost patience, and blundered my way through the bogs on a wing and a prayer. Even in the woods there was plenty of bog. That resulted in some untoward strain on my lower extremities and I did at one point feel something worrying going on in my right knee area. Hopefully, a night’s rest will see it right, because this isn’t the time to be picking up new injuries! Eventually, the Way relented and made use of forestry roads through the woods, which improved both my speed and my temper!

On the plus side, I made very good time. I saw no point in stopping for lunch; it was anyway too soggy to sit down and so I just ate my soggy sandwich while bog-hopping along. There is no way a couple of months ago that I could have walked for six hours without a break, even on excellent terrain, which this certainly wasn’t.  I also didn’t actually sink beyond my boots in any quagmires, which was a minor miracle in itself. I can also now safely reveal that in the Battle of the Little Toes, the score is a resounding 2-0 to the Kevin/Compeed combination against The Boots. The latter have been beaten into submission also by the purchase of some old-fashioned Dubbin, which has softened and water-proofed the leather and I can now confirm that the new boots are at last as comfortable as the old boots! Result!

The leg though, was as lonely and long as I had predicted it would be. That said, I was actually looking for a little solitude after all the excitements of the last few days. Early on, I caught up with another walker, doing part of the Way, who turned out also to be a Kevin, (even with the same initials!). For the first time, I really didn’t feel like walking with him. I wanted to set my own pace and to think my own thoughts. I persuaded him to go ahead, but soon caught up with him and passed him. We bumped into each other once or twice more during the day and he arrived at the B&B half an hour after I did. It was though, reassuring to know that he was behind me. If I had had serious trouble, he would have been able to help. There was certainly not another soul out there in this deserted place. My guide-book calls it the loneliest place in Britain, which given some of the places I have been in the recent past, is some claim!

I suppose that with the isolation of the place, it’s no surprise that my mind was again wandering off towards my experiences in the wilds of Eastern Russia. In particular, the woods of the Kielder forests reminded me of the endless forests of the Russian Far East. It is hard to imagine a more isolated place. On one occasion, I was travelling on the Trans-Siberian Express, though to be honest, it wasn’t going anywhere very fast. There isn’t very much to see, because all you see out of the train windows is endless forests of spruce, pine and birch trees all across the east of Siberia.

I had a compartment to myself, but I was being accompanied by the Managing Director of a small Russian oil company, who was in his own compartment. I was amused that among the rations handed out to all of the First Class passengers was a small bottle of Vodka, this obviously assumed to be an essential provision to while away the hours. I settled down with a book and thought that I would turn in early to be on top form the following day.

Not so fast!  Suddenly, there was a senior conductor at the door, telling me something in Russian that I clearly couldn’t understand. He became increasingly voluble and then appeared slightly nervous, while literally manhandling me along the corridor. I was feeling pretty nervous myself, not knowing whether I was in trouble for some unknown misdemeanour, but before long, I was ushered into the compartment of my senior Russian colleague. Who should be there, but the glorious Vika, who had been employed to do the interpreting. My host asked me to sit, and then alarmed me by asking me to stand, almost immediately. He just wanted to get into the under-seat storage to retrieve a bottle of Vodka. He told me that this was the finest available and was actually Japanese. He bemoaned the fact that it was a modern tragedy that the Japanese, rather than the Russians now made the best Vodka. He then started pouring me tots and toasting me.

It is a Russian tradition that when you receive a toast, you have to make one in return. I did so. Many times! This is one of those stories that doesn’t have a coherent ending, because as the night wore on, and as it slowly darkened (it was summer and we were well North so there wasn’t going to be much darkness), I have this abiding impression of millions of trees passing the window, of a fascinating story of the transition of a man from the Soviet system to whatever the Russian system now is, and of a number of alarming instructions to rise while another bottle of Vodka was produced from below my seat.  All through this, the delectable Vika, who I might add, had no part in the Vodka consumption, faithfully translated every word, though not one lives in my memory. Such a waste!

We were still at it when the train eventually arrived in Vladivostok the following morning. Of course a full day’s business had been arranged. I was severely jet-lagged, drunk and very tired. I have less recollection of that awful day than I have of the previous evening, which is probably just as well. I do remember trying to find a toilet at a critical moment, when there was no-one around to help translate my need. I remember miming my requirement to the hilarious mirth of a benefactor who finally understood and helped me to find it. The rest is blank….

My host, Yevgeniy and I eventually became good friends. Our friendship has terminated since I retired, because of the essential requirement for an interpreter and I regret that. He was a man of substance who had lived a difficult life and he was all the more interesting because of it.

It is a fact of life that as retirement closes off one’s connections with the business world, so one loses both friends and enemies. A great door clanks shut and a very different world appears on the other side.

I am still getting used to it.

Self-portrait by your correspondent, enjoying a glass of house red in Bellingham last night

The rather quaint village of Bellingham

A peculiar gun, brought to Bellingham from China by some officer after the Boxer Rebellion

The ancient Parish Church, founded in 1180AD

Amazingly, a statue commemorating all those from Bellingham who served in the Boer War

I met this fellow on today's route march. His name is Kevin! We bumped into each other a few times en route

I'm the king of the castle! This sheep refused to move off the top of this old coal-mining spoil heap

Miles and miles of moors

And even more miles of moors

Heather on the moors

Heather in close-up

I

The recent fires affected large sections of the moors in today's leg. No chance of fire today!

Eventually I reached Kielder Forest which went on and on and on in the rain

This was slug city!  I've never seen so many slugs. Maybe the rain has forced them to the surface

Nearing Byrness; a pretty path along the Rede Burn