St Cuthbert’s Way – Harestanes to Town Yetholm – Day Three

A better night’s sleep. We had tea in bed again and rendezvoused with Sis in the foyer of the hotel. We nipped down to the local McColls supermarket for some lunch, but as it was just gone 7am, we had beaten their delivery lorry for the day’s supplies, so the choice was rather limited. We bought sandwiches and some crisps again – though it was a cheaper option, there was no improvement on the quality – and went back for breakfast. A solitary chef looked after us and served us another Scottish breakfast. It was nice, but looked rather pale and wasn’t inspiring. Once ready, we called the taxi again and got him to drop us off by the roadside near the bridge we had passed last night. He was going to take us further along, but we were determined not to miss do any shortcuts and stay true to the path.

So off we set under overcast clouds through the countryside park -it was full of paths, side lined with rhododendrons and trees. It was very pleasant. Squirrels scampered across in front of us and the birds still sang. We walked along the path, noting that the St Cuthbert’s signs were well spaced and clearly marked. Again it was a mixture of woodlands, riverside walks and ploughed fields – it was getting a little more agricultural, but still very varied. Carpets of wild garlic covered the ground, white flowers swaying in the breeze. We were gradually ascending, the ground rising higher. Soon, we were walking up steep tracks, making us pant for breath. The vista opened up – the Waterloo Monument now behind us and now again we could see the Eildon Hills in the distance. It was amazing how far we had walked. We carried on through rolling countryside, across fields, farmland, woodlands and plantations, getting long distance views. Bees visited the wildflowers, numerous butterflies danced before us and swifts and swallows chased each other in the sky. This was wonderful and we felt good.

After some steady walking and contouring, the track suddenly dropped down to a river which was a bit dispiriting as almost immediately, was another hill to climb up. We pulled ourselves up and skirted a farm, before another concrete track reared up to a woodland to Littledeanlees. Flipping heck! We paused to make cooing noises to some cows and their gorgeous baby calves, took a deep breath and steadily stomped up the hill. Gathering breath, we wandered through a wooded ridge when I felt the balls of my feet starting to throb. Mmmm. Hopefully just hot spots. We were also starting to feel hungry and in the distance through the trees, we spotted a castle as well as the afternoon’s hills. That would be our lunch spot.

We carried on walking, spying the hills that we would walk later on – the highest point of the walk. Having taken Eildon Hills, we were in a positive frame of mind and felt we could conquer anything. The hills looked low – they didn’t look too bad from this distance. We were now on quite high ground as we skirted ploughed fields and tall pine plantations, eventually coming to a huddle of pretty terraced cottages on the edge of Cessford and back onto a country lane. We followed the lane and finally came to Cessford Castle, a ruin standing prominently on a small hill. It was a long time coming. We sat on the grass and dug out our supplies. Sandwiches, crisps, Naked bar, hotel biscuits and we broke into the emergency Jelly Babies too. We took off our boots, much to the alarm of our feet, donned jackets as it was still quite overcast with a cool breeze and munched our lunch. I looked at my feet and decided to put some blister plasters on them as protection. Getting cool, we stuffed our bits away and continued on along the roads to Morebattle – the road walking was getting tedious and we were glad to reach the village. The low slung hills that we had spotted earlier now had started to rear up alarmingly as we approached Morebattle and looked far more daunting. And we still had to climb them! Oh blimey. There was a little village store that had a coffee machine at the rear. We bought coffee, a little snack and fell into conversation with the owner. He asked what we doing and we told him we were heading to Town Yetholm and following the St Cuthbert’s Way over the hills to Wideopen Hill, the highest point of our walk. He gave us a look as if we were mad and told us we had, at least another 4 hours of walking. We sat outside and had a quick debate. It was 3pm and we hadn’t even started the big hills which would slow our pace considerably. Our hearts fell. 4 hours? We wouldn’t get to our next accommodation til 7pm and dinner was reserved at 7.30pm. Our spirits dropped. We looked at our devices which informed us we had done 15 miles with another 4 to go. We vowed to burn that guide book.

We could of walked through the valley to Town Yetholm and made our lives easier, but that wasn’t walking the St Cuthbert’s Way – we weren’t going to start cheating. We gave ourselves a pep talk – we get to Town Yetholm whenever and we would figure things out like food later. We psyched ourselves up for the challenge ahead, gathered up our stuff and walked determinedly out the village, looking at the huge imminence before us in defiance. We had to do about a mile of road walking, before coming to a small bridge, the start of the big hill and Wideopen Hill, the highest point on the path. We agreed we would do our own pace up the hills and take it easy, taking it in chunks. We had to walk through a large field of cows and their calves, the mothers watching us with casual nonchalance. Cows are unpredictable when they have young and we keenly listened for the sound of thundering hooves and quickened our pace, but the cows just carried on chewing lazily and left us alone.

It was a steady pull up, numerous pauses to admire the opening views and to give our aching leg muscles a rest. We were now on the open hillside, exposed to the elements – the path was on the wrong side of a dry stone wall and we had no protection from a stiff wind howling up the hill. Layers and coats went on along with hats and hoods. However the views were astounding, far reaching despite it being hazy. It was nearly a 360 degree view. We had now done the hard climbing, and it was now just following the grassy path, up and down until finally a sign proclaimed that this was “Wideopen Hill, the highest point of the walk”. It certainly lived up to its name – Wideopen – as there were just wide expansive views of the neighbouring hills and valleys. It was amazing and we just stood there with huge smiles on our faces. We had done it – we had got to the top. We celebrated with loud whoops of joy and the emergency Jelly Babies, took selfies to prove our accomplishment and stood to admire the view. But that keen relentless wind was yanked at our clothing and was starting to make us feel cold. We needed to move on. We had a quick snack and began the long descent down – we could see our little town in the distance. So near yet so far, but at least we were going down. The fell turned back into fields filled with sheep, hedges returned and finally we were burped onto a road. Yes, we had made it!

Again, a lot of road walking, but there was hardly any traffic. Just outside Town Yetholm, we rejoined a footpath where a friendly cat came to say hello. We crossed a field and then took a left through an muddy alleyway which popped us into a small residential street. A chap was chopping wood and we asked him where The Plough was – we didn’t fancy traipsing around the village looking for it. It was literally just around the corner and we fell noisily into the bar area that the punters stopped drinking and turned around and stared. We must of looked a sight. It was 6.15pm.

We were shown to our rooms, tastefully decorated in this charming old building. The room was huge, but very hot, so we turned the radiators down, opened the windows and spread all our gear out. Then we dived into the shower which was over the bath. I put the plug in so my weary feet got a soak too. They thoroughly deserved the treat.

We reconvened in the bar downstairs, took a large table and ordered large cooling beers. While we waited for our meals, we compared mileage, steps and sore bits. We had done an incredible 19.2 miles. We were on a high. Behind us were two chaps who were walking St Cuthbert’s from east to west, so we swapped stories and advice. One of them had been walking all the footpaths in Britain over the years which made us feel in awe of him. Our food arrived – the fish and chips were huge, very welcoming and we woofed them down. We sat there, relaxing though Sis had curled up in the corner of the bench seat and could hardly keep her eyes open. We threatened to throw a blanket over her and leave her there for the night.

We took an early night and staggered upstairs to our rooms. They had cooled considerably. We clambered into bed, our stomachs full, the beer making us drowsy and we gradually fell asleep. The hard bit was over, but tomorrow we would be crossing the Cheviot hills and back into England.