St Cuthbert’s Way – Wooler to Fenwick – Day Five.

We would religiously set an alarm for every morning, fearing that we would be so tired and knackered, we would oversleep, but every morning, we beat it by some considerable distance.

Today was no exception. We got ready for the day, now set in a good routine of efficiency. I bumped my suitcase down to the pick up point at the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to wrestle with everything later on, before joining Hubby and Sis for breakfast. Again we ordered an full breakfast, this one being an English one (there’s not a lot of difference), but deep down we were getting a bit weary of them. We just wanted enough calories to carry us through the day.

With only 10 miles to cover today (according to the still unburnt guide book – we added another couple of miles to that), we were a bit more relaxed and enjoyed a bit of a late start. We lost track of the time until Hubby got a call from the luggage couriers. “I’m missing two bags and I’m on a tight schedule”. There was a few frantic moments of getting suitcases downstairs to a waiting driver. Ooops.

We popped out onto the High Street and bright sunshine, locating a nearby cafe that was open. Hopefully we would get a decent sandwich rather than a soggy grated cheese offering between two bits of limpid white slices. We were about to set off, when a member of hotel staff burst out asking for a room key. In the chaos of getting luggage downstairs, Sis had forgotten to hand in her key – we weren’t having a good start to the day!

We waddled down to the cafe to met by a jolly, chatty lady behind the counter. She did takeaway sandwiches and we happily ordered though balked slightly at the cost. But this lady was such a happy soul, that we forgave her and with a skip in our step, headed down the High Street, briefly accosted by an elderly local, asking where we were walking, only to launch into telling us her life story.

We had a brief tour of the outskirts of Wooler to get out of town, but soon found ourselves walking up a back lane before joining a footpath and after a steep pull up, contoured around local Tor. The views back to Wooler were stunning, nestling below the Cheviots, if you cared to blot out a main road and a long line of pylons marching up the valley. We had gained a little height enough to walk through heather and low moorland, before descending into fields and small woodlands. We dropped sharply downwards to a road, continuing towards a small hamlet abutting a small river, crossing a rather stately bridge and following a country lane. Though it was road walking, it was quite pleasant – it was a gorgeous spring morning with long distance views and we were able to walk without thinking where our feet were going and if we were going to trip over anything. It was lovely and we got into a rhythm.

We were strolling along a long straight road where about halfway, standing next to a World War II defence pillbox, we spotted two people and squinting we realised it was our two ladies from yesterday. As we approached, they set off again at a pace while we decided to linger for a snack break. Hubby who loves apps and stats, mentioned last night that he had been beaten by a Shirley on some part of this walk and we wondered if these two were a Shirley. They did warrant names. We decided to call them Pepsi and Shirley after the 1980’s pop duo. Again, we kept spotting them for the rest of the morning, but never really caught up with them – either we were dawdling or they were on a mission!

The wind was constant, arriving from the east so it was particularly cool out in the open. We found a lovely spot for lunch and to air our feet, sheltered from the wind and enjoying the sun’s warmth, the blue sky and the greens of early spring. A farmer was preparing his field for some crop with a tractor and the birds sang, bees buzzed by and butterflies flittered around. The feet were doing well, just sporting micropore tape – they were enjoying the flattish ground. I rolled up my trousers to catch the afternoon and to scare the wildlife with my pasty white legs. After a quick nap, we were off again. We all agreed that there were less St Cuthbert markers in England than in Scotland and a couple of times, we stopped to check the map. A few hundred yards later, we came to a house with a life sized wooden carving of St Cuthbert with a sign to knock on their door if you wanted anything. It was just so sweet. We carried on, walking uphill on the road alongside another ploughing farmer with his tractor – he was a great distraction as we plodded up a long incline and then turning off onto a footpath. The view was a patchwork of undulating green fields and woodlands in the shimmering haze and it was beautiful. We walked through grassy fields before walking up a wide track towards a coniferous woodland and skirting it along a track. We entered a National Trust plantation and where St Cuthbert’s cave could be found.

When St Cuthbert died, he was buried on Lindisfarne, but when the Vikings threatened to invade Britain, it was feared that they would discover his body. The monks carried St Cuthbert back to the mainland and deep in a wood, hid his body in cave for safety, one of many places his body was hidden over the next 7 to 8 years.

The sandstone cave was set back into the managed plantation. Today it’s not exactly hidden and it’s more of overhanging lump of rock, than a cavern, but way back in 875AD, Britain was covered in deep woods and forests, so to find this cave wouldn’t of been easy. We were the only people there and we had a snoop around – other visitors had scored their visit deep into the nearby rocks and there seemed to be a memorial for some worthy somebody there too. A small group of older people arrived and we took the opportunity to leave.

https://www.britainexpress.com/counties/northumbria/countryside/st-cuthberts-cave.htm

We dropped back down to the path and then walked up the side of the plantation, where as we summited we got our first glimpse of the sea!! We were so happy. There was the coast and the North Sea – it was a great feeling, we just couldn’t believe we had gotten there. Our spirits soared. We couldn’t quite see Lindisfarne, so we quickened our pace , desperate to see the island. We checked the mileage to see how far we had got left, added another couple of miles onto the guide book’s estimation, pulled on warm coats as we were the only obstacles in the way of the biting east wind and followed the grassy tracks before dropping into a dark forestry plantation where, due to bogginess, the path was diverted and we briefly lost sense of direction. We soon picked up a marker post and wandered through the forest tracks – we popped out of the woodland and walked along the edge of it – trees on the left and Lindisfarne, our destination tomorrow, firmly on our right across the sea. At this point, excited to see the end point we felt we could carry on walking and get there tonight.

We had our usual last 2 miles of drag, with a long downhill walk to the little village of Fenwick before plopping on a convenient bench beside the village shop. This was our destination of the day and we were feeling a bit pooped – maybe we wouldn’t walk to Lindisfarne tonight. Happy to finish another day, we called The Black Bull in Lowick, a couple of miles away, for our scheduled lift to our accommodation for the night and waited for 10 minutes for them to arrive.

This Black Bull was the complete opposite to its namesake in Wooler -it had been refurbished in the last two years and was of cool calm colours, green tongue and groove and oak flooring. It was all rather trendy. There seemed to be lots of little dining areas as we were led to our rooms which were a little tiny with all our gear, but fresh, bright and clean. This was certainly the best accommodation, though it was on a level par with the rustic charm of The Plough in Town Yetholm – we couldn’t decide which one we liked best. It did however have the very best rainshower shower with the perfect temperature that I crave and where I stayed until I was going wrinkly. It was perfect.

We relaxed for a little while, inspecting our aches and pains, the feet not suffering at all being taped up. Tomorrow, we had just six miles to cover and our feet were in for a treat. We met Sis in the bar and ordered beers – we were in a rather silly mood, the combination of seeing Lindisfarne and knowing we were so close to the end, tomorrow being a morning stroll, made us a bit daft. Somehow we ended up in helpless sniggering heap – y’know when tears run down your face and you can’t look at anybody with convulsing more -for many many minutes that we were gaining an audience. It took us sometime to regain some composure and dignity.

It was while we were recovering from this episode we spotted Pepsi and Shirley walk into the bar area – no let’s rephrase that – hobble through the bar area. Sis tried to connect with them by asking Pepsi “how you doing?” which she replied with a grimace “Fine”. When they were out of earshot, we just collapsed into laughter again. Such a British reaction – you’re deeply in pain, but the old stiff upper lip kicks in and though you can barely walk, you still say you’re fine, nothing’s wrong, thanks all the same.

We dined in one of the dining areas. It wasn’t particular cheap and offered only one vegetarian option for the main meal – ratatouille which didn’t float our boats. We ended up ordering a starter as a main and added vegetables to get round it. It was a bit of blip in such a lovely place, but the staff were attentive and helpful. We sat in the bar for a while to let dinner go down a bit and gently yawning, called it a day. Tomorrow would be our last day of walking – it was weird, on Sunday when we began this trip, it seemed it would be a very long few days and now, it felt that it had all shot by too quickly and we couldn’t believe it would end tomorrow, though Sunday now felt a such a long time ago…………….

And on that note, we went to bed.