It was Friday, I had the day off and the weatherman had been mistaken yet again - the day was crisp and sunny, precisely the requirement for a six-hour drive to the North Pennines . I had been looking forward to my first weekend away with the Heathrow Hikers, having made sure that they were all reasonably normal human beings during a grey, drizzly but good-humoured day walk around Richmond a few weeks prior.
I made my way to Windsor to meet Con, who had generously offered to chauffeur me to Dufton. After being charged an extortionate 60p for a banana in the station café (surely only in Windsor ?), I loitered on a corner until Con arrived. It turned out that the young man I had been standing next to in silence for five minutes was Larry, a fellow Heathrow Hiker, whom I had not previously met. Post-introductions, we set off on the long drive up North. It was a relatively traffic-free journey, given that it was a Friday and the brilliant sunshine provided the feeling of a summer's day, rather than a late March weekend. The sun stayed with us for most of the journey, then in true British weather style, it slipped away with no warning and before we knew it, we were greeted with snow flurries, which coated the surrounding hills and countryside with a beautiful layer of icing and provided another dimension to the trees, which looked magical in the dwindling daylight.
We were the first to arrive at Dufton and after a short, unintentional "detour" we eventually found our abode. With comfortable rooms, hot, powerful showers, a well-equipped kitchen and a spacious, high-ceilinged lounge with a cluster of comfy armchairs facing a real fire the term "youth hotel" did no justice to our Dufton lodgings. The men were quick to "make fire" and after the arrival and unloading of Gary, Jen and John, we crossed the snowy green for some grub at The Stag Inn, a cosy, friendly public house with a roaring fire that sadly, put ours to shame. Full of wine and pasta and feeling tired (for no good reason as I had done no driving) I retired to my room.
By the time I pootled downstairs the next morning most people were up and about. The sunshine was bright and the surroundings fantastic. Blues skies, snowy ground, rolling hillside, as well as lots of red squirrels, bunnies and a very friendly hen in the back garden. Introductions were exchanged with the late arrivals, Gill, Guillaume, Linda and Vicky, who had virtuously put in a full day's graft before beginning their journeys the night before and after enjoying the breakfast that Gary and Jen had prepared, we set off on our walk to High Cup Nick.
We wandered out of the village and headed up a gentle hill, slipping and sliding on the icy patches and past fields of inquisitive-looking sheep, with Jen contemplating whether either mint or rosemary would better accentuate their appeal. Despite the snow, we were soon removing layers as the sunshine and exercise left us a touch too toasty under our multiple layers. Linda resorted to completely re-arranging her clothing and performing a small strip-tease for the benefit of Vicky, who kindly used her jacket to shield Linda from the roving eyes of any untoward passers-by. After a sharper incline we were soon looking back on miles of fine, snowy-yet-green hillsides. A number of snowball fights ensued, with Jen and Larry being particularly violent in their attempts to pellet the group with their creations. The wind picked up and the temperatures soon dropped. The view of High Cup Nick was spectacular, with one side of the U-shaped valley coloured a highly-speckled snowy white and the other in shades of green and brown. We were forced to take off our gloves whilst scoffing our sandwiches and Larry provided us with some lunchtime entertainment in form of a highly amusing sandwich wrapper chase.
High Cup Nick - Photo by Gary Box
By this point poor Gill had very blistered feet from her new boots and Linda had discovered that her boots were not truly waterproof, so Jen led them back to the warm, dry haven of the youth hostel. The rest of us headed onwards in search of disused mines in snow that was slowly thickening underfoot. After following Gary 's confident strides for a good fifteen minutes we discovered that gremlins had got into his GPS and we were headed in completely the opposite direction. We retraced our steps, the bitter wind whipping at our cheeks and shortly after getting back on track Vicky and I decided to head back to warmth. Guillaume felt it would be not be gentlemanly to leave a pair of ladies alone to contend with the snowy path home, so he volunteered to escort us back, pointing out that had it not been for Vicky and me, he would have soldiered on. Of course we believe him. We abandoned the hardcore group of Con, John (who had already most impressively sprinted up the snowy, steep hill), Gary and Larry and began our way down. The route down was not as slippery as expected, the sunshine having had melted most of the ice away and we got down a lot quicker than we had walked up.
Back at the hostel, a baking hot shower was recommended by Gill, as being the only way possible to truly warm up. Having taken her advice we gathered around the fire, nibbling on fairy-cakes purchased by Linda and Vicky during their short venture to Appleby and admiring Jen and Gill's efforts at making dogs and flowers out of balloons. The rest of the afternoon was filled with naps, chit-chat and games of Uno (Gill deeply frightening Guillaume, Larry and me with her competitiveness). Once Kate had joined us after a day of house-hunting in the Lake District , the champagne was brought out and we toasted Gary for his birthday. We headed to The Stag Inn for a ridiculously large portion of dinner, slices of birthday cake and then back the hostel, with the intention of making a dent in our alcoholic supplies. The night ended with Larry slipping into an incredibly sound sleep and being decorated by numerous sculptures of paper cups and balloons by Con, Jen and Kate.
Larry after a few beers - Photo by Gary Box
The next morning several people looked slightly bleary-eyed. Gill, Guillaume and Linda made an early departure as Henry the lamb, whom had been served up the night before at the pub, had made unfortunate reappearances with both Gill and Linda.
Red Squirrel at Dufton YHA - Photo by Gary Box
Before heading home the rest of us relived our childhoods by egg-and-spoon, sack and three-legged races. An un-winnable game devised by Kate was the cause of much hilarity, consisting of members from of two teams hopping madly for the possession of a raw egg (you had to be there). After scoffing liquorice, sherbet dip-dabs, cola bottles, refreshers, candysticks and a number of other such childhood sweeties that Vicky had bought (she was clearly trying to poison us), we began our journey back to London . It had been a fabulous weekend, filled with good company, food, drink, great walking and stunning scenery, a perfect start for a newbie hiker.
Article submitted by Ranmali Nawaratne
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The start point for this particular Sunday walk was Dymock in Gloucestershire. Dymock is the start point for a number of good walks, including 2 circular Poet's Path walks, which take in places of interest associated with the poets Abercrombie, Brooke, Drinkwater, Gibson, Thomas and Frost. Today however we decided to walk the Daffodil Way , a popular 8 mile walk in springtime due mainly to the wild daffodils found on route.
The daffodils were in evidence as soon as we'd parked, smaller than the daffodils us city folks are used to. The ground was wet for much of the day, light rain falling for much of the day as we passed through woods, fields and over streams.
A quick lunch was taken when we reached the cover of a wooded area. The weather did not dampen anyone's mood, people were happily chatting as we made good progress. As the afternoon wore on we reached the M50 motorway and some of picked some of the daffodils by the roadside, using foil from our sandwiches to keep them fresh.
Jen & Wild Daffodils - Photo by Gary Box
Once back in Dymock we agreed to visit a pub for a drink before heading back to London . We spent far longer than planned in the pub, probably due to its warm cosy interior. Finally we dragged ourselves from the pub and began the long drive home, complete with a few bunches of daffodils.
Article submitted by Gary Box
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