Bizzle Burn and The Cheviot

Saturday 6 February 2010.

Following a light breakfast, rustled up by a team of OTHC members, there seemed to be various plans afoot to bag this or that marilyn, or even both this and that Marilyn, to he Schil or The Cheviot and, being the grumpy old bugerigar that I am, I decided that as I’d never been up The Cheviot by the Bizzle Burn route, that’s what I’d do today.

And that’s what I did. The morning could best be described as “driech” and hill fog seemed to be at a fairly low level.

I wandered down the valley and turned up a side dale to Dunsdale, an isolated farmstead which now provides income to the estate as a holiday home.

At Dunsdale I began the long climb up by Bizzle Burn, a deep vee-shaped craggy gash, mainly hidden in the dense fog.

As I climbed, I started coming across a dusting of fresh snow, and this became a general cover after a while. There were also steep banks of hard snow which needed a step or two kicked here and there, and, ever higher, there was a deep, hard snow covered by about half a foot of fresh stuff. This made for heavy work and the fog and the snow made for a blank white and grey world with hardly any reference points.

Then I saw the sun – just emerging through the mist. I worked out that if I headed just a bit to the left of the sun, I should be pretty much on target for the summit trig point, provided I did it fairly quickly (bearing in mind that the sun doesn’t stay very still….)

So this is what I did. The mist remained thick with just this little yellow beacon shining through. I came to the fence that runs over the top. The fence had just the top inch of each fencepost sticking out of the snow. I guessed the direction of the trig and found it half a minute later. So that worked well. I heard voices.

Then, suddenly, there was no mist and instead, there was warm sunshine and people, a couple, appeared. We enthused about the conditions for a bit and they were replaced by another couple and a dog.

I started on the return trip – following the first couple’s footprints as far as Cairn Hill, where they were lunching, then I followed some more footprints along the Pennine Way to West Cairn Hill, where I met a large party of Over the Hill Clubbers coming the other way. We exchanged friendly greetings and I followed their tracks down to Auchope Cairn and a little way down the steep hill below it.

A short hop down the head of the Colledge Valley, past the bottom of the Hen Hole gorge – which seemed to have a bit of avalanche debris in it – back to Mounthooley for hot tea, a warm by the fire and a snooze.

Various posses of OTHC members cooked and served dinner and yet more damage was done to supplies of loopy juice, although several members were seen to be dozing off. There were early nights. A very few got to bed around 3:00 am. There was, apparently, less snoring. I suspect this may be that the culprit wasn’t in bed for very long.

The walk was 9 miles and 2500 feet of uphill and, it has to be said, probably much easier in the deep, hard snow than it’s normal outrageously boggy state.

The Bell(s) The Bell(s)

Friday 5 February – Leaving superdawg distraught and yapping at the front door, I drove off North, laughing manically at the cruelty of it all (mwhahahaha) and duly arrive, a couple of hours later extremely close to the Scottish Border at the foot of the Colledge Valley where I parked the magic bus and went off to bag the delectable little HuMP called – The Bell. Even the locals seem not to have heard of The Bell – but it’s there, sticking up in a bell- like manner for about 400 feet and covered in gorse and hawthorn scrub.

I met a goat with a limp on the path at the bottom – and we had a brief stand-off till the goat headed uphill to eat some gorse. (Prickly stuff to be eating I would have thought, but there you are – there’s no accounting either for taste or for MPs expenses.)

And so, by the advanced navigational technique of walking uphill, I soon arrived at the summit – in this case a slab of very old and partially frozen cow muck – but a vetenary sample with a fine view of a misty and slighty drippy Colledge Valley. (It was raining a bit)

I returned to the car and drove the four or five miles or whatever it is, passing the “No vehicles without a permit” sign and the “No vehicles beyond this point “ sign and the “ Wassermarra wi you, like, bernnny lad? Can yer nert read the signs, like?** " sign – till I got to Mounthooley YHA Bunkhouse, which on detailed investigation held several members of the Over the Hill club and a small and venerable dog called Beadle.

The night was passed in carousing and several bottles of whisky, wine and beer received very serious damage to their contents.

Apparently, the dormitory was the scene of violent snoring overnight, although, I must admit that I heard nothing. But there were dark hints as to the culprit in the morning.

Bruno, apparently, slept on the sofa back in Durham.

There will be more of this particular rice pudding of a tale shortly.

Just let me get some more coffee…….

** This is what a Northumbrian accent sounds like… – the “R’s” should sound a bit French, if you can manage that.

The walk up The Bell was about 4 miles and 500 feet of climbing

Cheviots - Border Ridge and Colledge Valley in new boots

I’d intended to do this walk on several occasions over the last few months and been prevented from getting anywhere near it by things such as not being able to find my garage keys, bits of urgent landlording stuff, and a blizzard. Yesterday dawned fine and clear and, especially, blue, so I had the traditional wait for the traffic on the Western bypass to clear and then hurtled off up the A1 (and other roads beginning with “A”) to Hethpool at the foot of the Colledge Valley right smack bang on the English/Scottish Border. This might seem a long way to go for a day walk, but really, it’s the same distance from Chez Knipe as Buttermere, Wharfedale or even Jedburgh and, if you time the journey, is a very quick trip.

There’s a car park at the foot of the Colledge Valley beyond which you’re not supposed to drive. I have to say that Colledge Valley is a specially beautiful corner and does well without the traffic…

The objectives for today were to bag certain hills, walk along the Border ridge, visit Hen Hole and then walk back down the length of the valley. In me new boots.

The first target was Great Hetha – a steep, rounded, grassy lump with a hillfort on the top (most of the local hills have hillforts). It went well. On the top, I changed into shorts, adjusted the laces, admired the boots for a bit, admired the view for another bit and then went off to find the Border Ridge which wasn’t too difficult as there’s signposts pointing to it all over the place.

I wandered along the Border as far as the junction with the Pennine Way, bagged Black Hag (which is green and doesn’t have a hag) – crossed the Border to bag The Curr and then continued southwards to The Schil – and then on to the 20 mile hut on the PW. On the way I met a chap with a golden retriever, whom Bruno decided to play with and dominate at the same time – which the other dog abjected to… and there were almost canine fisticuffs if human intervention hadn’t..er..intervened…

The chap with the dog was just finishing the PW and his son, was some way behind having also bagged The Cheviot (the brave fool!). I met the lad a bit further on and told him that he was just about to cross his final PW bog. He asked after his dad. He looked a bit fragged, but his pace up The Schil was fast. Only a young lad…. In the words of Linda Lovelace, “It fair brings a lump to your throat”

Anyway – on to the Twenty Mile Hut where we paused to read the guestbook which was full of stuff such as “Just spent the night here drinking brandy and whisky to take our minds off the fact that we’re cold and covered in spiders.” Poetry. It fair brings a lump……

On to Hen Hole – a deep gorge just next to the PW and, probably the most interesting way to climb the Cheviot. Or is that via Bizzle Burn. Anyway, I breached the waterproofness of the boots at this point by going up to me knees in the beck.

Finally, we hammered down Colledge valley, pausing only for a moment or so at the RAF war memorial at Cuddystone. This is inside a sheepfold-like structure and lists the allied air accidents in the Cheviots during WW2 – quite a lot of crashes. This is a really good place for anybody who needs a spot of quiet reflection.

The homeward journey back down the A1 was just 90 minutes. No traffic, y’see.

But what of the boots? I think they’re rather fab. I got some Berghaus Explorer trail Light boots – and they’re very comfy, grippy and, at the moment, very waterproof (outside anyway!)

I also got a compass from Mountain Warehouse as my Silva has developed an enormous bubble and thinks that magnetic North is sometimes in New York – and under “BOGOF” rules, I also got a new survival bag for nothing… and a pizza and a short sojourn in St Cuthbert’s shrine in the Cathedral (aka Cuddy.. as in Cuddystone as it happens)

And me TGO RAB fleece just arrived…..
The walk was 15 miles and 3000 feet of climbing – so we appear to be cooking on gas just now, which may well be a positive indicator for the TGO…