Jedburgh to Spithope Bothy

It was a bit of a struggle to regain Dere Street; an unhappy combination of tarmac and an uphill gradient. Couldn't grumble too much though as visiting Jedburgh had allowed a vital resupply for the coming nights away from civilisation. The route of the ancient road started off down muddy tracks through small clumps of trees, but all too soon I was on a paved road again. This lonely lane continued the uphill theme; the empty beauty of the surrounding landscape becoming more apparent. Tall trees and rounded hills cast long shadows with the distinctive Eildons still visible as proud humps on the horizon. It was clear and chilly with a sky of pure blue; I had been dreaming of days like these when I had decided to do this trek in winter, but they are disappointing rare.

At a small summit I managed to escape onto a well used path. In the distance, the white dome of a snow capped Cheviot commanded my gaze. Some trickery was required to negotiate the mud and cows but overall this was good honest walking and I met no-one else enjoying it all day. Solitary walking in weather like this makes you feel special, in the rain it makes you feel utterly alone.

Another small lane led to Towford, which lived up to its name. The water was deep, clear and fast flowing but a wooden footbridge offered hope. Unfortunately it claimed to be closed and the planks nailed across both ends emphasised this point. I couldn't really entertain the idea of taking an alternative route since retreat is a frustrating experience. So with visions of sailing downstream on the remains of the bridge I negotiated the flooded road surface to reach it.

The bridge held the weight of both me and my pack and I was soon climbing up grassy hillsides towards the broad mass of the Cheviot range. Magnificent views broke out once again, a patchwork of small deep green conifer woods, brown bracken and the light yellows and greens of grassland. The summit was gained and I followed a fence across a boggy plateau, before crossing into England for the first time. Swapping countries a few more times, I reached the embankments of the Chew Green camp and fortlet. Roman camps, forts, signal stations and earthworks had been appearing regulary on the map, but this was the first time any real traces could be seen on the ground.

The light was fading fast, and I had no time to stop and take it all in. I followed a small stream towards a distant forest, with the sounds of small arms fire rattling around the valley. This would be a little unnerving, but warning signs revealed the presence of nearby army ranges. When I first crossed the border I had joined the famous Pennine Way and on reaching the edge of the forest I left it again to negotiate tussocks of grass between the trees and border fence. When I finally managed to gain entry it was too dark to follow the planned path accurately and I took to the forestry tracks. Following the smell of wood smoke I found the small bothy, complete with roaring stove and a kettle on the go. It was time to put my feet up and enjoy the cosy hut as frost formed on the branches outside. With an entire country now successfully crossed, a rest day is a fitting reward (any excuse).