A casual chat to one of the campsite staff revealed to me how simple it was to read the GPS display on my iPhone.. But having said that I never discovered anyone else on the whole PW with an iPhone that displayed GPS coordinates in OS format so I felt vindicated. Few PW hikers indeed had a GPS at all.
As I left the campsite I spotted another hiker approaching from a distance. What with the surprise that he might be walking the PW in the opposite direction, and a flock of sheep moving between us I missed the PW sign between us and started the day heading in the wrong direction. After I realised my error ten minutes later I swore at having missed the first opportunity for a travelling companion and ran for a bit to catch up with him.
When I caught up with him, Ian, I was impressed at how fully prepared he was for the PW, with no expense spared. All the best new clothing, dedicated GPS, full set of OS maps and he’d worn in his boots long ago. And as I discovered later he had special blister packs to prevent and treat blisters. And he had booked pub or other accommodation all the way. And he was planning to walk the entire PW without any rest days.
This section of the PW revealed dramatic glacial scenery and mostly peat covered landscape. Ian paid scrupulous attention to checking topographical features against his OS maps while I chatted, admired those features and read out any worthwhile narrative or directions from my official PW guidebook. Most of the narrative was frankly uninspiring.
We met one or two hikers coming the other way on day walks but didn’t chat long given the changeable and mostly rainy weather.The official PW guide describes the section as having ‘…affinities with Arctic Norway – a place of low cloud, bitter winds peat flows…’
Later in the day the reservoirs and A62 road came into site. Ian had booked a B&B at Standedge, which turned out to be one of a few cottages rather than a village as I had supposed. Given my plans of camping wherever possible I had the choice of two isolated pubs almost facing one another along the otherwise bleak A62. Both pubs offered ‘camping facilities’ which amounted to little more than a place to pitch a tent and use of the pub toilet.
The pub I chose on ‘recommendation’ turned out to be on a ridge with no protection against the now strong winds and returning rain. I pitched my tent in the lee of a caravan as best I could and went into the pub for a meal. The prospect of cooking my own meal with nowhere to shelter from the rain had lost appeal. And the appeal of the shower out the back also lost its appeal once I discovered stripped naked it required coins I didn’t have for the hot water.
Chatting to a couple in the pub who'd lived narby allthier lives (and never set foot on the PW) revealed the town of Marsden about five kilometers to the east along the A62. Odd how people in cars so hugely underestimate the time to walk what they drive: their claimed 15 minute walk took 30 minutes.
The pretty town of Marsden down in the valley below, with its famous rail and canal tunnel beneath the moors had everything – several pubs; fish and chip shop, supermarket and curry house. And there was I camped on a bleak hillside above with black skies. And my painful tendons even more the worse for wear after the extra 10km trip into Marsden and back.
It rained and the wind howled all night. Come morning I packed my wet tent as best I could and had a hurried breakfast cooked in the lee of the pub wall and hurried off to the rendezvous with Ian whod spent the night in a B&B. Camping was starting to lose its appeal.
