UK Adventure: Cross Fell and Greg’s Hut circular hike

As part of our Wild Weekends series, we’re searching for the best adventures in the UK that you can do in just a couple of days. This time, we head to the Pennines for a twenty-mile circular walk via the peak of Cross Fell, spending the night at England’s highest bothy along the way. 

It turned out to be quite the adventure indeed, with sections of path lost to landslides and flooding, gales and fog, and a race through the bogs to the bothy before darkness fell. Remote, beautiful, and a little bit challenging: a perfect two-day escape.

Read the report and then you can find out everything you need to know to do this walk yourself at the bottom of the page.

FADING LIGHT

With the light rapidly fading and the thick fog that we’d been wading through all-day making it increasingly difficult to see more than a few steps ahead, it was almost time to panic. We’d had a tough day of it; sloshing our way across waterlogged ground, slipping and sliding down stone paths built into the hillside and straying off course more than once, while lugging coal and wood to keep us toasty when we finally reached Greg’s Hut high up in the Pennines. If we made it, that is.    

 “We can’t be more than twenty minutes away. I’m sure we’ll be there before it gets dark,” I told Bill with unconvincing optimism.  We were on the right path, and with just enough light left to see our next step along the well-trodden but sodden trail, it wasn’t time to whip out the head torch just yet.  

THE PLAN

Nestled just below the peak of Cross Fell in the North Pennines, Greg’s Hut has the prestigious title of being England’s highest bothy, sitting some 718m high. Named after climber John Gregory, it was once a blacksmith’s shop and cottage for workers from the nearby lead mine – but nowadays, it’s a welcome refuge for hardy walkers looking for a place to spend the night. I

t’s simple but functional, with a raised platform for sleeping and the all-important wood burning stove to stave off the icy chill of the notorious Helm Wind and dry your gear ahead of hitting the fells again in the morning.  

It’s a popular resting point for hikers tackling the 268-mile-long Pennine Way, but it also makes for a cracking overnighter from Garrigill or Kirkland, with hikes long and short depending on your disposition.

We fancied something a bit challenging, so using the excellent resources on the National Trails website, we sought out a 19-miler tracing the River South Tyne all the way to its source, crossing the River Tees and then climbing up and down across Great Dun Fell, Little Dun Fell and Cross Fell before descending back down to where we started the next day.  

A LOCAL WELCOME

Heading up to Garigill on Friday night, snaking my way across the fog blanketed moors and descending into the drizzly valley below, it was a real stroke of luck to stumble across the village hall’s monthly pub night. We’d booked into the field just behind (£15 a pitch, with access to showers and a kitchen) – and with a warm northern welcome, a bottle of Timothy Taylor’s finest quickly guided into my hand and a seat beside the bar, I decided to put off pitching my tent and take the chance to natter to the locals before Bill arrived.

A few minutes later, he did just that – and we sat around supping beer and talking football, politics and lime-mortar construction into the wee hours, with a couple of farmers and the chap who’d led the recent renovation of the very hut we were planning on kipping at the following night. It’s a small world, eh?   

Waking the following morning with slightly sore heads, we packed down our tents, loaded up our far-too-heavy bags and sourced some kindling from a chap we’d be told about the night before – before picking up the trail alongside the South Tyne River which’d take us slowly but surely up into the hills.  

It was a pleasant start, as we ambled across rolling countryside beside gently flowing water, before tackling an unexpected river crossing as a result of a downed bridge. Continuing to follow the ebb and flow of the river, we soon found ourselves on a wide, well-packed gravel path that’d take up all the way up to the River Tees.

But first, we stopped at the source of the river we’d be following, taking the chance for a refreshing sip of its cool, thirst-quenching nectar.   

INTO THE PENNINES

The path continued in the same way for a few more miles, allowing us to cover ground quickly as we gently climbed higher into the wild moors of the Pennines. But swinging a right to follow Trout Beck, the terrain changed in a big way.

Gone were the sure footings and clearly marked trails, and in its place were bogs and eroded paths which had been washed into the water below.  It was hard going, with heavy packs loaded with supplies. But we kept pushing on; fuelled by bread, cheese and brownies, working our way further and further from civilization.  

Visibility had been good so far. We could see far off into the distance and track our progress along the trails – but that was all about to change. As we continued to climb, thick swirls of fog clouded the fells ahead. There would be no expansive views across the Pennines for us today.  

THE HELM WIND

Wading through the bright white blanket which engulfed our surroundings, we climbed and climbed, trusting that we were on the right path; squelching through mossy streams before joining the slippery stone path of the Pennine Way which we followed in the direction of Great Dun Fell.

We couldn’t see a thing, but with the ground beginning to level and a dark outline which we eventually identified as the Great Dun Fell Radar Station forming on the horizon, we’d reached the summit. One down, two to go.  

We worked our way down and then back up to the peak of Little Dun Fell – battling against the aggressive Helm Wind which frequents these parts – and then meandered in the general direction of the 882m tall Cross Fell. After a day of wading through bogs and hauling ourselves upright after losing our footing and getting familiar with the floor, we were feeling it. And we were losing light fast. But buoyed by the fact we’d ticked off our final peak and were heading back downhill, soon to be enjoying the warm embrace of a crackling fire in our hillside hut, we picked up the pace.

We skipped and slipped along the trails, splashing through the streams of water coursing down the fell – and out of the fog and the darkness, Greg’s Hut emerged. We’d done it. And we weren’t alone.  

GREG’S HUT

Sighing with relief as we dumped out packs, we greeted our bothy buds who’d already settled in; lighting candles and making a start on the fire after a quick hike up from Kirkland. Adding our logs and coal to a healthy pile by the burner, we shed our soggy clothes and boots, draped them near the gently flickering blaze, traded them for whatever we had that was still dry, and then settled in to warm our toes and talk nonsense. 

Tea was a mouth-numbingly hot bean chilli cooked atop the scorching cast-iron stove. With our bellies rumbling, it felt like it took hours. But it was well worth the wait; mopped up with bread and washed down with a beer, we soon found ourselves drifting off, listening to the quiet crackle of logs on the fire, the wild winds rushing past outside and the gentle, rhythmic snoring of one of new friends. I slept very well. 

THE CORPSE ROAD

It was a slow start the following morning; punctuated with mugs of coffee and a steaming bowl of golden-syrup flavoured porridge. The fog was still thick, but on the horizon a small sliver of blue was doing its best to break through. Packing up and donning our now only slightly-damp gear, we had a simple six mile hike, past Cashwell Mine and on to the Corpse Road – where the dead of Garrigill were once carried over the hill to Kirkland.  

Feeling surprisingly fresh and extremely thankful for slightly less weight on my back, it was an easy stomp back down into Garigill. Rocky paths quickly gave way to wide open trails as we wound our way back down into the valley below, feeling knackered but seriously satisfied. All that was left to do was nip over to The Cumberland Inn in Alston for bowl of mayo-drenched chips by the fire. The perfect wild weekend.  

HOW TO DO IT 

THE ROUTE 

There’s a whole host of different ways to get to Greg’s Hut. There are relatively straightforward walks from both Garrigill and Kirkland on either side of Cross Fell, but we were after something a bit more challenging. Starting in the village of Garrigill, we meandered alongside the River South Tyne, before crossing the River Tees and tracking Trout Beck up to Great Dun Fell, Little Dun Fell and over Cross Fell, before descending back down to Greg’s Hut for the night. The following day we headed for Cashwell Mine, before following the Corpse Road all the way back to where we started.  

At this time of year, expect boggy conditions underfoot – and make sure you’re well equipped to deal with the changeable condition and often limited visibility up on the fells. It’s a rewarding hike, and chances are you’ll have the wild landscape pretty much all to yourself; over the two days we saw two fell runners, one hiker and the three fine folks we spent the night with at Greg’s Hut. 

You can find more route info on the circular walk we followed on the National Trails website here.

HOW TO GET THERE 

There’s no public transport to and from Garrigill, but it’s possible to get close. The best plan of attack is to catch the train to Carlisle, and from there you’ve got a few different options of train and bus to get to Alston. Then you’ll need to hike the 3.7 miiles down into Garrigill, or book a taxi in the village to run you over. The other option is to catch the train to Newcastle, catch the bus to Hexham, and then another one to Nenthead – which is a short taxi ride or hike away. If all that sounds like a lot of faff, and you’ve got your own wheels, Garrigill is just off the B6277 from Barnard Castle or the A686 from Penrith.  

WHERE TO STAY 

We spent the first night camping at Garrigill Village Hall, which offers access to showers and a kitchen for 15 per person, per night. There’s a small bunkhouse too for just a few quid more, if you don’t fancy lugging a tent along for the ride. We lucked out by stumbling across the monthly pub night in the village – but with just a small post office (which opens late and shuts early) and no phone signal, you need to come prepared. The market town of Alston’s only a few miles down the road though. It’s home to pubs, shops, hotels and a YHA, so supplies and comfy beds aren’t far away.