Father, Son and the Pennine Way: 5 days, 90 miles - what could possibly go wrong?

“With Pepper? I’m busy…”

“No, not with the dog. Further than that. The Pennine Way. 5 days: 80 miles. In the summer holidays.”

There, I’ve said it. Ah well, it was a nice idea.

There are a thousand reasons why he’ll say no.

Alex looks at me. He shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

Yes, I wanted a physical challenge: yes, I was undoubtedly getting older and yes, I wanted to test myself. But it went deeper than that. There was another reason: one I was keeping to myself. I wanted to prove something: I wanted to prove I was alive.

But 17 year old boys are not big on emotional speeches. Especially from their dad. So I said, “Thanks.” And added, “Thanks for coming with me. Thanks for giving me the chance to do this. I’m really grateful. And I love you.”

“You’re welcome,” my son said. And he started walking up the hill towards Malham Cove – and five days with his dad.

Whether Pen y Ghent was a hill or a mountain the path did go straight up the side. I looked up again. My fear of heights stirred: the Dementors liked what they saw. I could feel them flexing their muscles. But Alex was right. There was only one way to reach the B&B, and that way was straight up.

I don’t have a tattoo. But I was beginning to see the attraction of Hawes to Tan Hill 3.8.16. Possibly on my forehead…

What were we going to lose? An hour? An hour and a half? I squelched along the path. My boots were soaking. My socks were soaking. My feet were soaking. My shorts. Even my underpants. What a bloody cock-up.

I glanced behind me. Alex was following me. Maybe a hundred yards behind me. 4½ days of getting on perfectly, of the best father/son time of my life. And we blow it on the last day.