Reiver BothyPacking

It was back in the 14th century that the borderlands we were riding through gained their Reiver name. ‘Reive’ is an early English word for ‘to rob’ and was the name given to the bandits that operated in this no-man’s land that lacked any sort of law and order, given the continuous warring between England and Scotland. Theft, arson, kidnapping and extortion were all an accepted way of life; reiving was simply a way of earning a living. Raids were anything between a short night ride with a quick plunder from a farm, followed by a dash home for breakfast, to a planned few days with large Reiver gangs. The five of us were on our own Reiver Raid, bikepacking over the border to a good ol’ Scottish bothy, plundering the Mountain Bothy Association (MBA) for all they had – a place to stay somewhere cosy and dry. 

With the exception of the Scottish Highlands, the Borders were the last part of Britain to be brought under the rule of law, following the Union between England and Scotland in 1603. Within a decade or so, peace had arrived, possibly for the first time ever.

Today, this Reiver region is still a largely empty no-mans land, home to a military range, vast managed forests, quarries, and occasional farm – all of which we discovered on our stunning 95km circular route (1628m ^) in and out of Kielder village. We were not there to ride the official 200km Dirty Reiver route quickly; it’s the wrong mind-set at 15kph. We stopped to throw snowballs, to look around, to snack, to take photos, and to check out military checkpoints – all the time loaded with our standard overnight bikepacking kit and the odd luxury: Mat was carrying his standard couple o’ kilos of sweet potatoes, and we had some Vin Santo, Port and Jamaican Ginger Cake for the Bothy evening…

Dusk loomed by the time we spotted Kershopehead Bothy, tucked away on the bend of a chilly gravel descent just over the Border. It got dark in this neck of the forest – this was the third largest protected Dark Sky Reserve in the world – and this week happened to be some sort of official stargazing week. The nocturnal stargazing club members were already gathered at Kielder village with their big telescopes out, to gaze into the darkness night after night. So, with no electric as standard at a Bothy we were keen to make ourselves at home before this super-darkness took hold. We were also cold and wet through, which hurried us along. Bikes leant against the outside stone wall, all of us took part in the ‘poke our heads in’ recce and, sure enough, Kershopehead lived up to the Bothy stereotype: a repurposed simple stone-walled building made up of a couple of communal spaces, namely a main room with stove/open-fire, table and few scattered chairs. Creaky front door – check; side storage room – check; firewood – check; sleeping space/platforms – check; loo spade – check…

One-by-one, we wheeled our bikes through the narrow doorway into the side storage room for them to drip dry overnight, before unpacking and starting the process of warming the stone-cold room by collecting handfuls of kindling and a few small chunks of firewood from the store next door. Once the wood-burning stove was lit, we changed into drier clothes, each forming piles of wet kit to be dryed, and put a brew on; the unwritten start to a Bothy evening. Sat around on wooden sleeping platforms and chairs, we tucked feet and hands amongst down sleeping bags in an early attempt to warm extremities as the fire took. The platforms here weren’t uncommon – a relative luxury for Bothy kipping, enabling us to sleep off the cold stone floor. Paul took the main one, next to the stove, early doors – clearly no Bothy amateur – as we gathered the table and remaining chairs closer around the now crackling fire to warm our hands and feet up properly, and begin the dark art of drying our wet kit (pretty much every decent technical piece of cycling and outdoors kit is uber-flammable).

During the early trials of drying kit directly on the hot stove, a watchperson is a good idea for when hot wet socks hiss and the smell of early-onset wool charring filters through the wood smoke. Steam from each of us and the warming clothes filled the room and condensed over the sole single-glazed window as we took the more sensible option of hanging larger items on the clothes pegs away from the stove, or on the makeshift line above it instead. But, soon enough, classic props like wood-chunks and old cans began to appear on the stove surface for the least patient to balance or drape kit as close to the heat as possible. It wasn’t until the fire began to kick out a sustainable heat that we worked out the small brick recess behind the stove, next to where the flue began, was the best drying place to jostle for. All our shoes sat around the base of the stove; no newspaper around this time to pack in and absorb the wet.

The last of the daylight from the small draughty window was helpful until about 19:00, at which point Matt and Dan spotted the candle chandelier above our heads and set about lighting what short candle stumps were left, stood on the rickety old chairs. Once the natural light faded, the warm candlelight began to highlight all the cookware and food supplies on the table ready and waiting for our evening meal; the flickering glow reflecting in the glass bottles of drink we’d brought with us. If ever there was a better time to crack them open, as we gathered  a decent amount of firewood to keep us warm into the night. There was only real chunky long dry sections about, so we found the Bothy bow saw to cut the wood small enough to fit in the stove. Andy’s sawing efforts echoed around the bare stone room as the rest of us supped drinks out of camping mugs and began to prep dinner.

On the menu was a Tallegio cheese and chorizo sharing platter (Titan Kettle lid) followed by veggie-chilli burritos and Jamaica Ginger cake, washed down with Vin Santo, warm port, and single-malt whisky. Matt was saving his sweet potatoes for breakfast, obviously. Paul sat juggling kit-watchman duties with cooking the chilli up in a pan on the hot stove surface, until the Bothy room took on a fragrant mix of wet kit steam, wood smoke, bubbling chilli, and Mat’s warming port fumes > bottled and coming to a store near you. At which point, Andy and I started cooking the rice on the gas stoves, placing the wraps over the boiling rice pans to heat them up. It’s these small subtleties that make bike-camping life a bit easier – either because you don’t have anything else for a specific job or because, without the luxury of running water, less stuff means less cleaning. We even used the hot rice water to wash out the used cups, pans and cutlery, which both saved collecting more water and heating it up.

Gathered around the table and hot stove, we dished out the chilli mix, wraps, grated cheese and drinks. The room fell silent but for the rain against the corrugated roof over us, as we all tucked into a well-deserved meal, having fuelled ourselves pretty much just on trail-mix since breakfast. Geez, the Bothy burritos were good!

The rain continued. Slipping wet shoes and stepping out the now warm Bothy room into the cold wet night for loo breaks was a tough ask, and even more disappointing not to see any of the spectacular Dark Skies. Instead we chatted around the table, picking at the last of the food and drink, under our dimmed head-torch beams and fading candlelight, until there was nothing left but breakfast rations and an unopened Ginger cake we held back. A first yawn, one last nightcap and it was time to chuck one last lump of firewood in the stove, push back of any kit that might burn, and move jackets onto the backs of chairs nearer the stove, before all jumping into our sleeping bags…