Collected Musings of a Hill Wanderer

A recent poke around the SYHA website revealed some sad news: hostel closures. In total, there have been 46 but 5 of them are facing closure. There’s Canisbay near John O’Groats in Caithness, Arden near Loch Lomond and three in the Scottish Borders. These are Broadmeadows, Kirk Yetholm and Melrose. The latter losses will leave the network looking very bare between Scotland’s central belt and its border with England.

A weekend in early July had me staying in both Kirk Yetholm and Melrose. Both seemed well used though neither was completely full. Both are near long distance trails so that should explain their locations. St. Cuthbert’s Way goes by both of these and that’s how I chose them as places to stay. Kirk Yetholm also is the northern end of the Pennine Way and both the Southern Upland Way and and the Borders Abbeys Way pass Melrose. That makes both of these a big loss for long distance walkers who now need to make alternative arrangements unless others take them over and run as independent or affiliate hostels. After all, Melrose also is useful for cyclists.

In the article on the SYHA website announcing the news, the reason given is one that will be eerily familiar to those who have witnessed YHA closure announcements. Yes, the cost of refurbishment has been mentioned in concert with the standards expected by hostellers these days. The upgrades to Oban and Lochranza are mentioned and I can vouch for the one on Arran being a good job. However, it sounds like it took a dedicated husband and wife team to make it happen.

The announcement has me pondering the future of youth hostel associations and it’s a line of thought that may spawn another entry on here regarding the subject yet. There are those who consider that youth hostels are on borrowed time. At Kirk Yetholm, I met a grandmother taking her grandchildren hostelling before she felt it was too late to do so. That Kirk Yetholm now is facing closure makes here views sound prophetic.

Even without having walked from Wooler to Kirk Yetholm the day before, there would have been other reasons why following St. Cuthbert’s Way on foot all of the way to Melrose wasn’t an option that I was considering when arising next morning. Having only a day meant that covering the 36 miles was out of the question but my state of mind after the previous day’s walking meant I even questioned the sense even of covering just the last 7.5 miles of the trail north from St. Boswells. Fortunately, doing just that turned out to be the best decision for the glorious day that lay ahead of me.

Buses (there was a change in Kelso) got me from Kirk Yetholm to St. Boswells. One thing that was remiss of me was not to have a road map with me to show where I had got off the bus for the start of my walk. That bit of forethought would have saved me some bumbling before I got my bearings. Getting off a bus at a point other than where I expected has been known to throw me and this was one of those occasions.

With the bumbling behind me, I was following the bank of the River Tweed after following a pleasant path from Lessudden House that really should be part of the trail instead of its taking you down a street instead. With navigational difficulties sorted, it was time to enjoy a morning stroll by a wide meandering river. With the distance that lay ahead of me and the time that I had to cover it, there was no need to rush things and I was lured across a long footbridge to glimpse Dryburgh Abbey. In fact, this diversion was to cause me to pay to wander around the impressive ruins in the sunlight myself. Preparations for a wedding were ongoing but that did nothing to spoil things and I was away before the first attendees were going in anyway.

Another crossing of the Tweed returned me to my intended course as I pass through shading vegetation on the way to Newtown St. Boswells. Other than topping up on supplies, I wouldn’t have dallied there, especially in the gathering heat of the day. Road walking from there conveyed me to a much more forgiving track that fortunately was sheltered from heat of the sun. There was more tarmac bashing before I reached Bowden but cloud was gathering in the skies to cool the day for a little while.

That development turned out to be opportune because the next stage of my journey was going to take me up into the Eildon Hills. Before that, I found a useful seat by the side of the trail that allowed for a resting and refueling stop. Civic-mindedness was apparent with a play area set up nearby though it wasn’t in use and a pathway had been made through the long grass too so there could be no question about where to thread.

After passing a few fields and crossing Glenburnie Burn, it was into the tree cover of Greenside Plantation to the accompaniment of the sound of a forage harvester working in a nearby field. Rounding the lower slopes of Eildon Wester Hill took me into Broad Wood where the gradient really steepened. Nevertheless, it was nothing compared to those that I had scaled the day before and I left the trees after me to complete the ascent to Siller Stane and the saddle between Eildon Mid Hill and Eidon Hill North.

After another short stopover, I was lured up the steeper slopes of the Mid Hill to its top. The contours of the Wester Hill looked a lot flatter from up there and views of Melrose and its abbey were on offer too. As it happened, I didn’t linger long up there and was drawn to the Mid Hill after coming down again. Naturally, there was an ascent to reach the flat top of that too and I loitered there for a while to allow the cloud cover to break for some photos of a landscape that was reminiscent of Rothiemurchus in its own way if you cropped out the green agrarian lowlands that surrounded it.

On retracing my steps from the Wester Hill, I decided to go up Eildon Hill North to finish off the job. There were far less folk about by this time and more dawdling followed. That seemed to be an ever present theme of this encounter with the Eildon Hills. In contrast to this stage of the evening before, being much nearer to my destination meant that there was no need to worry about the time of day at all. The fact that cloud still got in the way of the sun didn’t matter either as I started my descent to Melrose to claim my bed for the night.

The descent from the North Hill to reach St. Cuthbert’s Way was a carefree one and that theme continued even if it did come as a surprise to me how far around the North Hill the trail took me before dropping down through fields again. In May of last year, my designs on spending time among the Eildon Hills had to be set aside but not before popping up part of the way towards then. That point was reached again this time, having made much use of the postponed plans from that earlier time.

The official guide to St. Cuthbert’s Way states that Melrose is place worthy of a little of your time. Having spent Saturday evening and much of the day after around there, I can vouch for that. In fact, Sunday came very warm so it was no day for walking despite all of the long distance trails that converge around Melrose. Apart from the Southern Upland Way, there also is the Borders Abbeys Way. In fact, it was too warm for walking even as far as the site of the old Roman fort of Trimontium near Newsteads and that of Old Melrose, where St. Cuthbert spent much of his life, is a little further again. That last though has me wondering if an extension of St. Cuthbert’s Way out to there wouldn’t be a bad idea though it would have to be an out and back trot.

As it happened, I decided to explore the ruins of the Melrose Abbey that is best know and they are magnificent too. After seeing Dryburgh Abbey the day before, this was a variation on a theme and was equally unhurried. The coolness of the museum in the former Commendator’s House was a welcome respite from a day that became a scorcher. There were plenty of artefacts in there to keep me busy too and the way the door sounded when you opened and closed it was another reminder that it dated from another time. After all, it was older than the ideas that drew me to Northumberland and the Scottish Borders for a weekend of walking. Even then, the yearning for stillness and quiet could have been similar to those of the monks who found a monastery in the area all those centuries ago. Maybe some things just don’t change and returning to the hurly burly of modern life to get home again was another of those.

Travel Arrangements

Bus service from 81 from Kirk Yetholm to Kelso and then bus service 67 from there to St. Boswell’s. Bus service 67 from Melrose to Berwick-upon-Tweed and train from there to Macclesfield with changes at York and Manchester.

The prospect of having some time away from work at the start of July meant that I was playing with the prospect of using the time to head to Oban and reacquaint myself with some of the alluring countryside that surrounds the town. However,  a change in circumstances was to rule out that escapade. With the reduction in time available to me, I decided on a weekend divided between Northumberland and the Scottish Borders instead. Though this might have been seen as a consolation prize, such was the quality of the countryside and the weather that such thoughts never entered my head. In fact, I seem to recall that I got better weather where I was than I might have done in Argyll anyway.

Friday, the first one in July, saw me undertake a walk from Wooler to Kirk Yetholm with a night spent in the latter. That was followed by a shorter saunter on Saturday from St. Boswells to Melrose and chances to take in Dryburgh Abbey and the Eildon Hills weren’t passed up at all. Sunday became too hot for walking but Melrose turned out to be a good place to spend some time, much of it admiring its abbey. Given the warmth, I set aside other thoughts such as venturing out to see the nearby Roman fort of Trimontium or Old Melrose, where the original abbey was situated, for another time. All in all, it was a glorious weekend spent in countryside familiar to the St. Cuthbert who gave his name to the long distance trail that I used for much of my walking.

Somehow, a map can make a walk seem shorter than it is and that statement could be applied to the thirteen miles between Wooler and Kirk Yetholm. Interestingly, the official guidebook to St. Cuthbert’s Way splits this in two with a break in Hethpool. Mind you, I still reckon that full thirteen miles is a good use for a day out among hills even if my start was in the early afternoon and that was in spite of an early start from home.

Knowing my way around the starting point meant that I needed not get too concerned with I unintentionally passed Wooler’s Catholic church. For a quicker approach from there, I stuck with what largely was a road walk to Humbleton. Though skies were cloudy, heat was building as I found on the track leading uphill from Humbleton. Up to that point, the only respite from tarmac had been a short public footpath that took me across a field. There was another compensation, however, in the form of a statue of a stag at the gate of Highburn House Country Holiday Park. It somehow was very reminiscent of the country towards which I was headed: Scotland.

Of course, there was a not inconsiderable amount of England to be walked first and I was feeling the heat as I shadowed the flank of Humbleton Hill. Rest stops allowed to look about me at the way that these hills were rising up from lowlands and at the line of the trail that I was going to join: St. Cuthbert’s Way. That came after an easing of the gradient and the passage from tended farmland into open moorland.

Vague memories can fool you and the direction that the trail didn’t feel right though it was entirely correct; it’s at times like these that a compass comes in very handy. Navigational doubts soon subsided with a clear path taking me across heather-clad moors with big skies opening out overhead. Not having to turn back at any point was a release for me it was something in which I revelled as I passed Gains Law and Black Law. There was a lunch stop around here too.

Though hardly overrun, the countryside was being enjoyed by others too with greetings shared as we passed each other on our separate ways. The trail retained much of its height as it veered through higher country than the lower parts immediately surrounding Yeavering Bell. That height was set to be lost after passing Tom Talon’s Crag and any daydreams about calling to the top of Yeavering Bell were set aside. The consideration of dealing with an ascent after a descent helped to consign the possibility to my bank of excuses for a return. Given the distance that still lay ahead of me, it proved to be just as well.

After all the descent, some of it a steep, I was on a track leading to Kirknewton but continuing in the opposite direction towards Torleehouse. As it kept going beneath Newton Tors, the track became a path and it now was late afternoon. The countryside was tranquil as I travelled along the valley floor travel with encounters with tree cover contrasting with those heather-carpetted moors that I crossed earlier.

After crossing fields and passage through a wood, I found myself on tarmac again at Hethpool and also keeping an eye on the time of day. Early anxieties about not making as much progress as I might have liked were replaced with satisfaction in having got as far as I did. Hethpool may be like many places in these pretty parts, a mere collection of houses, but it was a good place to assess how long I had left to walk. As I did so, I wasn’t alone because there were folk changing footwear at their cars, no doubt after a walk and who could blame them for that. In fact, I am tempted to return to savour more around there myself.

Tarmac was to take me all of the way to Elsdonburn, first on a public road and then on a farm one. Seeing the way that I covering ground along these was yet more encouragement and there was some scenery around me to enjoy too. The road to Trowupburn became another point to note how far lay ahead of me while also offering another excuse to return for future wanderings; this part of Northumberland is in no way short on possibilities. Planning would be needed due to the isolation but isn’t it always thus?

A surprise was in store for me at Elsdonburn in the form of a flock of sheep blocking my way. Though I didn’t like disturbing the creatures, there was nothing for it but to stick to the right of way even if it caused a fair share of racket and I wasn’t far from a farmhouse. Thankfully, no cross words were said to me or no lectures on the inconvenience of obstructed rights of way needed in reply. Bringing rancour and confrontation is not why I got wandering though countryside so I continued on my way glad be past that obstruction.

After that, there was the matter of crossing the border ridge with legs that already had carried me quite a way; the pace was going to be steady from here on to Kirk Yetholm. Careful attention was mandated until I reached Tupple’s Sike, the stream crossing preceding the last major ascent of the day. First, lush pasture was obscuring the line of the trail on Scaldhill Shank and I didn’t want to do any more trampling than was necessary. Then, there was a narrow path weaving a less than obvious line through the ensuing wood with waymarks on trees keeping me from straying.

Once beyond the wood, it was time to scale the steep slopes of Eccles Cairn after crossing of Tupple’s Sike. After the gradient eased, the top of Eccles Cairn might have been tempted me but I decided against it in favour of passing the welcome sign marking the England-Scotland border; there may only have been ten metres of ascent needed but getting to Kirk Yetholm took greater priority. For all the effort expended in reaching it, the crossing into Scotland was a simple gateway in a wall.

With a not so gradual descent down grass-carpetted slopes ahead of me, I took a little rest before setting off to join the Pennine Way; St. Cuthbert’s Way follows its course for the last stretch to Kirk Yetholm. With much of the height lost, Green Humbleton (a name that hearkened back to the start of the hike) was rounded with Sheilknowe Burn below the narrow path that now conveyed me. Crossing the burn got me to the car park where I stopped a while before crossing one last height of the day. Having a downhill stroll would have been my desire after the miles that I had walked the slopes that I had crossed but that hummock did make the world seem very away by the banks of the Sheilknowe Burn. Not much was stirring in Kirk Yetholm when I reached it so I headed towards my lodgings for the night. All that was on my mind was to rest after the miles travelled since leaving Wooler and more miles of walking were to follow the next day.

Travel Arrangements

Train journey from Macclesfield to Berwick-upon-Tweed with changes at Manchester and York. Bus service 464 from Berwick-upon-Tweed to Wooler.

It may be a while coming but the basis of the report of a walking weekend split between Northumberland is on its way. Again, it’s another one that’s got on the large side so I am thinking of splitting the thing to make it more digestible. Photos need adding too and that tends to eat up its share of time too. It’s amazing how deciding on which to include and what to leave out can occupy a few hours. Then, editing them can do for a few more. Well, writing isn’t all there is to this blogging game.

My Easter weekends often come in two halves: Friday and Saturday are always spent at home while Sunday and Monday see me go away somewhere. Sometimes, I extend the four day weekend with another to make my getaway longer. This year, that didn’t happen because of work commitments but I got to spend some time around Llangollen anyway and I already have told of that.

However, this year was rather unique in that we got two four day weekends in succession. In fact, many also took holidays on the three days between them and they got glorious weather too. That’s not to say that I was envious because, on Holy Saturday, I had got around to planning a trip away that sampled some of this over that extended Mayday bank holiday weekend.

While many were watching the Royal wedding on television, I was making my way up to Dunoon in Cowal. While crossing by ferry from Gourock to Dunoon, I’d have been forgiven for thinking that I might have made a foolish choice because sunshine over Cheshire had been left for grey skies over the Clyde. However, I was anything but put off by this and I seem to remember being rather hopeful that brighter skies were to come my way on subsequent days.

From Ardentinny to Loch Goil

Next morning, my faith was rewarded with blue skies and sunshine. What was missing was warmth but you cannot expect everything in the months of April or May. The short bus ride to Ardentinny sheltered me from that chill, leaving me to admire the views northwest from Holy Loch and wonder if it would have been better to have walked as far as Sandbank before taking the bus around Holy Loch and up the coast to the starting point for my first walk of the day; there were two.

On getting off the bus, I soon found my way away from the road to a useful path that escorted me away from tarmac. The road may not have been that busy but it usually is better to enjoy the glorious sunshine without having to remain alert to the passage of motorised traffic. The steep wooded sides of Stronchullin Hill were close at hand as I passed behind houses to make my way towards Finart Bay. While rounding that, I was able to look towards the remains of Glenfinart House and part of the glen surrounding it. Until it became the victim of a fire in 1968, it was a hotel but now only the tower remains with a caravan site surrounding it. It seems a pity that a nice looking house would meet this end.

Not too long into my hike, I reached the way into the Ardentinny and Glenfinart part of the Forestry Commission’s Argyll Forest. There were some folk about but the place was far from being overrun. Signs of car camping were there to be seen and I suspect that the overnight campers were in no rush to move away on such a lovely morning and who’d blame them? I must admit to lingering a little myself as I perused a useful sign showing the various circular walks that are available to visitors to this conifer plantation.

After dallying for those moments, I set off uphill on a track by Stronvochlan. Insofar as I remember it now, I resisted the temptation to pick up any paths that lead away from the track so as to stick with the (nearly) straight and not so narrow. Looking at the map again as I write this, I spot another path that takes a more direct route than the roundabout one that I took. However, there are times when shortcuts can take longer I otherwise cannot recall why I didn’t take that route. In any case, it wasn’t as if I was short of time anyway so taking longer over the stroll wasn’t going to be an issue and it’s better not be rushing things anyway. I go out among hills to leave the hurly burly of life after me, not to bring that along as well.

While following vehicle tracks through conifer plantations wouldn’t strike some as being all that appealing, I wasn’t bothered. There weren’t many folk passing the way so peaceful solitude was easily gained and views weren’t obstructed all of the way either. In fact, looking behind as I rested while going uphill gained me views towards surrounding hills like Beinn Ruadh. Those over Loch Long weren’t all obstructed either or recent harvesting operations opened them out even more. These came in very handy for checking progress, something that I tend to do all the time while I am on a walk anyway.

Progress assessment always is easier if you landmarks that are marked on your map and there was one that was to be unmissable: an electricity line that crosses Loch Long. While I do have reservations about sending power lines through hill country, they can act as useful handrails and the way that this one crossed a sea loch amazed me. After all, I am wondering how they managed to set it in place in the first place and then there’s matter of the effects of strong winds on an unsupported span extending over a distance of around one kilometre. After that, there’s the matter of pylons sticking out from hillsides like stalks, ever seeming to be in perpetually frozen motion over the undulations of the landscape.

It was after passing under that long span that the track that I was following was to reach its end according to my O.S. map. However, I never got to seeing if it did so because I picked up a well constructed path leading to Carrick Castle. That meant height loss too and it wasn’t that gradual in the initial stages. At the same time, I was turning from Loch Long into Loch Goil and it wasn’t done without views of the small hill across the water from me, Clach Beinn and its wooded slopes. My path mat have cut the corner that is Rubha nan Eoin but taking the turn still took its time. There was no rush though so level ground could come in its own good time.

Reaching that more level terrain took me out of the forestry and I was among fields again. Carrick Castle was well in view at this stage as I passed the low fingers of land that are Roin Diomhan and Ardnahien. Loch Goil and the steep-sided hills that surrounded it were looking resplendent in the bright sunshine too. Enjoying that scenery occupied my mind and allowed progress to come when it did rather than hurrying the experience. In fact, my return to tarmac didn’t take long to come and, though Dunoon was not so far down the coast from me, the atmosphere had the tranquility more like that of a far flung Scottish island than somewhere not all that far away from the bustle of Scotland’s central belt.

Rather than walking up the narrow road from Carrick Castle towards Lochgoilhead, I lingered at the former and awaiting a bus. What I had in mind was to walk along part of the Cowal Way to Strachur (or Clachan Strachur as it appears on my O.S. Explorer map). In hindsight, I might have done the right thing in spending a few hours around Carrick Castle because the bus ride to Ardroy Outdoor Centre convinced me that walking along a narrow undulating coastal single track road wouldn’t have been the best of experiences with motorised traffic about.

Staying at Carrick Castle also allowed more time for soaking in the views as the occasional sailing boat glided on the surface of the loch. The castle itself is privately owned and rusted scaffolding is sufficient evidence of an unfinished restoration. It served me as a reminder of other similar projects that did get completed, Duart Castle on Mull and Eilean dona Castle in Lochalsh are but two of them. Not many were passing the way though there was one family party around for a little while before they headed away again. Later, a few folk collected to set up seating for a community event.

When the bus came, the driver took a break and his camera was pressed into service for a few photos in the fine weather. Patiently, I waited for him to get back to his bus before boarding it for that short trip up the coast, not that my request seemed to impress him that much if I sensed it correctly. Nevertheless, the journey was far from unpleasant and didn’t take long on a road well shaded by tree cover.

From Loch Goil to Strachur

Once off the bus, I needed to get my bearings. There have been times when this process hasn’t been too successful and some blundering resulted before I set things to rights. It was for that reason that I took my time with the task. There was a Cowal Way waymarker but its partner was absent and this informed me that good map reading was going to come into its own so as to keep things under control.

After satisfying myself regarding the direction to be taken, I set off towards Lettermay and then into the forestry plantation that hugs the hill of Cruach nam Miseag. Height was gained with views over Lochgoilhead opening out before me every time I looked behind me as I shadowed Lettermay Burn. Even Ben Arthur, or The Cobbler, started to raise its head from behind the hills lining Loch Goil. the strength of the sun was unmissable at this point though it wasn’t to feel like that for all of the walk.

Looking at the course of the Cowal Way, I was surprised to see it eschew forestry tracks to shadow the burn more closely. However, that brought me an experience reminiscent of a Welsh outing in January with trees getting in my way. It left me wondering at the sense of the routing and caused me to cross the burn to reach a promising track that lay over there. When that veered uphill and away from the burn that was my navigational handrail, I decided that a return to the route shown on the map was in order.

This was clearer than earlier though there were soft conditions underfoot at times. In time, I left the trees behind me to really gain height on the approach to Curra Lochain. This really was when height began to be gained and steeply too. Marker posts also started to appear and it occurred to me that these might be waymarkers for the trail that I had been following after a fashion.

Taking my time and not letting the vistas that lay behind me unadmired, I scaled the slopes by what now was know as Sruth Ban and passed its waterfalls as I did so. Once the lochan was reached after crossing a stile and negotiated a tricky section of path, it was the force of the wind that could not be ignored. A passing hill wanderer was coming the other way and we shared a few word before each continued to our own destinations. Though I was watching time, there were no restrictions on opportunities to take in the splendor of what surrounded me.

Marker posts and map guided me back among trees again. Because the vehicle track that I was seeking didn’t reveal itself so clearly to I was reach it in a less tidy manner than might have been ideal. Part of exploring anywhere would seem to be correcting one’s little directional slippages even if that involves going down to a burn and back up again. On re-examining the map as I write these words, I could have continued following my line of travel and reached the track later on and lower down but I like to resolve any uncertainties as soon as I can.

Once on the intended track, it was a matter of keeping an eye on any junctions so as not to go astray. As my legs were feeling the effects of the descent, the sun was leaving places in shadow. There were occasions for refueling stops too because it was looking as if I was going to make my bus back to Dunoon. Time was being managed rather than its being the cause of rushing.

Crossing over a bridge over Cab Riogan got me onto a single track tarmac road whose surface was far from smooth until I stopped being surrounded by trees. There was a sighting of curious sign for Scottish and Southern Electric. Had they both the forests with an eye on future wind-powered electricity generation? While that would have been an ominous note, the peace and quiet of the evening allowed me not to dwell on the prospect.

Tiring limbs carried me into Strachur with time to spare before the bus was due. That gave me time to mill around the spot a little. There might have been temptations to heading down the A815 to Strachur Bay and the shore of Loch Fyne. Realising that I had done a lot in one day with two different walks, I contented myself with resting a while and looked forward to seeing the countryside through which I was to be taken back to Dunoon in the declining light.

Travel Arrangements:

Travel from Macclesfield to Gourock by train with changes in Kidsgrove, Crewe and Glasgow followed by ferry from Gourock to Dunoon. Buses around Cowal included 480 between Dunoon and Hunter’s Quay, 485 from Hunter’s Quay to Ardentinny, 484 from Carrick Castle to Ardroy Outdoor Centre, 486 from Strachur to Dunoon.