Collected Musings of a Hill Wanderer

The year is fast coming to an end as if often never fails to do on me. Posts still await writing for July excursions so I am knocking in some photos so that I can make something of them over the Christmas and New Year break from the everyday, instead of nearly forgetting one of them as I did until a few days ago. There’s a repeat visit to the Isle of Man, a first trot around Anglesey and a combined reconnaissance that took in the Heart of Wales railway and the Gower. Both of those offer prospects for future visits and it’s a good way to end a year thinking that there’s always more to see. 2011 has been a busy one for me and I hope that 2012 lets me out of doors more often. Hopefully anyone coming across this piece will have a good Christmas and New Year. Maybe a few walks may come about for you. As usual, I have no grand designs on such things though surprises can happen. During the slow start of a year that is January, there hopefully will be a chance to gather a few ideas before the frenzy of spring comes out way.

It is a little difficult to take photos in the middle of a wintry shower of sleet so what you find accompanying this trip report are photos from the drier interludes. In fact, eastern Cheshire was beset by such things with Macclesfield and Wilmslow bearing the brunt of the showers as they ran in from the Cheshire Gap as if on a conveyor belt of a Friday morning more than a week ago. As if to demonstrate that weather is remarkably local, Crewe was enjoying sunshine and blue skies.

On leaving home, I might have been forgiven for thinking that I was taking leave of my senses to head out with all that was tumbling from the sky. As if that weren’t enough, western and northern parts of Britain had been battered by a ferocious storm just the day before. Scotland still was picking up the pieces after that when I embarked on a walk among Shropshire’s hills.

It wasn’t all that inspiring when I arrived in Church Stretton because a rain shower was in progress. Nevertheless, I resisted the temptation to catch the next train back home and waited out the shower. Maybe the price of the return train ticket had something to do with it but I also glimpsed sunnier weather as my train passed through Shropshire so hopes remained far from extinguished.

With the air drying, I made my way to Carding Mill Valley. The sun was being left to light the hillsides too, always a bonus. For a Friday, I was surprised by the number of people out and about. Nowhere was overrun but I might have expected less about in a part of the world that doesn’t come that high the list of places on anyone’s wish list. Saying that, it is good that there are folk who can overlook such things.

There is a wilder feel to what lies beyond the National Trust hut in Carding Mill Valley and tarmac can be left behind for a well-surfaced gravel path. Shropshire’s hills may not be high but they have steep sides and Mott’s Road soon started to gain height at such a rate that taking it steady and enjoy the surroundings made much sense. A pair of mountain bikers passed the way too and they were stopping a fair few times on their ascent so it wasn’t just me.

As I reached the stop, skies began to close in as another shower approached. Having got some satisfaction from the day already, this brought no disappointment; it just was a matter of wearing waterproofs to counter the dampness and enough layers to keep warm. Keeping moving helped with the latter point too as I headed southwest along part of the Shropshire Way.

Skies cleared again as I approached Pole Bank following a road crossing. This was the second time that I had designs on Shropshire’s highest point with a lapse of concentration in the navigation department having caused me to abandon the venture when I last tried it. Now that I look back on that first ever visit to Church Stretton’s hill country of a Sunday in December a few years back, I am staggered to think that it happened at all; my error must have involved going straight at a junction when a turn to the right would been the intended line.

Skies stayed clear with plenty of sunlight to go around and I on the top of Pole Bank. Though there were photographic stops, they were brief because it was a day fro keeping moving. What turned out not to be brief instead was the drier interlude. It allowed me to amble about a fair bit while exploring where the lines of rights of way actually were after leaving the road reached on descending from Pole Bank. There was deliberate retracing of steps to see the set-up of paths across the hills and there was no one to disturb in so doing. Even the horses and sheep that were out on the hillside hardly took any notice.

Eventually, I decided on a more direct course to Little Stretton, albeit with a little circuit about Round Hill. What surprised me was the way that the path took me by a number of different valleys; there were Ashes Hollow, Callow Hollow and Small Batch. It is as if this is hill country in miniature and it is none the worse for that. Because another shower came the way, photography stopped after the first of those valleys but there’s enough there to justify a return visit sometime when days are again longer. The sun was getting ever lower in the sky anyway.

Height loss was hardly gradual on the way down to Little Stretton and it must have knocked some of the stuffing out of my legs because they felt a little weary as I shortened the road back to Church Stretton. During the descent, the shower stopped and the latter stages underfoot became muddy too, an not unexpected situation at this time of year. After stripping off my overtrousers, I took a little time to look around Little Stretton with its timber-framed church especially catching my eye. Methinks it would be worth returning again to have more of a look around the place.

It was road walking that conveyed me from one Stretton to another and there was no sign at all of the sun; low hills still can hide it even if clouds don’t. The sky retained a blue tinge though as I coaxed myself along the roadside footway by not irregularly inspecting progress. Once in Church Stretton, I played with the idea of catching a bus to Shrewsbury until I saw that the one for Ludlow was around twenty minutes late. Scotching the idea, I stocked up on some provisions and returned to the train station to await a train home after a good little day out in compact and decent hill country.

Travel Arrangements:

Return train journey with a change at Stockport on the outbound leg and at Shrewsbury and Wolverhampton on the return one.

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.

The last few days have seen dramatic weather conditions across parts of Britain and strong winds again are forecast for western parts of the U.K. on Monday night. Scotland got the worst of the battering and only now are some places up there returning to normal. It only was today that Blair Atholl got back its electricity supply and that the Inverness to Kyle of Lochalsh train service was restored to its normal timetable. Hopefully, no one got seriously hurt in all of this.

In spite of what came on Thursday, I ventured out to the Shropshire hills around Church Stretton yesterday. There was sleet and rain about but I braved both of these to escape the hurly burly of the everyday. In doing so, I was surprised to see others out doing the same around there. Sunny spells came the way too and felt all the more special when they did so. All in all, it was an enjoyable outing and I hope to savour more like it. Well, there is more of Shropshire’s hill country for me to sample. It’s good always to leave somewhere with a reason for returning.

This morning, I arose to find the hills near Macclesfield having gained a snowy covering. Various webcams such as the one at the Cat & Fiddle Inn and another at Flash Bar Stores told the story for other parts of the hill country lining the Cheshire-Derbyshire boundary. After a milder than usual autumn, a wintry reality has descended on us.