Leg I – Carlisle to Bowness-on-Solway – Thursday 30 August 2012

We decide to do the first leg of the Hadrian’s Wall Path (HWP) from East to West. This is mainly for logistical reasons (the 93 bus timetable) but also for aesthetic reasons: being more uplifting to walk from town to country than vice versa.

So after an early start from Darlington (an even earlier start from Scarborough) and a wet drive across the A66 we park in the shadows of the walls of Carlisle Castle at 10.30 and prepare for the off. The rain has stopped here but it is still cool so it is jumpers on as we pass through Bitts Park to the river and our start point.

Turning west we head out of town and are soon onto a pleasant wooded riverbank path; already the sky is brightening and jumpers come off.  Accompanied by the gurgle of the river, swollen by recent rain, we stride on up and down the undulations, crossing feeder brooks and streams on sturdy footbridges.

After a couple of miles we pass under first the railway and then the new road crossings of the Eden before taking leave of the river and crossing fields to the village of Grinsdale. We leave the sleepy hamlet and head over the fields thankfully past the equally sleepy cows that are lying down for once. They are probably tired from pounding the paths into muddy submission. Picking our way from one semi-submerged sod to another, through a succession of fields via gates, styles and bridges, we muse on the infinite variety of these man made obstacles (albeit necessary). Held fast by springs, weights, chains and catches, sometimes in combination, they reflect the ingenuity of man and his need to innovate. Here we have a footbridge with a gate and steps at either end, now a style with almost a return staircase either side. There is surely an I-Spy book out there with good points to be scored from such exotica!

Between the curiously named Sourmilk Bridge and Kirkandrew upon Eden the mire worsens but the boots and gaiters hold out. Further on a land slip has unsurprisingly closed the HWP but a helpful notice redirects us by road to Beaumont.

At 12.30 with nearly 5 miles on the clock it is time for lunch; and the tidy village green is just the spot. The tree in the centre provides shade from the intermittent sun and the circular bench around its trunk provides a welcome seat. It must be a standard stop for lunch as the farm cat approaches and waits expectantly, but not too patiently, for its share. It is advised to go catch a mouse!

From Beaumont it is first a track and then more fields, some but not all soggy, for the mile and a half to the sizeable Burgh-by-Sands. As promised by the OS map there is a pub, The Greyhound, where we can sit outside with a pot of tea and contemplate a fine statue of Edward II, who died close by during a campaign against Robert the Bruce.

Refreshed, a short walk down the road brings us to Dykesfield (presumably a reference to the nearby flood defences rather than the sexuality of its residents). This is the halfway point – 7.5 miles and nearly four hours from the start – but ahead is a daunting sight worse than any hill: the 3 mile, dead straight, pan flat road across the edge of Burgh Marsh.

The first mile we stick to the road, quick walking but telling on the feet and legs. We then switch to the dismantled railway embankment running parallel – rougher terrain thanks to the ubiquitous cow tracks but easier on the body and sufficiently tricky to keep the eyes helpfully off the unchanging horizon. The slight elevation also provides a better perspective on the stunning view across the marsh, sands and the Eden estuary to the distant hills of Dumfries and Galloway. By the third mile it has become a yomp, completed in grim but companiable silence as we each allow our minds to power down to standby mode.

Eventually, after an hour, we rise above sea level to reach Drumburgh at the western end of the causeway. Unexpectedly there is a sign for ice cream which we follow slavishly to a farm outbuilding. It is unoccupied but equipped with a fridge for drinks and a freezer for ices. A price list is supplied along with an honesty box and a visitors’ book. Twenty minutes, two ice creams and £2.95 later we record our thanks to our absent hosts and continue. Four miles to go, and downhill all the way.

The route to Glasson is about a mile of track and then half a mile of paddy fields; but it is passable with care and we are rewarded with the appearance of The Highland Laddie, mercifully open at 4.15 pm. Two glasses of Jennings’ finest is supped on the rickety bench outside as we contemplate the 12 miles completed and only 2½ to go. We also size up the two female walkers opposite, who it turns out are heading our way. We take the initiative and set off a cracking pace so as not to be embarrassingly overtaken. Surreptitious glances over our shoulder confirm our superior pace (this does not happen often) so we can ease down and regain our breath.

These last 2½ miles feel like the easiest – a good track along the course of the vellum then across to a shady woodland path alongside the coastal sand and mud flats to Port Carlisle (noting the old Custom House). From there it is a short walk up the road to Bowness-on-Solway and the weird shack-like pagoda that marks the official start / end point of the HWP. We sit and gaze across the Solway Firth at the Scottish coast, idly speculating on some of the unusual (military?) structures located there, while eating up any remaining food supplies.

Disturbed from our reverie by a lone American, we oblige her request to take her picture while hearing how she has completed the full walk to Tynemouth but needed to return for the photo! Finally we repair to The Kings Arms where the landlord serves us with excellent value tea and biscuits and shows us the “walk book”. Therein those completing the walk at Bowness-on-Solway are invited to record their achievement in their own words. This is quite humbling – our pride in walking a mere 14½ miles in 7½ hours is put in perspective. It will be a few months and seventy odd more miles before we earn the right to add our contribution at Tynemouth.

The 93 bus turns up not too far behind schedule and the journey back to Carlisle is like rewinding an old VCR tape as we see our trek played out backwards at high speed. It still takes 45 minutes to get back to town, which re-boosts our self-esteem but allows the old joints to stiffen and protest when we disembark.

The most difficult route finding all day is re-locating the car park; but we manage and set off at 8pm in the gathering twilight, tired but glad to have made a successful start and looking forward to the next leg in three weeks.