Leg III – Walton to Greenhead – Thursday 20 September 2012

Breakfast is excellent – fruit juice, cereal, pick & mix full English, toast, preserves and tea. Given the rain falling as forecast it could be the highlight of the day. With little civilisation en route a precautionary supply of pork pies, crisps and drinks are purchased from the local Spar.

Waterproofed up, waiting outside the Howard Arms for Brampton Taxis to arrive, the locals give us sympathetic looks from beneath their umbrellas. We are reassured by one that there is no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing.

On emerging from the taxi at Walton our best attempt at appropriate clothing becomes evident – Pete’s black drummer’s cloak turns him into a cross between the grim reaper and a wandering Jew. Alan has the little more traditional Sir Rannulph Fiennes “south pole here I come” look. However within minutes the skies lighten and precipitation becomes no more than spitty spotty, which in the absence of any wind is actually quite refreshing.

The road to Dovecote Bridge, then field paths to Burtholme Beck are covered within an hour, leading to the ascent of Craggle Hill. A nice steady climb up the grassy slope, we resist the tempting offer of early refreshments at Haytongate and press on up to the top. The slope down (Hare Hill) provides the first bit of wall to examine (albeit reconstructed), then it’s another climb up to Banks.

The patchy rain has stopped here, so we do as well for 10 minutes enjoying the view from the village green and munching a biscuit or two.

Up from Banks are real bits of wall to walk besides, with the remains of a milecastle and two turrets providing points of interest and photo opportunities. As the path then swings off to go through woodland we pause to exchange catering intelligence with a three ladies heading west; Birdoswald is highly recommended to us, but it’s a good hour away.

Emerging from the wood the route is south of the line of the wall through fields now soggy in more persistent rain, over stiles sat in muddy puddles. After a couple of miles we descend to a fine bit of wall, worthy of a photo, but this leads to the disastrous discovery that the camera is missing. The only explanation is that it has jumped ship while Pete scaled one of the precipitous stiles and is sinking into the ooze somewhere to the west.

Birdoswald fort, and more importantly the visitor centre café, allows us to dry off, rest up, take on tea & cake, bemoan the loss of the photographic record, and then move on in positive frame of mind. To encourage us the rain has relented and we can get the hoods down and our heads up.

From Birdoswald the path tumbles down to the river Irthing, one of the three river crossings for the wall. The current footbridge and the remains of the original Roman bridge provide points of interest, as do substantial sections of wall and the remains of milecastle 48 at Gilsand. A sight of equal wonder on climbing out of the village is an impressively proportioned but semi-derelict mansion which, despite evidence of occupation, displays a perforated roof out of which a tree is growing.

After a short stop to consume the remnants of the Spar supplies we press on across more splodgy fields and mountainous stiles that eventually deposit us on the road between Longbyre and Greenhead. At 4.30 in the afternoon it’s been nearly 7 hours walking (and resting) to cover 10 miles in conditions worse than ideal but better than feared; uncomfortable really only due to the waterproofs keeping out the rain at the expense of generating substantial internal condensation. The grey skies and brooding clouds provided an atmospheric and not untypical backdrop to the hillside and moorland views.

Tonight we stay at the Four Wynds Guest House at Longbyre, run by Nigel Jarvis.   The room is the (not very) large twin with (the smallest ever) en-suite; but it is comfortable with thoughtful touches like a flask of real milk to go with the tea making facilities, of which we immediately avail ourselves.

Nigel hospitably runs us down to the Greenhead Hotel for a fine evening meal and several pints of John Smiths Smooth and Corby Ale. He also provides an on demand return lift, and back at the guest house, interesting local knowledge including the story behind the derelict Roman Way House.

Sleep beckons; tired, only slightly drunk, and anticipating a fine day tomorrow, we follow without hesitation.

Leg II – Carlisle to Walton – Wednesday 19 September 2012

Two trains take us North and West through sunny countryside to Carlisle station and at about 11.30 we begin the eastward march to the North Sea. The plan is to take the next three days to get to Housesteads Fort and to return in the spring for another three days to complete the journey.

A short walk through town brings us again to Bitts Park where this time we turn right instead of left. In this direction is parkland; first Bitts park, then along the edge of a golf course, before crossing the Eden by the Memorial Bridge into Rickerby Park. Puddles remain from recent heavy rains but the sky today is visibly blue and the sun emerges from time to time from behind white clouds.

Exiting the park we join a minor road, passing some rather grand houses and lodges at Rickerby itself, before crossing the M6 at Linstock Bridge. We pause to contrast our pace with the racing traffic below; in the hour we have taken to get here from Carlisle some of these cars have travelled from Glasgow or Manchester.

At the village of Linstock we leave the road and take the riverside path indicated a little too literally and disappear into tall reeds and giant rhubarb. Sensibly we retrace some steps and emerge into more negotiable field paths, from where we are better placed to enjoy the fine views along the river.

After 2 hours and 4 miles we arrive at Low Crosby and the Stag Inn. Although a little early in the walk it is the last recognisable watering hole of the day so it is only prudent to take advantage. Stone floors and hobbit sized doorways lead to a pleasant bar and two deep comfy leather armchairs. Tea and homemade cake are ordered; the cake needs not only a fork but also scaffolding to tackle properly, and two cups of tea to wash down, but the copious teapot is up to the job. Great value at £4 a head.

Eventually, almost reluctantly, we lever ourselves out of the chairs and set off along the road east before turning north along a sunken grassy track that leads to the Military Road and a final turn back east. The road becomes a lane then a raised field path alongside Blea Tarn, and the first discernible lumps and bumps that represent the wall, ditches & vallum come into view.

This very pleasant 4 mile section ends as we are spat out over a stile into Newtown, where a planned tea time rest stop on the village green is cancelled by a sudden heavy shower that requires a hurried unpacking and deployment of waterproof coats. However by the time we have declined from Newtown into adjacent farmland the rain has passed and we can take some refreshment sat in the sunshine on the roots of an old tree.

The next two miles to Walton are more farmland than Roman Wall, but we get back on theme on arrival at the Centurion Inn, unfortunately closed down, at Walton. Here we avail ourselves of the ubiquitous village green bench and phone for a taxi to take us the three miles to Brampton and the Howard Arms. Waiting we reflect with some satisfaction on the first of our three day jaunt – 11 miles in about 5½ hours carrying our 3-day packs for the first time. But the terrain has been fairly flat and there will be more challenging days to come.

At the Howard Arms, bang in the centre of Brampton, the first pint has to be the Wainwright, a blond and rather bland, but refreshing, ale. With our steaks later we switch to the Bomber which has more flavour and body. Pleasantly rested, watered and fed we retire to our room and fire up the vintage TV. When the weather forecast comes on we rather wish we hadn’t. Wall to wall rain is on its way tomorrow.

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.