The Red Kite Trail

On January 31, 2021 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 23rd January 2021
OS Map: Explorer 307 – Consett & Derwent Reservoir/Explorer 316 – Newcastle upon Tyne
Start/finish point: NZ 185 608
Distance: 21.73km
Elevation gain: 296m

With January being all about staying local, revisiting the paths I’ve walked many times and trying to see them through new eyes, I was beginning to think I’d explored pretty much everything there is to see around Gateshead. Granted there are always occasional rights of way you spot when poring over the OS map, and can’t quite remember if you’ve trodden them or not, but in terms of longer, more ‘interesting’ walks, I was perhaps getting tired. Thank goodness for Viewranger, then. In ‘Outdoors Map’ mode, I’ve noticed that all manner of labelled paths and longer distance walks are shown, some of which don’t appear on the OS map – other than as various green lines. So, we’re au fait with the Tanfield Railway path, we’ve walked the Bowes Railway path a dozen times, we’ve done the large and impressive loop that is the Tyne & Wear Heritage Way – 128km of local underfoot goodness – in both directions. Then there’s the Red Kite Trail.

The what?

Yes, the Red Kite Trail. Perhaps I missed the memo, perhaps everyone has walked it a million times, perhaps I’ve just been blind to the way markers. In my defence, though I’ve lived in Gateshead for eight years, I’ve been walking for only a quarter of that time. Perhaps I’m still young, fresh, and ignorant. Well, certainly not young. Whatever the case, the Red Kite Trail is a delicious circular walk of about 20km taking in a stretch of the popular Derwent Walk, a tantalisingly short foray into the ever more popular Chopwell Wood, before heading up onto some high level (for Gateshead) farmland above Rowlands Gill, eventually dropping back down to your starting point at Winlaton Mill. Of course this is well known for being red kite territory – some 94 of these majestic birds of prey were reintroduced to the Derwent Valley between 2004 and 2009, and they seem to thrive. Many’s the time I’ve glanced up from my map on hearing the kite’s distinctive call, and watched one or two birds glide just above the treetops. They have their own walk, and I decided to explore for myself.

The walk starts at the wonderfully named Land of Oak & Iron, a local heritage centre with a substantial car park. The centre was, of course, closed due to a certain lockdown, but the car park was open, free, and not gated. This spot is well served by public transport, too: Go North East have all the answers.

This was one of those mild but frosty mornings we’ve had so many of lately, a little crunchy underfoot and the sun shining brightly most of the (short) day. A plethora of way markers served only to make me feel even more ignorant, and took me through a section of the Derwent Walk Country Park, around Kite Hill (the clues really have been there the whole time) and then soon up onto the Derwent Walk itself. This old railway, repurposed as a multi-use path between Swalwell and Consett, is a path I’ve walked many times, and makes for an easy and at times scenic (especially at the viaducts) plod. Number of red kites seen so far: none.

The Derwent Walk comes to a halt at Rowlands Gill to make way for a road, which must be crossed, but then I was soon back on the path and wandered another couple of kilometres until finally leaving the railway path above Lintzford. Just the A694 to cross now, then the rest of the walk would be all tracks and paths, or else very minor roads free of traffic. A word of caution – emerging at the pretty hamlet of Lintzford onto the road, I missed any way markers that may have been there, and for some reason followed what felt like the natural course of the path to the left, expecting to cross the road further up and head into the obvious woodland. Turns out a few other people made the same mistake (note the spur on the map above!), and after bothering to check the OS map, we found ourselves wandering awkwardly back down to the actual path – directly over the road from the bridge at Lintzford. An all-the-gear-and-no-idea moment, if you like. Anyway, once over the road I was greeted by a gate, a sign, and a path into Chopwell Wood. Number of red kites seen so far: none.

Chopwell Wood is a delight. 360 hectares of mixed woodland, with plenty of paths and enough ascent to remind you of more dramatic woods further north in Northumberland, it’s a popular spot for walkers, bikers, and apparently, red kites. The Red Kite Trail touches only the eastern edge of the woodland, the track rising steeply at first before levelling out and offering one or two very good viewpoints over the treetops. Atop one such viewpoint sits a wooden sculpture of a red kite – would this be the only red kite I’d see today? Pausing to enjoy the woodland views, and a sandwich, I did hear the mildly aggressive call of several jays, and caught the odd glimpse of light purple plumage in the trees. Number of red kites seen so far: none, unless you count the wooden one.

Onwards. Emerging from the woods, and after a short section of walking on a very quiet road, I arrived at Spen Banks. This smaller area of woodland was largely deserted – once out of the popular Derwent valley, it seems only dog walkers bother to explore here. I got the same kind of feeling I get whenever I watch the hordes ascending Helvellyn from my little vantage point at Stang End. I started thinking of the Lake District – something I keep doing during lockdown, and something I have decided is not healthy. Will we ever get to see lakeland again? My mind returned to the muddy path in front of me, and I kept my eyes and ears open for red kites. Soon the Red Kite Trail merged with the Tyne & Wear Heritage Way, so I was walking familiar territory. Then a little detour. Taking the track north, the RK trail heads up to the little village of Barlow, which at about 170m makes for a surprisingly good viewpoint north. This is the edge of kite territory, and after first questioning the detour, I acknowledged NZ 152 606 would be a perfect spot to linger, hopefully. Number of red kites seen so far: none.

After the Barlow detour, I followed the way markers back down to meet the heritage way once again, and the two trails became one for the rest of today’s walk. This is all farmland walking, with pleasant views south towards the Derwent Valley. Thornley Bank, High Thornley, Low Thornley, you mark your descent as much with etymology as you do with contours. The light was fading now, but still way markers appeared now and then, seemingly to remind me that I must have been blind not to have seen the RK trail when plodding these paths previously. Number of red kites seen: none.

The home straight. Once over the A694, the path snakes high above the river Derwent, along Winlaton Scar. I can vouch for one or two quite stunning viewpoints looking through the trees across to Gibside and the Liberty Monument, but by now it was dark and it was much more about negotiating patches of ice, mud, or both. The path drops down to the Derwent Walk Country Park, and soon I found myself on the path back to the Land of Oak & Iron. Where earlier in the day it had been all about looking down at water and frosty bullrushes, now it was about ending the day looking up at silhouetted trees, feeling the tinge of sadness I get at the close of every walk, and pausing to appreciate the beauty to be found on my doorstep.

Number of red kites seen: none.

Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara

On September 20, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 9th-10th September 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL4 – Lake District – North West
Start/finish point: NY 258148/NY 245137
Distance: 12km
Elevation Gain: 920m
Hills Climbed: Rosthwaite Fell (551m/612m), Dovenest Crag (632m), Glaramara (783m), Combe Door Top (676m), Combe Head (735m), Thornythwaite Fell (574m)

It was late in the day when I hopped off the 78 bus at Rosthwaite, and popped into the Scafell Hotel for a drink. Whistle wetted, it was off along the B5289 on one of those Lakeland roadside paths that are so narrow you walk on the road. It was a glorious, sunny evening, and for once it looked like I might make it to Glaramara in good conditions. I left the road a short while after Burthwaite Bridge, and took the signposted path straight up on to the lower hillside, took a right, and started the fairly steep and gradual climb up The Combe and eventually towards Rosthwaite Fell. It was slow going with my camping gear and a sun that wanted to linger for perhaps longer than Autumn would like, but then I was in no hurry.

Pausing frequently to admire the views across to the Western Fells, it was really a case of picking-out my own route up the ever-steepening Rosthwaite Fell, the right of way marked on the map makes for a satisfying straight line up the last few hundred metres, but I found myself following sheep trods here, stepping over boulders there, and zig-zagging everywhere. Eventually I arrived at the dramatic little viewpoint that is the good path above Rottenstone Gill, from where it was an easy, level, and quite squelchy stroll up to Tarn at Leaves.

The sunlight had lasted well, but when it disappeared over the (now out of sight) horizon, it disappeared suddenly, and suddenly the beautiful and silent scene before me was thrust into darkness. I pitched my trusty tent a little way up the hillside from the tarn to escape the wind that had suddenly whipped-up, and settled down to watch the most stunning of night skies unfold above me. Rested, fed and watered, I popped the head torch on and carefully made my way up to the summit of Bessyboot, which at 551m is Wainwright’s summit of Rosthwaite Fell. I fiddled around for a good hour or so with various ‘night cam’ apps on my iPhone, trying unsuccessfully to take reasonable pictures of the wonders above me. Eventually I gave up, and wandered back down to find my tent and settle down for the night.

Zip, zip, ziiiiiiiiiip. The familiar morning routine early the next day, and I’d managed to wake some time before sunrise. I toddled up the hillside again to try one more photo, then made quick work of packing-up and started the morning wander towards Glaramara. I imagine the ground between these fells would be quite hard to navigate in poor visibility. In fact, I didn’t find it too easy in excellent visibility. There was an obvious path leading off to the left which looked like it might take me too far from Rosthwaite Cam, and I couldn’t afford to miss any of the summits if I was to tick some Hewitts and Nuttalls off, too. And so the next hour or so seemed to involve scrambling around the place, finding my own way, then returning to bits and bobs of path.

Rosthwaite Cam, Dovenest Crag, Combe Door, Combe Head – and a lot of wonderful early morning views in between. Eventually, I found myself on the good path that runs up from Thornythwaite Fell to Glaramara, and made my way to the formidable looking northern face of the latter. I’d read about the stiff little scramble up onto the summit, and in fact it was not fancying the down scramble in atrocious weather that had prevented me reaching Glaramara from the other side on two previous occasions. Today was clear and dry, so it looked like a fun little adventure. Above about 700m, everything changed. Wind and rain appeared from nowhere, and mist rolled-in to give me the full Glaramara experience. I tutted, rolled my eyes, laughed, and probably tutted again. When I arrived at the base of the rocky ascent I deposited my backpack on the wet ground and toddled up to the summit. Glaramara, at last. I didn’t hang around, and descended on a clearer rocky path to find my backpack and rejoin the path to Thornythwaite Fell.

The going was nice and easy on the way down, and it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen anyone at all so far. I remembered that after what felt like a full day’s walking already, it was only about 9am, so perhaps I shouldn’t expect Southern Fell crowds just yet. After enjoying the views from the pleasant little summit of Thornythwaite Fell, I spotted the expected trickle of little bodies snaking their way up the path below, and the day was well and truly in full swing. I’m not an antisocial walker, but do love the feeling of having a fell to myself now and then, and this little overnight excursion had delivered solitude and silence in bucketloads. Rosthwaite Fell is a new favourite of mine. A complex and quiet fell, which looked even more dramatic from the floor of Borrowdale later that morning than I ever recall it looking on previous trips. I feel like I’ve made a new friend here in Borrowdale, but as for Glaramara, that’s still a complex little relationship. I said I’d be back, and this time I found the summit. But I’ll keep coming back until Glaramara finally grants me a view.

A little later that morning I found myself on the 78 bus from Seatoller, and started the long journey home. Until next time.

Penrith to Threlkeld, by way of some Elusive Fells

On August 13, 2020August 13, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 24/25th July 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL5 – The English Lakes: North-Eastern Area
Start/finish point: NY 511 299/NY 322 254
Distance: 55km
Elevation Gain: 2500m
Hills Climbed: High Seat (802m), Kidsty Pike (780m), Rampsgill Head (792m), The Knott (739m), Rest Dodd (696m), Brock Crags (561m), Angletarn Pikes (567m), Sheffield Pike (675m), Hart Side (756m), Stybarrow Dodd (843m), Watson’s Dodd (789m), Great Dodd (857m), Clough Head (726m)

Lakes 1

I’m a fan of coming up with long (perhaps idiosyncratic) walks, joining up hills that I have either missed on previous trips, or would perhaps be a little awkward for me to get to generally. It also makes me feel like I’ve ‘had my money’s worth’ so to speak, given that it takes so long for me to get places on public transport.

And so it was that I set off from Penrith with a plan to walk some of the High Street Roman road (or at least as near to it as you can in the 21st century) and then head off somewhere near High Raise and do a few of the Far Eastern Fells. I strode out of Penrith with a spring in my step, following footpaths through farm fields, the fells teasing me on the horizon. After a while, it became road walking, and I half planned to walk up to Celleron then up on towards ‘The Cockpit’ and on to the fells, some of which I had walked before. In fact, I got to Celleron then suddenly had a change of heart – why not drop down into Pooley Bridge, then walk some of the Ullswater Way? I could always hit the fells somewhere above Howtown.

And so that is how I found myself wandering, one early summer evening, along the path above Ullswater, happy as a pig in muck.

Once past Howtown, I entered Fusedale for the first time – and what a glorious valley! The good path took me gradually along Fusedale Beck and then gradually climbed, and climbed, and climbed, emerging on Wether Hill – hey presto, I was back on the Roman Road. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and up a height the temperature dropped substantially. My mind turned to a bed for the night, but not before bagging Kidsty Pike, Rampsgill Head, and the rather shapely Knott.

Descending The Knott, I found a lovely little flat area overlooking Rest Dodd, and caught sight of several deer. Tent up, perfect spot. Throughout the night the deer came close to the tent and made the most terrifying noises – who’d have thought Bambi would sound like something from a horror film? Very early the next morning I breakfasted in the rain then tackled Rest Dodd head-on, before dropping down towards Brock Crags, along by Angle Tarn, then somewhat awkwardly up to Angletarn Pikes and its list of summits.

As a side note, I was delighted at my previous night’s pitch high up on Knott, and counted no fewer than 17 tents dotted around Angle Tarn. I also counted no fewer than 6 bum cheeks going about their morning movements by the tarn, and found myself feeling a little angry at my fellow man. Or perhaps just bitter that I have braved all manner of uncomfortable conditions in the hills, attending to business far away from my tent, far from paths, digging little holes. At Angletarn-by-the-sea they were only a burger van away from being a resort. Anyway, onwards.

I say onwards, I came across another pair of cheeks at the Boredale Hause ‘junction’, tutted as the cheeks retreated through the tent flaps, then made my way down to Glenridding. Time to adjust myself, attend to aching feet, get rid of rubbish (in a bin, fancy that), before making my way up to the Greenside Road and along the busy path we all know so well.

I stopped to watch the lines of people snake their way up towards Helvellyn, and then left the path to head up to my own private fells, up Stang End and through the interesting remnants of mining works, to make my way to Sheffield Pike. Back down to the path, and then steeply up Glencoyne Head, I was off across to the rather inconveniently situated Hart Side, when the mist suddenly rolled-in and the landscape looked more like it usually does when I’m in the hills.

Next on to the Dodds. The mist cleared every now and then to give me little glimpses of Thirlmere, and by the time I arrived at Watson’s Dodd (an underrated fell in my humble opinion…) the conditions were excellent. I lingered at Watson’s Dodd, and not just because of the name.

The rest of the walk was straightforward, gentle walking – Great Dodd, Calfhow Pike, then straight up the (wet) side of Clough Head. This latter fell has teased me so many times when I’ve travelled by bus into Keswick, it felt great to have conquered it at long last. But it soon conquered me, because the steep descent down the screes made the ending to the walk rather more dramatic and telling on the knees than I would have liked. Great views, though.

And so I snaked my way down to Threlkeld, and had a pint while waiting for my bus, chuffed that I could now tick off a whole bunch of beautiful fells. Fells that have been teasing me for months. Cheers!

Langholm – Round Two (Bivvy Bag Adventures)

On August 12, 2020August 18, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 28th July 2020
OS Map: Explorer 323 – Eskdale & Castle O’er Forest
Start/finish point: NY 364 865
Distance: 20km
Elevation Gain: 833m
Hills Climbed: Whita Hill (355m), Muckle Knowe (361m)

Langholm 2

Langholm is fast becoming one of my favourite spots for walking nearer to home. Here, just a few miles over the border into Scotland, are seemingly endless rolling hills to explore, and the fact I can get here so easily on public transport means it is a wonderful area for overnight escapes. And so, having explored a few hills west of the town a few weeks ago, I headed up one fine July afternoon to take in some hills to the east. I rolled up the bivvy bag and set off on a mini adventure.

It was early evening when I started plodding up the steep track out of Langholm and up to the popular Whita Hill, with its impressive Malcolm Monument. I met a few other people on the path, seemingly locals walking dogs or else going for evening strolls on this modest hill. The views from the top as the sun began to get lower in the sky were excellent.

Leaving the summit of Whita Hill, I followed the path down and around the ‘back’ of the hill, onto a heathery nature reserve. Once past the cairn at Castle Knowe, I struck off into the deep heather and walked roughly in a straight line toward the little ford marked on the OS Map. Some very pleasant (if slightly squelchy) walking followed on the path and over some footbridges to reach the farm track above Middlemoss. Tinnis Hill was looking very attractive in the distance, but perhaps a little too far for a bivvy tonight, so I somewhat aimlessly joined the road at the end of the farm track. I could have continued along to Tarras Water to find somewhere to sleep, but in the end just opted for some heathery slopes under Terrona Hill, unfurled the bag, and settled in for the night.

Though I have frequently been an unlucky camper when it comes to weather, I am yet to have a bad night in a bivvy bag. It was warm but with just enough breeze to keep me comfortable, the heathery mattress was a delight, and the night sky was just something else. Granted, an owl kept swooping at me for the first half hour or so (I suppose I looked like its biggest meal ever, in my bag) but after that it was all meteors, satellites, clear skies, stars that seemed to multiply every time I took a breath and relaxed deeper into the heather. Next morning, I was packed and ready to go in a matter of minutes, then left the road and headed up the boggy ridge to Terrona Hill and Muckle Knowe.

I didn’t feel I had time to head on to Hog Fell, so left the path (or at least the fence) somewhere over Hareshaw Hill, and made my way steeply (and roughly) down through a heathery no-man’s land towards Terrona Shiel, then hit the track to Terrona Farm and then followed the A7 towards Langholm – luckily quite quiet at this time of the day. At Highmill Bridge I noticed a footpath not marked on the map, which seemed to offer a way onto Castle Hill, so up I went. Turns out it led to an old track, towards Pathhead. Once there, I decided to climb the steep little climb up to Castle Hill, where I stopped for breakfast and some views back over Langholm. No time to head onto Potholm Hill today, so I dropped gently back down the way I had come, and strolled into Langholm where I donned my face mask and hopped on the bus, and on to Newcastle just about in time to start work.

A Handful of Langholm 300s

On July 27, 2020July 28, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 8th July 2020
OS Map: Explorer 323 – Eskdale & Castle O’er Forest
Start/finish point: NY 363 846
Distance: 17km
Elevation Gain: 579m
Hills Climbed: Mid Hill (326m), Whitecleuch Fell (393m), Craig Hill (314m)

Langholm

I recently finished reading Julian Glover’s excellent biography of Thomas Telford, the great British engineer, and noticed that Langholm featured heavily. Not only was this little town in the Scottish borders the place where Telford was born and served his apprenticeship, the whole area seems to be infused with history – great engineers aside, we have poets, statesmen, soldiers, explorers. There seems to have been something in the air in this neck of the woods, and I wanted to experience it for myself. Train to Carlisle, bus to Langholm, here we go.

Langholm is surrounded by hills. Not mountains. Just hills. Lovely mini Donalds, in a way. Hills as far as the eye can see. There’s a whole bunch of hills that reach or exceed 300m, and I decided to have a stab at Mid Hill, and see where my fancy took me. There’s safety on low hills, and safety breeds nonchalance.

I plodded straight out of New Langholm and up to Meikleholm Hill – a solid plod up a steep hillside, where views soon unfolded, and thighs soon burned. From here it was very Donald-ish – following slightly boggy fences over rolling hills. Soon I arrived at Mid Hill, and I felt like I’d just plodded up an Ochil Law. Or perhaps a mini Crianlarich Ben More. In any case, I took a break. Hello, Eskdale, hello Mr Telford.

Onwards to Black Knowe, where some frisky cattle urged me westwards, and I tried to work out what on earth my plan was. Craig Hill? Nah, do that later. Let’s go along to Craighope Head, then drop down into the cleugh. Drop down, he says. Nobody walks this way, so it was full Jurassic Park for the fern-negotiating tumble down into the cleugh. Arms above head, very awkward, also very hot and sweaty. Then it was straight up the other side, where eventually I reached another God-given fence and pulled myself up towards the next hill. Craig Wind Farm sits atop Clagberry Hill, and though I missed the trigpoint, I did get some lovely views to the east into Telford country.

I toyed with heading to Calkin Rig, the Marilyn that seems to be there for no other reason than to tease hillwalkers who are reliant on public transport, but if I’m honest, I was knackered. There’s no ‘just’ in just walking the little hills around Langholm. I decided to bag the rough and midge-ridden Whitecleuch Fell, then dropped steeply down the fern-covered slopes to the track under Black Knowe.

Once on the track, my improvised route took me to a little ford, where I switched back and headed up the steep grassy slopes of Torbeck Hill, and then gained Craig Hill, the hill that eluded me earlier. Gotcha! From here, I trudged south-east down the steep slopes towards Craigcleuch South Lodge (more interesting history, if you get on the old Googler as you hike…), from where it was an easy few km walk along the minor road (why do people drive so aggressively on small country roads?) to Langholm.

I just had time to pop down to the river Esk, where I dipped a toe and watched a man drinking cans of industrial strength cider. Perhaps the same kind of cider the likes of girder-meister Telford imbibed. Alcohol aside, there really is something about this part of the world.

And I love it.

St Abb’s Head – ‘Sea View Figure-of-Eight’

On July 24, 2020July 24, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 27th June 2020
OS Map: Explorer 346 – Berwick-upon-Tweed
Start/finish point: NT 919 672
Distance: 9km
Elevation Gain: 259m

St Abb's Head

This delightful walk marked my first time over the border since early 2020. Restrictions were still in place, so we didn’t travel too far north, but were surprised at just how many people had had similar ideas. There is stunning coastal walking to be had north of Berwick upon Tweed, and this bright, warm, but pleasantly breezy day was perfect for stretching the legs around St. Abb’s Head.

The walk pretty much follows Walk 17 in Alan Hall’s excellent ‘The Border Country: a Walker’s Guide’ for Cicerone Press, from whom I have stolen the title. Starting in St. Abb’s itself, the walk follows good coastal and cliff-top paths around Kirk Hill to St. Abb’s Head, before returning alongside Mire Loch, a beautiful freshwater loch tucked-away almost out of sight until you’re pretty much beside it. Back in St. Abb’s, we walked along to Coldingham Bay, a pretty little bay complete with brightly painted beach huts, before returning to the car park in St. Abb’s via the Creel Road.

One of the highlights of the walk was reaching the lighthouse at St. Abb’s Head itself. Perched on the clifftop, the lighthouse is not open to the public (and in fact the old lighthouse keepers’ cottages are now privately rented holiday cottages) but you can get pretty close, and you have to admire the engineering feats executed so deftly by the famous Stevenson family.

This is a walk of contrasts and has something for everyone – sweeping sea views, clifftop walking, myriad flora and fauna, a sheltered lochside path, pretty bays and coves. And what a wonderful way to finally creep north of the border. Let’s hope we can keep on edging northwards…

Seathwaite Fell & Allen Crags

On July 24, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 5th July 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL4 – The Lake District: North-Western Area/OL5 – The Lake District: South-Western Area
Start/finish point: NY 235 121
Distance: 14.5km
Elevation Gain: 743m
Hills Climbed: Seathwaite Fell (632m), Allen Crags (785m)

Seathwaite Fell

This was intended to be walk 5.4 in my Nuttall guide, with Glaramara being the main event, but there was a question mark over the whole walk from the moment we left Gateshead on a wet Sunday morning. Forecasts were ‘interesting’ and we knew the wettest place in England would be, well, pretty wet, but we thought it was worth a look anyway.

How very wet it was. And windy. And pretty cold. And grey. We were drowned rats before we even left Seathwaite Farm. But we plodded onwards. As did several other parties, one of them a pair of young walkers who were planning to climb Scafell Pike. We pointed them in the right direction (or at least a direction) and started the walk up to the very pretty Stockley Bridge. We were chatting about Wainwright bagging as we walked in the driving rain, and the conversation turned to one Paul Tierney, the guy who ran all 214 Wainwrights last year in a record six days or other. Just then, a group of damp fell runners passed us at a little ford. “That’s only Paul Tierney!” I exclaimed. Mr Tierney didn’t hear me, but did say hello as he jogged on by. I felt oddly chuffed to have seen him, a celebrity of the fells, and laughed at what our reaction might have been if AW himself had been around today, and we had bumped into him! Anyway, we crossed the bridge and headed up towards Taylor Force waterfall, all the while scanning Aaron Crags – my guide said to strike out onto the pathless slopes about 300 yards along the path after the plantation ends, but no matter which way I looked at Aaron Crags it seemed like a pretty tough slog up to Wainwright’s summit at 601m. We decided that my (non-peak-obsessed) friend needn’t go through the steep slog, so we arranged to meet at Sprinkling Tarn – she carried on along the path, I headed up to the summit.

The summit plateau of Seathwaite Fell, with its three tops, reminded me a little of Tarn Crag, and I felt oddly at home already among the knobbly mounds and pretty little bodies of water. The weather conditions were pretty rough, and cloud cover meant the views form the true summit cairn were limited, but I decided I like this fell and it was a shame that an inability to stand up in the wind mean I couldn’t hang around. Soon I dropped down to Sprinkling Tarn, and once reacquainted with my pal, we headed on up the path.

We bumped into our two young friends from the start of the walk, who had climbed Ruddy Gill and got as far as the shelter under Broad End, before calling it a day because of weather and visibility. They also thought they were at Sty Head, and were rather confused, so we spent a while chatting in the rain and sent them back off the way we had come (or at least the way my friend had come) and said our goodbyes. Lovely lads, on their first lakeland walk, and it reminded me of my own baptism(s) of fire in Scotland, soaked to the skin, and wondering what on earth I was doing. I hoped today didn’t put them off, and suggested a few walks and small fells they might consider on the way back home.

But soon, we found ourselves in a similar position to the lads. It had gone rather dark, other walkers seemed to have evaporated, and as we plodded up to Allen Crags, we were treated to hail and stinging faces. Do we continue to Glaramara? Or do we drop down Ruddy Gill and agree that discretion is the better part of valour? We opted for the latter, and reluctantly retraced our steps and dropped down to follow the Ruddy Gill path all the way back to Seathwaite.

This was to be just the second time in 135 Wainwrights that I had been defeated (or sternly discouraged…) by weather conditions, and I also knew it wasn’t right to force my pal to plod on when they had come for a walk rather than an expedition. I found I had to have a word with myself on the way down Ruddy Gill, what on earth was I feeling bad about? A glorious walk in dramatic weather, in one of the most beautiful areas of the country, and somehow not managing to tick all the planned summit boxes made me feel disappointed?! We laughed at the delicious futility of peak bagging, made a few remarks about not seeing the wood for the trees, and the rest of today’s walk was one of two soaked pals, in good spirits, taking what felt like the longest path in Lakeland, admiring views and celebrating that we couldn’t get any more wet.

It was something of a relief when we reached the car at Seathwaite, but it had been a cracking walk. Just not quite walk 5.4.

Oh, and despite what I said above, Glaramara – I’m coming for you…

A Taste of the Far East

On July 13, 2020July 13, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 20th June 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL5 – The Lake District: North-Eastern Area
Start/finish point: NY 468 106
Distance: 13km
Elevation Gain: 807m
Hills Climbed: Rough Crag (628m), High Street (828m), Mardale Ill Bell (760m), Harter Fell (778m)

High Street & Harter Fell

With lockdown restrictions continuing to ease in England, my friend Laura and I decided to go that little bit further afield, that extra half hour, to The Lake District. After a few months away from these hills, I was beyond excited as we chugged our way along the A66, poring over the map of what was to be a new area of the LD for me – the Far Eastern Fells around Haweswater. I naively thought it might be quiet in this area of the lakes, but how wrong I was. Mardale Head was certainly the busiest I have ever seen a car park in the area – but thankfully there are so many walking routes, we didn’t see many other people once we left the car park. There was a large tent pitched not far from the car park, and a collection of nature’s finest doing their best to turn one of the most gorgeous starts to a walk anywhere into a holiday camp. Fortunately, it seems they were moved on. But the posts on social media the following day from people clearing up litter in this very spot made me sick.

However, the weather was gorgeous, the conditions crystal clear, and we strode towards The Rigg with smiles on our faces, before doubling back and straight up the Riggindale ridge towards the first objective of the day – Rough Crag. The beginning of the ridge reminded me very much of the Low Pike/High Pike stretch of the Fairfield Horseshoe, and the view back to Haweswater was glorious.

The path that winds its way to Rough Crag is just exposed enough to be exhilarating, which I don’t think I’d quite expected – it was a wonderful little scrambly journey to the summit, from which the view down to Blea Water and ahead to the Long Stile ridge were quite stunning. Long Stile is a wonderful way up to High Street, it makes for a real mountain adventure on a fell that, once attained, is flat as a pancake.

Once on the famous fell that is High Street, it was easy walking along the Roman route that is High Street, and I was tempted to continue to the beacon on Thornthwaite Crag, given that when I last climbed that hill the weather was poor and the views non-existent. We did enjoy the view cross to Windermere from the Roman road, but decided to stick with the planned route and swung round towards the next summit, Mardale Ill Bell.

Mardale Ill Bell offers stunning views back towards Haweswater Reservoir, and we had ourselves a lunch break in a sheltered spot shy of the summit. More easy walking on a good path took us down to the head of the Nan Bield Pass, before we plodded straight back up the ‘other side’ to climb Harter Fell, my 126th Wainwright. This really is a glorious horseshoe walk, and I felt I had underestimated the rocky, dramatic beauty of some of these Far Eastern Fells.

From Harter Fell it was an easy descent on the more grassy slopes (and good path) to Gatesgarth Pass, from which a new-looking but rough (and long) track took us all the way back to the car park at Mardale Head. A glorious walk on a glorious day, and it was wonderful to be back in the Lake District.

Lindisfarne – Finishing St Oswald’s Way

On June 29, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 13th June 2020
OS Map: Explorer 340 – Holy Island & Bamburgh
Start/finish point: NU 076 424
Distance: 15km
Elevation Gain: 36m

Holy Island

St Oswald’s Way is one of those long distance walks I’ve been chipping away at for almost a year. Despite some moments of outstanding beauty, and perhaps because much of it is on territory quite close to home, it isn’t a route that I’ve felt drawn to other than as occasional day walks. But much like hill bagging, there is an itch that needs to be scratched and having somehow walked all the stages of SOW as far as Beal, there was just the one glorious, closing section to do – the crossing of the sands to the holy island of Lindisfarne…

The entire north east of England seemed to be under a thick blanket of fog this particular weekend, which in part made the decision to do this walk easier – not great for hillwalking, but eerily perfect for estuary walking, Maybe I read too much Erskine Childers as a boy. We parked on the road side near Beal Sands (car parks still being closed across Northumberland) and moments later had struck out onto the causeway. We decided to cross the sands by the ‘Pilgrim’s Route’ which is a direct line across the mud flats, following regularly spaced wooden posts. A more otherworldy atmosphere I haven’t experienced in some time. The mud was at times so soft so as to feel like it could give way to quicksand, but navigation is easy, and there are a few refuge huts for stranded walkers dotted along the route. Not that we were in any danger today, the tide was scheduled to be out for a very long time, and the sands were to be safe for an unusual window of some 10 hours or so.

It’s a very odd feeling, walking across the sands when you can’t so much as see the even the road causeway nearby. The posts mean you can’t get lost, but you can feel quite disorientated. Expecting wet feet, I was trying out a new pair of walking sandals, which are perfect for this type of walk. They also added to the pilgrim feels.

Eventually the hazy outline of Holy Island appeared from the mist, and we had struck land. Time for a little break on the well-made bench, and a read of the information boards. Apparently this area was used for bombing practice during WW2, and there are signs encouraging you not to touch any objects you may come across in the sands or on the headland – they ‘may explode and kill you’. What, with Murton Fell last week, and Bomber Command playground this week, I could start a line in military walking tours…

We walked through the deserted village streets and took a path past the priory, crossing the beach to a small island where St Cuthbert once had a monastic cell. A large wooden cross marks the site now, and we sat a while looking out to sea, watching seals and all manner of seabirds occupy themselves.

Returning to the main island, we followed the footpath to the northern edge of Holy Island, where fields of sheep meet sand dunes, and the occasional deer (looking quite out of place) pops its head above the long grass. It looked like a botanist’s paradise, but I don’t know the first thing about flora so just admired the colours and enjoyed the wet grasses brushing my legs. Soon we arrived back at the causeway, where, for the sake of variety, we decided to walk back on the actual road causeway rather than retrace the path across the estuary. The causeway takes you over ‘The Snook’, a smaller, secondary island with, apparently, some interesting buildings on it, but we stayed with the road and eventually arrived at the refuge hut designed for stranded motorists. From here, it was a short walk back to the car, with a couple of satisfied nods at having completed another long distance route.

And I must say, I felt like quite the little pilgrim.

A Windy Wander on Simonside

On June 25, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 23rd May 2020
OS Map: OL42 – Kielder Water & Forest
Start/finish point: NZ 052 987
Distance: 9.3km
Elevation gain: 321m
Hills Climbed: Simonside (430m)

Simonside

This was a good few weeks ago now, so I thought a brief ‘photo report’ might be the order of the day. This was one of several walks closer to home during lockdown, before we were able to head to the bigger hills. I’m embarrassed to say this was my first time in the Simonside Hills, but as I’m sure is the case for many of us, it was good to discover beauty spots almost on the doorstep.

It may be of interest to others that the tree felling shown in one of the photos below, just as we had descended from Simonside, meant the path marked on the OS map heading south at NZ 021 987 (and so the path we hoped to use to make the walk a larger circular, meeting St Oswald’s Way) was non existent, and the ground very difficult to negotiate. In the end we returned to the good track and went back in a figure of eight.

Do take time, when back at Lordenshaw car park, to investigate the cup and ring marked rocks in the area. This part of the world is steeped in ancient history, and they are bound to set the imagination going…