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.

The Ring of Fire – Compleating the Scottish Donalds

On September 3, 2020September 3, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 3rd-6th August 2020
OS Map: Landranger 77 – Dalmellington & New Galloway
Start/finish point: NX 412 656/NX 360 784
Distance: 90km
Elevation Gain: 4300m
Hills Climbed: Larg Hill (676m), Lamachan Hill (717m), Curleywee (674m), Millfore (657m), Meikle Millyea (746m), Milldown (738m), Corserine (814m), Carlin’s Cairn (807m), Meaul (695m), Cairnsgarroch (659m), Coran of Postmark (623m), Shalloch on Minnoch (768m), Tarfessock (697m), Kirriereoch Hill (786m), Merrick (843m), Millfire (716m), Bow (613m), Caerloch Dhu (659.5m), Tarfessock South Top (620m), Benyellary (719m), Bennan (562m)

A 3-day adventure in the Galloway Hills

My first Donald, White Coomb, was actually my first hill walk. Back in 2018 I found myself in Moffat for the weekend and did Mid Craig, White Coomb and Carrifran Gans without fully realising whether they were Donalds, tops, or not. Fast forward to 2019 and I found myself looking at the beautiful SMC guide to the Grahams and Donalds, and I had the idea to get back to the Donalds with some focus, and to walk them in memory of my dad, Donald, and in aid of Mesothelioma UK. Weeks and months went by, and though I enjoyed picking-off individual hills, I knew that to stand any chance of climbing all 140 Donalds and Donald tops within the time frame I had set myself, some epic walks were going to be in order.

But there was one epic I wanted to save until last, and that was thanks to Ronald Turnbull and his excellent ‘Book of the Bivvy’. Bruce’s Crown, The Three Ridges, or my favourite, The Ring of Fire – call it what you will, it’s a walk that takes in the Minigaff Hills, Rhinns of Kells, and Range of the Awful Hand. Runners do it in a 24-hour challenge, but as a walker with all my gear on my back, I gave myself 2-3 days. I was planned and ready to go, I had studied maps so obsessively I felt I could walk it without so much as taking a map with me. Some sponsorship came in and then…

COVID-19 happened.

And so, months behind schedule, I finally set out on the journey to Newton Stewart and got off the bus on a sunny afternoon, ready to walk in to the hills. Being reliant on public transport and timings to and from Glentrool Village not working ideally for me, I decided to walk in from Newton Stewart to the first Donald, Larg Hill, and pick up the route from there. What follows is therefore not so much the exact Ring of Fire, but a slightly modified version to take in the Donalds and Tops and omit one or two unnecessary hills.

The late afternoon, sunny walk-in was a delight. I followed the minor road from Newton Stewart through Minnigaff, along past Barclye Moor, until I reached the turn-off for Drannandow Farm. From here it was easy walking on the farm track, gradually gaining height as I crossed the Moor of Drannadow, and Larg Hill appeared on the horizon. It was never the plan to get up into the hills on this first evening, but to get as near to Larg Hill as possible, and start in earnest the next morning. The weather looked promising, and eventually I settled in for the evening quite literally on the slopes of Larg.

Early the next morning I unzipped the tent door to a completely different world. Strong wind, lashing rain, thick mist. Marvellous. Cursing, I forwent brewing anything on the stove, packed everything into dry bags, and started what would be the hardest few days I have ever experienced on the hill. Larg Hill was a quick bag, and then I followed the misty ridge up to Lamachan Hill, where I seriously considered calling it a day already. Then I remembered that it was already just as difficult to give up and head back as it was to carry on, so off to Bennanbrack I went, and struggled my way down to Nick of Curleywee, where I sat huddled in my little bothy bag for a break from the weather. I had so looked forward to Curleywee, but in the end it was nothing short of hell. I made a couple of errors descending via Gaharn, and relocating my way up towards Millfore was difficult. In fact, the stretch between Curleywee and Millfore was just about as much a test of my navigation and energy as anything I have ever endured.

Actually, I’ll take that back – rounding Cairngarroch to drop down to Black Water of Dee, up past the quarry towards Darrou and on to the Rhinns of Kells – THAT was the biggest test yet. If there’s a snowless version of a glissade, that is what I found myself doing on the way down from Cairngarroch. It was wet enough to slide my way down the slopes, but bumpy enough to find myself upside down at times, legs pointing up the hill, something akin to an upturned tortoise.

I would dearly like to return to walk the Rhinns of Kells when I can see something. It was pretty easy walking in and of itself, and I had this constant feeling that I was standing on a ridge with stunning views. It’s just that I couldn’t see any, and it was hard to stand up at times. The rest of this first day involved battling my way up and down the tops, until finally I left the ridge after Coran of Portmark, to go and find somewhere to camp.

The next day was all about the long walk on the forestry road, where visibility improved at the lower level but the rain kept me in something of a miserable mood. My Terranova bothy bag came in very handy whenever I wanted to eat or have a rest, and eventually I emerged at the break where I needed to head up to Shiel Hill and onto the wonderfully named Ridge of the Awful Hand. This I found exceptionally difficult. There’s just something about this rugged terrain in the rain, and the fact that mist lay heavily anywhere above about 400m – was I going around in circles? Eventually, I was able to pinpoint myself at Caerloch Dhu, and I was back in the game, so to speak. I was also very tired, and a little fed up.

Back up to the Awful Hand, and slow progress along towards Tarfessock, where I left the ridge again and off to camp – shelter really is an amazing thing. One thing that had disheartened me so far in this little adventure was that I hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of the rough, almost Jurassic paradise that lies on the valley between these three ridges. In fact, I wouldn’t see anything of the lochs below until at the far end of this final ridge the next day.

The next morning, I eventually regained the Range of the Awful Hand, and initially had a spring in my step as compleation was in sight. The place where I really felt I’d hit rock bottom was the steep pull up Little Spear to (The) Merrick. I deposited myself in the wind shelter on the latter, and even though it was almost wintery cold up there, and I STILL couldn’t see much, I had myself a long break. I had just one top left to do.

It is of course, typical that as I descended from Merrick, the mist occasionally cleared to give me glimpses of the lochs below. I felt really quite emotional when I arrived at the final top of this expedition, and of my complete round of Donalds – Benyellary. Of course it was at this point, and on this popular hill, that I started seeing lots of people, and it is perhaps difficult to explain why you look like a broken man when everyone else is toddling up to Merrick with a spring in their step. I wandered down to a level area away from the summit, had myself a little moment, and reflected on the round of 140 Donalds and Donald Tops.

This final walk in the round had been one of the toughest, but my adventures in the Moffat Hills and on the two outlying Donalds near Callander surely came close. Most of the Donalds had been walked in awful weather, and all but one had been done solo and using public transport (the exception was Windy Gyle – but the weather was still awful). Low as these hills may be, they had been a character-building test in every respect, and I now find myself craving a little rock to walk on. We raised some money for a charity close to my heart, and I felt chuffed to be added to the SMC list of compleaters – no. 241, and next in line from a fellow WalkHighlands user, Ian G Park, whose own reports of tough walks in Donald country inspired some of my own.

Back to Galloway, and the weather (and suddenly the views) improved as I dropped down over Bennan, and when I arrived at Glentrool visitor centre summer seemed to have returned. I myself returned to Newton Stewart by bus, and started the long journey home.

Dad, this one was for you.

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.

The Man in the Buff

Tag: long distance walking

The Red Kite Trail

The Ring of Fire – Compleating the Scottish Donalds

Lindisfarne – Finishing St Oswald’s Way