Hadrian's Wall Path
There were times when it was hard to distinguish snot from rain, and rain from tears. There were times when it was hard to distinguish a fog shrouded hillside from a sheer drop off the edge of a cliff. There were times when it was hard to tell what hurt more, my feet from the pounding, my knees from the climbing or my shoulders from the weight of my pack.
Walking the Hadrian’s Wall Path with 3 hitherto strange men is one of the hardest physical (and mental) challenge I have done, but we completed it in 3.5 days and between us raised several thousand pounds for Cancer Research UK. It’s also the first of the National Trails I’ve walked in its entirety in one go!
In April 2013, we walked 84 miles coast to coast, from Wallsend in the East to Bowness on Solway in the West, to a highest point of 350 meters, up and down endless steeps crags, over dales, over countless ladder styles, through cities and towns and across endless fields.
Walking the Hadrian’s Wall Path with 3 hitherto strange men is one of the hardest physical (and mental) challenge I have done, but we completed it in 3.5 days and between us raised several thousand pounds for Cancer Research UK. It’s also the first of the National Trails I’ve walked in its entirety in one go!
In April 2013, we walked 84 miles coast to coast, from Wallsend in the East to Bowness on Solway in the West, to a highest point of 350 meters, up and down endless steeps crags, over dales, over countless ladder styles, through cities and towns and across endless fields.
Day 1: Wallsend to East Wallhouses – 22 miles
An inauspicious start through the housing estates and rubbish strewn alley ways of Wallsend, past derelict buildings and along the banks of the River Tyne (made toxic by past industries), led us eventually along Newcastle Quayside, past the many bridges and out once more into the suburbs.
Once out of the city, the first day of walking was characterised by field after field, hugging the road and offering very little in the way of scenic distraction; eventually giving way to the first of countless ladder styles.
We reached The Robin Hood Inn at around 6pm for a supper of red meat and red wine. I left the boys to their beer and warm beds, whilst I pitched my tent in the pub garden, hunkered down inside and listened to the rain.
An inauspicious start through the housing estates and rubbish strewn alley ways of Wallsend, past derelict buildings and along the banks of the River Tyne (made toxic by past industries), led us eventually along Newcastle Quayside, past the many bridges and out once more into the suburbs.
Once out of the city, the first day of walking was characterised by field after field, hugging the road and offering very little in the way of scenic distraction; eventually giving way to the first of countless ladder styles.
We reached The Robin Hood Inn at around 6pm for a supper of red meat and red wine. I left the boys to their beer and warm beds, whilst I pitched my tent in the pub garden, hunkered down inside and listened to the rain.
Day 2: East Wallhouses to Steel Rig – 21 miles
Julian's boots are strapped up, Graham's feet are strapped up and Pete’s chest straps are giving him moobs, as we faced more ladder styles on the morning of our second day, but the mood was good! Our first sighting of actual wall was at about 11.00am. The wall came and went, we passed the temple to the Persian god Mithras, where I had a nice jungle wee, and on towards the undulating hills where the wall snakes along the ridges.
Weary and aching, we reached the fort on the Crags at around 4pm. As some of the most stunning scenery on the walk was becoming increasingly cloaked in fog, we realised we still had another 5 hours of walking before we reached our lodging. Rather than risk a wrong turn off the edge of the cliff in fog and darkness, we abandoned the route at Steel Rigg and walked down to the Twice Brewed Inn for refreshment and to call a cab to our lodging at Greenhead Hostel. A hot shower and a hearty lasagne in the pub restored our humour before an early night.
Julian's boots are strapped up, Graham's feet are strapped up and Pete’s chest straps are giving him moobs, as we faced more ladder styles on the morning of our second day, but the mood was good! Our first sighting of actual wall was at about 11.00am. The wall came and went, we passed the temple to the Persian god Mithras, where I had a nice jungle wee, and on towards the undulating hills where the wall snakes along the ridges.
Weary and aching, we reached the fort on the Crags at around 4pm. As some of the most stunning scenery on the walk was becoming increasingly cloaked in fog, we realised we still had another 5 hours of walking before we reached our lodging. Rather than risk a wrong turn off the edge of the cliff in fog and darkness, we abandoned the route at Steel Rigg and walked down to the Twice Brewed Inn for refreshment and to call a cab to our lodging at Greenhead Hostel. A hot shower and a hearty lasagne in the pub restored our humour before an early night.
Day 3: Steel Rigg to Carlisle – 27 miles
Our early rise and taxi back to Steel Rig to pick up where we left off was rewarded with a beautiful sunrise as we climbed towards the highest point of the trail, flapjack and trail mix sustaining us.
The trail reaches its highest point at Windshields Crags, at 1131 feet (345 metres) above sea level. There isn't very much between you and the Shetlands, should you be lucky enough to have a drizzle free day to enjoy the view. We didn’t. Around a third of the way through the day's mileage, we crossed the border into Cumbria and stopped for coffee in Gilsland.
At Walton, with 11 miles still to go before we reached Carlisle, my feet were in agony and my humour was beginning to fail. We were out of water and had seen no civilisation for miles; this was not a high point. It felt like we’d been approaching Walton for miles, when we finally got sight of a village on a hill. A very big, steep tarmac hill that required climbing before we arrived in the village, and its pub with its long anticipated drink. So slow was our ascent that the tractor we’d passed some minutes before, muck spreading in a field, passed us by.
After what felt likes hours, we found the pub had long since shut. Sat on a verge some 10 minutes later, watching a woman paint her fence whilst drinking Pepsi from an honesty box, we consoled ourselves with couple of Diclofenac.
The rest of the day was a blur of effort. We’d seen the last of the wall now, our pace slowing as we trudged through fields and along roads, at one point literally crawling on our hands and knees. Save for a quick stop in a lovely village pub for a restorative glass of cider, the last few miles into Carlisle were an exercise in maintaining humour in the face of adversity. The cocktail of celebratory wine and Diclofenac made for a pleasant evening and an early (if slightly delirious) night.
Our early rise and taxi back to Steel Rig to pick up where we left off was rewarded with a beautiful sunrise as we climbed towards the highest point of the trail, flapjack and trail mix sustaining us.
The trail reaches its highest point at Windshields Crags, at 1131 feet (345 metres) above sea level. There isn't very much between you and the Shetlands, should you be lucky enough to have a drizzle free day to enjoy the view. We didn’t. Around a third of the way through the day's mileage, we crossed the border into Cumbria and stopped for coffee in Gilsland.
At Walton, with 11 miles still to go before we reached Carlisle, my feet were in agony and my humour was beginning to fail. We were out of water and had seen no civilisation for miles; this was not a high point. It felt like we’d been approaching Walton for miles, when we finally got sight of a village on a hill. A very big, steep tarmac hill that required climbing before we arrived in the village, and its pub with its long anticipated drink. So slow was our ascent that the tractor we’d passed some minutes before, muck spreading in a field, passed us by.
After what felt likes hours, we found the pub had long since shut. Sat on a verge some 10 minutes later, watching a woman paint her fence whilst drinking Pepsi from an honesty box, we consoled ourselves with couple of Diclofenac.
The rest of the day was a blur of effort. We’d seen the last of the wall now, our pace slowing as we trudged through fields and along roads, at one point literally crawling on our hands and knees. Save for a quick stop in a lovely village pub for a restorative glass of cider, the last few miles into Carlisle were an exercise in maintaining humour in the face of adversity. The cocktail of celebratory wine and Diclofenac made for a pleasant evening and an early (if slightly delirious) night.
Day 4: Carlisle to Bowness on Solway – 14 miles
After a breakfast of bread and jam acquired from the hotel, we set off on our last 14 miles in the rain. Our first obstacle was a partial route closure and diversion due to landslide, which we followed for a bit before rebelling and hopping over a fence and back on the original trail. This proved to be the right choice as not all the path had disintegrated and the route was just about passable without serious risk of actual death.
After a breakfast of bread and jam acquired from the hotel, we set off on our last 14 miles in the rain. Our first obstacle was a partial route closure and diversion due to landslide, which we followed for a bit before rebelling and hopping over a fence and back on the original trail. This proved to be the right choice as not all the path had disintegrated and the route was just about passable without serious risk of actual death.
There were more fields. Then a road that stretches indeterminably ahead towards the finish line. A road, with the sea to one side across open marsh flats and nothing else for miles around. The rain came down in torrents and the wind blew in from the sea, knocking us sideways. The soakings we took from cars splashing by made no difference to our already drenched clothes. The last 5 or so miles felt like an eternity. Every step hurt. My knees, my feet, my back. The boys were off ahead. I resorted to texting friends and family for encouraging words, in between bouts of sobbing and groaning.
I have never been so glad to see a village sign post as I was when we entered Bowness on Solway. We regrouped and walked the last few yards together to the finish. That pint of cider was divine.
I have never been so glad to see a village sign post as I was when we entered Bowness on Solway. We regrouped and walked the last few yards together to the finish. That pint of cider was divine.
