But I still entertained the option of excursion through those winter months , and in my post-Superbowl week in February, two such opportunities presented themselves. A cheap ride on the S&C line c/o WY Metro on 7th Feb, gave hope of putting out a stretch out of Ribblesdale, but the weather meant there’d be no attempt on Ingleborough that day, way too much snow to consider walking, even if I did have appropriate Winter gear. Very picturesque though.
 |
| Park Fell, Simon Seat and Ingleborough |
Stayed on to Carlisle then and decided to make for a walk along the banks of the River Eden, as that part of the world had, thankfully, avoided the snow. Time constraint was the major issue, with only 3 hours to burn at my destination, and needing time for another raid at The Bookcase, and for getting lunch at Tuillie House Museum (where Cream of Broccoli soup had better not be on the menu, again.) So out to the already familiar path to Carlisle Castle and Bitts Park, and on to one of the parts of Hadrian’s Wall path, that really is ‘In Name Only’, and onward over the Caldew to the Eden-side. The only folks out are dog-walkers and I make my trail to the west, spotting a lot of freight traffic over Eden Viaduct on the West Coast mainline, and coming to the conclusion that I have way too many fritzy batteries for my camera (nb. Never buy a camera that takes AA batteries. Not a long walk has passed until you feel like you’ve slipped into the countryside past playing fields and industrial estates, with very pricey looking houses on the North Bank, and you sight what looks like a good destination for the briefest of stretches, Eden Viaduct #2 aka Waverley Viaduct. A attractive six-arched span, built on a graceful curve in 1861 by the Border Union railway for the line from Carlisle to Edinburgh, once the third mainline to Scotland but closed in 1969 by the Beeching Report (of which further rants, later) and now looking somewhat forgotten and vandalised. Still, I loves me a bridge, and then I need to get my best navigating head on to find my way back to get back to the Newtown Road and my trail home. Only three miles walked, but felt like a day-full with my calves stiffening and that low February sun making the whole time feel like evening.
 |
| Waverley Viaduct |
Two days later, and I’m in Wales, via my parent’s house in Leicester, and set for another stretch. Trying to explain my Welsh heritage is rather confusing to any onlooker, as my Maternal Grandmother was one of 12 children to a family of hill farmers around Welshpool, and whilst she was the one child who moved away, many branches of the clan remained in Wales, who were known and unknown in almost equal measure. So, the family might still visit the known relatives, but the less known only get seen when someone their branch dies, and a funeral is attended. This was the case on this day, and I made my excuses as these relatives are very remote from me, and instead thought “hill farming in Wales means hills to walk“, and I’d never ventured onto those hills on foot in all the years that I’d visited, but had bounced over to our favourite farm via the roads many times. Parents thus attend funeral, and I set out with from Buttington, on the banks of the Severn (or Hafren, if we’re being Welsh) with map I assembled of screen shots from the OS website, aiming for a southward section of the Offa’s Dyke path. It’s that kind of day where it isn’t really raining, just that the clouds are so low, you’re walking through a fog of wetness, this caused my map to suffer some ink-runnage and for me to feel like I was breathing underwater. Also the fact that I had about 320 metres of ascent to do in only a mile of distance meant the walk itself was a real lung-burster, I just felt lucky that it was so cold that the ground underfoot was rock hard, otherwise quagmire joy in extremis! A lesson learned is that a hill that looks steep and imposing usually is, and the number of false summits gets trying after a while. Once you’ve met Cwmdingle plantation, though, you get sight of your summit and destination of sorts, Beacon Ring Iron Age fort, an imposingly large site which sits at the crest of the Long Mountain ridge, somewhat hidden by the fact that it is densely overgrown with trees (planted to make an E II R monogram, visible from the air, in 1953, pariotically). Super atmospheric in the fog, though, and feeling about as far from civilisation as you can get when the town is only 3 miles distant.
 |
| Beacon Ring Fort |
Beyond is a wet descent to find the old Roman Road, well hidden beyond many twisting paths, and also the only other man out on the hills, a farmer fixing fences and clearly not expecting to find anyone else out that day. Eventually roads start to look familiar as I dredge up old corners of my memory, and as I reach my destination at Trelystan church, I’m climbing a stile when a car pulls up and asks “Hello, Mr Wren? I believe we are related?, turns out it is one of my Mum’s many cousins, whom I probably hadn’t seen since 1987, and it’s an odd experience to talk to someone who you last met when you were a child. But conclude at Trelystan anyway, where several branches of my Welsh clan are buried and I look on down the hill to our favourite farm, 4 miles and one harsh ascent in only two hours of walking, but damnably cold for all that. Good to get indoors to visit a known relative after that escapade!
One day I’ll try to explain my fandom of Welsh rugby, whilst being English in most other regards, but this space looks forward to the real meat of my walking experience, as the best news came down at the end of February. No need for Oral surgery, as I didn't have any serious teeth issues!
Coming next: Active March!
No comments:
Post a Comment