Walking Hadrian's Wall, Hexham to Old Repeater Station

Our trip to the UK started with some daydreaming about hiking the full length of Hadrian's Wall. While we eventually expanded our trip to incorporate other parts of England and Scotland, we still wanted to get a taste of what walking a length of the wall was like. We decided to walk back from Hexham to Old Repeater Station. It was a very leisurely seven miles through fields tucked into the rolling hills of Northumberland.

A stile, marked with the National Trail's acorn, so we know we're on the right path.

Northumberland reminded us of Kentucky.

Black Carts Turret.

Cows relieving their itches on the Wall.

Sky and earth keep unfolding before us.

We both took a fancy to Low Teppermoor Farm.  The snug fields and mild cattle were charming. 

Jon consults the Ordnance Survey map to get our bearings.  Ordnance Survey maps are awesome, especially the Explorer series, designed for outdoor enthusiasts.  These maps have a scale of 2 1/2 inches to 1 mile, which affords an incredible amount of detail.  These maps make note of every little thing that can possibly be noted, from farms and lakes down to sheepfolds, cairns, and rock piles.  I kid you not.

Near Brocolita Roman Fort is the Mithraeum, dedicated to the Persian god Mithras, where Roman soldiers participated in the Mythraic Mysteries.  What we saw was a re-creation of the original site, which had been excavated and moved to the Museum of Antiquities in Newcastle in 1950.

Modern day offerings to the god on the altar, including a golf ball.

The headless statue of one of Mithras' twin torchbearers.

Not that much farther to Sewingshields on the Wall, and to roast lamb and vegetables made by Les at Old Repeater Station.

More cows. I never thought I would walk past a bull without some kind of barrier between the two of us.  He just chewed his cud and barely gave us a glance as we walked past.

Cairn Gorm and Fiacaill Ridge

The other hike we did in the Cairngorms was perfect in every way, except for the fact that we were still recovering from our hikes up Ben Nevis and around the Ring of Steall (we actually did the numbingly cold hike after this one -- I haven't been following a strict chronology while blogging about this trip), and so were a little tired.  It's probably because of the hiker's "bonk"* that I don't have a real narrative for this hike.

We set off from the Cairngorm Ski Park, intending to hike up Cairn Gorm and along Fiacaill Ridge.

The trail was nice and smooth for the first part of the hike. I admired the heather blanketing the ground.

If we had been able to get over the spine of Cairgn Gorm, I think that is the ridge we would have walked along on the last part of the hike.

The clouds remained far above and we were able to enjoy the view of the Rothiemurchus Forest, Glenmore, and Aviemore off in the distance.

I said Scotland is rocky.

Our first good look at Fiacaill Ridge.

Fiacaill Ridge looked like blocks set carefully on top of each other to form teetering columns in danger of sliding away.

This is about as far as we got before we had to turn back.  Snow and ice covered the trail.  We couldn't figure out a way to bypass the obstruction.  The rocks on the left were too steep to clamber over, and the land dropped away too sharply on the other side for us to safely go that way.

 

On the bright side, while making our way back down Cairn Gorm, we met the ptarmigan, of which I have spoken before.

 Last, but not least, we saw plenty of bog cotton along the trail.  What a homey name for such a funny looking plant.  It made me think of fairy brooms.

*The "bonk" is what you can sometimes feel after putting your body through a massive exertion of effort (such as 2 difficult hikes of 10 - 12 hours each within a few days of each other) and not yet eating enough calories to make up for the caloric deficit that results from such an effort.  All of this combined makes for a nagging sense of fatigue and a stomach that annoyingly feels like a dry, echoing well no matter how much food you stuff into it.

Cairn Gorm is rocky

Looking up at J. on the side of Cairn Gorm

Scotland has a lot of rocks.

In which we are defeated by wind and rain on Cairn Gorm and Ben Macdui

Here is a little background on the previous post and the quote from Tolkien's Return of the King, in which Frodo sees the Grey Havens for the first time.

Our plan was to hike out to Ben Macdui, Britain's second highest peak, from Cairn Gorm.  They are among the cloud capped mountains above.

But that plan bit the dust once we entered the clouds and were subjected to fierce winds and rain.  I have never been as cold as I was on the side of Cairn Gorm.  We were prepared for wet conditions, but not for wet conditions, 30 mph winds with occasional wicked gusts greater than that, and a windchill of 26 degrees that came out of nowhere.  One minute, we were hiking along, damp but comfortable; the next minute, the temperature plummeted and the wind came.

We were so cold, we lost all sensation in our hands.  It took me several agonizingly slow minutes to put my gloves on.  I had to consciously tell my fingers when to open and when to close.  It was strange to have no sensation in my hands and stranger still to have to work at communicating with this part of my body.

Also unnerving were the clouds.  They moved to and fro according to the wind's fancy.  One moment our view was obscured,

and the next moment, the cloud blew away and we could see how close we were to edge without realizing it.

The cold befuddled us. This was the most disturbing thing of all.  It's hard to describe.  I only have a vague memory of how heavy my body seemed (I was no longer feeling the cold) and how tiring it was to form a coherent thought.  It seems obvious to us now, warm and cozy inside the house, that we should have turned around and gone back once we realized that our gear was not adequate for the weather conditions, but it took our cold-addled minds a while to come to this conclusion.

When we turned to go back, the clouds lifted, oh so briefly, and revealed the far green country and lochs we would not be able to explore.  Then, as quickly as they dissipated, the wind drew them back, walling off the view behind a dank grey veil. 

The cold and the befuddlement have heightened my memory of that brief moment to the point of a dream.  For the first time, I keenly understood how Frodo felt when he saw the Grey Havens for the first time. 

But at least he got to go on. 

Rain in the Cairngorms

"The grey rain-curtain

turned all to silver glass

and was rolled back

and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country

under a swift sunrise."

(J.R.R. Tolkien, Return of the King)

Encountering the ptarmigan in the Cairngorms

We startled this ptarmigan and her chicks while out hiking. There was an explosion of feathers and frantic clucking as the chicks scurried to their hidey-holes and mama ptarmigan boldly remained in full view.

She then proceeded to lure us away from her chicks (we humored her, as we were going in the right direction anyways) by dancing in and out of the nooks and crannies of the boulder field, always just ahead of us.

When J. made the mistake of detouring around a boulder and thus towards her chicks, she came right up to his feet, flapping her wings and squawking a racket.

Several times, we thought she had left, now that we were clearly moving away from her chicks, but, nope, she would pop up from behind a random boulder, like a mole in the whack-a-mole games at Chuck E. Cheese.  It was quite amusing to be treated as bothersome predators.

Later on, a gentleman gave us a ride into Aviemore. He was an avid birdwatcher, out on a bird-watching expedition around Europe. We told him about the ptarmigan and learned that it is actually quite rare to spot one. Not only are they reclusive, but they blend in so well with their environment--as you can see from the picture above.

Ben Nevis Inn is a welcome sight

After the long descent down Sgurr a' Mhaim (on the left in the photo above), during which I often considered just laying down and rolling down the rest of the way (what's a few more bruises, considering the bruises and scrapes I had already sustained from my countless falls?), we made it to level ground and prepared for the 6 mile trek back to Achintee Farm along the road.

Naturally, we rather hoped that some passing car would take pity on us and let us hitch a ride.  This is how we made it to the trailhead at the beginning of this hike--an American couple on vacation while on sabbatical in Durham, England picked us up after we had hiked 2 or so miles on the road.  Luckily, after 10 minutes of walking, a van full of sullen teenage boys and two camp leaders pulled over and let us in.

J. and I were on edge once the van started moving because one of the camp leaders who appeared to be in the driver's seat kept looking back at us while we chatted.   All the while the van whipped back and forth along the serpentine road, somehow staying on course, even as he kept looking at us.  We thought he must know the road pretty well to drive the van so carelessly.

Then we realized that we were in the United Kingdom and the driver's seat is on the right side of the van.  Part of what fooled us about the chatty man on the left was his habit of resting his hand on the dashboard.  From our perspective, he truly looked like he had his hand on the wheel.

I drank tea nonstop during our trip

 With this realization, we were able to relax and anticipate, oh joy!, the piles of hot food and stout beers we would have (for nothing is more wonderful to a ravenous hiker than real food in an abysmally empty stomach).  I got potato leek pie, thick slices of bread with butter, large quantities of tea and cream, beer, and sticky toffee pudding. 

Ben Nevis Inn dwarfed by the mountains

At last fully sated, with food and views, we headed back to Achintee Farm where we slept long and deeply.  Thus ends another day.

Ring of Steall

Your narrators for the Ring of Steall hike.  We were blessed with wonderful weather, but struck dumb by the land.  Let the pictures tell the story here:

Making our way up the Nevis Gorge.

The trees open up into Glen Nevis.  The Steall Waterfall, one of the three highest waterfalls in Scotland, is ahead in the distance.  An Gearnach (The Complainer), first peak of the hike, rears its head.  It looks the spine of a dragon lazily raising itself up.

We begin the long ascent of The Complainer.  Here is one of the views that was our constant companion as we climbed and climbed.  The rock formations are fascinating -- perhaps the mark of the dragon's claws?

You certainly have to have a head for heights here!  The views more than compensate.

Looking back at the trail hugging the side of An Gearnach.  Can you spot me?

A panaromic shot looking out at Ben Nevis.

Looking around the shoulder of An Gearnach, we have our first glimpse of the "Ring."

Looking back the way we came up the side of An Gearnach (The Complainer).  Look for me, the spot of blue in the distance.  Yes, it really is that steep.  Notice the dragon's marks in the background.

On top of An Gearnach. Ben Nevis and the Carn Mor Dearg Arete are behind me.

Our first good look at the Ring. The peak of An Garbhanach (The Rough One) is straight ahead.  Next is Stob Coire a' Chairn (Peak of the Corrie of the Cairns)

Stob Coire a' Chairn, Am Bodach (The Old Man), Sgorr an Iubhair (Peak of the Yew Tree), beginning of the Devil's Ridge.  The peaks look like folds of fabric flung over the bones of the earth.

So close and yet so far: looking across the valley from An Gearnach to Sgurr a' Mhaim (Peak of the Breast), last peak of the hike.

Skirting some particularly rough patches on the "The Rough One."

J.'s glamour shot.

Pausing to figure out exactly where the trail is.

I have no idea how we got over this.  Can you pick out the trail?

But we got over it somehow, because there's me picking my way down.

Am Bodach (The Old Man) is next.  You would think that The Old Man would be a mild walk in the park, but we did some serious boulder scrambling.  I was on my hands and knees at times.  It was nowhere near as scary as climbing Ben Nevis, but you needed to concentrate.

On top of The Old Man, looking back at The Rough One.

This is what the trail looked like at times.  Perplexed and a wee bit nerve-wracked?  So were we.  Especially when you put this picture in context...

... welcome to the Devil's Ridge.  The trail at times narrowed to three feet in diameter, with steep drops at either side.  If you slipped, you had a long way to go before impact.

Looking down at the Devil's Ridge from the side of Sgurr a' Mhaim.

The summit of Sgurr a'Mhaim is covered in quartzite.  From a distance, it looks like a snow-covered peak. 

J. demonstrates how one descends scree.  It was actually a strangely pleasant sensation, slipping and sliding your way down these loose piles of stones.  It made me think of playground ball pits in McDonald's or Chuck E. Cheese's.

Beginning the long descent.  You might not realize this, but your ankles can get tired.  And when they get tired, you will have a very hard time remaining upright.  I fell too many times to count. 

The trail was suffering from some serious erosion.  At times, the trail had eroded so much, I was walking through miniature canyons, where the level of the ground around the trail was at waist height.   

We want to go back.  I think you would, too, in spite of steep drops and the seemingly innocuous Old Man.