May 022009
 

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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Coastal Essex is full of subtle magic. Last night I’d stood out in the moated garden of Wicks Hall farmhouse at midnight, listening to a nightingale fluting from a nearby thicket. This morning it was the chaffinches’ turn to be heard. The lime trees around the village lockup in Tollesbury’s square were loud with their short, explosive proclamations of spring. I ducked into St Mary’s Church to admire the famous ‘swearing font’ with its inscription:

‘Good people all I pray take Care

That in ye Church you doe not Sware

As this man Did.’

After levying a £5 fine on John Norman in 1718 for drunkenly shouting and cursing during a service, the Tollesbury churchwardens use the money to buy a new font and deliver a sermon in stone at the same time – a nice touch of rustic pragmatism.

In the village street cocks crowed from back yards. A saw whined in a workshop. A whiff of sawdust and resin floated from Adrian Wombwell’s boatbuilding shed. ‘Out exploring?’ enquired a dog walker. ‘Enjoy the day, mate!’

Down on the edge of Tollesbury saltings, a fine row of wooden sail lofts stood sentinel. Once they held the drying sails of huge Jumbo class racing yachts; nowadays small businesses fill their resonant interiors. Beyond them a dash of scarlet in the drab carpet of the marsh showed where the old Porthcawl lightship lay in retirement. Halyards chinked, black-headed gulls swore like John Norman in their screechy voices, and a breath of salt came up Woodrolfe Creek on the wind.

I walked the sea wall all morning and never saw a soul. Hares bounded away across the level grazing marshes. The reed beds along the dykes were alive with bunting chatter, and lapwings creaked and tumbled like bundles of rags over the fields. At Shinglehead Point the ribs of an ancient wooden vessel lay in the mudbank like fish bones. Across the wide Blackwater Estuary the square box shape of Bradwell nuclear power station sat squat on the flat horizon, the least significant item in all this open landscape today.

Out at The Wick I found the remains of Tollesbury Pier, a few old wooden piles with their feet in the Blackwater. There were great hopes of establishing a resort here when the pier opened in 1907 – trippers from Clacton, yachts from London, a packet steamer to the Hook of Holland … Nothing came of it. The pier legs rot gently; grass and thistles smother the trackbed of the Kelvedon, Tiptree & Tollesbury Pier Light Railway.

Where could you find a more peaceful and solitary walk on a bright, blowy spring morning? Yet Piccadilly Circus lies less than an hour away.

 

Start & finish: Tollesbury village square, CM9 8RG (OS ref TM 956104)

Getting there: Bus (www.travelinesoutheast.org.uk) – plenty of services, e.g. 91 from Witham, 92 from Colchester

Road: A12 to Kelvedon, B1023 to Tollesbury

Walk (7 miles, easy grade, OS Explorer 176): With your back to church, turn right out of square along B1023. Ahead at bend along Woodrolfe Road to sail lofts (966107). Detour: gravel path behind leads to lightship. Opposite Tollesbury Sailing Club, right up steps (fingerpost) along bank. Pass marina; at 3-way fingerpost (969103), left along sea wall path for 4 and a half miles. Pass Left Decoy (961084); in another quarter-mile, bear right inland (958083) along farm track past Bohuns Hall (956099) to Tollesbury.

NB – Online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Lunch: King’s Head PH (01621-869203) or Hope Inn (01621-868317), Tollesbury

Accommodation: Wicks Manor, Witham Road, Tolleshunt Major, CM9 8JU (01621-860629; www.wicksmanor.co.uk)

More info: Maldon TIC (01621-856503); www.visitessex.com

 Posted by at 00:00
May 022009
 

Of all the European countries blessed with sensational mountain scenery, Austria remains the walker’s favourite. There’s something about the combination of the mind-blowing drama of the Austrian landscape and the good humour and generosity of the people that’s irresistible to walkers, from absolute beginners to hardened mountain-hurdlers.

The paths that cross ridges and wind through valleys are beautifully maintained and efficiently marked. There’s a network of inexpensive, welcoming Hütten or mountain inns that British ramblers would give their eye teeth for. And from April to October the tourist information centres deal out walking maps, information, contact details for mountain guides and tips as though every other customer was a hiker in search of a good walk – which in the case of the Vorarlberg and Tirol regions of western Austria is not far from the truth.

You don’t have to be a hairy-chested peak buster to enjoy walking in Austria. From the highest Tirolean alp to the gentlest Vorarlberg path, there is something for everyone.

Vorarlberg: Bregenzerwald

The Bregenzerwald, a seductive area of undulating pastures and wooded hill ranges, lies in the north of the Vorarlberg, the region that occupies the north-west tip of Austria. My wife, Jane, and daughter, Mary, were accompanying me on this, their first Austrian adventure, and the Hotel Krone in the Bregenzerwald village of Hittisau – recently refurbished by its owners Helene and Dietmar Nussbaumer, using local craftsmen working in local wood – proved the perfect base for expeditions into the fields, wood and hills nearby.

On our first day we just strolled around Hittisau, pursuing the ''Wood Trail’’ from one beautifully made wooden house to the next, visiting the village cooper and beekeeper Peter Lässer in his resin-scented workshop, stopping in at the Women’s Museum with its startling and challenging modern sculpture displays – not what you’d expect to find in a sleepy hill village, and all the better for that. Next day we followed the newly waymarked Wasserwanderweg along the jade-green Bolgenach river at the feet of Hittisau, looking for dippers and dragonflies. We passed a group of nuns, out for a walk in full habit, who all chorused ''Grüss Gott!’’ and grinned shyly at us; then came up from the river through the yard of a flower-bedecked old watermill, up to an inn on a crossroads where we drank coffee in the seductive scent of wood smoke.

It was the time of year when the Bregenzerwald cows all walk down from the high summer pastures to spend the winter in their home villages in the valley. Hittisau’s neighbouring village of Schwarzenberg held a festival day, and we went along to see the cows, their coats shining like velvet from the rich summer grass, paraded through the streets with much clonking of neck bells and clinking of wine glasses. It made us keen to see an alpine pasture ourselves. Luckily the Schwarz family’s Helmingenalpe, up in the mountains beyond Hittisau, proved to be hanging onto its cattle for a few days more. Walks leader Christoph Oberhauser took us there by winding paths, past the Lecknersee and up through delectable flowery meadows thick with crocuses, scabious and royal blue gentians. Marianne Schwarz showed us her vast copper milk cauldron, her cool dairy and subterranean cheese store filled with big fragrant rounds of cheese. We sat at a long table by the window, the wooden platters in front of us piled with slabs of cheese – salty, sweet, new, mature, studded with chives – tasting and talking and sipping strong, clear perry from a wooden barrel. Now that’s a civilised way to walk.

Hittisau walks

''Wood Trail’’ (one hour – easy): Stroll around the village admiring the old, carved, wooden buildings and architect-designed new ones; visit Peter Lässer the village carpenter (0043 5513 2966), and the Women’s Museum (5513 620930; www.frauenmuseum.com).

Wasserwanderweg (two hours – easy): A waymarked trail with information boards along Bolgenach River.

Lecknersee and Helmingenalpe (four hours with farm stop – easy/moderate): From Kälberweidealpen car park by Lecknersee and Gästhof Höfle to Helmingenalpe alpine farm (5513 6117 – open May to September for cheese, but check first!), returning via Äuelealpe.

Staying, eating: Hotel Krone, Am Platz, 6952 Hittisau, 5513 6201; www.krone-hittisau.at – warm, friendly, stylish, comfortable.

More info: Hittisau Tourist Office (5513 620950); http://homes.tiscover.com/vbgtour/pdf_files/2005/Wanderlust_E_05.pdf contains excellent walks in the locality.

Vorarlberg: Lech

Remembering a splendid hike I’d enjoyed a few years before around Lech, a short way south-east of the Bregenzerwald, I left Jane and Mary to wander about Hittisau and its green plateau, and took myself off for a day to revisit some old stamping grounds in the east of the Vorarlberg.

The Kalbelesee lake was full and shining, the path through the beautiful green Auenfelder meadows as lovely with buttercups and cyclamen as I’d remembered. I stopped at the tiled old farmstead to drink sharp buttermilk, and tackled the steep path up out of Lech towards the Stierloch Joch and the Ravensburghütte mountain inn with a smile on my face, looking forward to dark beetroot soup, a buzz of talk and rumble of singing. If there’s a better definition of mountain bliss, I’ve never found it.

A three-day hutting hike around Lech:

Day 1 – Path 10 Lech-Zug, Path 55 Zug-Ravensburghütte (about three hours; moderate); Day 2 – Path 61 Ravensburghütte-Spuller See, Path 601 Spuller See-Freiburgerhütte (about six hours; hard); Day 3 – Path 62 and Path 10 to Lech (about four hours; moderate). Path 601 is a Höhenweg, for experienced walkers only, not recommended in bad weather.

Map: 1:50,000 Lech Wanderkarte.

Mountain guides, map, info: Lech Tourismus, A-6764 Lech am Arlberg (0043 5583 21610; www.lech-zuers.at.

South Tirol

The deep green valley of the Zillertal, tucked down in the beautiful south Tirol region near the Italian border, has just about everything a walking family could hope for: a network of strolling routes at low level in the bottom of the valley, a multitude of cable-cars and chairlifts rising to stations up the mountainsides, and a chain of well-marked mountain footpaths ranging from easy high-level circuits to serious peak-scrambling for those with confidence and energy to burn.

Rain and mist had cut off the high peaks, but our guide Walter Ludl knew plenty of other delights. The first day saw us exploring far up the Zillergrund, a narrow and dramatic side valley off the Zillertal. We found a track running along the shores of the Stausee lake reservoir, and followed it under tall slopes to the farm and alpine inn at the lake head.

Here, idling outside the wooden hut over a glass of beer at a table among cheery walkers, we appreciated how the farm’s mountainous situation, and the zen-like docility of its resident pigs, cows and hens, have earned it the appropriate nickname of ''Little Tibet’’.

Next morning we swung by cableway and chairlift up to the Penken alp. Here we wandered along the ridge paths in the cold mountain air, winding in and out of the Knorren, a set of jagged teeth of naked grey limestone, to reach the Penkenjoch café and its mugs of hot chocolate.

Then it was down a snaky path through pine trees to the Penkenbahn station and an eagle’s-view swoop back into the valley, where a few hours later we were throwing Seventies disco shapes in the bar of the Hotel Strass to the cheesy sounds of DJ Stocky.

On our last day we travelled north up the Zillertal to the village of Fügen, collected a map from the tourist office, and took off along a path, looking over old houses with flowery balconies and ground levels packed with wood for winter.

Zillertal walks

Fügen village circuit (one hour – easy): Through the old village to join Beleuchteter Panoramaweg; north to waterfalls, loop back on higher path to Marienbergkirche. Map from Fügen tourist office (5288 62262).

Zillergrund (three hours there and back – easy): From Adlerblick restaurant (0664 200 0332) on Speicher Zillergrund reservoir dam, along north bank to ''Little Tibet’’ alpine farm at head of reservoir, then back to Adlerblick.

Penkenalp (three hours – moderate): Penkenbahn cable-car station to Penkenjoch pass, descending to Lanersbach.

Staying: Hotel Strass, Hauptstrasse 470, 6290 Mayrhofen, (5285 6705; www.hotelstrass.com). Long-established, welcoming resort hotel with enjoyable nightlife.

Eating: Der Metzergerwirt, Finsing 16, 6271 Udens, (5288 62559; www.dermetzgerwirt.at). Hannes and Alexandra Hell’s haven of good food and ambience where locals and gourmets rub shoulders.

More information: Mayrhofen TIC, Europahaus, Mayrhofen, (5285 6760; www.mayrhofen.at).

North Tirol

Returning to the Tirol on a solo walking trip, I decided to head north to try out a section of the recently established Adlerweg, the 175-mile Eagle’s Way route that crosses north Tirol from east to west. It offers the grandest possible Alpine scenery to any hill walker with plenty of stamina, decent balance and a head for heights.

From the Karwendel valley, a nature reserve about 10 miles north of Innsbruck across the mountains, I struck out eastwards into the valley of the Filztal, walking easily and taking time to look around. The view ahead was sensational, a dozen miles of jagged overbearing mountains as perpendicular as cliffs, their feet spreading through last winter’s unmelted snow patches and vast fans of scree.

A serpentine path led across the loose pebbly slopes of the Kaltwasserkar, the Cold Water Screes, an obstacle course of tree roots and slippery rocks. I could see the Falkenhütte coming a long way off, and was ready for a good night’s kip by the time I had climbed up to the 6,000ft saddle where the wood-walled hut perched under the giant grey cliffs of the Laliderer Spitze. Cheese dumpling soup and cloudy Weissbier seemed ambrosial in a room full of the stories and laughter of mountaineers.

At dawn I watched the sun smack the sombre bluffs of the Laliderer Spitze with blinding colours. Before 8am I was off along the immense scree slopes fanning like skirts from the mountain walls that towered 3,000 feet. The Adlerweg rose to a pass under the sphinxlike outcrop of The Devil’s Head, then fell away into the deep valley of the Eng, loud with cow bells. A refreshing glass of buttermilk at an alpine farm far below, and then it was on and up in beautiful clear sunshine to the Lamsenjochhütte, another wood-panelled mountain inn on a green saddle under great rock walls. A quick bite to eat, and I was slipping and sliding in zigzags down the mountain to journey’s end in Pertisau on the shores of the Achensee 3,000ft below.

Two days on the Adlerweg

Day 1 – Karwendelhaus to Falkenhütte, (allow about four hours; moderate); Day 2 – Falkenhütte to Lamsenjochhütte (five hours; moderate/hard); Lamsenjochhütte to Pertisau (two hours; moderate).

Map: Freytag & Berndt 1:50,000 WK323 ''Karwendel–Mittelwald’’. Available from Stanfords (www.stanfords.co.uk); widely available locally.

Mountain guides, info: Tirol Tourist Board (www.tyrol.com); mountain guide Mike Rutter (664 262 3692; michael.rutter@tirolwerbung.at).

The huts

There are more than 1,000 Hütten scattered about the mountains, most within half a day’s hike of the next, open from June to September. The Hütte offers a tasty hot meal, a shower, an evening’s yarning over beer, wine and schnapps, and a comfortable bed in a dormitory or (for a supplement) a private room. Prices are very reasonable, and members of the Austrian Alpine Club (www.aacuk.org.uk) get a discount.

Reading

Walking Austria’s Alps, Hut to Hut by Jonathan Hurdle is published by Cordee (01455 611185; www.cordee.co.uk) and costs £9.95.

Eating

Don’t look at the scales! Austrian mountain food is long on calories, for warmth and energy. Try Krapfen (cheese, potato, onion, fried in rye batter); Bauernschmaus (Farmer’s Stew – smoked meat, dumplings, potatoes and gravy); Schliachtrnudln (noodles, cheese, cream); Kasspatzlang (noodles, onions, cheese); Schoderblatlang (sweet bread pudding); Graukas (blue cheese from the mountains). Cheese from alpine farms is wonderful.

 Posted by at 00:00
Apr 252009
 

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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The Afon Disgynfa rushed toward the 200-ft cliff, gathered into a bulge of glass-clear water at the very rim, then hurled itself headlong into space. Prone on a spur of beaten earth beside the cliff, I watched the cascade drop away as if drawn down by strong unseen hands. Then I raised my gaze to take in the view down the U-shaped valley into which the river was tumbling: grazing meadows and many small farms between towering hillsides and naked rock crags. Up here at the top of Pistyll Rhaeadr, the tallest waterfall in Wales, everything – mossy rocks, slippery stones, lichen-encrusted larch and hazel boughs – spoke of the damp, clean air of the surrounding Berwyn Hills, and of the all-pervading influence of the moistly exhaling fall.

Down on the footbridge at the base of the cliff, the waterfall itself was all the view one needed. It came hissing lazily out of the mist-whitened sky in lacy skeins, toppling gracefully into a half-way basin before bounding out through a natural bridge of polished black rock and crashing on down towards the spray-shrouded pool at the bottom. Is there a more stupendous and humbling spectacle in all Wales than this mighty cataract seen from below when furious with recent rainfall?

I lingered a long time on the bridge, till eyes and ears were sated with the movement and noise of falling water. Then I reluctantly turned my back and followed a path between mossy trees scarred with ancient penknife carvings of lovers’ names. Out on the hillside the path dropped between house-high boulders – perhaps hurled here by giants, though other sources suggest they may have fallen from the sharp ramparts of Craig y Mwn, the Mine Rock cliffs far above. Craig y Mwn was well named: here in times past quarrymen dug out slate and miners delved for lead and silver, leaving levels, tramway trackbeds and spoil heaps to litter the mountain.

The path threaded the hillsides where newborn lambs tottered after their blue-rumped mothers, plaintively bleating in shaky little voices. Smoke whirled from the wind-whipped chimneys of Tan-y-graig, where the farm dogs gave me a tongue-lashing from the ends of their chains. I stopped for a word with the farmer at Tyn-y-wern – the cost of feed, the price of lambs, the hard winter of 1982 when Pistyll Rhaeadr froze solid and daring souls went ice-climbing up its face. Fondling the head of Nell the ancient sheepdog of Tyn-y-wern, I leaned on the farmyard gate and sniffed woodsmoke, silage and wet grass, the essence of spring in the Berwyns, with the distant murmur of the great fall for a relish.

Start & finish: Pistyll Rhaeadr car park, SY10 0BZ – near Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant (OS ref 075294)

Getting there: A5 from Shrewsbury towards Oswestry; B4396 to Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant; ‘Waterfall’ (4 miles) signed on right in village

Walk (3 miles, moderate grade with one steep climb/descent, OS Explorer 255): From car park, down road to end (074295); right behind public lavatories, up signed path (yellow arrows) that zigzags steeply uphill. At top, track continues to arrow pointing right through gate (fingerpost) to top of waterfall (073295). NB Please take great care! Slippery rocks, unfenced 200-ft drop!) Return same way to foot of fall; cross by footbridge; follow path through trees, over fields, across mining spoil to Tan-y-graig (081285) and road at Tyn-y-wern (085287). Left to car park.

NB – Online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Lunch: Tan-y-Pistyll Café (01691-780392; www.pistyllrhaeadr.co.uk)

Accommodation: Wynnstay Arms, Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant (01691-780210; www.wynnstay-arms-hotel.com) – simple, comfortable, very friendly and helpful

More info: Llangollen TIC (01978-860828); www.visitwales.co.uk

 Posted by at 00:00
Apr 252009
 

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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On this cloudy spring day, Tillicoultry looked just as I remembered it: a neat, proud Clackmannanshire mill town, with the Ochil Hills rearing 2,000 feet behind in a dramatic green wall. The mills had long fallen silent along the River Devon, but sheep still dotted the hill slopes like flecks of snow. St Serf, Tillicoultry’s own 6th-century miracle worker and missionary, would have enjoyed the sight. The saint, a keen shepherd, had his own flock under special protection. When a rustler stole, roasted and ate Serf’s pet ram, and then boldly denied the crime, the very mutton was heard bleating inside the guilty party’s stomach.

Nowadays the winding River Devon runs at the feet of the Ochils in company with the Devon Way, a beautifully landscaped footpath and bridleway established along a disused railway line. I walked briskly, trying to work off a bacon-and-haggis breakfast, with the slow-flowing Devon on my right hand and the tremendous green and black rampart of the hills on the left. Along the old railway the ash buds were clamped shut and hawthorns still thick with last autumn’s shrivelled berries, but a song thrush in an elder bush was busy trying to charm the laydeez.

Along the valley in Dollar, the Dollar Burn came sparkling from its steep glen through the town. I climbed a steep and slippery pathway up the rocky cleft of Dollar Glen where the Burns of Care and Sorrow sluiced down black rock chutes to mingle in the stream of Dolour. Gloomy names, and a doom-laden history to the castle that blocks the throat of the glen on a formidable bluff. Impregnable it must have seemed to the Campbells who built it, warmed themselves before its enormous stone fireplaces, and shut their captured enemies away out of sight and mind in its cruel and terrible pit prison. Bonnie Montrose couldn’t take Castle Campbell – Castell Gloum was its ominous nickname – when he tried during the Civil War. But the Macleans destroyed it in 1654, firing the stronghold with flaming arrows while the garrison was out scouring the hills for food.

I climbed the spiral stair, to a roof-top view that had me gasping – Dollar below, a gleam of the Firth of Forth amid southern hills thirty miles off, Saddle Hill and King’s Seat towering to the north, seemingly just overhead. Then I descended from Castell Gloum down the Burn of Sorrow, back along the old railway line where mating frogs filled the ditches and wrens sang as if man and his bloody inclinations had never been invented.

Start & finish: Sterling Mills car park, Tillicoultry FK13 6HQ (OS ref NS 920965).

Getting there: Buses (www.traveline.info) from Glasgow, Stirling, Alloa, St Andrews

Train (www.thetrainline.com) to Alloa (3 miles)

Road: A91 from Perth or Stirling to Tillicoultry; car park off A91, on A908 Alloa road.

Walk (8 miles, easy/moderate grade, OS Explorer 366): Follow Devon Way to Dollar. Left through Dollar, then Dollar Glen to Castle Campbell (962993). Cross Burn of Sorrow above castle (959995), and turn left. In 200 yards, left downhill; path crosses 4 footbridges below castle, then rises to west rim of glen (960991). Follow West Glen signs to descend to cross Dollar Burn (963988); return to East Burnside (963983). Lane past Dollar Golf Club and Belmont House; cross A91 (47978); left, then right to Devon Way (950977); right to Tillicoultry.

NB – Detailed directions, online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Detailed map of paths in Dollar Glen:

http://walking.visitscotland.com/walks/centralscotland/dollar-glen

Conditions: Steep, slippery paths in Dollar Glen; dogs on leads in Dollar Glen

Lunch: Plenty of places in Tillicoultry and Dollar

More info: Tillicoultry TIC (0870-720-0605); www.visitscotland.com

 

 Posted by at 00:00
Apr 182009
 

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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The folk of medieval Upper Coquetdale were famously tough – and they needed to be. The wild cleft in Northumberland’s Cheviot Hills lay at the frontier where Scotland and England collided. This was debatable land, a lawless country. Here Scots battled Englishmen, hot-headed Border lords hacked and slashed each other in bloody ‘frays’, and the masterless cattle bandits called reivers cut the throats and broke the heads of all who stood in their way. Jane and I pictured the mayhem as we wandered the green triple ramparts of the Roman forts and camps at Chew Green, built in these remote hills two thousand years ago at the orders of Governor Julius Agricola, a man who would have brooked no law-breaking whatsoever.

Two great marching camps overspread the slopes of Chew Green, with a fort incorporated and a couple more strongholds as part of the complex. We followed the green road the soldiers built, part of the mighty highway of Dere Street that arrowed from Eboracum north to the shores of the Firth of Forth. Subject to ambush, cold and overstretched, often soaked and always on the lookout, how the Roman conscripts must have grumbled and groused on their long marches at the outermost margin of civilization. Today it was the curses of a pair of Pennine Way walkers that floated on the Cheviot winds as they limped up Dere Street, bruised and blistered of foot, towards the Scottish border on the last day of their 270-mile ordeal. ‘Lovely day!’ I carolled as we caught up with them on the Border fence. ‘Luck t’you!’ they snarled back – or something like that.

A side path led off east over the rounded backs of The Dodd and Deel’s Hill, with the deep valley of the young River Coquet out of sight in its cleft below. It was a wonderfully exhilarating march, a cold wind out of Scotland bowling us along, with far views across bleak treeless hills whose pale grasses seethed and raced as if stirred by invisible spears.

Down at Buckham’s Bridge we dropped onto the valley road and turned back past the lonely farmhouse of Fulhope where half a dozen farmers had gathered to dip their sheep. A quad bike on the steep slope above carried a shepherd and an ancient collie, while the junior dogs crouched and raced at shouted commands: ‘Left! Left! That’ll do!’ The sheep wheeled and scampered in a panic, the shape and direction of the flock skilfully managed to funnel them down to the dipping bath.

Back at the car park we met a squad of soldiers, doubling up the lane at the end of some ferocious exercise on the hills. The lad in the rear – he couldn’t have been more than 17 – was wincing with every step. ‘Hop in,’ I said, opening the car door. He grinned, sheepishly, and hobbled on after his mates. Julius Agricola would have recognised the spirit.

 

Start & finish: Chew Green parking place (OS ref NT 794085)

Getting there: A1, B634 to Rothbury; B6341 through Thropton; in 2 miles, minor road to Alwinton; follow ‘No Through Road’ up Upper Coquetdale for 12 miles to Chew Green. Walk (6 miles, moderate grade, OS Explorer OL16): From Chew Green Roman camp, follow Pennine Way/Dere Street to Border fence (791096). Right on path to The Dodd (797098), then bridleway over Deel’s Hill (804102) to Buckham’s Bridge (824107); right along road to Chew Green.

NB – Online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Otterburn Ranges information: 01830 520569; www.otterburnranges.co.uk

Lunch and Accommodation: Rose & Thistle, Alwinton (01669-650226; www.roseandthistlealwinton.com)

More info: Rothbury National Park Tourist Information Centre (01669-620887; www.visit-rothbury.co.uk

 

 Posted by at 00:00
Apr 112009
 

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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A mad spring morning of wild skies and tearing clouds, of heavenly slashes of blue and thunderous slabs of slate grey racing over Staffordshire. Walking up the road into Barlaston, I passed Esperanto House, the UK’s weekend rendezvous for speakers of the international language. What a nice thought on a blowy morning – hearty gusts of Esperanto wafting round the Arts & Crafts houses of Barlaston, the village green and the curious, blockily-designed modern church.

 

There’s altogether more to ‘Beornwulf’s town’ than meets the eye, as visitors discover during Barlaston Wassail each New Year’s Eve, what with chariot racing, dancing on the green, and flaring torches lighting a grand late night procession out to the nearby ridge of Downs Banks. I set out along the processional route, and the rain set out after me. It caught me at the top of the bank, a proper grey-out which mercilessly lashed the countryside. Hail sparked in silver jags off the path, wind roared in the stunted oaks along the ridge. Then the storm howled off east, leaving every twig and half-opened bud with a dangling teardrop. I dropped down into the shelter of the hidden valley below Downs Banks, and made my way back to Barlaston along paths gleaming and sticky.

 

On the outskirts of the village, Barlaston Hall stood square and dignified in red brick, commanding a superb view over ornamental lake and parklands. Hidden beneath the well-mannered paddocks lie long-abandoned coal mines, whose collapsing tunnels almost brought the house down before it was stabilised and restored in the 1990s – a long and painstaking process.

 

Beyond lay Wedgwood Pottery’s leafy industrial estate. There’s an excellent Visitor Centre and a brand new museum. I shook off the raindrops and went in for a look-see. What the one-legged pottery designer Josiah Wedgwood started in his native Burslem in the 1750s grew into a mighty industry. Wedgwoods made creamware for the dinner tables of the world, and blue and black jasperware for its dressing tables. Techniques have altered over the years, but the craftsmanship hasn’t. This dedicated, specialised, intricate craft still flourishes, near where it all began.

 

The walk back to Barlaston lay along the Trent & Mersey Canal, commissioned by Josiah Wedgwood to carry his fragile wares to the buyers. I’d spent yesterday cruising the waterways towards the Potteries in a slow boat, looking forward to a good walk in this tempting Midlands countryside. It had lived up to all my hopes.

 

Start & finish: Village green, Barlaston, Staffs (OS ref SJ 894384)

Getting there: Barlaston or Wedgwood stations – NB no longer served by trains, but by bus from Stoke or Stafford (www.thetrainline.com). Road: M6 (Jct 15); A34 south, side road to Barlaston

Walk (6 miles, easy grade, OS Explorer 258): Upper House Hotel entrance (894383) – field path (yellow arrows) to ridge crest (897375) – follow ridge south to road (899363). Return to Barlaston northwards via valley bottom path for 2/3 mile (left over stile at 900374 to regain ridge). From village green follow ‘Wedgwood Visitor Centre’ signs past Duke of York PH (894385) and Barlaston Hall (894391). Cross stile beyond (894393) to road (893396); left over bridge; right (890395) to Wedgwood Visitor Centre. Return to road; right over railway; left (884393) along canal to Plume of Feathers PH (887383); left into Barlaston.

NB – Detailed directions, online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Refreshments: Duke of York PH (01782-373316) or Plume of Feathers (01782-373753), Barlaston: Wedgwood Pottery tearooms or restaurant

Accommodation: The Graythwaite Guest House, Newcastle-under-Lyme ST5 1DS (01782-612875; www.thegraythwaite.co.uk) – classy, friendly place

Wedgwood Visitor Centre: 0870-606-1759; www.thewedgwoodvisitorcentre.com

Wedgwood Museum: 01782-371900; www.wedgwoodmuseum.org.uk

Canal cruising: www.hoseasons.co.uk

More info: Stoke-on-Trent TIC (01782-236000); www.enjoyengland.com

 

 

 Posted by at 00:00
Apr 042009
 

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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Hallaton is a beautiful village, all thatched roofs and golden walls, set in the rolling wolds of East Leicestershire. But there’s more to Hallaton than meets the uninformed eye. Setting off from the Bewicke’s Arms past the Buttercross on a windy spring morning, I glanced up the road to St Michael’s Church. In a couple of weeks’ time Hallaton’s great Easter Monday procession would gather at the church gates for the ceremonial cutting of a giant Hare Pie, the gentler half of the village’s annual ritual Hare Pie Scramble and Bottle Kicking.

If you don’t like rough play, beer drinking and large muddy men, stay away from Hallaton’s Hare Pie Bank on Easter Monday afternoon. It’s there that the dismembered pie is sent flying into the crowd. After that, the Master of the Stowe launches a painted wooden cylinder or Bottle into the air. Hundreds of men and one or two women hurl themselves on top of it and each other, and battle commences

The rough aim (and rough’s the word) is for Hallaton to score by getting the 12lb Bottle – actually a wooden keg filled with beer – across to their bank of the Medbourne brook through fair means or foul, while the neighbouring and rival villagers of Medbourne do their damndest to force it across to their side. Best of three Bottles wins. And that’s it. Unlimited numbers can take part, with no time limit and no rules. Everyone ends up plastered with mud, covered with bruises, full of ale and hilarity. Bragging rights and glory are all the victors gain.

Picturing the mayhem and the fun, I walked fast over fields of fresh spring wheat where the farmers had refrained from ploughing in the old ponds. Frogs croaked there, enmeshed in mats of spawn. From Keythorpe Hall the Midshires Way long-distance path led me south, an easy, undulating track between pastures where the ewes brought their new-born lambs to stare at the stranger. Hunting fences separated the fields, their upper rails smoothed by the friction of passing horse legs – a reminder that I was tramping the ‘Galloping Shires’.

Down among the immaculate gardens of Medbourne, daffodils were out along the brook. Another Bottle stood on a rail above the bar of the Nevill Arms. Which village had gained the victory last Bottle-Kicking? ‘They did,’ mumbled a tough guy in a teeshirt, ‘but not next time, mate!’

A giant spring hailstorm marched across the wolds as I walked back to Hallaton by way of Blaston Chapel. Hailstones pattered on my coat and heaped up among the primrose clumps in the hedge roots. Blackbirds sang. Nature seemed bursting with life; and people, too, were preparing in their own rough-and-tumble way to celebrate health, strength and proper vigour.

 

Start & finish: Bewicke Arms, Hallaton LE16 8UB (OS ref SP 788965)

Getting there: A47 Leicester towards Uppingham; minor road East Norton-Hallaton. Park near Bewicke Arms.

Walk (11½ miles, easy grade, OS Explorer 233): Bewicke Arms – bridleway for 2 miles by Hallaton Spinneys to Keythorpe Hall Farm (766994) – south for 3 miles by Midshires Way, through Cranoe to Churchfield House (760945) – bridleway for 2 and three quarter miles across Welham Road and Green Lane to Medbourne and Nevill Arms (798929). Along Uppingham Road for half mile – left (802938 – ‘Blaston, Field Road’) for 1 mile to Blaston – left at foot of Horninghold Lane (803956) across fields to Medbourne Road (794961) – right to Hallaton.

NB – Online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Lunch: Nevill Arms, Medbourne (01858-565288; www.thenevillarms.net)

Accommodation: Bewicke Arms, Hallaton (01858-555217; www.bewickearms.co.uk)

More info: Leicester TIC (0844-888-5181; www.goleicestershire.com)

Hare Pie Scramble and Bottle Kicking 2009: 13 April 2009

 Posted by at 00:00
Mar 282009
 

Whatever you imagine a village pub to be, the Logan Rock Inn in the Penwith hamlet of Treen is pretty much it – warm fire, warm welcome, good talk, good grub. ‘Thought you might enjoy this,’ said landlady Anita George, proffering Jane and me a bill – not ours, but the reckoning for an extremely costly piece of vandalism in April 1824 by Lieutenant Hugh Goldsmith, RN.

The merry young shaver and the crew of his coastguard cutter had dislodged the famous Logan or rocking stone, chief tourist attraction of the area, from its perch on a rocky promontory beyond Treen, and sent it crashing to the beach below for a jolly jape. When local complaints reached the Admiralty, their Lordships were not amused by the bad PR. It cost Goldsmith £130 – a small fortune – and many months’ stoppage of pay, not to mention a huge and salutary output of anxiety, hard labour and ingenuity, to restore the rock to its perch. At last, reported the Royal Society, ‘in the presence of thousands, amidst ladies waving their handkerchiefs and universal shouts, Mr Goldsmith had the glory of placing the immense rock in its natural position, uninjured in its discriminatory proportions.’

Down on the cliffs, we threaded our way by fly-walk paths out to where the Logan Rock rode high on its outcrop. Climbing the slippery granite stack, shaggy with coarse lichen and short of footholds, proved too much for us. So we lounged on the rabbit-nibbled turf beneath, watching the lumpy sea heaving explosively against the cliffs far below, each milky green wave surging back on itself with a wildcat hiss in a lacy shawl of pure white foam.

The dull gold crescent of Porthcurno’s beach opened ahead as we hunched west into the wind along the coast path. Across the deep cleft where the village lay sheltered, steps climbed past the bowl in the cliffs where Rowena Cade built the Minack Theatre over 30 years, with infinite labour and passion. We left the Minack’s tiered seats and wonderful rock gardens behind us, forging on along the cliffs to come to the stone-walled spring of St Levan’s Well above the tiny, pristine beach of Porth Chapel.

St Levan, a 5th-century Irish hermit, was a great fisherman by all accounts. We sat down to admire the boom and thunder of the sea across the saint’s favourite beach. In a little while it would be time to take the homeward path by way of St Levan’s Church with its carved bench-ends and rough granite pillars, and then the ancient wheel cross of Rospletha. Not just yet, though.

Start & finish: Village car park, Treen (OS ref SW 395230)

Getting there: A30 from Penzance towards Land’s End; B3283 through St Buryan to Treen.

Walk (4 miles, moderate grade, OS Explorer 102): From car park, left up track; in 10 yards, left on path (‘Logan Rock’ signs) across fields to cross South West Coast Path (397224). Ahead through outcrops to find Logan Rock (397220). NB: Path from South West Coast Path to Logan Rock is hard to distinguish – there are many paths and no waymarks! Follow your nose out, skirting to the right of the first big outcrop of pinnacles. Logan Rock sits atop the second, central outcrop of three, marked with a small plaque. Hazardous climb (up right side as you look at it) is at your own risk!

Return to coast path and bear left through Porthcurno (386223). Up steps past Minack Theatre (386221); on to St Levan’s Well (381219). Bear right off coast path, up footpath to road and St Levan’s Church (380222). From NE corner of churchyard, field path to pass ancient cross (382223) and reach Rospletha (383224). Bear left through kissing gate, then right (waymark arrows) down field track to cross road in Porthcurno (383228). 40 yards past Rockridge House, left up steep grass path; field paths to Trendrennen Farm (388231). 50 yards past houses, right across fields (yellow arrows) to Treen.

Lunch: Logan Rock Inn, Treen, TR19 6LG (01736-810495;

http://www.intocornwall.com/engine/business.details.asp?id=92)

Accommodation: Rockridge House, Porthcurno TR19 6JX (01736-810410; www.rockridgehouseporthcurno.co.uk) – very helpful and welcoming place

More info: Penzance TIC (01736-362207; www.visitcornwall.com)

 Posted by at 00:00
Mar 212009
 

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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The hedge roots around Hexton were spangled sherbet-yellow with primroses, and the catkin-laden hazels were loud with explosive bursts of chaffinch song, as I set out along Mill Lane from the Raven Inn. Across the north Hertfordshire fields on the southern skyline, sinuous chalk hills looked out towards the great clay plains of Bedfordshire, misty and cool in this fresh March morning.

Hexton’s neighbouring hamlet of Pegsdon lies in a southward-bulging salient of Bedfordshire. The signboard of the Live and Let Live pub showed a dove and a peregrine falcon sitting amicably together by an unloaded shotgun. So there are miracles still in the borderlands, just as the Bedfordshire tinker, fiddler and outlawed nonconformist preacher John Bunyan saw in visions when he roamed these hills in Restoration times – visions that drove him to compose The Pilgrim’s Progress in the prison cells he was so often confined in.

On the southern skyline rose the Pegsdon Hills, the ‘Delectable Mountains’ of John Bunyan’s fable. A winding path and hollow field lanes brought me to where the ancient Icknield Way, deeply sunken in a tunnel of beech and hornbeams studded with green buds, rose along the nape of the hills. The 6,000-year-old highway ran rutted, grassy and sun-splashed past Telegraph Hill where a gaunt semaphore mast was once sited by the Admiralty, one of a chain that passed signals between London and far-off Great Yarmouth. A little further along rose Galley or Gallows Hill, a place of ill-omen in Bunyan’s time, where witches were buried and the tar-soaked bodies of executed criminals hung to terrify passers-by who fervently believed that Gallows Hill was haunted by a dread Black Dog.

I turned off the old track, heading north over the rounded sprawl of Barton Hills. A nature reserve with dry chalk valleys too steep to plough, the hills remain a beautiful stretch of unspoiled chalk grassland. Trees disguised the ramparts of Ravensburgh Castle, the largest hillfort in south-east England. In 54 BC Julius Caesar attacked and stormed a hillfort in this region that was defended by the British warrior leader, Cassivellaunus – it was most likely Ravensburgh.

Beyond lay Bonfirehill Knoll, in former days the scene of the Hocktide Revels shortly after Easter. It doesn’t take much post-Freudian analysis – especially in rampant spring – to work out the symbolism of ‘Pulling the Pole’, a game in which the men of Hexton tried to keep an ash pole erect on the hill, while the women strove to collapse it and drag it down into the village. Strange to relate, the women were always triumphant. I made my way down the hill and over the fields to Hexton, with plenty to ponder.

Start & finish: Raven Inn, Hexton, Hitchin, Herts SG5 3JB (OS ref TL 106307)

Getting there: Train (www.thetrainline.com) to Harlington (5 miles)

Road: M1, Junction 12; A5120, then minor road to Harlington and Barton-le-Clay; B655 to Hexton.

Walk (10 miles, easy grade, OS Explorer 193): Leaving Raven Inn, turn left; on your left; walk up road past ‘No Through Road’ sign and continue for ½ mile (0.8 km), along Mill Lane, past Hexton Mill (blue bridleway waymarks), to pass between Green End and Bury Farm, and on to meet road (120306). Right for 300 yards, then left to pass Live & Let Live Inn (121303). In 100 yards, just before B655, left up Pegsdon Common Farm drive (fingerpost, ‘Private Road’). Rounding a left bend, go right (125305 – fingerpost) up grass path and up steps, then on up right side of conifer plantation. At end of trees, continue along rim of dry valley to waymark post (129304 – Chiltern Way/CW waymark). Left along edge of escarpment for 300 yards; right along sunken lane (CW). Pass entrance to Knocking Hoe NNR and go over stile by gate (133305). Left (CW) for 150 yards, then right along field edge path (blue arrow, ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ waymark) for 500 yards to B655. Right for 250 m along grass verge, then through car park and through gates and stiles to join the Icknield Way (132300).

Icknield Way climbs for nearly 3/4 mile, then levels off. In another 400 m, look on your right for kissing-gate with brown ‘Access Land man’ logo (121291). Continue along Icknield Way; at a fork in 150 m, keep ahead for 3/4 mile to meet a road (109282). Forward along verge for 500 yards; where road bends left under power lines, forward along Icknield Way for 2/3 mile to cross John Bunyan Trail (unmarked on ground) on edge of Maulden Firs (096275). Ahead for another 300 yards, then fork left (093273) to ascend Galley Hill.

From Galley Hill return to Icknield Way; retrace steps for 300 m to edge of Maulden Firs wood; left along John Bunyan Trail, under power lines for 2/3 mile to road (093284). Right for 150 m; left (fingerpost) through trees on path past Barton Hill Farm for 2/3 mile (1 km) to pass gate of Barton Hills National Nature Reserve on your left (092296). Continue along track, noticing on your right the thickly wooded rampart of Ravensburgh Castle, and beyond it the tree-smothered Bonfirehill Knoll.

Follow track down slope for 2/3 mile to T-junction with lane (085303). Right past church to B655 in Barton-le-Clay (085305). Right for 50 yards, left along Manor Road. 100 yards past gates of Ramsey Manor School, right (086310 – fingerpost) down path, over footbridge and follow field edge. In 100 yards, ignore arrow pointing left; keep ahead for 1 mile along field edges, to cross footbridge (104311) and the final field into Hexton. Turn right to Raven Inn.

Lunch: Raven Inn, Hexton (01582-881209; www.theraven.co.uk) or Live & Let Live, Pegsdon (01582-881739; www.theliveandletlive.com)

More info: Letchworth TIC (01462-487868); www.hertfordshire.com

 

 Posted by at 00:00
Mar 212009
 

A beautiful sunny day in West Berkshire; just the afternoon to go strolling on the common. Skylarks climbed high in the blue overhead, pouring out passionate song. Golden cowslips and pale pink milkmaids bobbed in the breeze. Cows grazed contentedly. Beneath their hooves, under the turf of the common, lay hidden the ghostly shape of the runway that once slashed its concrete scar across this heath. Beyond the fence squatted the truncated, toad-like shapes of silos which held the doomsday weapons that, in the event of war at the end of the 20th century, would have lifted off the runway in the bellies of USAF bombers, bound for a dropping point somewhere over Russia.

‘I stumbled on Greenham Common while I was taking the dogs for a walk, some time after we moved to the area in 1978,’ mused Derek Emes, Chairman of Greenham and Crookham Conservation Volunteers, as we strolled the common together. A retired civil engineer who’s worked all over the world, Derek and a band of like-minded volunteers have laboured tirelessly to restore the disused Greenham Common cruise missile base to its former state of ecological richness. ‘The nuclear silos were just being built, but the whole place was in a dormant state; the fence had been allowed to deteriorate, and I found I could get in and out pretty much as I pleased. I thought: what a lovely place! Of course, once the cruise missiles were installed and the first women’s protest group arrived from Wales, the ‘Women for Life on Earth’, everything changed.’

Greenham Common is not like any other common in these islands. From the Second World War until 1997 it was an air base, run for the most part by the United States Air Force; and for eight of those years, 1983-1991, it housed cruise missiles with a nuclear capability. No-one who watched television news in the haunted years of the 1980s, with international tension sharp and the Iron Curtain giving no hint of melting away, could fail to remember the Women’s Peace Camp that established itself outside the gates, nor the fence-scalings, incursions, sit-down protests, chants, televised struggles with stolid policemen, and other ways that the women found to keep their anti-missile cause in the headlines.

‘The peace women weren’t especially unpopular hereabouts,’ noted Derek. ‘But they weren’t exactly welcome, either. Greenham Common is really two neighbouring commons, Greenham and Crookham, and the women found out that some local commoners still enjoyed ancient rights of access to Crookham Common. So they befriended them, and were able to get onto that section and carry on publicising their cause.’

Eventually the peace women saw their mission fulfilled. By 1992 the USSR’s policy of glasnost or open engagement with the West had neutralized its perceived threat. The nuclear missiles of Greenham Common were removed and returned to the USA. Five years later the air base was closed, and the MoD handed Greenham Common over to Newbury District Council and the Greenham Trust. Since then the 1,200 acres of Greenham and Crookham Commons have been managed as one enormous nature reserve.

Two factors vie for your attention as you walk the common: the natural world that is re-establishing itself with astonishing speed, and the ominous remains of the air base that still lie in situ. Here are mires and sphagnum bogs, ponds and streams, acid grassland, mown meadows where orchids thrive – bee orchids with their bumble-bee-bum patterns, green-winged orchids, Autumn lady’s tresses with tiny white flowers. Hares, rabbits, weasels and foxes find refuge here. Dartford warblers nest, and so do skylarks and woodlarks. The common is bright with great blue drifts of viper’s bugloss, yellow of ragwort and purple-pink of rosebay willowherb, and the pink 5-petalled stars of lime-loving common centaury. These thrive next to acid soil plants such as bell heather, in patches where lime leaching out of the broken old runways has enriched the surrounding heathland. Nearby, old air base buildings quietly crumble. The cruise missile silos, green flat-topped pyramids with dark entrances, squat behind a triple layer of fencing like the burial mounds of long-superseded warriors. And a fire-practice plane lies in its moat of water, no longer blasted with flame in simulated emergency, silently rusting itself away.

This wonderful variety of wildlife, the resurgence of the common’s ecological riches after half a century in the shadow of military development, has not come about by chance. ‘All sorts of ideas were put forward for the base when it was closed,’ said Derek, ‘a housing estate, a new airport for London, a car racing track. But in the end we got what we were lobbying for. The Greenham Trust bought the entire site for about £7 million, and leased the Greenham and Crookham commons to West Berkshire Council for one pound. Our conservation volunteers meet on the third Sunday of each month and we go out on a task – scrub-bashing, perhaps, or clearing away rubble, cleaning up the ponds or maybe doing some hedge-laying or putting in a footbridge. Little improvements, but persistent.’

The shadow of the past still lies long on this wild place, lending it an extraordinary poignancy. And the Greenham and Crookham Conservation Volunteers can’t afford to be complacent, insists their Chairman. ‘The commons themselves may be safe now, but we’re always having to challenge applications for inappropriate development around the perimeter – intrusive lights, too-tall factories, increases in road noise and transport movements.’ Derek Emes swept his arm wide in a gesture that embraced wild flowers, ponds, woods and streamlets. ‘It’s just so beautiful when it’s all out in full colour on a day like this. A miracle, really, to think what it was like only ten years ago. And we are completely determined to keep it safe for the future. That’s what it’s all about.’

Information on Greenham and Crookham Conservation Volunteers (www.gccv.org.uk):

 

Greenham Common is one of 500 wild places described and explored in Christopher Somerville’s latest fully-illustrated book, Britain and Ireland’s Best Wild Places – 500 Ways to Discover the Wild (Allen Lane, £25)

 

 Posted by at 00:00