Christopher Somerville

Snape Maltings and Iken, Suffolk

Jun 062009

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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Young musicians were streaming into the concert hall at Snape Maltings when I arrived on a peerless sunny morning. A Ferris wheel lazily turned beyond the buildings, its occupants masters of a stupendous view all the way down the snaking River Alde to Aldeburgh and the open sea. Snape was en fête this weekend, a grand public party.

When Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears converted the austere old maltings at Snape into a great concert hall in 1966-7, they dreamed of this: all ages, all stages of musical appreciation flocking to enjoy wonderful music in the incomparable, severely beautiful setting of the flat Suffolk coastlands. The Aldeburgh Festival they founded in 1948 has taken on a vigorous life of its own, and how Britten and Pears – iconoclasts and visionaries in their own era – would have revelled in that.

I stuck out along the boardwalk path through the reedbeds along the Alde. Everything in nature seemed lively and full of risen sap and reproductive purpose this spring morning. Shelduck argued over possession of the mudbanks, hawthorn flowers whitened the hedges, and reed buntings were loudly and emphatically declaiming their rights to stem and seed-head. ‘So-I-told-her, so-I-told-her!’ twittered one nestholder hidden among the reeds, almost close enough to touch but quite invisible to me. ‘Did-you? Did-you? Did-you? Frankly, frankly, frankly-my-dearie!’

Over the feathery tops of the reeds the river shimmered with wind ripples and mudflats gleamed in the hazy sunshine. Beyond them the stumpy tower of St Botolph’s Church at Iken showed above trees on the negligible rise of ground where St Botolph founded his monastery in 654AD. Botolph was a man in search of self-excoriation, like so many of those early hermits. ‘The unwearied man of God,’ recorded the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ‘looked about him everywhere, till at last he found by the mercy of God, such a spot at Icanhoh, which was just the Godforsaken, devil-possessed place he was in search of.’

Set in its sunny churchyard in a sea of buttercups, bluebells and anemones, the old church held no devil today, unless it was the faded stone dragon some Saxon sculptor had incised in St Botolph’s ancient cross shaft. I lingered long among the wild flowers and lichened headstones before setting inland.

Pigs lay stunned by the sunshine in self-excavated beds of wet mud. Partridges skimmed the potato fields, and sika deer crept secretively in the shadow of pine trees. Back on the estuary the tide had inched a little closer to the shore. The buntings still bubbled scratchily in the reeds, the river shimmered on, and the old maltings by the bridge rang with the sound of joyful young voices.

Start & finish: Snape Maltings, near Aldeburgh, IP17 1SP (OS ref TM 392574)

Getting there: A12, A1094, B1069 to Snape

Walk (6 ½ miles, easy grade, OS Explorer 212): From Snape Maltings bear right along riverside footpath (blue and yellow Suffolk Coast Path/SCP waymark arrows) for 1 3/4 miles to road in Iken (412560). Left; in 100 yards, left again to St Botolph’s Church (412566). Return along road to fork (413560); bear left (‘Sudbourne, Orford’) for ½ a mile; right at Swallows Corner (418553) along Sandy Lane for ½ a mile. 100 yards past Fir Tree Cottage, road bends right (411551); keep ahead here (footpath fingerpost) to dogleg round Oak Covert and reach SCP at ‘pig city’ (406547). Turn right, following SCP along field edges to road (403559). Right for 100 yards; left, and follow SCP back to Snape Maltings.

Lunch: Crown Inn (01728-688324) or Plough & Sail (01728-688413), Snape

More info: Snape Maltings (01728-687100); Aldeburgh TIC (01728-453637; www.suffolkcoastal.gov.uk/tourism)

Aldeburgh Festival 2009: 12-28 June (www.aldeburgh.co.uk)

Three Cliffs Bay, Gower, South Wales

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May 302009

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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A sunny spring afternoon over South Wales, with a blustery wind gusting along the coast of the Gower Peninsula. Horned cattle stood contentedly munching the grass of the cliff-tops where the vivid blue of bluebells and the acid yellow of gorse vied to overload my eyeballs.

A deep sighing of sea advancing on rocks came up on the wind. The view opening westward over Three Cliffs Bay had me stopped and stunned on the brink – cliffs black in shadow, mirror-grey in sunlight, with the big squared foot of Great Tor planted solidly at the water’s edge, dividing a three-mile curve of creamy, pristine sand. The strata of the cliffs stood tilted almost vertically, as rough as the coarsest sandpaper with their coating of uncountable millions of barnacles.

Down in Pobbles Bay I crept through a wave-cut arch in the promontory, and followed the sinuous curves of Pennard Pill to teeter across its precarious line of stepping stones. Sandy paths led me on round the summit plateau of the promontory – almost an island – of Penmaen Burrows, where the chambered cairn of Pen-y-Crug still crouched, as it has done for 5,500 years, under a monstrous capstone of dully shining quartzite.

Back on the mainland I followed field lanes that wound inland and back towards the coast among forget-me-nots, milkmaids, violets and stitchwort, wild garlic and bluebells, the last of the year’s celandines and the first wild strawberry flowers. I climbed the steep sandy face of Penmaen Burrows and came to haunted, enchanted Pennard Castle looking out over Three Cliffs Bay. History says this was a poorly designed, badly sited stronghold, smothered by blown sand shortly after it was rebuilt in stone around 1300AD. Legend tells how a beautiful princess came to Pennard Castle to be married, and found herself at the mercy of its drunken garrison. These brutes attacked a party of fairies who were coming to the wedding, and the little people caused them and their castle to be buried in a great sandstorm.

I walked the homeward path along the cliffs, looking across the Severn Sea at the blue spine of Exmoor and picturing the princess and the bullies entombed in the dunes. Or did the maiden escape, as some tales tell, to live happily ever after with the fairies? It would be nice to think so.

Start & Finish: West Cliff car park, Southgate, Gower (OS ref SS 554874)

Getting there: M4 (Jct 47); A483, A4216, A4118; before Parkmill, left on B4436 (‘Pennard’); follow ‘Southgate’ to West Cliff car park.

Walk (7 miles, moderate with steep parts, OS Explorer 164).

This is a low-tide walk. Set off shortly after low water (tide times: www.gowerlive.co.uk/tidetimes.php ). If Pobbles Beach covered by sea, follow cliffs to Pennard Castle and return.

West along cliffs for 1 mile, descend to Pobbles Beach (540878). Through cliff arch; follow Pennard Pill to cross stepping stones (538883). Left up path. Near top, left (534884 – ‘Penmaen Burrows’ fingerpost) downhill, then uphill; clockwise round Penmaen Burrows; back to fingerpost. Left to T-junction (534887); right past North Hills Farm, along path to cross A4118 (542891). Up lane opposite, in 200 yards, right to re-cross A4118. Go left of Maes-yr-hâf Restaurant (545892 – ‘Threecliff Bay’); cross stream, right (blue arrow) through woods for ½ mile. Climb steeply to Pennard Castle (544885). Right along cliffs to car park.

Refreshments: North Hill Farm shop, Gower Heritage Centre tearooms, Maes-yr-hâf Restaurant.

Accommodation: King Arthur Hotel, Reynoldston, Swansea SA3 1AD (01792-390775, www.kingarthurhotel.co.uk) – £80 dble B&B.

Information: www.mumblestic.co.uk; www.visitwales.co.uk

Gower Walks Festival 2009: 6-21 June

(www.epmuk.co.uk/GowerWalkingFestival/)

Hebden Water, West Yorkshire

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May 232009

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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The chaffinches of Hebden Dale certainly seemed pleased with the day. They were practising their ‘fast-bowler-doing-his-run-up’ songs from every oak and sycamore in the deep, sun-struck valley on this beautiful spring morning – or so it seemed as I descended the gravelly path to where the Hebden Water sparkled among its gritstone rocks. Hebden Dale winds down to Hebden Bridge, one of West Yorkshire’s most productive weaving towns not so long ago, nowadays all cleaned up and classy. Walking by the river up this quiet cleft in the flank of the Brontë Moors, I pictured the smoke and pollution, the roar and clatter of milling that filled the town and its satellite dale scarcely more than a century ago, and found such scenes almost impossible to credit.

Last time I’d walked the dale, the Hebden Water had been charged with storm water and rushed viscous and peat-brown down from the moors. Today the river ran slow and limpid, its dimpled surface reflecting an electric blue flash as a kingfisher streaked by. Broken walls and the remnants of old sluices showed where the mills had once lined the banks. One remains in the dale, the Queen of them all, the handsome neo-classical Gibson Mill, beautifully restored by the National Trust. I stopped in at the Muddy Boots Café for a cuppa and a bit of cake (chocolate, sticky, sinful) and went on up the dale, the chaffinches singing me over the bridges and through the miniature alps of Hardcastle Crags. A steep little climb up the dale side and I was walking up a meadow full of lambs towards the dark stone house of Walshaw.

The long, low farmhouses of these moors, many of them built all of a piece with their cattle barns, always put me in mind of John Wesley and the other passionate non-conformist preachers who set the gunpowder trail of Methodism alight around the farms and mills of West Yorkshire in the mid-18^th century. I don’t know whether Wesley or his fiery colleague, the red-haired Scots pedlar William Darney, ever preached in the barns or outhouses at Walshaw or Lady Royd or Shackleton, the farms along the lane that runs back towards Hebden Bridge along the rim of the dale. But I pictured them there, travel-stained and weary, uplifting their congregations of ploughmen and weavers with glimpses of a promised land.

Start & finish: Hardcastle Crags car park (OS ref SD987292)

Getting there: Train (www.thetrainline.com; www.railcard.co.uk) to Hebden Bridge (2 miles). Bus: from Bradford (500), Keighley (663,664,665) to Hebden Bridge; service ‘H’ from Hebden Bridge station to car park. Road: M65 Junction 9, A646 to Hebden Bridge; A6033 towards Haworth; in 3/4 mile, left to car park (OS ref 987292).

Walk (4 ½ miles, moderate grade, OS Explorer OL21): Follow red-and-white, then red waymark poles down to the river’s edge, then upstream to Gibson Mill (973298). Cross river here; on along left (west bank). In 1/3 mile cross, then recross by adjacent footbridges (971304) to continue on left bank; in another 1/3 mile cross to right bank beside weir and stone hut (973309). Cross side beck by stone bridge; right through stone wall gap; climb steep path on left of beck to farmyard (974313). Right by Walshaw Cottage along stony lane for 1 ½ miles to Shackleton (983295); right here (footpath fingerpost) down crumbling walled field track. Cross stile at bottom; bear left and down through woodland for 1/3 mile to reach upper car park; steps to lower car park and bus stop.

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

Lunch: Muddy Boots Café, Gibson Mill (open weekends, many weekdays: check at http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-hardcastlecrags; tel 01422-844518)

More info: Hebden Bridge TIC (01422-843831 or 368725); www.yorkshire.com

Galtee Mountains, Tipperary, Ireland

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May 092009

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window

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Never ones to curb their lust for life, my cousin Vicky Clancy and her Irish husband Dermot left me in no doubt about the charms of the Glens of Aherlow Walking Festival. ‘You’ve got to come,’ Vicky declared, unequivocally, ‘you’re going to absolutely and totally love it!’

The Glens of Aherlow Festival, held yearly over the May/June Bank Holiday weekend, is a great occasion. Thousands turn up for 3 days of walking, from half-day saunterers to hard mountain hurdlers. They go out with gusto into the Galtee Mountains, a magnificent but pocket-sized hill range that straddles the Limerick/Tipperary border a few mile north-east of Cork city. They walk all day, talking even harder than they walk, spouting verse and worse, making the hidden hollows ring with shouting and laughter. And that’s all just a preparation for the evening’s crack in Moroney’s of Lisvernane or the bar of Aherlow House Hotel.

Assembling with Vicky, Dermot, Dermot’s irrepressible cousin Ferghal and their many friends under a peerless blue sky in the lane below the splendid peaks of Galtybeg and Slievecushnabinnia, I found I’d somehow joined myself to the ‘A’ group, heroes of the hill, who meant to storm the heights of the Galtees and look down in turn on the Five Lakes.

We set off fifty strong at a clinking pace, all shapes and sizes of rambler, and were scrambling up the steep rock slide above Lough Curra before my breathing had properly caught up with the rest of me. Up on the roof of Galtymore, lord of the Galtees at 3,015 ft, I leaned my sweaty back against the big iron summit cross and stared out over many green and lumpy miles of Ireland. ‘Did you know,’ said walk leader Jimmy Barry to no-one in particular, ‘copper wire was invented in Caragh by two men fighting over a penny.’ That was the start of a most ridiculous shaggy dog story that carried us on above the loughs of Diheen and Borheen, breathless with laughter.

We teetered along the tight path around Greenane, and came down by the pond-like Lough Farbreaga and the beautiful harp-shaped lough of Muskry, with Dermot and Ferghal bounding ahead neck and neck like a couple of Fionn MacCumhaill’s merry men. Spattered with turf splodges and bog water, we stayed a moment to contemplate the still, steely lakes in their bowl of hills. Then it was on along a moorland path, heading for the waiting buses that would waft us down to the sign-off in Lisvernane. And then … ? A pint of Guinness in Moroney’s with new-found friends, a plate of hot potatoes and a bloody good sing.

Start & finish: near Clydagh Bridge, Lisvernane (OSI ref R 873280)

Getting there from Moroney’s pub, Lisvernane: Bus – Festival minibus.

Road: R663 towards Tipperary; first right to T-junction; left for half mile.

Walk (10 miles/16 km approx; about 1,000 m/3,500 feet of climb; hard grade; OSI Discovery 74): From road (873280), steeply uphill to right (west) shore of Lough Curra (866242); climb very steeply to saddle of Slievecushnabinnia (864239); east along ridge for 3½ miles via summits of Galtymore (919 m/3,015 ft; OSI ref 879238) and Galtybeg (799 m/2,621 ft; 890241), along north face of range above Loughs Diheen and Borheen, descending to west shore of Lough Muskry (915245) and track towards Rossadrehid.

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

Lunch: Take picnic

Accommodation: Aherlow House Hotel, Glens of Aherlow, Co Tipperary (tel 00-353-62-56153; www.aherlowhouse.ie) – 4-star lodge (stylish, comfortable, superb mountain views; sleeps 6) over the Festival weekend, around £550 for 4 nights.

More info: www.discoverireland.com

Glens of Aherlow Festival (29 May-1 June 2009; www.aherlow.com)

Scorriton and Huntingdon Warren, Dartmoor

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May 092009

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window
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Whatever the Tradesman’s Arms put in their beef jalfrezi on Curry Night, it revved me right up for a brilliant walk the following day. The hamlet of Scorriton, sitting tight under the eastern rim of Dartmoor, almost lost its pub a few years back, and the shock of that threat galvanised the Tradesman’s Arms into a whole sparky new life. The food’s good, the beer’s excellent, and the social life that revolves around the little inn, from poetry nights to quizzes and singsongs to story-telling, is just amazing. If only all rural communities could respond like tiny Scorriton to the gradual sapping of their resources!

I strode up the stony lane to Chalk Ford like a man on a mission. Misty weather was forecast for later in the day, and though I had my trusty Satmap GPS device in my pack, I didn’t particularly want to find myself in a Dartmoor pea-souper. Once across the rushing River Mardle and up on the moor proper, I found the old track to Huntingdon Warren and hurried along it. When the broad slope of the Warren hove in view beyond the curve of the moor, the ancient settlements, the rabbit warrener’s mounds and the bumpy burial monuments of many millennia stood out unmistakeably.

I got over the lower wall and climbed the hill past the pillow mounds where the farmer/warrener fed and nurtured the rabbits he culled for market. From the crest of the hill I looked down on the ruins of Red Lake china clay works and the huge green and black cone of waste left by the workers. They plagued the merry hell out of the warrener with their poaching raids, undeterred by the security men he posted around his domain.

Back down by the Western Wella Brook I found the little stone-lined hollow of Mattins Corner, with the cross-inscribed stone that Keble Martin set up as a devout young lad in 1909. The future naturalist, painter and author of The Concise British Flora often camped here with his brothers, gaining inspiration from this exceptionally lonely, bleak and beautiful hollow in the moor.

Beyond Mattins Corner stood Huntingdon Cross, carved in granite who knows how many hundreds of years before the Martin brothers created their rough chapel. A gauze of rainy mist came trailing down along the wind. I patted the harsh, weather-smoothed cross for good luck, and then made over Hickaton Hill for Scorriton by luck, GPS, compass and the pricking of my thumbs.

Start & finish: Tradesman’s Arms, Scorriton, Devon, TQ11 0JB (OS ref SX 704685)

Getting there: A38 to Buckfastleigh; signs to Buckfast, then Scorriton.

Walk (OS Explorer OL28):

Easy (4 miles): From village square, pass The Barn B&B and on up lane for 1¼ miles to Chalk Ford (685681). Cross River Mardle; left along lower field edge for ½ mile to Lud Gate (683673). Left down Strole Lane for ¼ mile, left (689673) through Scae Wood to Higher Coombe (700681), Combe and Scorriton.

Moderate (5½ miles, excluding exploration of Huntingdon Warren): From Chalk Ford, diagonally left (SW) up slope for nearly ¾ mile to meet track from Lud Gate at 679678. Bear right and follow track for ¾ mile to Huntingdon Warren wall (667670). Return to Lud Gate; as above to Scorriton.

Hard (6½ miles, as above): At Huntingdon Warren wall, left past Mattins Corner (666665) to Huntingdon Cross (665662). Bear left diagonally up slope of Hickaton Hill, keeping left of large circular enclosure, and follow faint track ENE, then NE for nearly 1 mile to meet Lud Gate track (676671). Right to Lud Gate, as above to Scorriton.

NB: Moderate and hard walks – faintly marked paths, rough open moorland, hard to follow in mist. For walkers competent with map, compass and/or GPS.

Lunch:

Short walk – Tradesman’s Arms, Scorriton (01364-631206; www.thetradesmansarms.co.uk); longer walks, take picnic.

Accommodation: The Barn, Scorriton (01364-631567; www.thebarndartmoor.com) – excellent, welcoming place; £60 dble B&B.

More info: Buckfastleigh TIC (01364-644522; www.visitdevon.co.uk)

Tollesbury, Essex

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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

Devon Way & Dollar Glen, Scotland

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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 6^th-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

Pistyll Rhaeadr, Wales

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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

Chew Green, Northumberland

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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

Barlaston, Staffordshire

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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

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