WALKING DIARIES

2006-07-28T09:59:00.000-07:00

THE CLEVELAND WAY.

Helen - our very favourite barmaid!

(Read all about her 'antics' in the diary!)

My brother Colin and I at the start of the walk in Helmsley.

The Cleveland Way.

An account of the 110 mile walk from

Helmsley to Filey.

(with the 48 miles Tabular hills link back to Helmsely added on at the end)

For Melons!

Day One – Carlton Grange to Sutton Bank – 13(ish) miles

This, my ninth long distance walk, was to start in a surreal way, with me eating a sausage and egg sandwich and being stared at suspiciously by two policemen!

My brother Colin was again to accompany me on this journey, as he had done the last three years. He had found, via the net, that there was a farm where we could park the car while we did the walk for a mere fifty pence a day. This seemed reasonable, so our plan was to get an early start, park the car and set off walking the same morning. To try and gain some extra time, I decided that Colin could cook me a bit of brekky, and I would eat it on the way. So – here I was, after being handed a large and runny egg sandwich, sitting staring into the eyes of the law.

“I wonder what he wants”, I asked Colin, as I waved cheerily with egg all around my mouth.

“Oh, he’s probably a bit edgy as the old lady whose house we’re outside did herself in, and they're watching the house.”

I gave the copper my best; ‘I didn’t do it guv – honest’ look, and waved my sandwich at him. He drove off shaking his head as I tried to wipe my yolk off the side window of the car.

A surprisingly traffic-free drive followed up to Yorkshire. The ‘start early’ plan seemed to have worked and we arrived at Sutton Bank at about 8:15am. Due to my brothers wimpishness (oh – I tried to change his mind, but to no avail) we had decided to use the Sherpa bag carrying service. To save the cost of one drop (five pounds each) we thought that, as we were passing the first B&B, we would drop the stuff off ourselves. I hoped they would be up this early, and we went and knocked on the pleasant looking cottage’s door. All was well, and we bid them farewell and said we would see them later – not too much later, as it would transpire.

Our next stop was Carlton Grange farm, where we would park the car. We were greeted by two of the friendliest people I have ever met, Edwin and Ann Kirby. I thought that seeing as we were only parking the car and not staying there, he might be a bit funny.

Nothing could be further from the truth as he parked my car with precision, using that big spike thing on the front of his tractor!

In reality we were invited in for tea and cake (and biscuits) by Ann, and Edwin came in and chatted to us like he’d known us all our lives. He sat back at the side of the cooking range with a fag in one hand, and fussing the dog with the other. What a timeless scene, I had to capture it with the digital camera in Sepia mode. I feel someday Edwin may write a book, as he has a really great line in ‘caravanner stories’, and I for one was enthralled by the antics they get up to, well – some of them anyway!

After far too long, we finally extricated ourselves from the comforts of the farm and shouldered our sacks and set off. It was like a family farewell with Ann, Edwin and someone else waving and wishing us luck. We felt like intrepid explorers setting out on some dangerous sojourn instead of a couple of wimps using the Sherpa bag carriers!

It was 9:35 am when we finally ‘broke camp’ with crumbs of cake still clinging to our lips. It was a lovely day, if a little overcast and breezy, and we had just to walk into Helmsley to get the starting pictures and begin our walk.

We walked across a few fields by the way Edwin had shown us, instead of the busier road away to our left. The new lambs filled the fields and we were entertained by several of them jumping and gambolling.

We then followed a track and quiet minor road down into Helmsley.

The red roofs soon started appearing after almost an hour of walking. The castle and the church are prominent as you enter the outskirts, and make for good pictures.

Helmsley is a bustling little town, very busy with cars and people. We were a little disappointed to see that scaffolding for repairs surrounded the main obelisk in the town centre. Surely they could have picked a better time than the bank holiday to do it? Anyway, we did a short movie and took some pictures before turning and making our way out of Helmsley, but not before a visit to Thomas’s bakers (recommended by Edwin) and a sausage roll to boost energy levels. Colin said; “I’m going out – I may be some while”. The lady behind the counter said; “doing the Cleveland way, are we – bet you’re using Sherpa to carry your bags".

We ignored her derision and stepped from the shop, heads held high.

Opposite the church, we turned up a lane with a ‘Cleveland Way’ sign on it (this is always a good move). A further delay ensued as we took pictures of the impressive castle, and had our picture taken by a Chinese lady, who insisted. We didn’t want to disappoint her so obliged.

Just outside the town, Colin saw a sign and, as we passed by it, asked me what ‘Viking sticks’ were. Intrigued, I had no option but to walk the short way back and read the sign. It said ‘Walking Sticks’. I made a mental note not to pull out of any road junctions if he said; “You’re all right!”

Within minutes we were free of the teeming hordes and into woodland and meadows, with the church bells ringing in our ears, listening to the birds and smelling the flowers. It really was just too perfect. As the church bells rang, a Curlew called and the sound of a Peacock could be heard in the castle gardens.

The first real view point came quickly at Jinny York Bank. I suppose everyone must take a picture of the lovely little lodge here with the great swathe of a valley to the left. I was no different.

We passed to the right of a dense wood, listening to the pheasant inside and the wind in the top branches. The sky was now blue and the day warm. The woodland was a delight of sound, and I just wondered how it could get any better than this. It’s a lovely feeling of freedom on the first day of a long walk. I can’t describe it, but it always feels the same. Colin knows what I mean. You don’t have to say anything – it’s just great!

After the wood, we dropped onto another minor road and passed a wooded bank to our right which was bursting with wild garlic, its’ heady aroma filling the warm air. I had seen no Bluebells yet, but it was a little early for them. I was content with all I had already seen, so Bluebells would just be a bonus if there were any.

There is an old abbey just off the path at Rievaulx (that’s how it’s spelt in the book?). We didn’t visit it, but we did take pictures. We decided to take a break by the river, and dropped onto the bank to the right of the bridge. This was a most delightful spot, and so photogenic. The sun was in just the right place for pictures, and we took advantage of it. We ate, and sat there for a good while just enjoying our situation. It only needed a Kingfisher to fly past to complete this little paradise. It never happened though. I suppose I could always lie, like I am sure guidebook writers do, but I decided not.

I can always remember looking for Dolphins from St David’s head in Pembrokeshire, after reading that the guide author had seen some. I have been back there loads of times since, and they still elude me!

We finally stirred and made a move from our little oasis. Bridge cottage (1885) was just across the bridge. What do people do for a living to be able to afford to live in these places? It really was one of the nicest cottages, in one of the nicest places. The flowers and garden were inch perfect, as opposed to my own, which would win wildlife awards from the BBC.

After about 25 minutes of road walking, we turned off the road and on to a track which skirts around noodle hill. We paused to read the sign on the gate;

WARNING! ADDERS ON BANK SIDE.

We advanced, if a little gingerly, keeping well away from the bank side and keeping a wary eye out. I have seen these signs on several occasions, in Wales, Derbyshire and Yorkshire but I have yet to see an adder. Maybe it is a figment of the guide writers imagination again (like the dolphins). Anyway, this time we think we may have captured one on film.

The walk up Nettle dale is quite pleasant, with conifers on the left and deciduous on the right, a good mixture of bird song is readily on tap.

While walking up Flassen dale, we were amazed when an obviously tame pheasant walked up to Colin. With his usual command of special languages he started to cluck like a hen! The pheasant decided to treat his impression with the contempt it deserved and just keep touting for any spare food. This worked and, magnanimous as ever, Colin delved into my sack and started to break up one of those energy bars that cost about a pound! The bird pecked up his offering with great gusto, and even came back for more. We fed him half our emergency rations before deciding that us being found dead on some barren moor with just empty power bar wrappers in our sacks would not go down too well with the rescue services;

“These two should never have been on the hill, ill equipped as they were”, would scream the headlines.

As we pressed on, the pheasant refused to believe our kindness was at an end and followed us for what must have been YARDS. He turned back to await the next mugs.

After the wooded dales, the path climbed steadily in a straight line, and up a track, with huge views back. Helmsley did not feature in these now. We reached the hamlet of Cold Kirby. Today it did not live up to its name, and it was quite pleasant in the warm afternoon sun. We were making good time, as it was only just two o’clock, and we were barely two kilometres from where we were staying at Sutton bank. The problem is, we are still in ‘one day’ mode, and not settled in to the ‘we’ve got all day to do this’ style of walking. A whole new set of rules applies when in the latter mode. Paddling and snooze stops are quite acceptable, as are long chats with locals/other intrepid trekkers.

We all too soon reached the Hambleton Inn, which was but yards from our bed and breakfast (next door but three, to be exact). We consulted our Rolex chronometers (it’s amazing what you can buy for £2:99 from the market these days) and discovered it was all of 2:45pm. This left us two choices. Arrive early at the B&B, get organised, sort things out, plan the following day with precision – or go into the pub?

The beer in the Hambleton is really nice. We fell in with some of the horse racing fraternity. A couple of lads, and some very tasty looking girls (if only I was ten years younger – I would STILL be too old) were seated at the bar. They were very friendly and lots of fun, doing impromptu karaoke and telling jokes. We sat slaking our thirsts and listening to the banter, not realising that the beer was sneaking past our unwitting lips. Before we knew it, we reached the four-pint mark! Now I like a drink as much as the next man, but I can’t remember the last time I had four at lunch! We discovered that one of the girls there, Helen, was the niece of our hostess for tonight. She carried – erm - showed us the way to her auntie’s cottage and introduced us. She was working that night, and so two choices now faced us. We could reflect on what a jolly time we had had that afternoon, vowing to come again some other time and meet again the happy Hambleton band, get showered and do a bit of research into tomorrow before a nice early night, or we could get washed and changed and go back.............

The menu in the Hambleton was as impressive as the beer. I chose a plateful of Mussels, while Colin had Pasta. The beer flowed almost as freely as it did at lunchtime, but we controlled our intake and managed to only imbibe another four pints (well, a small whiskey too). The girls were again great company, and we also had the company of our fellow guests, who were also walking the Cleveland way. The weather had taken a turn for the worst, and it had rained in the afternoon and was also raining now. Still, why should we worry? We were ensconced in a warm pub, with warm people around us, and tomorrow was another day. It was another short day too, so we could wait, if the day didn't look promising, for it to develop.

We made our way back to Cote Faw cottage, comfortable and welcoming home of Mr & Mrs Jeffray, where we spent the next hours enveloped in the arms of narcolepsy.

Day Two – Sutton Bank to Osmotherley 11½ Miles

The next morning I opened the curtains (my job every morning was to broadcast a weather forecast to my semi-comatose brother), and wondered why someone had painted the window grey during the night. Was it some form of local tradition? Thoughts of the ‘Wicker Man’ flashed through my mind, but I couldn’t remember Helen dancing naked on the other side of the bedroom door during the night (I'm SURE I would remember THAT!), so I dismissed it.

On further inspection, there was a morning out there; it was just obscured by a pea-souper mist! Also, as my eyes began to focus more on items less than the size of an apple, I noticed the clattering sound that the large droplets of water were making on anything they hit as they plummeted from the heavens. The grim realisation dawned on me – it was raining, and raining really hard!

I couldn’t believe it! Last year Colin and I had endured, sorry – enjoyed, ten unbroken days of great weather in Scotland. SURELY if Scotland could do this, Yorkshire could go one better! I rubbed my eyes, but this only made things worse, and it was with a heavy heart that I informed my brother thus; “Viking, Cromarty, Dogger and Sutton Bank –gale force winds – heavy – force nine.

He grunted, farted and turned over. My turn first in the bathroom, I thought.

After my ablutions, I re-inspected the weather. It had improved inasmuch as I could now see the wall at the end of the garden and the ferocity of the rain had abated to just ‘lashing down’.

The fish from the garden pond were rolling about on the lawn enjoying the unseasonably good (for them) weather. Colin was now surfacing and had his cell regenerator (also known as his radio earphones) plugged into his ears. He bade me ‘good morning’, a little superfluous under the present conditions, I thought. He uttered our only ray of hope – the weatherman said it might cheer up later on. Then I heard who the weatherman was – Ian McGaskill, he of; ‘there is no hurricane coming’ fame.

Osmotherley was today’s goal and, after a very enjoyable breakfast and a chat with Helen and our fellow walkers, we made ready and set off at 9:15am – in the pouring rain!

There were a couple of walkers in front of us using umbrellas. We had considered this option after seeing its practicalities in practice on the West Highland Way. Ideal for showers, I would say the extra weight was worth it. The thing was, I wanted to see if my new ‘Craghoppers’ waterproof coat was just that – waterproof. It was my third one, and I needed to know it worked. So far so good, and I wanted it to stay this way.

We wanted to see the famous white horse cut into Sutton Bank, but the mist and rain made this idea untenable. Where the path went left to the horse , we consulted the G.P.S. (as we didn’t have a barometer) and decided not to waste our time. Besides, Helen had told us last night that they had painted the horse to accentuate it, but some idiots had walked across it and it now resembled a Zebra!

We were also led to believe that the gliders used the updrafts off the bank to do a bit of soaring. Today their pilots would have to read brail to navigate.

As we walked around Sutton Bank, the rain abated and it miraculously started to clear. We never did see the horse, but the sight of the escarpment of Sutton Bank more than made up for this.

Evidence of how good the views are on a clear day was in the form of the ‘money in the slot’ type of telescope dotted here and there. The views improved by the minute, and the camera came out to record the event. We could now see all the way back, and also the only natural lake, Goremire, on the North Yorkshire Moors. From here on the walking is easy and straightforward.

The wet weather had brought out many earthworms, and lots were drowned on the path. As a joke, I took a picture of one and decided to try to pass it off as an Adder in the photograph album. A look back made us contemplate the raw power of nature. It really was impressive the way the valley behind us was neatly ‘scooped out’ by some ancient glacier. It never fails to amaze me the way the land is sculpted by the weather or natural forces. There are also some quite dramatic landslips around here, some of which looked fairly recent. All that rain last night, probably.

The day had improved sufficiently for us to remove our waterproofs and get into holiday garb of tee shirt and shorts again. This prompted another shower and the quandary – shall we stick it out or put the waterproofs back on? We decided to brave it and we were right as it was improvement all the way.

There now followed a typically Yorkshire moorland walk. The vastness, even when compared to something like my native Kinder Scout, was impressive to say the least. The scale of the views on such a day, in such a place really has to be experienced to be appreciated. The day was now warm, and the view clear as we continued along the top of a ridge. There was a huge bowl to our left and the Hambleton drove road lay in front of us.

These old drove roads are a part of history that can easily be appreciated by modern man. Even though times were a lot harder then, I often wonder if those old herdsmen sucked in lungfuls of air and reflected on how they could be stuck in one of those new fangled mills instead of being free, up here on the moors. The Hambleton road swung left at White Gill Head, and took in two spectacular viewpoints before starting to descend.

It was only two o’clock, but we could already see the red tiled roofs of Osmotherley. A lunch stop was called for, so we had it above the reservoirs on Thimbleby Moor. Our fellow walkers caught us up here, and we exchanged pleasantries before agreeing to meet up later in one of the pubs. After our lunch break, we meandered down to the Oakdale reservoirs. It’s always the same, isn’t it? You think you’ve found the perfect place for lunch then, right after, somewhere like Oakdale turns up! The only thing to mar the setting were the awful; ‘don’t do this – don’t do that’ signs. Sometimes people are treated as half wits (mind you, some of them….) but this reminded me that freedom to walk the path was something to treasure. The sort of people who put up these signs, are the sort who would have us banned from walking anywhere.

After the reservoirs, we climbed the final bank where some of the best Jews Ear fungi I have ever seen were growing. This fungus grows exclusively on elder. In dry weather it is hardly noticeable, but in damp conditions, such as had been prominent of late, they resemble a brown ear. They even feel like an ear. I took a picture and returned to the path. Why Jews were chosen to prefix the name, I don't know? I wondered why they weren't just called 'ear fungi'. Then again, Jews DO say they are the chosen ones, maybe it's because of this?

At 3.25pm we walked through a delightful stone arch into the village of Osmotherley. The first view really takes your breath away. It is just such a perfect place. I stood and took a short movie, and as I did, a cockerel crowed at my feet to add the soundtrack – perfect!

We consulted a local as to where the best food was to be had. She told us that there were two pubs, the Golden Lion and the Queen Catherine. There was another, the Three Tuns, and it was re-opening tonight after a long period of closure. One more thing, there was a CHIP SHOP which only opened once a week, and guess what? TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT!!!

We toured the village and inspected some of the shops before wending our way to Oak Garth Farm at the north end of the village.

One of the shops that I am told is a MUST to visit is Thomson’s newsagents. We didn’t get to see it though, as we weren’t told about it until we had left here. A peek inside is probably safest, as I am told that the floorboards are rotten, and the lady who runs it is an old dear with just one yellow tooth. (I was going to do the Juanita – (one-eater) joke but I decided to spare you). Anyway, it is just like stepping back in time, and I wish now that I had got a photo. Still, I know of a very similar shop in Robin Hoods Bay, and I promise you a picture of that one instead!

John and Marion Wood have the most beautiful bungalow, and it is in the most perfect setting. The view from our bedroom window was up on to the moors we had come over earlier. The tranquillity was immeasurable on this perfect evening.

As Colin took first turn in the shower, I talked to John in the garden for a while. He told me all about his family and his heart by-pass. He had built this place himself, right down to the stone wall around it. It must be so gratifying, I thought, to stare at your surroundings and know they would outlive you by many years, and that YOU had created it all. It reminded me of a poem I had seen cemented into a wall in the peak District;

God made man, man made this wall, But, in time, they both will fall. Rebuilt in nineteen ninety three, This time, I hope it outlasts me.

I fitting epitaph, I thought. This building and its surroundings would surely outlast John (and I) but would give pleasure and memories to future generations. The only ‘fly in the ointment’ in this idyllic place was theft. John said, after I had admired a small stone trough, that items had a habit of disappearing in the night. He said he once had a pair of stone mushrooms (they used to stand hen-houses and barns on them to stop rats from climbing up) but they had gone in the night – right from under his lounge window!

After Colin & I had both ‘polished up’, we strolled down into the village. Our first port of call was the Three Tuns. It was obvious that it was their first night, as everything was in panic mode, bar staff didn’t know how to operate the till, and things were a bit fraught, to say the least! It was a strange place, with every single thing being new. It was so disconcerting to notice NOTHING old in the pub! I would guess that even the glass in the windows was new. The beer was quite passable, and the menu looked divine, but it was not the sort of thing walkers went for (except on days off). Although we felt welcome, and I noted it for a future visit on an ‘day off’, we left.

We decided to investigate the chip shop, as there were signs of life. With Whitby on our itinerary during the coming week, I had started to get a bit of a ‘fish fetish’ and so I was easy meat (sic) for the owner. We stood outside, peering through the steam, when all of a sudden the owner was at our side. “Come in lads – we’re just up to temperature”. It was an offer we couldn’t refuse. We stepped inside the murky interior and queued. Before long, our request for ‘fish, chips and mushy peas’ was filled. I was a bit concerned that the peas came straight from the microwave. Hardly rustic, I thought, but one must move with the times.

We decided to eat our feast on the bench in the middle of the village, from where we could watch the world go by. As we tasted the meal, we realised our mistake. Not to make too fine a point, they were singularly the most awful fish and chips I have ever had. To be fair, the only part of the meal I was concerned about was the best – the peas. The rest just tasted strongly of burned fat or oil (hard to say which). Anyway, I blame myself, and we consigned the best part of it to the bin. The worst was to follow. We went into the Lion to see fellow walkers tucking in to a lovely looking Beef Stroganoff and a bottle of red wine. Wiping the drool from my chin, we settled on a pint of very nice Yorkshire bitter. After someone ordered, and was presented with, an enormous steak, we decided to end the torture and cross the road to inspect the Queen Catherine. This was another nice pub with the added attraction of the two walkers, Maggie and David, who had shared Cote Faw with us on Friday night. We got comfortable and didn’t move for the rest of the night.

The walk home was incredible. Do you live in a place polluted by light? Do you ever get to see the night sky in all its glory and in such clarity that you feel you could reach up and pluck a star for yourself? Tonight was that night, and here we were with a perfect black backcloth from ear to ear. Even when we got to Oak Garth, we spent a while in the garden just looking up. We must have looked strange, staring up at the sky. I didn’t care. That sort of night is precious and number few in your life. Oh, they are there often enough; it’s just that we seldom take the time to look.

Day Three – Osmotherley to Clay Bank (Great Broughton) – 11 Miles.

A frosty night ensued our stargazing, but we were warm and snug, tucked up inside Oak Garth. As usual, I was first up and peeped through the curtains to see what the morning had brought. Nice! It was clear and sunny. The sun, not too strong yet, was casting long, hard shadows in the fields. The sheep were grazing, as usual (did they ever sleep?), and the birds were competing for the loudest call. It was barely seven o’clock. I knew this because the church clock chimed seven. It was a haunting and evocative sound – and it gave me an idea! I quickly washed and dressed. The village was only a short walk away, and I intended to record the sound of the church bells for posterity. I left Oak Garth quietly and made my way along the road. It was still only quarter to eight, but my timing was impeccable. I walked into the churchyard and took a couple of still pictures, one in sepia for effect. As the hour drew near, I positioned myself in the corner of the churchyard, my feet washed with the morning dew. I did a trial sweep with the camera and awaited the hour. 55,56,57,58,59 I pressed the shutter and started the 15-second movie. Right on cue, the bells tolled and I slowly and quietly swept the camera around the churchyard. My fifteen seconds expired just as the chiming finished – PERFECT! That made two super movies that Osmotherley had given me.

Today has the reputation as the hardest part of the walk. I am not blasé, but many times in the past what others have deemed ‘the hardest part’ in books etc, is hardly ever as bad as it is made out. Anyway, we are never fazed by these reputations these days, and set off in the calm and tranquil morning, leaving Oak Garth at 9:15.

If any sandwiches are needed, most provisions can be acquired from ‘the top shop’, one of those places that sell everything and never seem to be closed. I think they could do with a paint job though, as the phone number above the shop is given as ‘telephone 251’.

The Sun was already warm so we made sure the old Sun block was applied liberally. I have seen too many ‘lobsters’ at the end of the day to get caught myself.

As we left Osmotherley, in what the compass said was completely the wrong way, we stiffened to the steep climb up a track and watched as it gently turned to go in the right direction (west). We knew that there was something wrong, as we were walking into the rising Sun at first and, unless the Sun had changed it’s characteristics during the night, we needed to ‘come about’, as our nautical friends would say. Well, come about we did and the day was stunning. This path held spectacular views over to the left, only spoiled by the noise of cars on a main road. As the climb eased slightly, we entered South wood, a welcome shelter from the fierce Sun that now accompanied us.

We started another climb up through the woodland, which imperceptibly changed from evergreen to birch. The path underfoot sparkled, and must consist of gritstone. This phenomenon can be witnessed up on the gritstone moors in Derbyshire. It is especially noticeable on Stanton moor and looks almost like frost, (a strange sensation on such a warm day).

As the path topped out on Beacon Hill, we looked over the wall to where the starting point of the famous Lyke Wake Walk, a triangulation pillar, is situated. I have never done the Lyke Wake, a 40 mile grueller that must be finished in under a certain time (24 hours I think). I have done a similar walk in Derbyshire, the Derwent Watershed. This too is 40 miles over mainly heather moors. I did it in 13 hours, and boy – did I know I’d done it!

Anyway, back to this walk. The view from here on forward is breathtaking. We were lucky to get it on such a clear and sunny day. The valley to the left was quite badly flooded from the recent rains, but the path underfoot was drying nicely.

In the far distance we could clearly see Roseberry Topping, a conical mound which, if local legend is to be believed is the result of some giant scooping out two handfuls of earth and throwing them. This one was the contents of his right hand and went the furthest. The other, his left handful, fell shorter and is called Blakey Topping. The hole left by the giants ‘scoop’ is called the Hole of Horcum.

The path left the wood and we crossed Scarth wood moor. Presently, we again met up with Maggi and David, fellow walkers whose company we had enjoyed on the first night, and who we had seen in Osmotherley. They were occupying a seat with the most stunning views. We took pictures of each other with the wonderful backdrop from this viewpoint and swapped tales of the walk so far.

It’s really nice to meet people like this, and I find it one of the draws of long walks. We may never see Maggi and David again after this, but their company was really good. I still write to a couple I met when I did the Pembrokeshire coast path and they are always inviting me down to their place in Wales, I really must take them up as there are some great walks around where they live.

Clain wood tested my knowledge of bird song (i.e. – limited) severely. They were all competing for loudest/most interesting song, and I was privileged to witness the competition. The deciduous woods always yield a better variety of songs as they attract more species.

The path dropped down, crossed a stile and then went up again. We were puffing a little, but enjoying every minute of the day. I can see how this bit would be called difficult, but seeing as I had shed a stone in weight before coming on this walk, I was sailing up the hills!

Many a large bee buzzed us as we walked along. They are very inquisitive, are bees. They rarely buzz you once, nearly always ‘going around’ for a second or third look. Colin said I must look or smell like a flower, but I don’t know! Any mathematician worth his salt can actually PROVE that a bee cannot fly. It defies all the laws of aeronautics and should never leave the ground at all, but should plummet to it as soon as it takes off, yet here they were, busily going about their business, pausing only to inspect passing walkers.

The long but steady climb up to round hill followed. Conurbations and power stations can be seen on the far horizon, but here it was all tranquillity and green serenity. The red sandstone juxtapositioned with the greenery of the new vegetation was particularly easy and pleasing on the eye. Although the Sun was now quite strong, there was a cool breeze blowing which would have been uncomfortable to sit in without a fleece, but was ideal for walking and kept us at just the right temperature. We couldn’t have ordered a better day!

After round hill, the path drops again before another long steady rise up onto the next ridge with terrific views of the glacial valleys to the left, which were not afforested at all but just covered in purple heather. Every time I see the purple heather, it brings back to me my favourite poem, the Highwayman. I learnt it at school and have loved it ever since. I am such an old softie that I still can’t read it out aloud, as I get a lump in my throat just thinking of the tragedy;

The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes. The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, When a highwayman came riding, riding, riding, The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with ne'er a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jewelled twinkle - his pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn yard, And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there? But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot, into her long black hair. And dark in the old inn yard, a stable wicket creaked, Where Tim, the ostler, listened, his face was white and peaked; His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay. But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlords’ red-lipped daughter; Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say - "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, but I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light. Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way. He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosed her hair i' the casement – (his face burnt like a brand) As the black cascades of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight. (Oh sweet black waves in the moonlight), then he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. He did not come in the morning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching - marching - marching - King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, but drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed. Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And Hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that HE would ride! They tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her, she heard the dead man say; "look for me by moonlight; watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!" She twisted her hands and tested; but all the knots were good! She writhed her hands 'till her fingers were wet with sweat, or blood! She stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, 'till now, on the stroke of midnight, cold on the stroke of midnight, the tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast. She would not risk them hearing; she would not strive again! For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain. 'Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot'! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear. 'Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot', in the distance, were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming - she stood up straight and still! 'Tlot-tlot', in the frosty silence! 'Tlot-tlot', in the echoing night! Nearer he came, and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; and she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death! He turned; he spurred to the westward; he did not know who stood. Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood Not 'till the dawn he heard it, and slowly blanched to hear How Bess, the landlords daughter, The landlords black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat; When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat. ~ and still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, when the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas, when the road is a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, a highwayman comes riding - riding - riding - a highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the old inn-yard And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune at the window, and who should be waiting there? But the landlords black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter; Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Oh dear – tears in my eyes again! My Aunt always calls that poem morose, but I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.

The walk continued along Faceby bank and past the gliding club. We had noticed one of the graceful white craft swishing above us. It is something I have always wanted to do, along with ballooning, as it always seems so serene the way they move and glide. We had noticed what looked like a fire engine cut in half. When we reached it, that is exactly what it was! They used the winch on the front for towing gliders. It did look strange though, half a fire engine!

There were several craft queuing to get their turn to take flight, and what a day to do it on. The views, which had been very good before, were now defying description. I would imagine you would be able to see all of forty miles or so from here on a clear day. Today was pretty clear, and the fact that we were on a ridge and the vast, flat valley was to our left only served to accentuate the magnificence. Although there was a very slight haze on the horizon, the sky was ice blue with my favourite accompaniment – fluffy white clouds! This was all to much to just walk by, so we stopped off on an escarpment just beyond the busy trig’ point, and had a long, languishing lunch. The pictures here will help to tell the story of just how wonderful the place was this day. You just have to stop taking pictures sooner or later, but every time I cast my eyes across the vast, green plain in front of and below us, I just sighed with contentment. Apart from the stark, yellow fields of Rape, we could also see the sea. It was very like being in an airplane and looking down. Colin & I sat, as we so often do in these circumstances, quietly; muted by what we were looking at. Views like this are only matched by clear, starry nights. They too have that humbling effect that is really difficult to put into words.

After lunch we reluctantly re-joined the path. We could see our destination, Great Broughton (pronounced ‘brow-ton’), but it would be a while before we headed towards it. There were several places where we could come off, but on a day like today, we would choose the very last exit so we could enjoy as much of the day as possible.

At the top of Kirby Bank there is a memorial to Alec Falconer, a rambler and founder of the Middlesborough Rambling Club, who died in 1968. The club have placed a topographic plate here, and it points out and names all the prominent features around – very handy on a day like today, but the source of much frustration on a foggy day!

The next section of the path was ‘Pennined’ – by that I mean it was huge stone slabs laid end to end to combat erosion. There is a lot of work like this on the Pennine way, and to be honest I agree with it, it is far prettier than the ugly scars of rutted paths.

We dropped down into a small valley where there was a path to Great Broughton, but we pressed on up the other side towards White Hill and the next point of great interest – the Wain Stones.

By now the wind had risen slightly but it was still quite warm. The Curlews were calling their hearts out which just added to our huge enjoyment. I had a camera with me that took short movies with sound, and I intend to capture one of these haunting calls. The problem is, the breeze would be picked up far more readily by the microphone than the Curlews call. I would have to wait for a becalmed day.

When we reached the Wain Stones, we clambered up onto them and took another break for pictures and to chat to people there. The end of the day was just beyond the next portion of the path, and we were reluctant to bring that point to bear. Again the views from here vied with previous ones for most excellent. They were also like the stones in many parts of Derbyshire, particularly the gritstone edges, but the stupendous flat valley views were very different.

Just before we lost height, we used the mobile phone to ring our host for tonight to tell him our arrival was imminent, and to ask him for the number of a local taxi firm, (the road to the village was vergeless and busy) but he very kindly offered to pick us up. We arrived at the car park at Hasty Bank at the same time as Don Robinson. We had told him we would be easily recognisable as we were both wearing ‘Superman’ tee shirts. This was something Colin and I often do on a walk, just to stimulate comments from passing walkers and also just for a laugh! We got into Don’s Volvo and were whisked down to Holme Farm. Don made a point of the fact that we were the first walkers he has ever picked up in his eighteen years as a B&B host. I wondered why his card only said; ‘lifts back to the footpath’? Anyway, we were crestfallen. Labelled, as we were, as ‘not proper walkers’. We slunk off to our bedroom and wondered whether we deserved, or indeed were entitled to, the high tea Don had offered (lower caste that we were) but decided to go down anyway, as there were no ‘proper’ walkers to witness our shame – we were the only residents this night.

We sat in the small lounge and quietly poured the tea, observed as some ‘sub-species’ by Don from the kitchen. He was cooking something for himself, which was very garlicky. As I like garlic, it really got the juices flowing and I had already decided what I was having at the pub after this ‘nose-fest’. As we sat there, I noticed a videotape on the shelf that was about Wainwrights’ coast to coast walk. I asked Don what it was, and he said we could take a look at it (it might teach us how to walk properly). Anyway, whilst consuming the tea and bikkies, we watched it. The tape was an amateur production by two blokes who decided to walk to coast to coast for ‘charidy, mate’. They did it he-man style, ie – they backpacked! We watched in amazement as they were constantly drenched over the first few days, slept in a draughty barn as their tent and stuff was all wet, woke up still wet and miserable in the morning, plodded on relentlessly with their huge packs, missed the pubs and didn’t shower for almost a week – ah, the romantic life of a ‘proper’ walker. Colin and I did a bit of soul searching to discuss whether we should cast off this false mantle of ours, and opt for the style of MEN! The style of those who do it PROPERLEY! In TENTS!

We thought for about five seconds, and then went off to the pub for a malt or two and maybe a steak.

At the pub we met up with David & Maggi again. This would probably be the last time, as we had a long day tomorrow. We told them of our shame, and Maggi then regaled us with snippets of the walk down from Hasty Bank. She said that it was a nightmare. The cars were going like hell, and lots of motorbikes screamed past. We had seen the police with a radar gun, whilst we were in the Volvo coming down, and that should have told us the sort of road it was. Anyway, Maggi said that one woman was in tears as she tried to avoid the cars by scrambling up the banked side of the road, but kept slipping back. Colin and I glanced sideways, we might not be ‘proper’, we thought, but at least we would live to walk another day!

Maggi told us that, after walking for half the distance, they could stand no more and rang their own hostess, who willingly picked them up and expressed her surprise at them even attempting the walk, especially as it was Easter Sunday and worse than usual.

Unfortunately, Maggi was very tired so they went off early. We had a most agreeable meal (chicken Kiev with garlic bread) at the pub, the 'Jet Miner', and decided to stretch our legs and visit the other hostelry in the village. When we arrived, the welcome was fine but the place was plastic. One of those ‘Happy Harvester’ places where all the tables have numbers and the food is counted (twenty chips, thirty peas seven carrot slices, etc). They did, however, have an impressive selection of malt whiskeys. We sampled two each, and sat reading the cards with the information on about all the others.

At about 10:45 we decided to wend our way home, as we too were now feeling the efforts of the day creeping up on us. As we strolled back to Holme farm, it started to rain. By the time we got there it was coming down quite hard. We wondered if we should sleep in the barn to atone ourselves with Don, but thought better of it and snuggled down into our comfortable beds.

The next morning we went down to breakfast and found a different Don. He was much more chatty and inquisitive. His breakfast was more than adequate to set us up for the day ahead, and included two things I had dreamt about since the start of the walk – real coffee and scrambled eggs! We consumed it with gusto.

Outside the weather was perfect. The forecast was for rain later, but for now it was bright sunshine and wispy clouds – my favourite!

We set off walking, after being given a lift back to the path by a Don now in an unstoppable flow of pleasant conversation mainly about his personal war with the local cats.

Day Four – Clay Bank (Gt. Broughton) to Guisborough 17 miles

We waved him goodbye and climbed our ‘breakfast hill’ in strong sunshine accompanied by a light wind. It was 9:25am

The views back were astounding, and, as is usual in these situations, I marvelled at what we had covered the previous day. We could see the entire range of hills, and the vast valley too. THIS was ‘proper’ walking, 100% enjoyment! It has to be said that, now it’s over, when I write this walk up I will not consider yesterday to be any harder than other days really. Maybe if the weather had been bad, I may have told a different story, but how can you mock or deride perfection?

Today too was headed for the ‘nice day’ list. A comfortable breeze, superb surroundings, Curlew calls ringing in our ears and Skylarks singing away. The only fly in the ointment was the ominous black cloud headed our way. Ah well, live for the moment and enjoy while you can!

We reached the top of Round Hill and I couldn’t resist climbing on top of the trig’ point for a photo with a wonderful backdrop of endless moorland.

I suppose it would have looked better with the Superman tee shirt on, but that was still smelly from yesterday! (Using this pack carrying service – washing was one of the lower ranks of jobs to be done. While we were there, we heard the call of what I presumed to be some bird of prey. Oh, how I wish I were more 'au fait' with these calls. It was one I don’t think I’ve heard before. A sort of screaming call that would be associated with big blokes, with big hunting birds hanging on to their leather-clad arm. We would just have to be content with the mental picture because, although we scanned the skies, and the call was tantalisingly close, we didn’t see the singer.

We carried on along the course of an old railway line, again being made well aware of the vastness of the moors. With being so high up now, we were kings of the castle and the land for miles around surrendered to our gaze. If you ever want to feel insignificant, and can’t afford a trip into space to look back at the Earth, come up here!

The days grew a little chill, as the Sun was now being hidden by cloud. We donned our fleeces, and immediately felt too warm. It was one of those days though. Too warm with a coat on, too cool without. Oh to be in England, now that summer’s here!

The path meandered left then right as it followed different tracks. According to the G.P.S. we were but eight miles from our destination. As stated before, the trouble is, they ‘talk’ in straight lines and we were much further. Not that this was an issue, as we were really enjoying the day and, apart from the way the pebbly surface of the old tracks dug into our feet, everything was tickety-boo, and we were very happy bunnies!

We were now heading for the sharp hill we had been able to see for the last couple of days. It is called Roseberry Topping. In line with coastal walking (but mainly because we were so high up), this walk ‘allows’ you to see future goals, and, as usual, I was amazed how quickly we were covering the miles to get to these distant objectives.

At about 11:45 we were surprised to see Maggi and David. We caught up with them and greeted each other, expressing our surprise that they were in front of us. Maggi said she knew we were not in front, as she had been looking at the patterns of the boot soles in the dirt, and ours weren’t there! Amazed at this piece of detective work, we nominated Maggi for the ‘Police Inspector’ award for the week, and decided thst she must be part Apache. After she had explained the difference, we kept looking at our own prints to see. Every bit of wet or soft ground for the next few miles had our boot prints in it!

Maggi and David told us good their B&B had been, and as they wholly recommend it, (and personal experience is so important), their hostess was; Mrs Huntley, the Newlands Guest House, Great Broughton. It is not in the accommodation guide, but it is on the Internet.

The sky cleared nicely, and we parted company with our companions as they were staying at Kildale, a short distance away. If they had walked with us, they would have been there for lunch, and I don’t think they wanted to get away from this now perfect day. We could see the valley in which Kildale nestled to our front and left, and we could also see a finger of stone, Captain Cook’s monument, on the hilltop in front of us. This was our next visual goal, and we would sit at its side very soon.

It looked a good walk away, but experience told us we would be there in an hour and a half or so. A quick look back proved this, as the ground we had covered already this morning looked immense.

The path turned into a Tarmac road, which is never pleasant for your feet, and continued so right into the village of Kildale. We lost height dramatically, and the views were now all up, to where we had walked all morning. We could also see the edges we had walked the previous day, they looked superb dressed in the blue mantle of far horizons. A tingle of excitement ran through me as I surveyed what we had done, and savoured what lay ahead.

We entered the sleepy little hamlet of Kildale, greeted by a couple of friendly locals. We paid the village shop a visit, which we were surprised to find open at 1:30 on bank holiday Monday, and filled our provisional needs. They were also kind enough to fill Colin’s flask with hot water (he’d die without his cuppa). They also do sandwiches, etc if you need them. There is a café too, and we stopped for a well-earned cup of tea. I thought when we came to Yorkshire that, famous as it was for it’s tea, we would get a really great cuppa. The truth was, that most of what we had had so far was the same as this – weak and a poor example. I bemoaned the fact that it was so, and cost us two pounds for the privilege of finding out.

We left Kildale by a very steep Tarmac road, with the clouds massing threateningly above us. Mercifully, the sun was not out, as this climb really was ‘a grunt’. We plodded up to the top, panting with our exertions, and turned to admire the view (always a good ploy for a quick rest); “No, no – not tired old boy, just admiring the view”.

After the mile-long climb, we turned into Coate Moor wood. Now Colin and I are both rufty-tufty walkers (despite the reservations of Don) but the mud on this path was DEEP! Quagmire would be too soft a description. It had been churned by all manner of feet and tyres. We picked our way through it, and the draw of this path soon became apparent as the obelisk that was the Captain Cook monument loomed ahead. We walked through the gap in the wall and onto Easby Moor. No wonder this thing could be seen for miles. It stood sixty feet erect, and is a fitting monument to the famous Yorkshire sea captain. Even though I knew it would be big, it is still awesome as you approach it. When we could pull our eyes from this spectacle, we noticed there was also a preety good view of Roseberry Topping to the right.

It was about lunchtime, so, using the perimeter fence as a backrest, we reclined to explore our lunch packs. At that moment the heavens opened, sending ill clad tourists scurrying everywhere. We put on our coats and continued our repast, bemoaning the fact that all the views had been swallowed up by the rain.

At 2:45 we stood and continued our walk. The rain had eased slightly, and the sky was clearing. On the path down into the valley, we heard our first Cuckoo. I did attempt to record the sound, but the camera I had, which takes the short video movies, was reluctant to pick up the call. I don’t know why, but the Cuckoo’s song was difficult to hear. Small, shrill birds were no problem – and the sound of water was positively welcomed by the camera – but the Cuckoo?

Anyway, we were ‘treated’ to a few odd showers as we went on, both of us processing the fact that we were dropping steeply now, and the old adage of Sods Law concerning walking came into our minds;

WHAT GOES DOWN, MUST COME BACK UP.

At the bottom of Cockshaw Hill (which prompted the obvious jokes), we crossed a litter strewn car park complete with the remains of a burnt out tent, and started the climb up the other side to top out Great Ayton Moor. The path here was again very muddy, this was because it was en route to the path to Roseberry Topping. Here a short diversion takes you to the top, where, we read, terrific views can be seen. Not today, Hosĕ! The rain was still coming down and visibility was about thirty yards!

We left the throngs of sandal clad women and sensible shoed blokes, sqiudging their way through the mud on their personal pilgrimage (we’re ‘ere Hilda, so we’re going up!) and pressed on across Newton Moor, languishing in now strong sunshine and our own company.

We entered Highcliff Wood and, after a short section, reached Highcliff Nab. Here, we were afforded our first view of the sprawl that is Guisborough. The place looked H-U-G-E to us after being used to seeing piddling little villages. Massive school buildings, a major road, housing estates and, somewhere in this mass, our B&B, the Three Fiddles hotel! How were we to find it? Even the G.P.S. would struggle here. We decided to drop straight into it and just ask for directions. We did try ringing them on the mobile, but I’m afraid the girl who answered it must have thought they shouted ‘beds’ not ‘heads’ when she was given one, and so asked for a big soft one! What we did glean from the call was that, although it was now 4:45pm, it sounded uncharacteristically busy in the bar? What had we let ourselves in for, we wondered.

We descended the slippery track and into the outskirts of the town. We headed for the centre and asked the first person we met for directions, which we were given.

Our first impression was, to say the least, only served to reinforce my belief that most pub B&B’s are overpriced. The bar was busy, but we were shown up to our room straight away. We were offered two rooms, this we found strange as we had ordered a twin, (being brothers, we had this habit of talking to one another and wanted to perpetuate it), so we asked if we could share just the one room. We were told we could, then when we saw the size (or, rather, lack of it) of the room – we seriously reconsidered our decision. I looked in the wardrobe for the cat, but of course there wasn’t one – if there had of been, there would have been no room to swing it anyway! I suppose I could make a list, (tiny room, beds too close, lights not working, window catch broken, double glazing in the form of a sheet of plastic, very creaky floors, dingy bathroom (across the hall) with shower held together with yellow insulating tape, no slip mat in the bath, black mould everywhere,) but I won’t! At forty pounds for the two of us, we decided that this must be the first of the three fiddles! Fearing that the other two would be the price of the food, and the price of the beer, we sallied forth, refusing to part with more money here as we felt we were already being ripped off.

That evening, with such a choice available to us in this great Metropolis, we browsed the take-aways. The decision made, we entered the ‘Wan Hung Lo’ Cantonese. We chose our particular poisons, and sat outside on a bench to eat it. We noticed the signs outside forbidding drinking on the street, and the antics of a gang of lads down the road. They were obviously the worse for wear from alcohol, but hey, come on - it WAS seven thirty!! I wondered just what they would be like if they had been allowed to drink in the street. Thank God for sensible laws, we thought.

After our ‘bench-fest’, we decided to have a walk through the town, check out the bus times for tomorrow. The far end (North East) of town is quite nice, with the remains of an old abbey plus some nice shops, which were hiding behind anti ram-raid poles, standing like soldiers on the pavement. (Oh my God, I’m turning into ‘Tommy Tourist’!)

We sorted out that we would catch the bus at 9 o’clock and, with tomorrow ‘sorted’, we set off to seek out the fleshpots of Guisborough.

Partial as I am to blues music, we were attracted into one of the many local pubs. We sat in the lounge, and Colin held a fragmented conversation with a chap at the bar who was obviously drunk, but in a pleasant way. The barmaid told us that their was a party for some local guy, and there was live music ‘in the back’ (which turned out to be quite a nice function room) and all were welcome – no charge. We thought we’d give it a look, and I am glad we did. We had a great night, with free food (if only we’d known) free music but alas – no free beer! Still, mustn’t grumble, the music was really good.

When we got bad to the multitude of fiddles, sorry – THREE fiddles, the landlady asked us what time we would like breakfast. We asked if 8:00am would be ok, and she said; “fine”. We made our way up to bed, being careful not to creak the floorboards too loudly so as not to upset the revellers below! We settled down and drifted into the arms of sleep.

Day Five Guisborough to Staithes - 16 miles.

CLANNNG-DIDDLY-ANG-DANG-DANG-DANGGGGGG!!!!!!!

For those of you that don’t recognise that sound, it’s a large metal pole (ostensibly for the construction of market stalls, but doubling as an alarm call for sleepy walkers) being dropped by some oaf from a large height at 5:00am. I say oaf, this guy must have ‘A’ levels on what height to drop these poles from to cause maximum annoyance and resonance! It was like a horror film as I sat, bolt upright, as the noise reverberated through my brain. When the rest of me had caught up with my wide awake eyes, I pulled back the curtain and deftly swung back the ‘double glazing’ plastic sheet. I saw the object of my torment, happily going about his………CLANNNG-DIDDLY-ANG-DANG-DANG-DANGGGGGG!!!!!!! …….business. I thought about shouting obscenities at him, but decided it would do no good, and besides – there were more of them now. Any minute now I was expecting a blast of;

“cummon laydees – get yer luverley flowers – ony one parnd a bunch”.

I sighed, Colin was still asleep, but he had his mini radio plugged into his ears – did he know something I didn’t? I got mine out, stuck the earpiece in and lay back, just as the third;

CLANNNG-DIDDLY-ANG-DANG-DANG-DANGGGGGG!!!!!!!

Rang through my head.

We eventually got up, a bit bleary-eyed, and completed our ablutions and then made our way to the breakfast room. It was only 7:50am, but we could get the cereals done with. When we got to the breakfast room, it was eerily quiet. The cereals were there, but no milk! We checked to make sure the cereals were still alive (can’t be too careful what with all these ‘cereal killers’ about – groan).

I looked out of the window and saw some bloke below, standing outside the pub door.

“Christ, they start early up here”, I said to Colin, nodding down at the figure below. “He looks just like that bloke that’s collecting our bags along the way”; said Colin. I had to admit that he did. Ten past eight came and went – then quarter past – no noise or milk. I went and knocked on the door that all B&B’s have that say ‘PRIVATE’ on it – no response. I had this idea, and decided to ring the ‘Fiddles’ on my mobile;

“Ring-Ring – ring-ring – ring-ring - ring-ring – ring-ring – ring-ri…..(fumble,fumble) - HELLO!”

“Oh hello, it’s Mr Singleton for the eight o’clock breakfast, do you think we could have some milk for the cereal please?”

Silence followed by more fumbling.

“Oh God – erm, this has never happened before (fumble) I’ll be right in” CLICK

“She’ll be right in Bruv”, I said.

She came in at just after half past eight with our milk. “Oh, by the way, there seems to be someone outside”, I said. She looked down, and then left the room. She re-appeared and said it WAS the guy from the pack carriers, and did we have our cases ready? He was very early, but due to clang-diddly man, we had had oodles of time this morning, and everything was indeed packed. We took the cases down between courses.

The breakfast did come eventually, and it was not bad (I think we had extra sausage to atone her 'faux pas' with her lie-in). I must say she was really pleasant, but for all that the Three Fiddles is a place I would never go to again, nor recommend to anyone else.

There was no way we would have made the bus, so she very kindly gave us a lift back to the Cleveland way at Skelton, where we resumed the walk at 9:40 in brightening weather, but VERY soggy fields from the overnight rain. Optimistically we were wearing shorts and tee shirts and, although it WAS raining very finely, we trusted it to brighten up.

We entered Crow Wood, seeing the very odd patch of bluebells. It was a bit early for them yet, but one or two brave bunches were out and it was nice to see them. The overwhelming flower was the Ramson, or Wild Garlic. There were carpets of these on most of the woodland banks, their pungent scent filling the air. We often picked a leaf and crushed it in our hands, sucking up the perfume. You can use these plants in cooking, fish wrapped in a few of them a particular delicacy. Best when young, but can be used throughout their lives, being tougher towards the end. The wood is quite a nice place, trying very hard to be a haven but, close as it is to ‘civilisation’, the amount of rubbish vied with the plant life for ground space

Skelton Beck was tumbling and rushing, gorged with the previous nights’ rain. We passed under a massive rail viaduct, which surprisingly only gets a passing mention in the guidebook, and on through Rigg wood.

In the wood, some wag had drawn faces on all the places where branches had been sawn from trees. We thought it was a one-off at first, but it soon became apparent that, whoever had done it, was prolific!

The next place we came across was a little nature reserve. There were bird tables, food for the birds on the ground, hides and information boards. It was as if the birds felt safe here, and to our surprise and delight, they came in their hoards to feed. Squirrels too took from the tables, and I got a good few pictures of the visitors feeding. We sat for ages just watching them and listening to the song-filled air around us. It was like another world here. What did surprise us was that the ‘official’ route did not bring you through here, but a local had suggested it as a nicer way to get to Saltburn. How right he was! The laid out gardens, called the ‘Italian gardens’ were stunning. There was a good deal of backbreaking work in those beds, I can tell you. The pictures will show you what I mean.

At the end of the valley we got our first sight of the sea. It was WONDEFUL! The tide was right in and the gulls were calling fit to bust. OH, how I love the sea birds call. It is so heart lifting to hear it again. We crossed to the beach and just took it all in. The sea here must go quite a way out when it recedes, as there were lots of boats and almost as many tractors to tow them!! The sea was gradually claiming the bodies of these vehicles, they were all displaying the brown streaks indicative of the corrosive effect of the salt water.

Actually, a quick look at the guidebook map shows that the sea DOESN’T go out that far – why all these tractors then, I wonder? One to ponder but for now a true taste of coastal walking, and our first cliff to climb. Two fellow walkers who, like us, were admiring the view back down to Saltburn joined us on the cliff. We talked about our different journey experiences, and they walked with us a section of the way. It was pleasant to have some different company for a while and gave us chance to recount what had happened so far, and to listen to their own tales.

We joined the Boulby Potash railway line and marvelled at how close it came to the eroding cliffs in places. SURELY it was not long for this earth? It was barely thirty feet from the edge at times, and I am sure a 100 ton loco would shake itself to oblivion before too long. Again, the picture will tell you the story.

Just beyond one of the worst stretches of erosion lies an old mine. Here we saw one of the ‘New Milestones’ of Skelton and Brotton. These were sculptures to do with the environment. The one we saw was called ‘CIRCLE’. It is a seven-foot diameter circle with metal sculptures hanging in it . A horse (for the Cleveland Bay Horse); a starfish (for the shore); a pigeon, a cat (in the 1300’s cats were hunted around here); an owl; a nautilus (for fossils); a piece of protoplasm (basic to life); Thor’s hammer (relating to blacksmith work); a ring and a Mermaids purse (common to the seashore). The works are by an artist called Richard Farrington, and there are two more along the Cleveland Way, the Trawl Door and the Marker Post.

We dropped into a place called Skinningrove. Words fail me to describe just how ugly the place is! No wonder it gets hardly a mention in the guide. The new houses on the front are an eyesore, and looking up to the old places – well, go there and judge for yourself. I have a friend who is as hard as nails, and he backpacks all the long distance paths with his brother. I think he did the ‘Cleveland’ in about three days. Even he, at the end of a long, hard day, was reluctant to stay here in his tent. He said that they got an eerie feeling here, and thoughts of a film (The Wicker Man) kept coming to mind. So unsettled were they that, despite rain and failing light, they pressed on to Staithes, a further seven miles on!

We passed the line of houses and the ramshackle huts on the ‘beach’ and quickly climbed the cliff path out of there. It will be too soon if I never go to Skinningrove again.

More startling examples of the erosion is evident beyond Skinningrove. It looks like repairs have begun on the path, but already the ‘new’ bit has been swallowed into the abyss to the left. As Colin said, the sea will win in the end – it always does.

The favourite local 'game' seems to be footpath signs. I was almost tempted to try a bite out of one, as they must be full of flavour judging by the amount of shot they attract??? I wonder what it is that makes people shoot these poor defenceless signs? It is not just a local thing – I see it all over the country when I am walking. It’s as if people who have had no sport all day take it out on the little yellow arrows because they can’t run away.

The wind chilled ominously after about fifteen minutes of walking on the cliff tops. I knew what was coming – it can be felt in the air and, sure enough, the first spits of rain were felt. We had not stopped today, so we decided to make the most of things before the rain really set in. We sat on the cliff top at Boulby, wondering just how long it would be before the house with the nice red roof slipped over the cliff and into the waiting sea. By its close proximity, we thought it might even be worth waiting!

As we finished our late lunch, the rain decided to make its presence felt. We didn’t bother with the over trousers, as we figured Staithes was close enough to get to before a good soaking was had. WRONG! It came down in rivets, and it clattered on our hoods as we walked along. A short section of Tarmac road led down into Staithes where, even though our B&B was but a short distance away, we took shelter from the lashing torrential downpour. Presently it did abate slightly, and we made our way to the ‘Harbour Side’ B&B.

I had been to Staithes a few times before and had always coveted this little place we were staying in. It looks so perfect, with the best view of Staithes you could wish for. We looked across the sheltered harbour to ‘Cowbar’, which is a rock cliff hanging perilously over a row of houses. I would not live in one of those cottages for a bagful of gold – they looked in imminent danger, even though there was obvious work being done to shore them up! On one previous visit, I had witnessed a huge lump of cliff fall with a rumbling series of thuds into the river – no, Staithes was nice, but I don’t want to live or stay on the ‘cowbar’ side, thankyou.

It felt good to be ensconced here in the ‘harbourside’ at last, and the owner made us very welcome and comfortable. The room was a little small, but this was an old fisherman’s cottage, so we weren’t complaining. We had carte blanche to use all the radiators we could find to dry our stuff. To make matters worse, we really needed to do a bit of sock washing. Well, it all got done and all got dry by the next day, so all was well.

I treated myself to a bath. It was one of those bottomless affairs that really cosseted you as you sank into its depths. I have never seen so much choice of shower gel and bath additive in my life! I wondered if it was what previous guests had left behind? Whatever, I languished in ‘melee of Melon juice and jojoba’ or something like that. (What the hell is ‘jojoba’???). It seems to be in everything these days. I would be the best smelling walker in Staithes tonight, or my name isn’t ‘Cap’n Ahab’!

When Colin went for his turn, I took a stroll around the little fishing hamlet. It had stopped raining by now, and so I visited the ‘Cod & Lobster’ pub, which is perched as close to the sea as you could possibly get, so much so in fact, that it was quite feasible that the Cod & Lobster were two regulars! I marvelled at some of the photos that such places revel in putting on the walls. You know the type – you can’t see the pub for the huge wave that has just broken over it. There was also one of the sea running up the main street. “Got up as far as the butchers”, I was told when spotted looking at it on the wall. ‘Note to self – don’t have the salt beef for dinner’.

I had a walk up to poke around the rest of the village and the two other pubs. Staithes is quite a nice place, although a teensy bit run down. I know from past visits that there is a very good Captain Cook museum, which holds some amazing artefacts and personal items of his. I was trying to find out if there was any entertainment on anywhere. I felt a bit of a sea-shanty evening welling inside but the best Staithes could offer was ‘QUIZ – TONIGHT – 8:30’ in the Royal George. Ah well, the cruel, raging sea would have to remain unsung for another night.

We had a passable meal in the ‘George’, and tried the quiz. We proved woefully inadequate and didn’t even win the booby prize. We blamed this on tiredness and damp ingress. The only highlight of the evening was meeting some people who had the brilliant email address of ‘gerry@trix’ (say it). I promised to drop them a line when I got back.

Day Six – Staithes to Robin Hoods Bay (Fylingthorpe) – 18(ish) Miles

Did you know that seagulls don’t sleep, and call all night? No? Neither did I – until that night! I am a lover of bird calls, even when they break my sleep, but I was amazed, fazed and dazed after about three a.m.

It was pitch black, cold and wet but STILL the bl**dy things kept calling! The funny thing is, as I listened to my Dictaphone to write this diary, there they were in the background on the tape – still calling!

Come seven a.m. I was a very tired bunny, and seagulls were right down there at the bottom on my ‘favourite birds’ list.

The morning broke, or rather squelched. There was a sea mist that you could cut lumps out of, and, yes – it was howling down with rain! I pulled back the curtains, and then drew them again. It looked bad – very bad. This was a really nice stretch of the walk, and I was keen for Colin to see it but it looked like our luck was out and we would have to spend the day looking at our feet. It was a good job we took pictures last night, as today there was no chance.

We slowly got our things together and packed, just in case the ‘early bird’ from the Sherpa service caught us on the hop again. We then went down to breakfast, which was a self-service affair, and the owner of the harbour side (which doubled as a café), served us from behind the counter. It was a scrumptious repast, and we engaged in conversation with the very friendly owner ( I am sorry, I can’t remember his name) and I can recommend this place (but take some ear plugs!).

We left Staithes at the usual time of 9:30am. It was raining so we togged up in all the gear, trousers and all. How I hate wearing trousers – shorts are the thing for walking but, in prolonged rain, the water runs down my legs and into my boots, so I must suffer the trousers today.

The first hour or so was spent climbing the muddy path up the cliffs. We could hear the sea but not see it. The rain was as fierce now as when we left and my hopes of some views for Colin were fading fast. To make matters worse, we reached a pretty line of cottages at Port Mulgrave, and the book promised a ‘good view down to the tiny harbour and jetty’. We could see the grass underfoot – did that count?

As we walked along Rosedale Cliffs, we met a lady. She was a farmer, by the look of her, and she apologised profusely for the weather. I almost feigned enjoyment, as I felt guilty for her taking the rap – what about all the other people who lived around here? She explained how it really was nice and how we should come back and see. I vowed to do this. She then told us it would be better if we went now, because as soon as she rattled the plastic bucket she was holding, the cows would stampede toward her for their share of its contents. We hurried on, along what must (again) be one of the muddiest paths I have ever seen! The rain abated slightly, and misty views started to appear. The fields of rape to our right were getting more yellow by the day. It was as if they were trying to ‘out-yellow’ each other. Also, the gorse was making a good show and would have made a nice foreground for pictures – if only!

We reached Runswick bank top to be greeted by the smell of lunch from the hotel there. I must say it smelt divine, but we were still running on breakfast. We had decided that the harbour side breakfast was a ‘one o’clocker’. We started the descent down the one in four hill to the pretty Runswick Bay. The only thing on our minds though, was that there MUST be a one in four out of the other side! Again, from previous visits (I knew this part of the east coast quite well) I could tell Colin what he was missing. Runswick is almost as pretty, if not as compact, as Robin Hoods Bay. Bemoaning the weather and lack of views still, we dropped on to the beach and walked along it. The erosion here is ongoing all the time, and at an alarming rate too. If you take a stroll along the beach, keep away from the cliff as lumps of earth drop off at regular intervals – some quite large! There are some big cave-like holes in the cliff face called ‘Hob Holes’, a place where people thought whooping cough could be cured – probably by death from a big lump of Runswick falling on you! We had a third member of our crew, as we were joined by a friendly black Labrador dog. He was happy to have a pat and pad along at the side of us (probably hoping for us to stop for lunch). The rain stopped altogether now, and views back started to appear, so Colin got to see it after all. He agreed it was a nice place and we carried on. This beach at Runswick is impassable at high tide, and the instructions tell you that, if the tide is in, you must just wait. There is no alternative. It reminded me of when I walked the Pembrokeshire coastal path in 1993. I walked SEVEN MILES around a Gann (inland waterway) only to find, when I reached the other side, that the tide had receded enough for me to walk across it (there was a line of stones for this very purpose).

When we reached the other side of the beach, the instructions warned that the stones we had to walk up could be ‘slippery when damp’. What a laugh – today they were under water from the overnight rain, and the little beck was a raging torrent. We had a few laughs trying to cross it. Our Labrador friend had no trouble, and looked back across the beck at these wimps who were like giggling schoolgirls in their efforts to ford it.

Ford it we did, and made our way up the steep path (I knew it!) and back up to the cliff top.

Things really started to brighten up and I had high hopes for the afternoon, but in reality I was being rather optimistic. It remained overcast and spitting with rain. At Deepgrove Wyke we followed the line of an old disused rail track. Below us we could see the spoil from the Alum mining operations. It never ceases to amaze me though, how nature will try to brighten such places, and here we saw an abundance of wild Primroses. The bank sides were bursting with them. These are supposedly quite a rare, protected flower but here they were in such numbers the air was filled with their fragrance. The gorse too, was bursting with flowers, and I realised what their perfume reminded me of. It was a cross somewhere between coconut and Garlic – a very unusual bouquet!

We stopped on the cliffs above Sandsend. We decided on a light bite to eat, and I changed my socks as the incessant rain had got through my cheap boots and my feet were very wet. By now it had at last stopped, and we were able to remove our wet coats. They dry readily in this warm, breezy weather. We had already been walking for about three and a half hours, and we had about ten miles to go from Sandsend. Our spirits lifted with the improving weather (not that we were downhearted) and we bounced into Sandsend to ‘check it out’. We can recommend the village store, with such a diverse selection of stock you would think you were in Sainsbury’s, not Sandsend. I kid you not – everything from bread to pickled walnuts! Although we had already had a bite to eat, we raided their delicatessen counter for goodies, and sat on the sea front to consume them. There were not many souls willing to brave the unsettled weather today, but a few dog owners were out exercising their animals.

A smelly (exhaust fumes) walk followed from Sandsend to Whitby golf club, where we turned away from the road and back to the coast. We made our way along the west cliffs, in increasingly improving weather, to the outskirts of the famous port.

What an act of God, to give us fine weather just now. I had hoped for this, as I wanted to show Colin around Whitby, one of my favourite places. We passed through the arch of Whalebones at the top of the cliffs (I wish I had a pound for every soul that had done the same before me) and we descended the steps to the dockside.

As usual, Whitby was hustling and bustling and there was a queue of would-be diners outside the ‘Magpie Café’. This place had been feted by a prominent T.V. chef, and had been basking in the glory ever since. I have yet to see it where you can just walk into the place and eat right away!

Although full of visitors, Whitby still somehow manages to retain the air of a working harbour, with a nice mix of trinket shops and fishing boats. I took several pictures in Sepia mode as a sort of tribute to Sutcliffe, a famous photographer who has a gallery here dedicated specially to his work.

We crossed the swing bridge and made our way through the streets of the old quarter. I took Colin round to see the kipper-smoking house, Fortunes. This was another place that had enjoyed the caress of T.V. stardom. Mind you, the richly deserved it, their kippers and other stuff they smoke are the finest I have ever tasted. I also showed Colin the walls of the smoke house. They are CAKED in a fatty substance, the residue of years of smoking which is NEVER removed, but sometimes falls off in great chunks!

We left Whitby by the steps up to the old abbey (dating from 1370) at 3:30pm. The pallbearers used to ascend these steps with their load, and there are seats all the way up where they would rest on the arduous climb.

At the top, we turned to admire the view, and as if to say; “That’s your lot”, the rain started to fall gently and so we reluctantly put our coats back on.

The cliff path took us by Saltwick bay, where the unfortunate remains of a wreck can be seen on the rocks below. The cliff path here is again very eroded and great portions of it have disappeared into the foam. This was a popular walk, and the amount of mud was testament to this popularity. By the time we got to Maw Wyke Hole, we had had enough of it and, at about four o’clock, swung inland to join the old rail bed, which I knew led to Robin Hoods Bay. After the rain had started, I again cursed it, as I also knew that this was another of the great viewpoints on this walk. However, to my great surprise and satisfaction, the weather cleared dramatically, and the camera was employed to record it. The blue sky was startling, and the white of ships offshore was a very pleasing contrast indeed! We soon were overheating in the remarkably strong sunshine, but we weren’t complaining, this was a great end to the day. We walked into Robin Hood’s Bay, with aching feet but in glorious sunshine, at 6:10pm.

I don’t know if there’s a bit of Lemming in Colin and I, but we decided to ‘pop down’ to the bottom of the bay to see if a friend, Keith of; 'Cromwell’s Walking Plaques' was at home. We descended the very, VERY steep hill down (if you ever go – you’ll see what I mean) but he wasn’t in. We had a walk on the beach but noticed a big black cloud heading our way, so we quickly scaled the hill back up and made for our B&B, which was a mere extra mile or so further on in the village on Fylingthorpe. On the way, we noticed a wood, just opposite the church, was full of open bluebells – the most we’d seen thus far.

We were welcomed into ‘Saxonvilla’ by Pauline, with whom I had stayed before, so I knew we were on solid ground tonight. Saxonvilla is one of a line of houses built by the old sea captains. The view from the back windows is across the fields to Ravenscar, which we would be passing through tomorrow. But for now, Pauline made us very comfortable in the HUGE room, and we made a well-earned cuppa.

We freshened up and made ready for the walk BACK into Robin Hood’s Bay. I am partial to the food and beer there, especially the Dolphin, but it has to be said that the standard and portions are slipping of late. The chef who used to work there has moved, but only as far as the Fylingdales Inn, which is just along the road a few hundred yards from ‘Saxonvilla’. If you were not bothered about the walk to the Bay, then I recommend the Fylingthorpe Inn.

We wanted to see a band that was playing at the top of the bay; also Pauline was helping out behind the bar in one of the hotels (as if she didn’t work hard enough already).

Although tired, we had a very good night, tormenting Pauline and listening to the band. When we returned to Saxonvilla, we had the most comfortable night so far, and we both slept like babies.

Day Seven – Fylingthorpe to Scarborough 13 miles.

The morning dawned resplendent! I drew back the curtains to be blinded by strong shafts of Sunlight. I opened the window and took in some morning air, also the birds were ‘giving it some’ – WHAT a day!

Our intention was to walk down into Robin Hoods Bay (again!) to see if we could catch Keith Cromwell (the ‘plaque man’) (that makes him sound like a dentist! ).

Pauline treated us to one of her wonderful breakfasts, I don’t know where she gets her bacon, but it’s the best I have ever tasted. The rest of the food is good too. You MUST go and visit her for a bit of pampering – tell her I sent you. (I might get a bit of discount next time I go then). (NB, since this diary was written, Pauline has sadly died)

We packed the cases for the ‘bag man’ and left them with Pauline. Usually they were really on the ball and picked them up at around 8:30, but today there was no sign of them – strange? Just in case, we gave Pauline the telephone number to ring them if they ‘forgot’ us.

The walk down to the Bay was really something. This is the best time to see things, either now or late in the evening. The light, as any photographer will tell you, has a special quality about it. We took lots of pictures of the pretty village, with its’ red roofs and steep situation. This is a picture of a very old and dilapidated paper shop. Ity was run by some people who matched the building very well - two strange old hags were always outside. They too must have since died, as the buliding has FINALLY been sold and renovated.

We then went to the sea and took some pictures from there. We could see Ravenscar, our first port of call on today’s section of the walk. It looks majestic, perched as it is on the cliffs. There were plans to build a holiday village here, a bit like Milton Keynes (instant and purpose built) but it all fell through. Ravenscar gained the name of ‘The Town That Never Was’ because of this. You can still see the markings of where the streets were going to be though, if you look.

Keith was again not home, so we started back up the hill (again!). Halfway up, who should we se coming down but Keith and Jean! We were invited back down, but I saw the look that Colin shot me and quickly realised that I would have a mutiny on my hands if I asked him to go down and come back up again. Besides, it was getting late – 10:40 – so we really wanted to get going.

I promised Keith I would call in when I was next there and said goodbye to him and Jean.

After yesterday, we had decided to take the railway path to Ravenscar. I suppose it should have rung alarms when I saw at the beginning of the path in Fylingthorpe that there was work going on, and we had to take a small diversion. As we passed Saxonvilla (again!) we saw Pauline who informed us that the bags were STILL there, but she had rung the Sherpa service and they had assured her that they would be picked up. I wasn’t worried, because Pauline is the sort of person that, if they hadn’t, she would have taken them to Scarborough for us.

I had told Colin that this railway path was a nice flat, if slightly uphill, walk. What I DIDN’T know was that, because of work on it, there was a diversion and we had to negotiate a road that was just like the one up from the bay – only LONGER! Also, the Sun was really strong now, so we were wilting fast. After the road walk we decided to sort ourselves a route out back to the railway, and this we did. It was quite pleasant walking through the fields but, even though the day was scorching hot, our legs were constantly flecked with mud and cool water as the ground was still saturated from the past few days rain. All around the hedgerows and flowers of the field were taking full advantage of the lovely day, and I SWEAR I could see the things growing before my eyes!

We re-joined the rail track and were rewarded with stunning views back to Robin Hoods Bay and the coastline. The screaming yellow of the gorse made a really good foreground for the pictures I took. Although we had taken a late start, we were not hurrying as days like today were not ten-a-penny and we wanted to take full advantage.

There are seats strategically placed along the track, and we took advantage of a couple of those too! Another phenomenon we could witness from our lofty position was that the rains over the last few days had sent torrents of mud into the sea, and from here we could see a huge brown slick where the sea was stained with the ingress of mud. It was like one of those Nile Delta aerial pictures you see in the National Geographic magazine.

We continued along the track with the birds competing for ‘best song of the day’. Clouds were now gathering, but we had already got the morning in our pockets, so we were happy for whatever the day wanted to throw at us now.

As we approached Ravenscar, the path rose a little steeper. The views out to see were restricted now, as more vegetation was growing at the trackside and cut off our sight of the coastline. We passed through Ravenscar after a short break at the visitors’ centre, where a very pleasant lady engaged us in conversation and tried to tempt me into an ice-lolly, a temptation I managed to resist.

Just beyond Ravenscar we re-joined the coastal path. Far ahead we could see the outline of Scarborough castle. It looked absolutely miles away, but past experience told me that we would be there before we knew it. We also saw what we surmise to be Filey Brigg – the end of our journey.

For now though, we were here, and the warm day led us to collapse for ‘elevenses’ (it was now 2:00pm) on the grass at our feet. Supplies were low and I ate a strange mish-mash of chocolate, fruit and flapjack, washed down with ‘Adam’s Ale’ (water).

As we sat, we observed people in front of us dropping down a steep path into a gash in the coast. This was Hayburn Wyke, a nature reserve. We both had a peep through the binoculars from our lazy vantage point, and followed with our eyes the path we would follow with our feet in a short while.

We ‘sacked up’ and set off towards Hayburn. When we got there I was astounded by its simple beauty. There were several waterfalls, culminating in a large one onto the beach. No wonder there were so many people here – the most we had seen in one place for days. It was a little jewel. We could not walk past without stopping for a while to admire it and take pictures.

The walk resumed up a long series of muddy wooden steps to the cliff tops again. We then ambled along, past lots more evidence of Potash mining and landslips.

We reached and walked up the steep steps at Hundale Point and on to the Wyke. There is a natural rock scar in the cliff face known as Hundale Scar, and it stops you dead in your tracks. The sea has met a very hard opponent here, but it has knocked a few lumps out of him over the years. The resultant face is really strange to behold (see pictures) and we were both impressed by it. There were huge boulders that had just fallen into the sea as they had become detached. They looked big from where we were up on the cliff, so if you were standing right beside them, they must be gargantuan! It is so strange how this ‘fault’ appears here and only here – all this coastline and this only happens (as far as I am aware) right here. Nature is strange, isn’t it?

We carried on along the cliff tops, past a place called – wait for it – ‘cliff top’ and another one called, mysteriously, ‘sailors grave’. No mention of this or the reason why it got its name is given in the guide.

We reached Scaleby, which is really the outskirts of Scarborough, at 4:30. We first went wrong and started to walk up the North bank of Scaleby Beck, but Colin soon realised our mistake and we set off back to cross the beck by a footbridge. From here we got a sweeping view of Scarborough’s North Bay. I have been to Scarborough several times in the past, but never ventured North of the castle for some reason. It’s not a place that I like very much – it’s too commercialised and 'old' for me, but it is very popular all the same, so each to his own, I say.

We walked into Scarborough at 5:00pm, roughly as expected. It was quite a shock to the system to walk into a crowded, smelly (exhaust fumes) place after being used to the fresh cliff tops. I always feel out of place in places like this. Everyone with their kids holding chips or candyfloss, and me with dirty legs and a rucksack on my back. It’s like wearing a swimming costume as you walk down a high street – have you ever done that? Even if it’s summer, it feels strange. The high street is not a place for bathers!

We asked directions and were pointed – up a hill (sigh). After stopping for some provisions in a little shop, we plodded up the hill towards our B&B. We were going to have two nights in Scarborough so I hope we have got a nice place.

As we walked along the road, we couldn’t help noticing that the hotels/B&B’s were all as tall as they could be, with most of them having five stories, the top one usually a loft conversion. Scarborough was a ‘pack ‘em in and pile ‘em high’ place. I looked up and thought how ironic it would be if we were to be put on the top floor;

“Hello, you must be Mr and Mr Singleton – follow me, I’ve put you on the top floor”.

My God – five flights of stairs to our room – just what we needed! The shower was one floor down, and the loo was two. The landlady and landlord were very friendly people, and the room was comfortable. We couldn’t complain really, but those stairs!!!! I must have climbed them twenty times during our stay. I thought about buying a little plaque for the door of our room, naming it ‘mountain pass’.

Anyway, on advice from our host, we decided to visit the pub across the road, which was under new management. We had noticed the enticing words on the windows in garish colours announcing; ‘TWO CAN EAT FOR SIX POUNDS’. Well, the mixed grill sounded very good, so, washed and cleaned, we sallied forth.

We ordered two pints of beer, and looked around to select our seat for the feast. Should we go in the corner, take a window seat, mingle with the locals??? We needn’t have bothered – the food was off – all of it! The reason? We were told it was because there weren’t enough people in. But surely, we mused, people wouldn’t COME at this time in if there was no food? Apparently they stopped serving food at 7:45pm anyway. VERY strange. Well, as he hadn’t informed us until we had ordered and paid for our beer, we had no choice but to drink up and find somewhere else. This was no way to build up your business, I thought.

We found somewhere else, a Tapas bar. We had originally wanted to go Chinese, but were lured in here by the simple fact that we had never tried Tapas before. What were they (or was it)? The Greek (or whatever) man behind the counter explained and, non the wiser due to not understanding a word he said, but taken by his obvious enthusiasm and love of what he was cooking, went inside to ‘give it a go’. They also had a sign that said; ‘bring your own wine – no corkage fee’. As there was a wine shop next door, I went to get our alcoholic accompaniment for the meal.

When I returned, Colin had ordered the ‘special’, which was 18 Tapas for £10. I have to say that, accompanied by another bottle of wine; this was the finest culinary soirée that we had encountered on the whole walk. We ate EVERYTHING and thoroughly enjoyed it all.

Another trip up ‘Mount Roslen’ saw us into our comfy beds to dream of the final day of the Cleveland way, but not the final day of OUR walk, as we had planned to add 50 mles on to get back to the car at helmsley.

Day Eight – Scarborough to Filey 11 ¼ miles.

(Yawn) Excitement filled the air as we did our morning exercises; UP (ONE TWO) DOWN (ONE TWO) – then the other eyelid! We performed our ablutions and descended from our eyrie to the breakfast room. I had a bit of a ‘special’ breakfast (with TWO sausages – I think I was being mothered again) before packing up our sacks for the last days’ walking.

We were drawn to the site of where the Holbeck hotel had ‘slipped’ into the sea a few months previous. The slip happened as the guests were having breakfast. There was nearly one million tonnes of earth displaced in the slip. I had imagined that it had dropped off a cliff as the cliff was eroded, but the truth was that it looked like a landslide, and was more akin to a ship being launched that an hotel falling off a cliff! Anyway, I took the obligatory picture of the slope, now landscaped to hide what had happened and strengthened to prevent a recurrence.

We continued on in the brightening morning. The forecast is for fine weather for the rest of the walk, so this heartened us.

We reached our first unwelcome detour of the day. Someone had broken off the footpath sign, and we simply followed the path, which led downhill. We soon realised that we should have gone on along the cliff path, but these things happen, so we re-traced our steps and continued.

The rest of the walk was along cliff tops, in good weather and humour. I relalise this is an ignominious way to finish this diary, but the very last section seems to have been lost somehow???? Oh well, I KNOW we finished on Filey brig in the sunshine, then walked back to Scarborough. The following day, we set of back to helmsley, via the three-day 'Tabular Hills' walk.

PROLOGUE

In all, a really good walk, which I enjoyed a lot. I think my love of the sea helped, and my previous knowledge of the area. A walk of contrasts, I'd say it's a good walk for anyone to do.

Les Singleton

2006-07-27T16:53:00.000-07:00

THE PEMBROKESHIRE COASTAL PATH DIARY

© Les Singleton

August 22, 1993

On the 19 May 1993, I began the long journey across to Pembrokeshire to start to walk my third long distance path -- The Pembrokeshire Coastal Path. This is the daily diary I kept whilst doing it.

Wednesday, 19th May -- The Journey Down.

7.30 pm. Arrived here about half an hour ago. Ian, a friend of mine, kindly offered to bring me in his car when I started having difficulties in arranging transport to get to St.Dogmaels, near Cardigan. We had a good journey down, stopping at an hotel on the way. The landlady, Angharad (good Welsh name, that), is a friendly, happy, chatty person and we whiled away a pleasant hour or so in her company. She told us that lately the weather had been very unkind and today was the best it had been for a while. I inwardly hoped it would stay that way.
We arrived in St.Dogmaels at about 5.45pm. The air was still and warm and the sea like a mill pond. God was in his heaven, and I in mine. After Ian had taken a couple of photo's of me on the slipway which was the unofficial start of the path, we parted. He with my thanks, and me with his good luck wishes. My B&B is only 200 yards from the start of the path. I am a bit worried, as I was glad to get my sack off my back after the short walk!!
I was welcomed by Peter Antwis and his daughter Laura. Laura then proceeded to give me the ‘Grand Tour’ of the garden, described by Mum Rosemary as ‘a bit of a jungle’. It is more like a secret garden, with four ascending levels, each a bit wild and a bit cultivated in just the right mix. After the tour, I had a rest and a cup of tea (I had done 200 yards you know) before venturing out. Today St. Dogmaels... tomorrow the world! (well... Pembrokeshire at least.)
Thursday 20th May -- St. Dogmaels to Pwllgwaelod
Last night I had a walk to the ‘Ferry Inn’. A really delightful and deceptively large pub. It looks sort of Cornish and tiny from without, but very comfortable and large within. It also holds the doubtful accolade of selling the most expensive pint I've ever bought. Burton bitter £1.68 a pint!!! Normally this costs about £1.30. Still, it was nice. I felt at ease with the barman too, as he sounded just like a mate of mine, with a lovely Dorset lilt to his voice. I went back to Nant Y Pele (the Antwis abode) at about 10.30pm, had a cup of tea and a bite to eat and retired.
This morning I woke up early about 5.00am. I thought it a bit early to be up and about, so I just opened the curtains to look at the river. It was nowhere to be seen, as it was pea-souper foggy out there! I got back into bed and lay there wondering how I would go on, ‘walking blind’ so to speak. When I decided to get up and make a coffee, it had cleared sufficiently to see the river. I got up quietly, as no-one else was about yet, and walked down the road to investigate a path I had seen going between the houses. It turned out to be a delightful riverside path lined with trees. It ran all the way up to the village of St. Dogmaels, which incidentally is the largest village in Wales, and I spent a very pleasant half hour following it. I made my way back to Nant Y Pele. No one was about yet, so I had a bath, made a cup of tea and waited.
When Peter got up, he started my breakfast. We talked as he did so. It was one of the better breakfast I've had, and three sausages!! After eating, I went and packed my things and said my good-byes to Peter, Laura and Rosemary.
I started walking about 8.30a.m. The early mist had completely cleared now. I passed the landing stage start of the path and continued on up the road. The bird song was loud and varied, lots I hadn't heard before. The verges were being trimmed, so the air was pungent and heavy with the smell of newly cut grass. The higher I climbed, the better the views were becoming. The wide estuary was calm and quiet except for the odd call of a bird. I passed the Webley Hotel and Poppit Sands, (photo' of plaque), before climbing up the road. It was getting steadily warmer so the fleece was consigned to the sack. Up and on I pushed as I passed what looked like a nice Youth Hostel. I then reached Allt Y Goed farm, where I promptly got lost! I climbed a stile (number 378) and the path just seemed to disappear. I went right, into a field, as there was the semblance of a path through it. It petered out so I turned back, noticing that the fabric boots I was wearing, and had so lovingly treated with waterproofing, were leaking already! Back at stile 378 I went left this time, with the same result. The only way left was straight on, but this seemed to head into a dead end barnyard. As I opened the gate, I saw the stile in the right hand corner... success! I climbed the stile and pressed on. The sun was even warmer now, but the constant breeze cooled me. I had applied sun tan lotion this morning, but I didn't think the sun would warrant it -- how wrong I turned out to be.
As I walked, I gained more height and the views were getting better and better. I took lots of photo's and was very happy. Although mostly past their best, the Bluebells were still profuse in places. I walked along headlands carpeted with them, their scent strong and heavy in the air. Also, the gorse formed many corridors which were a delight to walk through, the yellow of their flowers so bright it almost hurt my eyes. The wild flowers were so many and varied that I can't begin to describe them. Suffice to say I didn't know where to look next. The butterflies that were feeding on them were also numerous. Orange wings with black spots seemed to be the favourite rig-out. I saw lots of this type, but lepidoptery is not my strong point, so I couldn't put a name to them.
My nephew Philip, who is studying geology, would have a field day here. Anticlines, monoclines, synclines, submarine rolls, I was seeing it all. The rock strata was folded so drastically in places that it didn't look real. It was a fantastic show of bygone upheavals. I took a few photo's but could have used a whole roll of film.
The main thing that had struck me this morning was that, being a coastal walk, you could see right around the coast to distant objectives. This is a little disconcerting, as when you are just setting out for the day, you can see where you've got to get to. It looks a long way too. Although I've been walking for a number of years, it still never fails to amaze me when I can see how far I've walked, or unsettle me when I can see how far I've got to!! It looks a long way today, but with scenery like this... who cares? In the far distance the furthest point I could see (and see quite clearly) was Strumble Head Light house. This was to be passed on the second day, but it spent all day today winking it's light at me seductively.
The path climbed above Cemaes Head and I gulped as it came within six feet of the 400 foot drop sheer cliffs. It didn't do this a lot, but when it did my pace slowed respectfully. It slowed even more as descent then climb followed one another. The guide describes today as ‘taxing’. By the end of the day I felt like a car... taxed for a year! Altogether I climbed well over 3,000 feet today, but as the old saying goes; ‘no pain - no gain’.
The sun was a bit wishy-washy behind the clouds and previous days rains had made the going very muddy. Sometimes I was quite warm, grateful for the cooling breeze, at other times I was stifled in the becalmed air. It was how I would imagine it to be in a hot air balloon on a hot day. One or two times it just slipped on the uncomfortable side of cool, but only for about 15 minutes, then the sun returned and I was reaching for the towel again.
I was travelling South now, still marvelling at how far I could see and how clear it all was. I looked out to sea and down to the inaccessible pebbly beaches to see if I could spot any seals, but no luck. I passed the highest point of the trail, 575 feet, but if I thought it was all down hill from here, I was badly mistaken. The wet grass was really penetrating the fabric boots now, so I stopped and donned my leather ones. I was a bit apprehensive of them, as they had blistered my feet in the Lake District, but I had no choice. Instantly I could feel the extra support in my ankles, which were feeling a bit sore. In a lot of places the path is rocky and undulating and so works the ankles a lot.
I followed the muddy path down to Ceibwr Bay. Apart from ‘cliffs kill -- keep to path’ the next stile had an extra sign... ‘Beware - Adders’. My imagination went into overdrive as usual, and I had visions of treading on one of the damn things. As it was, they were all still tucked up under their stones, or wherever it is Adders go. Now I wished I had seen one to take a photo'.
At Traeth Bach I saw, and took a photo' of, what was to be one of the many natural arches I would see on this walk. This one was privileged to be the first, as within a short while any arch had to satisfy a sort of ‘criteria of excellence’ before I'd take a picture of it. I next came across the ‘Witches Cauldron’, a huge amphitheatre where a cave that used to exist had collapsed into the sea leaving a gaping chasm. All along this coast there are portions of slippage, or signs of instability. It all serves to make me a bit edgy (no pun intended) when the path is exposed or runs close to the cliff edge. I keep saying to myself ‘I must lose some weight’ and breathing in, as if that would make me lighter.
The beauty of the first day of any long walk is that your body will take anything you throw at it, and any punishment dished out, and I was still strong and well. The first day holds a lot of other firsts too. Another one was the first orchid I saw. I wondered at it's rarity, and took a photo' of it. I soon realised that I could open a market stall selling them, there were that many along the path.
I could still see the coast crystal clear in both directions and as I rounded the headland below Foel Fach hill, I saw the sands of Newport. The sea is a powerful shade of aquamarine blue and today, with the sun on it, looked beautiful. Most of the little coves have pebbly beaches, but here was something very different, a great expanse of sand! It looked even better as the tide was out. Good... I could walk across the sand and wade the Afon (river) Nyfer, as per the instructions. When I came to this raging torrent, I estimated it's depth to about one mile!! (well - above my knees anyway). My memory harked back to when myself and a tall, crazy friend forded a ‘stream’ in the Peak District. It was a bit like that joke where the water ‘only comes halfway up the ducks’. I decided discretion was the better part of valour, and started to move upstream. Now if you look at the map, you will see that the course of the Nyfer comes down the far North side of the beach before, halfway to the sea, going South to the other side of the beach and then resuming its Westward direction to it's termination at the sea. WHY????? All this serves to do is make a weary walker travel three times as far. Why don't the council come with a JCB and alter its course? (JOKE). When I realised what the river was doing, and I was criss-crossing the sands like some demented Robinson Crusoe, I gritted my teeth, took off my boots and socks, hitched up my sack and towel, shrugged off my fertile imagination (I was BOUND to step on a stone fish, or a great big crab with even bigger claws), and I waded forth. Now, at one point the water came above mid-thigh level, and I admit to swearing out loud. This tack seemed to work and the depth started to decrease. On the other side it was more squidgy mud than sand (I was bound to get sucked under!), but I managed to pick my way to a rock where I cleaned my feet and re-booted them, before pressing on (pausing for a two-fingered salute at the Afon Nyfer).
After some more common or garden stunning cliff scenery, I reached Fforest ( an 'Ff 'ing nice place! ). I met and chatted with a couple who were walking their dog. These were the first people I had seen all day. We chatted for a while and it became obvious that they were lovers of the area. I could see why. I could easily spend a week in this cove. Safe bathing, beautifully clear water, caves, rock pools and yet more natural arches. Just give me a boat, a barbecue and a beach mat, and I'd be a happy man. The guy, I didn't get his name, sent his wife and dog back the easy way to where their car was, and decided to accompany me back the way he had come. We followed the muddy path towards Cwm-Yr-Eglwys, which is described as one of Pembrokeshire's favourite beauty spots, swapping tales. Cwm-Yr-Eglwys is OK, but I think it's full of rich men's ‘bolt holes’. There is no accommodation and, being mid-week, it had a sort of ghost town air about it. At this point my guide went west (literally) as he took the short route towards his car, which was parked at Pwllgwaelod. Although I too was headed there, my route ran around Dinas Head. When I reached the highest point, Pen-Y-Fan, I took a well earned break. I relaxed, minus my sack, ate and drank and looked out to sea for the still elusive seals. No luck still, but once again the views more than compensated. I headed down to Pwllgwaelod and those magic letters on the map ‘P.H.’. The Sailors Safety is sitting on the fence between gaudy and quaint. I had a drink and, after realising that this was the only habitation, asked if I could use the 'phone. I was told the nearest public 'phone was up the hill in Dinas Cross. (It's always 'up the hill' ) So, after a further fruitless inquiry as to where Mr & Mrs Lewis lived, I set off -- ‘up the hill’. ( N.B. Sailors safety has since closed). Incidentally, Dinas Cross is the longest village in Wales- almost two miles long. It also felt like the highest. This was my plan. Make for the middle of the village, (where there was another P.H.) and ask again. I called at the ‘Ship Aground’, and I was headed in the right direction, but hadn't gone far enough. I think had I realised how far it was, I probably wouldn't have booked it. Having now met Graham and Dorothy Lewis, I would gladly have travelled further to stay there. WHAT a welcome! The first thing Graham did was to take the weight of my sack. As any walker will know, this is a great relief (now if only I can persuade him to take the weight for the rest of the walk). Then I got the guided tour with him talking in that lovely (lovely, lovely) Welsh lilt. Oh, I could sit and listen to him all night. Nothing was to much trouble, why he had even mown the lawn especially for me, (least, this is what he told me... it was my initiation into Graham's dry sense of humour). Later I went out for a meal. I was back in ‘Tresinwen’ early and, after being invited into their lounge, sat talking to Graham and Dorothy 'till late. They told me all about the farm where they used to live, and how and why they had moved here (Tresinwen was the name of the place they farmed). Their house is of unusual construction, being a frame affair that was put up in only two days, but looks the same as any other house. I went to bed feeling at home. The next morning Dorothy kindly did me a 7.00a.m. breakfast... and WHAT a breakfast. Everything grilled (except the egg) and FRIED potatoes... MMMmmmmm!! A nice change from normal fry-up. She gave me loads too, and I felt a bit guilty as one of the subjects last night had been appetite, and I had said I had got a large one (OOO-er), hence the guilt trip. To completely spoil me, Graham got the car out and took me down to Pwllgwaelod beach. We said our good-byes, and as I started up the first hill of the day, HE took a picture of ME!!!

Friday 21st May -- Pwllgwaelod tp Pwll Deri Youth Hostel.

7.45a.m. and I was climbing my first hill. The path on this section is overgrown and muddy, so I was glad I had persevered with the idea of the leather boots. To try and ease things on the blister that had appeared, I applied a plaster and, although still a little footsore, I felt a little better. I was wearing my shorts and several times the dreaded nettles got me. I dare say that, given a couple of weeks, this section of the path will become painfully impassable to a walker wearing shorts. The alternative open to me was trousers -- but then they would be drenched with the dew and who would want to wear waterproofs on a lovely morning like this... not I. I suppose I could have tried gaiters, but the small problem that arose here was that I hadn't brought any!
I continued on, through the most delightful lane, flanked by flaming yellow gorse and guiltily wading through the masses of flowers encroaching onto the path. I just stood for a while and sucked in the air. What a pleasure. Again the views prompted prolific use of the camera. I was like a junkie with his fix. The walk barely two days old, and I'm up to two rolls of film a day. How long before I overdose? Just when I thought it was safe to put the camera away, up pops Hescym Cove. Now THIS is where I want to live. The azure blue water looked so inviting, and with the cove cut so far inland, it was well protected and calm. Its sides were made up of rock walls, with interesting caves and natural arches that looked worth exploring. I was now taking photo's at such regular intervals that I dare say when I have them developed, if I hold them in my hand and flick them, I will get a sort of ‘what the butler saw’ type movie... a bit flickery, but with not much missing!! Just after Hescwm I came upon the most impressive natural arch so far. It far exceeded the criteria, so I took a photo'! The guide says the best way to view it is to ‘scramble down the slope below the path’. When you have seen the sign ‘cliffs kill... keep to path’ several thousand times on all the stiles, ‘scrambling down the slope’ doesn't seem like the greatest of ideas. But ever the intrepid photographer, I descended. My heart was in my mouth. Not because of the danger, it wasn't dangerous, but because of the APPARENT danger, plus that old fruitful imagination of mine again. (My extra weight was bound to make the cliff collapse). I must admit though, I got some brilliant shots of the arch and Needle Rock, after which I scurried back to the safety of the path.
As I made my way towards Fishguard, I realised that I was paying for yesterday’s exertions. The second to fourth days of a walk usually throw up all the aches, pains and problems. I had a painful blister on my right foot, and a black toenail on my right. Also the rucksack was digging into my back, causing two sore spots. This could be temporarily relieved by placing my hands between the sack and my back, but as soon as I let go again, the pain returned. I assured and assuaged my conscience that all this would disappear by the fourth and fifth day. After calling at the tourist office in Fishguard, I took on provisions, as my next two nights were to be self-catering in Y.H.A.s. Just what I needed... extra weight for the sack!! Ah well, one door shuts and another one opens. The door that opened took the form of the ‘Marine Walk’ above Fishguard. I could have missed this bit out, (an easy option when you're tired and/or footsore), but I'm not one to shirk and I'm glad I didn't. I don't remember ever having heard more birds in one place all singing at once. Coupled with the strong sunlight, it was perfection. I climbed out of Fishguard, pausing to watch the ferry coming in, and on to Carnfathach. Again words fail me to describe the beauty and majesty of this coastline. Everything around me was either blooming, buzzing or singing, and some of the places they chose to do it defied gravity. As I was walking round to Aber Felin cove, I noticed a colony of birds perched on a cliff face. One in particular took my attention. It stood sort of tall, and I cursed at not having any binoculars. I wondered if it was a Guillemot or something similar. Curiosity got the better of me (no, I didn't ‘descend the slope’) and I clapped my hands. What happened next stunned me! It was a Peregrine Falcon, and it soared, twisted and dived in a display of aeronautics I had never before witnessed, all the time it emitting its screaming cry to add to the excitement. It was like a jet plane among biplanes as it masterfully threaded through the flock of gulls. I watched for ages before moving on.
I rounded the cliffs and dropped sharply into a wooded glade called Cym Felin. A right little garden of Eden, this is. I stood the camera on a tree and set the self-timer so I could be included in paradise. I followed the rising path out of the valley and up to Carregwasted Point. 1,200 Frenchmen landed here in 1797, in what was to become known as ‘the last invasion of Great Britain’. They landed here because they had seen an Englishman standing on the point, but it was a trap... there were two more in the bushes!!!! I continued on along the coast and when I reached Penrhyn, saw the most romantic, solitary cottage nestling into the niche at the top of the cove. A well-kept, whitewashed little gem, it is. I envied its owners and returned to my goal. On my way to Strumble Head, I rounded an inaccessible cove with high cliffs surrounding it called ‘Porthsych’. A woman stopped me and pointed out a seal basking lazily on the rock below. At last I had seen one! Then, just like busses, another three or four appeared at once! I watched them for a while, feeling smug that I had at last seen them, before pushing on to Strumble Head. At this point the weather changed... just like that. Clouds rolled in, and I could see the prospect of one of Pwll Deri's famous sunsets sinking without trace (no pun intended). The couple of miles to the hostel were spent watching visibility decrease and the weather close in. As more and more coastline was swallowed up, I knew the rain was coming. The question was, would I beat it? The first spots prompted a spurt from me and I just reached the Hostel as it came. I walked in at about 4.30pm, and it hasn't stopped since! I hope it clears for tomorrow, as I'm making for St. David's over twenty miles away... Oh, my poor feet!!

Saturday 22nd May -- Pwll Deri to Whitesands (LLAETHDY) Youth
Hostel.

I spent an enjoyable evening in the hostel, talking to a couple of French girls. Their English was not too good. Their Welsh was even worse and they thought that ‘Pwll Deri’ meant ‘Paint brush’. I told them to tell the slightly eccentric warden Rick, but he was engrossed in the T.V. Coronation Street). Rick had amused me earlier, as when it began raining, the roof of the conservatory (which served as the Common Room) started leaking. I told Rick, and he whipped out several large plastic ice cream pots and placed them strategically around the floor. One by one, as the rain got harder, Rick proved how well he knew his hostel. The drops hit dead centre of the pots, and not one hosteller got wet!!!!
After a restless night, for no reason as I was quite warm and comfortable, I awoke at about 6.00 a.m. I arose quietly and made my breakfast. I had porridge, three scrambled eggs with mushrooms, and three slices of toast. The rain was still coming down -- not so hard, but there all the time. I decided to cock a snook at it, and put on my shorts. I put three layers on top, tee shirt, sweat shirt and Gore-tex coat. I managed to get away at about 8.15 a.m. The wind was gusty and strong at times but the rain was spit-spotty and never actually managed to soak me through. I think coastal rain is generally like that, as opposed to mountain rain. I suppose that could be called ‘rain with attitude’. There is the story of the Cumbrian farmer who went out in the morning and drove 50 fence posts into the ground. He went home for his lunch, during which time it rained, and when he got back out the rain had driven the posts a further six inches into the ground!!! I digress. My feet felt pretty good today, and I decided I was through the ‘pain barrier’. I walked along, taking a few photo's back towards Pwll Deri and its lonely situation, and I was very happy. I was grinning away inanely as I walked and thought; ‘I can take walking in this weather’. It's bracing... even stimulating.
As I rounded Carn Ogof, which is a fine viewpoint, I noticed the path drop downwards again towards Pwllcrochan, Aber Mawr and Aber Bach. On this stretch I encountered several of the most user-friendly stiles I've ever seen. The top bar is hinged and you just lift it and, Hey Presto! An easily negotiable low stile... BRILLIANT!! Simple things are so often the most impressive.
At 9.35 the sun decided to say ‘hello’. I quickly discarded my sweatshirt and coat, slipping my fleece over the T-shirt underneath. The fleece didn't last fifteen minutes `till I was back to tee shirt and shorts. The wind was quite strong but warm. A cheerful wind trying to make the most of the day. Clarity and distance vision improved quite a lot at this stage and I was able to take some long-shot photo's of distant headlands. If I had been concerned about the paths nearness to the edge yesterday, today had it beat by miles!! Coupled with the gusty offshore wind, it had me worried a few times. There are also a few landslips on this section and I took a photo' of one where the path had just dropped away. I was joined on my left by a stone wall. It went a good distance alongside the path, and must have taken some building. The guy who had done the cementing had etched into it: ‘The Great Wall of China’ -- honest!!. I didn't see it as great, it just served to unsettle me more than usual because I couldn't help feeling that the land on my side was in imminent danger of slipping into the sea far below, leaving the wall but taking me with it! Irrational, I know, but that's how it felt.
It was 11.15am and so far I hadn't seen a living soul all day. I dropped into Abercastle and saw the proverbial; ‘one man and his dog’ and that was the only life I came across there. The path again wound upwards towards an impressive peninsula called Pen Castel Coch, which drew me so well that I neglected to leave the path to inspect the Carreg Samson Stone, which I meant to do. I was well past it before I realised and reluctantly carried on. The stone wall which joined me on my left had been colonised by the most abundant display of sea pinks I had ever seen (photo'). There were so many that they almost totally obliterated the wall. More of the previous frights followed now, as the path again came precariously close to the spectacular drops. When the path again headed down, it was towards Trefin. I inspected the beach and soon decided to tackle the short climb to the magic letters on the map (P.H.). Within minutes I was in the Ship Inn, enjoying a pint and a very passable curry.
A short while later I passed through a very pretty area called ‘Pwllcrochan’. Pembrokeshire seems to hold dozens of these ‘secret’ places. They seem so pretty and undisturbed that you always imagine that you are one of the few who know about it. I next came to a sleepy little harbour called Porth Gain. There was a pub here, noteworthy if only for the fact that I managed to pass it!! There was much derelict evidence of when the place was involved in Pembrokeshire's somewhat stunted industrial revolution. I followed an old quarry road and ended up -- guess where? Yep! in an old quarry. I had to backtrack a short way, as the sides were steep... too steep to scramble up, anyway. I passed through Abereiddy and back up to the cliffs where I met eleven people -- that's a record. I'm not surprised this coast is rife with smugglers, as you never see anybody!!! I met a foursome having a rest and a bite to eat. The guy I first spoke to told me he used to be an electrician at Stoke Mandeville Hospital, but had decided to ‘drop out’. Nice work, if you can get it! I was going to quiz him on the intricacies of such a venture, until he told me that he had sold a 500-year-old cottage (complete with inglenook fireplace) to finance the venture. Oh well, work on Monday!
After a while I decided to press on, as my feet were getting very sore. I said cheerio and pushed on, turning occasionally to watch them climbing up towards Penberry Hill. The path proper skirts around the lower slopes of Penberry, hugging the coast. As you round Penberry you imagine you can see St. David’s Head -- you can, but not all of it! This bit of the path is visually as stunning, if not more so, than the rest of the path, but I found it very cruel. False summit followed false summit and when I did eventually reach the cairn at the top, my feet were giving me hell. This definitely detracted from my enjoyment of an otherwise idyllic place. I sat right on the end of the headland and ate and drank whilst staring out to sea, trying to catch sight of the Dolphins or Porpoises that the author of my guide said I may be lucky enough to spot. I think I'll become the author of a guide... you seem to see all the best things when you're ‘official’. The sun on the sea was beautiful and I could see why it inspired so many to wax lyrical. I enjoyed it for about half an hour before packing my sack and standing up (OUCH) to descend to Whitesands Bay. Did my feet really feel good this morning? At this moment I was wishing they were someone else's! I reached the bay at six o'clock. First job -- ring the hostel and book an evening meal, as there was no way I was venturing out again tonight! That job done, I set off to tackle the three quarters of mile or so to the hostel. I arrived hobbling on very painful feet and wasted no time in getting my boots off and having a shower. I just got to the dining room as my watch pipped 7 o'clock. I dined alone. There was one other guest booked in, but he was out (if you get my meaning). The food was typical Y.H.A. fare, homely and filling. I love this type of cooking. The soup was full of grated carrot and other fresh veg’, accompanied by a lump of my favourite brown bread. Chilli and rice with cabbage (a deadly combination) was the main course and the sweet was apple pie and custard, followed by a cup of tea... all for less than £4 -- lovely!!! Later, as I was doing my washing, the other chap came in. We chatted about the path and both our plans before repairing to the common room where I an now sitting. There is a real air of tranquillity here. I've got bare feet, which feel a BIT better, and it's 9.40pm, but as soon as I've done this and wrote a few postcards I'm off to bed. I'm planning to have pasta and porridge for breakfast (it's an experiment).

Sunday 23rd May -- Whitesands to Newgale Beach

Another ‘fitful’ night spent in the Youth Hostel. This time I have something to blame -- the rain. It has been lashing down all night, waking me several times. I got up at 6.00am dashed across the yard to the members kitchen and made my breakfast, which consisted of a lovely bowl of sweet steaming porridge and the remaining three eggs, scrambled on four toast.. (You didn't REALLY think I would have pasta and porridge did you???) The rain seemed to have abated a little, so I went to the dorm' and packed up my stuff. I said goodbye to the only other resident and set off at about 8.05a.m. Now I had offered up a prayer: ‘Please God, if we're going to have rain - let it be at night’. I didn't realise He would take me so seriously. Before I had reached the end of the track from the Youth Hostel to the road, hot sunshine had made me remove my fleece. By the time I had reached the bay, my ‘bar towel on a rope’ was coming into play. Just to side-track for a minute, this is one of my better ideas. Steve Adams, a mate who runs a pub, had given me this to mop my fevered brow in 1991 when I did the Offa's Dyke path. The towel has now done that, plus the Coast to Coast and, if all goes according to plan, will do the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path. The idea of dangling it on a bit of string is that it is always easily to hand, plus it dries in the breeze as you walk. Every hiker should have one. (Try and get a ‘real ale’ one , as it is much more ‘au fait’).
I turned left and followed the road above the beach, as the tide was in. I looked back across the bay and saw the most wonderful thing... a rainbow had formed and as I looked, it went from the left headland in a full arc, falling just short of St. David Head. The perfect start to a day.
I rose up a sandy track, surprising a very young rabbit, which ran left, then right before heading right at me. It shot past me less than a foot from my leg. If I'd a mind I think I could have grabbed it, but I didn't try. My feet were already causing some concern as they felt as bad now as they had the night before. This in itself didn't worry me too much, but what did worry me was that they were feeling worse by the minute. By now I was walking on flat, open paths so in desperation I changed to the fabric boots I had in my sack. The relief was instant and all day they improved. All I must hope for now is dry weather or I will be forced to wear the leather boots and, although they are a year old and nearly worn out, it's obvious they just do not suit my feet. I decided I must get some new ones when I get back home.
With a new spring in my step, I pressed on, negotiating numerous stiles bearing the now familiar and most welcome ‘CODWCH’ sign. This means ‘lift’ in the local lingo, and other park authorities would do well to copy these stiles. Without a doubt it is the best design I have every seen. I rounded the point of St. John and immediately noticed that the sea was very turbulent just offshore. The last time I saw anything like this was off Portland Bill lighthouse in Dorset. As I approached St Justinians Bay, I noticed a load of divers with a truckload of the paraphernalia attached to their particular sport. It is a very steep drop to the ‘beach’ under the lifeboat house, so I was intrigued as to how they were going to get the tackle down there. It was just then that I noticed the ingenious device next to them. It was a metal tub on rails. An engine in a little shed was started up, and proceeded to lower all the stuff effortlessly to the bottom... no problem! As I continued on, looking out for Castle Heinif, I saw the most unusual thing, a Wren sitting on top of a gorse bush, singing it's head off. Usually these little birds are very secretive and hide themselves away in the undergrowth, but this one really must have had something to sing about, and was letting the world know. A rare treat indeed. I also disturbed an Oyster Catcher, which flew away screaming it's call, which I like a lot as it is so much like my favourite bird, the Curlew.
I reached Pen Dal-Aderyn and saw the cause of the turbulence I had noticed earlier. Ramsey Sound was racing like a river. Obviously, when the tide is running, this is a dangerous place. The water was visibly racing left to right, and boiling and swirling at the edges. I took another picture of a portion of the path that looked in imminent danger of slipping into the maelstrom below. Also, some exceptional views of the Southern cliffs of Ramsey Island were committed to film, along with ‘the bitches’, a collection of rocks at, and just above, the surface of the water. I can imagine how they got their name, as they must be perilous to the unsuspecting mariner.
The day was becoming increasingly warm, but the previous nights rains were causing a distant haze, which negated any long distance photography. A shame really, for as far as I could tell, the views must be terrific when it's clear. I walked down into Porth Lysga, where edible sea Kale grows, but decided to wait until I got to Solva for some fish and chips instead! I took a picture of the old Augusta lifeboat house (circa. 1869) and set off upwards once again. It was 10.40 and I saw my fist walkers of the day. The next loss of height was due to Porth Clais where I watched the antics of a couple of learner canoeists trying manoeuvres.
As I approached St. Nons church and well, I considered dipping my feet in it, as it is famed as a healing well, but by now my feet were feeling a lot better so I continued. After Caer Bwdy (a real war-like Welsh name, that), I came across four bodies sprawled out amongst the flowers just off the path. On closer inspection, they turned out to be alive (just!). It was the ‘fearsome foursome’ I had encountered yesterday. We chatted and joked for a while (a good excuse for me to have a rest and a drink). I promised to send them a copy of this diary and they gave me their address. As I resumed my walk, I looked back at them... they looked like four students of Yoga, in an advanced state of relaxation.
The next couple of miles were spent dreaming of fish and chips in Solva and marvelling at even more superb examples of geology, natural arches (yawn) and slippage. I saw the remains of a tug Ron had told me to look out for, but didn't take a picture as there was so little of it left. I approached Solva and decided to make for the upper part of town, a mistake as there were no shops, no chip shop, and only one pub, which was closed up and for sale. I would recommend you to drop straight down to the quay side as there is a pub, the Ship, that does a very good Chilli. I settled for this when I realised it was Sunday and the chippy, if there was one, wasn't going to be open and I would have to perpetuate my fish and chip dream for at least another day.
(N.B. No chip shop at Solva, and pub in upper Solva has since re-opened). As Solva fell behind me, I dropped into Gwadn and it's picturesque sewage farm! After this, I wished I had a felt tip pen with me. Plenty of footpath arrows here (in all directions), but not a ‘Coast path’ one among them, so I became temporarily deviated (not a pretty sight). All it would take is ‘PCP’ on the right signs to remedy things. It's such a shame this bit of neglect is apparent, as on the whole the rest of the path so far is faultlessly marked. I passed the peninsulas of Pen Dinas and Dinas Fach before catching my first glimpse of the glittering golden expanse of Newgale Sands. I was supposed to leave the path at Penycym Bay to 'phone my B&B host for the night, but the best laid plans of mice and men, etc. My sore feet were being drawn inexorably towards that cool, refreshing and restorative surf foot spa in front of me. As a sort of ‘admission charge’ there were a couple of stiff climbs to negotiate, the one out of Penycym being the hardest. I climbed up the hillside, via those annoying steps that always seem to be one and half paces apart, skirted around Pwll March, and dropped to the sands with not a moment to spare.
I took off my boots and socks and walked, albeit a little painfully as the sand was hard, towards the inviting waves. AHH... sweet bliss. Just close your eyes for a minute and imagine the satisfaction I got from that moment. I was a child again, splashing and jumping in the waves, and it was Soooo cool! I walked very leisurely Southeast along the beach. I chatted with a couple of local sea anglers who told me that the beach changed it's characteristics at regular intervals. Sandy, stony, rocky, peaty and sea-weedy after certain weather conditions. As Ken Cross, my B&B host, so eloquently put it; -- ‘The most wonderful moving picture I have ever seen’. I had reached Newgale a lot quicker than I had estimated, due to a mileage miscalculation, but this was no bad thing as it turned out, because I enjoyed an hours paddling in the sunshine, after which I sat and wrote a few postcards. When I was ready, I rang the Cross residence as I was being spoiled and picked up. Ken duly arrived and we set off to ‘The White House’. He is opening a Youth Hostel in mid 1993, and showed me around the nearly-completed structure. It will be one of the nicest hostels I've ever seen. Everything well planned and executed. He well deserves to succeed, and my hopes and best wishes are with him to do so. He then showed me into the house... WOW!!! That's the only word I can think of to describe my first impression of the place. Ken and Pat are well-travelled people and this is reflected in the furnishings and decoration. A truly fascinating house with an interesting and/or unusual object wherever you look. Evening meal was at 7pm so I went upstairs to shower and change. My room was in keeping with the rest of the house, and I felt I was dirtying the place by just being there. When I went downstairs, another couple, Leonard and Helen, were present. Apparently, tonight was a bridge dinner party night, and to my astonishment I was included. This was typical of the welcome so far. We all sat together at the large dining table with Ken at the head, and a most convivial evening was had by all. I was treated to a sumptuous meal accompanied by a couple of glasses of good red wine. After dinner, I sat to write the diary whilst Ken and Pat bowed to a couple of rubbers of bridge. God once again heard my prayer, and spent the night issuing thunderbolts, lightning flashes and torrents of water.
This morning looks a bit changeable, but the wind is warm. After a really smashing breakfast (which Ken was denied by ‘weightwatchers’ A.K.A. Pat) I decided that I must have hit on some sort of ‘buy two -- get one free’ promotion by Pat and Ken, as either one was worth what I had paid, but all three??? This is value for money gone mad. Allied with the very warm welcome, this is one B&B I'll never forget and I can wholly recommend you try it (but watch out for Ken's 'beanfeasts' if staying in the hostel). Oh dear... I think it's just started to rain again. ( N.B. Hostel has since opened, plus second hostel building, and is doing a roaring trade).

Monday 24th May -- Newgale to St. Brides Haven

I was dropped back at Newgale Sands by Ken and, after discussing the impending weather, we shook hands and parted. I set off, ever the optimist, wearing shorts and tee shirt and fleece. Ten minutes later on went the coat. I was wearing the leather boots and my feet were already feeling touchy, so I stopped and applied plasters to all the sore spots. This gave a degree of comfort and I carried on. The sky was becoming more and more cloudy. Cumulus clouds formed heavily in the South, heaped up like huge wool packs in picturesque disorder, (that sounds lovely, but the truth is I stole that bit from a record.) Anyway, the rain started to clatter on my coat, so I donned the full Gore-tex suit. At this point I saw my first ‘full path’ walker. An Australian he was, and as we chatted, the thunder started to roll, accompanied by the odd flash of lightning. This seemed to disconcert him a lot, so he scurried off down towards the safety of Newgale. I pressed on around Rickets head and, just as I passed this point, the heavens opened and I became involved in one of the most spectacular and frightening storms of my life. Spectacular for the ferocity of the rain... it pounded the Gore-tex into complete submission, drenching me in warm rain in the process. Also the light show would have rivalled any rock concert. The headlands around me were being struck at regular intervals and I was frightened that if I was hit, I would be a goner, as I was wet through. The air was so charged with static that my hair felt like it was standing on end. The thunder made the ground quake and I learned later that a record amount of rain had fallen in that short space of time. When it finally abated, I was relieved, but also glad to have been a part of it (now it was over). My arms were smarting where the rain had stung them but I wasn't cold. I skirted Nolton Haven and steadily re-gained height. The rain was slowing up now and the sun was trying to break through. I began to get uncomfortably muggy so, as I re-joined the path near Druidstone, I took off my wet things. I followed the path South, past the best examples so far of erosion. Great big portions of the land were currently slipping, or had slipped, into the ocean. I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't been on this section during the storm. I think the storm was partly caused by my dismissal yesterday of coastal rain as gentle, I mentally took back all I had said to try and appease the Gods of coastal rain.
The path is very overgrown in places, and this next bit is one of those places. I had to decide whether to get wet feet, as the grass caressed my legs with it's wet fingers, or whether to don my waterproof trousers. It was the Devil and the deep blue sea syndrome; both were uncomfortable in different ways. As I was walking along trying to make up my mind, another walker hove into view. “You're gonna get very wet legs” was his opening gambit. When I asked how far the path was overgrown for, he told me and I immediately ferreted in my sack for my over trousers. He carried on talking to me, and talk about one foot in the grave!!! “These cliffs aren't as steep/spectacular as Cornwall, the path was too muddy and the weather was awful”. His ‘companion’ (who was just catching up with him) ‘was too slow, and insisted on packing too much stuff in her sack’. He said they'd got enough first aid stuff to perform a lobotomy. It wasn't me who wanted a lobotomy, I thought. As she (the ‘companion’) drew up, I noticed the poor woman’s expression. He then proceeded to go through the ‘I try to tell her, but will she listen’ routine, whilst all the time she just looked around with that resigned hang-dog expression. I made my excuses and we parted company. When I looked back, he was striding out and she was plodding along, already about thirty yards behind -- some ‘companion’.
At Broad Haven I could see my fish and chips fantasy making a resurgence. I popped into the tourist info' office, had my walk card stamped, and asked if I could get fish and chips anywhere. I was told I had a choice. They were good at the local cafe and at the local pub. Did the cafe serve beer I wondered? I wondered for about two seconds, before setting off for the pub. I noticed that the tide was ebbing, and deduced that by the time I had fulfilled my dream (and my belly), I would be able to walk across the sands to Little Haven. The fish and chips were a dream come true. The batter was crispy, accompanied by nice, crispy chips served with a flourish of ‘enjoy’ by the chef. I gobbled them up with gusto, and set off into the improving weather. The following section of the walk was very welcome. Woodland and lots of bird song. I was now able to identify some of the familiar songs I was hearing. I met up with a couple who were on holiday in the area. More like a normal couple, I slowed the pace to continue the chat with them. It was their first time in Pembrokeshire too, and they were as enthusiastic about it as I was. When we reached Borough Head, we parted company. The coast resumed its wild, rugged appearance, and the path snuggled up close to it. I passed three little inlets -- Brandy Bay, Dutch Gin and Foxes Holes. I took photo's of a rock outcrop just off the coast named Stack Rocks, which incidentally is the name of a locally owned race horse, before I came upon what looked like the impression of a Tudor cross in red stone, cemented to a white rock. Was this part of the sculpture by Alan Ayres, the artist I thought? I looked at it, then looked at the coastal cliffs, and soon decided that, when it comes to sculpture, nature won hands down.
I came upon the peaceful and pretty haven of St. Brides, named after the Irish Saint, Bridget. I had a look around the quaint and well kept churchyard before going in to the church itself. It is very serene and calm in there, and there are some very interesting tombstones ( of which I took photo's). I left the church and walked the short way to the 'phone box. Surprisingly for this part of the world, the `phone box had been vandalised and was full of litter. However, the `phone was working and I rang Merv' Hopkins and, five minutes later, was picked up by Sue, who was driving a ‘proper’ land rover - all muddy!. Merv' was the farm manager here at Lower Broadmoor Farm, and later that evening, after I'd been to Little Haven for a meal, we sat and chatted and he told me the story of how he'd got into farming. You should get him to tell it to you, if you're ever that way anytime. Its enough to make you chase your own dreams. At about 11.30 we went to bed (?). I woke up at about 5am and did a bit of writing. It's now 7.15am and I'm ready for breakfast.

Tuesday 25th May -- St. Brides Haven to Dale

I came downstairs early this morning and sat chatting with Merv' for awhile, mainly about village life and what they get up to when ‘us tourists’ have gone. A little later Sue came down and cooked breakfast, which included some lovely smoked bacon and, for a nice change, scrambled eggs. I commented on the unpasteurised milk (which I like), but was told that soon things would change. I had heard the same sort of story all along the path. Someone else told me that in future all butter, marmalade, jam etc would have to be served in those little individual pots. Now I am all for some sort of ‘body’ looking out for the punters, but it seems that ‘they’ (whoever ‘they’ may be) are turning the screws a little too much. I had seen litter in the form of those individual pots dropped on the path. I believe that another thing B&B's will have to do is have two kitchens so they can cook guests meals and their own separate from one another. I'm glad I'm doing this walk now, as with all this beaurocracy, there won't be anywhere to stay soon! Right, I'll step down from the pulpit now. Sue told me one final story, from when they lived and farmed in Guernsey. Sue was the head teacher of the school (six kids -- two of them hers). and Merv' farmed. Sue tried to give the kids as much of an interesting and exciting time as she could, as there wasn't the diversity of activity there was on the mainland. One of her kids asked if she could fix it for them to go on the local lifeboat. She laughed and said that only ‘Jim’ could do so those sort of ‘fix-its’. That's where the idea started, and all the kids wrote to the ‘Jim'll Fix it’ T.V. program, and one year to the day after writing, they found themselves being ‘rescued’ by the local lifeboat. Sue showed me the ‘Jim fixed it for me’ badge, and I had a photo' taken with it around my neck, standing in front of the farm. I said bye to Merv', and Sue drove me back to St Brides Haven, where she pointed out some very old stone coffins that had been exposed by the erosion. We said our good-byes, and I set off... `up `ards!'
Weather wise, this was not a very good walking day. It was hot and close, and visibility was very low. Just after Nab Head I saw my first Buzzard. It flew away quietly, not calling, as I walked towards the rock face it had been sitting on. A big brown and black bird it was, very graceful in flight. It flew further up the coast, and I didn't see it again.
I reached Martins Haven, where boat trips to the offshore islands go from, but I didn't stop to use the service. This had been one attraction I had been really looking forward to, but the visibility was so poor that it would have been a total waste of money. There was still a small queue of people more optimistic than me though. I explored the deer park and cursed the weather once again, as the views from here must be extensive when it's clear. I re-joined the national trail and headed South East, passing yet more examples of serious erosion, before coming to Deadmans Bay. Nothing really that interesting (no dead men, etc.) so I pushed on.
I reached Marloes Sands, supposedly one of the most beautiful in Pembrokeshire. Today it looked very drab in the mist and fine rain. There were a few hardy souls down there ‘sunbathing’ in their sou'westers and wellies. The rain, which got steadily harder, decided me to don the over trousers. Again, the path was heavily overgrown here, and my leather boots found the combination of the current downpour and the kiss of the wet grass too much, and they too began to leak. By the time I reached Westdale Bay it was bucketing down. I was a bit hungry and wet, so I decided to cut Eastwards and explore Dale. I crossed the stile, after watching three lads surfing for a while, and followed the trail across the fields to Dale. I walked past a long row of what looked like council houses before reaching a stone commemorating Henry Tudors landing and subsequent victory at Bosworth Field. Shortly after, I reached the beach. After noting the shop was closed for lunch, I walked round to the pub with the rain now bouncing off me. A prominent notice on the door said ‘No wet suits -- wet or dry’. I tentatively poked my head around the door and asked if I constituted a ‘wet suit’? No I didn't, and was bade enter and make myself comfortable by the landlady and bar staff.
I had something to eat and drink and, as it was still ‘stair rods’ outside, sat down in a comfy chair to do some serious postcard writing. I chatted and joked with the staff for a while and when, at 4pm, the rain finally stopped, I took my sack to my B&B (which was next door but one) and set off to explore Dale point and St. Anns Head. ‘The book’ said it would take about three hours to get all the way round, but without my sack, the pace was effortless. ‘Consummate’ and ‘ease’ are the words which spring to mind. Going uphill felt as easy as downhill and I revelled in my own power. Although my legs were again being drenched by the undergrowth, I felt very happy. There's something about the way rain purifies the air that makes it so good to walk in afterwards and fill your lungs with the heady stuff. St Ann’s is a lovely little peninsula, with some unexpected sandy beaches and beauty spots. Mind you, Mill Bay isn't one of them. A Black, foul smelling ‘stream’ was running into the sea here. The stench was awful, and I wondered what it must smell like when the weathev was warm. I pushed on quickly. I passed St Anns Head and paused at a small sign pointing to ‘The Vomit (only)’. Intrigued, I followed it. I was glad I did because, after all the outstanding rock formations I have seen so far, this is far and away the most impressive. I took the inevitable photo' and set off back towards Dale.
The Western side of St Ann’s is straight from pre-history. I marvelled at it as I walked along. Again the path is close to the edge in places, so care is needed. Someone had been on this part of the path with a strimmer, and it was nice to follow a wide swathe through the undergrowth. Soon I came to the same stile I had crossed earlier (I did St Ann’s ‘backwards’), I re-crossed it and re-entered Dale village. The B&B I'm staying at tonight is a bit strange. The sitting room downstairs is like something out of Victorian times, and I half expected to hear a large clock giving off a slow TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK. The bedroom itself is a depressing place, old, and the sort of paint job used in penal establishments. No shower in the bathroom, but a HUGE bath, with scratches in so deep they left a pattern on my bum!! Loads of hot water though, so I performed my ablutions and got changed into my ‘evening gear’. It's never a problem, knowing what to wear on these walks. If it's warm tee-shirt and track suit bottoms. If it's a bit cool, then it's the sweatshirt and same tracksuit bottoms. The only other alternative is anything that doesn't smell too badly yet! Another friendly welcome awaited me at the Griffin Inn, and I spent the night talking to Sarah, the Landlords daughter, and a local chap who sat at the bar. I love talking to the locals as you can find out so much about the place and you feel more at ease. The main thing I've noticed is the overall friendliness all over Pembrokeshire. It really makes you feel welcome when people immediately talk to you. There is limited B&B in Dale, but it might be worth giving the Griffin a ring, as there are several farmhouses that have started doing B&B in the area. I retired to my drab abode for the night, and soon sank into slumber. Breakfast the next morning was quite passable and after eating, I shouldered my sack and set off.

Wednesday 26th May -- Dale to Pembroke Dock

WHEW! It might be a long way to Tipperary, but it's a bloody long way to Pembroke Dock from Dale as well!! My luck ran out with the tides today. I noticed as soon as I set off that the sea was lapping at the walls on the front. I had to take two long inland detours, firstly to get around ‘The Gann’, and then to get to the other side of Sandy Haven. I reckon I've done at least 25 miles today. Still, I'm here now, washed shaved and fed, and I feel a lot better. When I set out for Pembroke Dock this morning, it was the first time I had worn tracksuit bottoms to walk in. I am usually more comfortable with shorts, but there was a cool Southwesterly blowing, so I thought it prudent. Before long though, I changed the arrangement to shorts and waterproof bottoms, as the grass was really wet. I followed the detour to Mullock, then down to the deserted Slate Hill Farm. I found and took the Southern footpath, although I wondered at first if it was a path as it had been ploughed and set right up to the edge of the field. When I reached the bottom of the field, finger posts told me I was right, and something should be said to that farmer! I re-joined the path at Musselwick and carried on to Monk Haven. In amongst the trees, I heard a bird singing that was far from common. I had heard it one or two times before on this walk. It was a very melodious song, a bit like a cross between a Sparrow and a Canary. At Watch House Point I took two of the few photo's I've taken today. A Victorian ‘folly’ stands on the headland, and I thought it worth a snap. I also captured a lane lined with Foxgloves. The breeze was still strong now, but pleasant and welcome. The tall crops to my left were sculpted into some lovely patterns by it. The rain decided to turn up the juice, and I was forced to sheet up against it with the full suit. By the time I got to Sandy Haven it was coming even harder. I laughingly checked the tide situation and turned up the road to head for Herbrandstone. As I was walking through an avenue of trees, the sound of the rain was amplified and sounded quite loud and heavy. On my left I saw a covered brick shelter with the legend, ‘livestock weighing machine’ written on a board above it. I though this was a good place to ‘weight’ for the rain to steady off, so I stood under it and had a bite to eat and a drink. I looked at my watch... 11.45am already. I made a decision. ‘If it hasn't stopped by 12 o'clock’ I thought, ‘I'm going’. ‘PIP-PIP’, went my watch at 12 o'clock, and as if to order... it stopped!! (the rain, not the watch). Off I set, plod, plod, plod, up the old tarmac strip. I admit I put my thumb out at several cars, but I didn't get the offer of a lift, so my conscience is clear. As I re-joined the trail at the other side of Sandy Haven, I noticed to my great chagrin that the tide was now sufficiently ebbed to afford a crossing. If I lived in Sandy Haven, I would open a cafe and explain to walkers like myself that they could sit and have a nice cup of tea and a scone whilst the tide receded, or walk on roads for about 3½ miles to pass the time instead. I would make a fortune.
The Esso refinery is closed and, although it looks horrendous on the map, you see little of it while walking. The old gun emplacements are worth looking at though. The guns they held must have been monstrous, judging by the mounts. I entered the suburbs of Milford Haven and, after crossing the bridge, went into the tourist info' office. The lady told me what I needed to know and I set about getting some cash, buying a few new supplies, and sorting my appetite out. I had a meal in a cafe just down the road, and I must have presented a pathetic sight, sitting there dripping on the floor. I was wet right through but again, not really cold. As I left the cafe, I was pleasantly surprised to find it had stopped raining but I kept my wet clothes on to let the wind ‘blow-dry’ them. As the rain had again penetrated the ‘state of the art’ Gore-Tex, I resigned myself to the fact that they still hadn't perfected the waterproof/breathable idea... not when it's used ‘out in the field’ anyway.
After crossing Black Bridge, (which was, err, black) I walked up the road and then headed South down the track to Venn. National Parks Authorities please go to the next paragraph, as you're not going to like this! At the end of the track, the path goes S/E through a field. The path line is completely non-existent here. When you get to the finger post at the other side, a very slippery simple wooden bridge has to be crossed; I would even class it as dangerous in wet weather. A little chicken wire wouldn't go amiss here. After the bridge, you have to negotiate a short upward section through what can only be described as a bog. It is so wet and glutinous, and ankle deep in places, but the worst part is that there is no escaping it, as the track is lined with cruel prickly bushes (I finished up with hands full of thorns). Surely a few stones or some lime chippings, anything would be better than the impassable state it is in now. Just twenty or so paving slabs would do the trick. I'd even volunteer to lay them. After this extremely disagreeable section, you bear right to skirt round another oil refinery. The surface underfoot is shale until it goes into the fields again. There is no real path line but it isn't a problem, as you follow the wire fence on the left. Hazelbeach is not a bad place, Llanstadwell too with it's lovely church. If you keep your eyes peeled, there is a quaint Victorian post-box (said in ‘the book’ to be the only one left in Wales). It's just behind a lamppost before you drop down to the right to go to Brunel Quay. I followed Westfield Pill until I reached the Pill Bridge. A muscle-tearing climb up a track gained me access to the Bridge. I crossed it and followed the road to the impressive Cleddau Bridge. The road sign ‘Pembroke Dock -- 2½ miles’ hurts a bit, especially when your feet are sore (I'd been walking for about 9 hours now, and still one to go). At west Llanion I passed (well, nearly) the Welshman's Arms pub. I called in for a swift one, and the landlord asked me where I was staying. I told him ‘Roxana Guest House’ and he asked me how much they charged. When I told him £13, he told me his was £12.50. I'd already booked and paid a deposit, so there was no way I was altering my plans. I'm glad that it never crossed my mind, as Roxana is a very comfortable, cheery place. When I arrived at it, I was greeted by the daughter, whom I had spoken to earlier on the phone, accompanied by their dog. While I explained who I was, and the usual exchanges of what time breakfast was, etc, the collie was putting its nose in every embarrassing place he could! I tried to placate it with a friendly pat or two, which quickly developed into pushing it's probing nose away from my groin... then it went round the back of me!! No matter what the daughter or I did, this dog was determined to sniff every inch of me. I don't know who was the more embarrassed... me or the daughter! She offered a lame excuse about ‘having the dog done soon’, meanwhile Rover sank to even lower levels... he must have liked what he smelt, as he started ‘having at go’ at my leg!!!! In total disgrace he was dragged through a door and despatched downstairs (I'm sure he gave me a wink as he went). The door was closed on him, much to my and the daughters relief! She finally showed me my room and I unpacked and did a bit of washing. Later I had a bath (loads of hot water) and the daughter dried some washing for me in the tumble drier. There was lots of tea/coffee making stuff, and even the first telly I'd seen since starting the walk. (There were others, but I didn't watch them). Along with a very fair price, I put Roxana right up there with the ‘nice places’ I've stayed in. I'm staying in tonight -- I'm ready for a rest. I'm off to Angle tomorrow which is only about 15 miles away. My bed feels really comfortable, the room is nice and warm so I'm off to bed, its 10.30.

Thursday 27th May -- Pembroke Dock to Angle Village

6.00a.m. - bright and sunny. 7.00 a.m. - getting cloudy. ‘Here we go’ I thought, ‘another soaking on the way’. By the time I had been served a sumptuous breakfast, by a very congenial Mr. Etherington, it all looked promising again. He told me that he had spent many nights in bed and breakfasts and, let me tell you, it shows. He certainly knows how to treat guests. He told me all about the Cleddau Bridge and, when I was ready to leave, he came outside to see me off (I'm sure I saw Rover waving too from a downstairs window!!) I attracted some strange looks as I walked along in just tee shirt and shorts. It wasn't really warm yet, but it was showing promise. As I passed a row of cottages and set off into the first field, I met a farmer coming the other way. We stopped and whiled away a good half-hour. I got a potted history of the place, as his Father and Grandfather before him had farmed there. When I eventually got to Pembroke, I was really taken by the place. It's the sort of town I could have spent all day in. I went to the tourist office, had my card stamped and bought a couple of tee shirts for my children. The lady in there and myself had a laugh trying to communicate with a Czech' lad who was on a walking holiday. Between us we got across what he wanted to know, and I went on my way. I took pictures of the castle and some of the quaint old buildings before following the road outwards. The day was now extremely warm and the sun strong. I had my shadow for company as I headed west into the ‘Valley of Power’ where there are numerous large pylons in the fields around you. Just after Whim Cottage I attempted to cross a stile to further my progress. The stile was wet, it was slippery and for the first time on this walk, I completely lost control and crashed to the ground in a heap. No harm done, just a bad case of bruised pride. I picked myself up, cursed the stile, and continued along the most beautiful tree-lined avenue. When I reached a large lime kiln, I turned N/W and started to walk up what was described as the worst section of the coast path. Well, I take my hat off to the guides author, this really was muddy. The big difference though, between this section and the aforementioned section, is that on this bit you can escape! If you walk in the fields on your left, you can walk parallel to the track until the part where there is a stile. Re-join the track, and cross the stile. There is little mud here, as the farmer’s beasts can't get to this section. Where there is a ‘hairpin bend’ in the path, it crosses some water via a sleeper bridge. Here, a tree had fallen across the track, completely blocking the way. It took me a good while to get through and I realised that I was the first person to do so since the tree fell. When I got past the obstacle, further evidence was the overgrown state of the path beyond. No crushed grass and no boot marks in the mud... nothing. How had other walkers gone on? I made a mental note to ring the path wardens about it.
On the outskirts of Pwllcrochan I saw my first Orange Tip butterfly. I had read that there were many on the path, but this was the first time that I had seen one. I sat on a stile and watched it flitting from flower to flower. I had elevenses and continued. Just to the North of the Texaco refinery I went through a field, that contained an enormous bull! I was very nervous as he stared at me. There WERE heifers in the field with him, but as I was crossing the middle of the field (so there was no escape if he turned nasty) I was sweating and extremely edgy as I passed by him.
I next reached Bullwell Bay (apt name) and I noticed that the small beach was covered with thousands of seashells. As my daughter had asked me to bring her some shells back, I stopped for a while and collected a bag full and, I must say, I enjoyed this beach-combing interlude immensely. After the bay (and for a while before it) the path runs through what would be a very tranquil wood, if it wasn't for the constant hum of the oil terminal ‘goings on’. What with the power station AND the refinery, unnatural noises were ever present on this section. As I was following the tarmac road around Popton Fort, day dreaming a bit, I was startled by the sound of an animals claws clattering on the road behind me. I spun round to see a large Labrador bearing down on me. I went into my best ‘good boy’ routine and, after circling me a couple of times; it turned away and left without so much as a bark. After a few more steps I got my first view of Angle across the bay. I estimated about 1 - 1½ hours to get there. I walked at a medium pace, revelling in the cries of the many Oyster Catchers, enjoying the sunshine and what was described an ‘uncomfortable’ walk. If you pick your way it's not too bad. I left the beach and followed the estate path towards the village. I reached Angle church in exactly one hour. I sat on a bench and changed into my fabric boots. I had a meal in the local cafe and they kindly agreed to look after my sack while I walked around Angle Point. This will take about 1 - 1¼ hours, if walking briskly. I walked back down the road I had come up a short way, before swinging left to cross the inlet. I took a photo' of the Old Point House Pub, where the fire is reputed to have been burning for over 300 years without being let out. It was closed at the moment, but I may 'investigate' it later on. I next passed the new lifeboat station and gave a thought to the heroes who crew it before going on. I came past Thorn Island (bit of a ‘boozy’ reputation, this place... the talk of the village) and then descended into West Angle Bay. I took a couple of photo's and headed inland to retrieve my sack and find my B&B. I actually walked past it on the way back to the cafe, but didn't manage to identify it for certain. After I'd got my sack, I asked a local if he knew where Mrs Reece lived. He shot me a strange half-smile and said; ‘You can't miss it, just follow the noise of the dogs’. ‘Oh no’ I thought, ‘what have I got myself into this time’. I can now answer my own question with authority. It's a mixture of home and your Mum's house. Talk about falling on your feel!! Sylvia Reece is my kind of Mum! All fuss and look after -- and the home made cake...MMMMMM!!!! I don't think Chris, (Mr Reece) was too pleased, as what I had, he didn't! I can't say I blame him. Shortly after I arrived there was a knock on the door. It turned out to be a chap called Robert, the 2nd ‘full path’ walker I had met. He was tired, but had not booked ahead, and as accommodation in Angle is sparse, was struggling to find somewhere. Sylvia's mother instinct surfaced, and she just couldn't turn him away. She offered to let him sleep in her bed (stop it!) and she would have slept on the sofa I suppose. Anyway, as there were two singles in my room, I said he could have one of those and the situation was resolved. (I hope he doesn't snore). We went up to our room accompanied by yet more cake (scowls from Chris) and tea, and chatted. Sylvia kept us company for a while, before leaving us to get cleaned up and changed before going for a warm at the fire in the Old Point House Inn, When we got there, there were about seven or eight men sitting around the fire, talking and laughing. A very nice and welcoming atmosphere. We ordered a couple of drinks and got chatting to a chap who was sitting at the bar. I'd noticed that there were a lot of pictures and artefacts in the pub that concerned lifeboats and so I asked if the life-boatmen ever came in for a drink. Little did I know I was in the company of the very heroes I had revered earlier. We stayed much longer than planned. They were so matter of fact about the job they do. I really enjoyed the patter with them. What with all this, and Sylvia, I could easily spend a lot more time in Angle. We called at the other pub on the way back, just to ‘check it out’ and for a game of pool. Once again we were made to feel like locals. We had to be up early for breakfast, as Sylvia was going to Aqua-aerobics and wanted to get away. I didn't mind, as I like an early start, and Robert had to go around Dale Point as he had been too busy finding accommodation to do it last night. Breakfast again was fit for a king. New laid eggs and HOT toast, another dream fulfilled by the simplest method... bread and a toaster on the table. We both agreed, as we worked our way through breakfast, that these toast racks were invented to cool toast, not to serve it! Two very satisfied customers rose from THAT table, and we collected the clothes that Sylvia had kindly dried for us overnight, and went to pack. We got ready to leave. Robert set off to do the headland, whilst I sat to write this diary. I'm off to Stackpole today, and the famous lily ponds at Bosherston. I must say I'm sad to turn my back on Angle. If you go yourself, book early, as I suspect Sylvia and Chris are another very popular choice for folk to stay

Friday 28th May -- Angle to Stackpole (Bosherston)

Well!!!! Where do I begin, to tell the story of how great today has been would take as long as it took to walk it. The day started late, about 9 o’clock, as I was busy writing this diary, having neglected it the previous evening. I walked up to West Angle Bay in cloudy, cool but not uncomfortable conditions. I took one or two photo's of the bay and the huge canon pointing out into it. I guessed Robert was still somewhere on the point so I walked at a steady pace knowing he would catch up with me. This happened quickly. Just before you get to the headland, having passed a sign telling you in no uncertain terms that you are on M.O.D. land, you come upon an unused M O.D. building. Now I've heard of doing things in triplicate, but this building is a joke! I think the M.O.D. must employ someone solely to put up signs, and here was evidence of him trying to justify his existence. Every single wall had a sign on it. Moments later Robert arrived and we stood laughing at it. The temperature was already rising and the sun getting stronger so I took off my fleece. The path again teetered on the edge of the cliffs. This section is very up and down, but Sylvia's breakfast was doing its job and we pressed effortlessly on. The cliffs seemed to be made from several types of rock. One minute it's solid, then it's crumbly, then it's red -- and the formation and strata waves stopped you dead in your tracks. At East Pickard Bay, you are confronted by some prehistoric looking formations as you round the corner. It could be treacherous here, as your eyes are drawn to the signs in front of you, but the ground underfoot is uneven so a stumble is likely. We now saw Freshwater West. A breathtaking sight it was too, with the surf running and the sun glistening on the water. Our pace quickened and at the first opportunity, we dropped to the beach. Off came the boots and it was paddle and photo' time again. I got caught by the ‘seventh wave’ (big one) and got a good soaking. I wasn't bothered though -- it was quite refreshing really. We walked the whole length of the beach, marvelling at the sand dunes. It wasn't until we got re-shod and left the beach that we saw the signs that told the sad story of Freshwater West -- bathing and surfing are unsafe due to strong undertows, and there are quick sands at the Northern end of the beach at low tide. This was where we had paddled but luckily the tide was high, so no problem. We inspected the last surviving seaweed drying hut, restored by the National Trust, and took to the tarmac again, as the M.O.D. ‘own’ the coast from here on for a few miles. (I have since found out that they are not averse to walkers crossing it, if supervised by an accredited leader. Write to the range officer for details). At Castlemartin we decided it was time for lunch.. We stopped at the only pub, a pretty and quaint pub inside, called the Blue Bird (or blue something) I think, but we opted to sit in the garden and eat the packed lunches that Sylvia had done for us. We sat in a little sun trap at the back of the pub, sipped our pints and ate the Tuna mayonnaise sandwiches, followed by a generous lump of that home made cake (Chris will be furious). We both toasted Sylvia and what must be the best value in Pembrokeshire, Bed breakfast and a packed lunch. £13.!!! You'll never be rich Sylvia, but you'll always be popular. We now tackled the long footsore slog along the tarmac to rejoin the coast. The map in the guide now switched to 1:50.000 scale, and it threw me totally. As my mind was attuned to 1:24.000 it took a lot longer than I thought it would. Bosherston range wasn't firing today, so we could go to the Green bridge of Wales, a famous natural arch. Just before turning South towards it, the most wonderful thing happened. I spotted Buzzard perched on a fence post not 60 feet from us. It stopped us dead in our tracks. We studied it, and it us, before a car came and put it up. What a magnificent sight it was. Wings fully unfurled, I did get a photo' of it, but it can't possibly tell the true story (can photo's ever?). It landed and took off again a couple of times, before going on to M.O.D. property.
At Flimston we decided to inspect the restored church, but it wasn't really worth it. It was very tacky and unsympathetically done, and I wouldn't suggest you bother to go. From the moment we reached the coast, everything was just so perfect that words fail me (well, nearly). The Green Bridge, supposedly Wales most photographed natural feature, is superb. I took photo's of it from all angles, and if the weather hadn't have been a little too blustery, I would have risked going on to it. The Elegug Stacks also supplied some dramatic pictures. This section really does defy superlatives. It simply MUST be walked to be appreciated. One wonder followed another.
Bullslaughter Bay was really wild looking with the white horsed waves rushing to spend themselves on its stony beach. There was more flotsam and jetsam here than I had seen the whole way, and when we discovered a difficult path down to the beach, had no hesitation in going. We ‘combed’ for a while, but there was nothing of value. However, there was a lot of interesting stuff. We decided that this would be one of the first places the Coastguard would look for any unfortunate lost at sea. ‘The Castle’ and Huntsmans Leap came next. The Huntsman would need a hell of a lot of nerve to jump THAT gap!
By now we estimated we had done easily 20 miles, if not more, as we had done a lot of ‘off route’ investigating. The next detour was to St Govans Chapel, a little place snuggling into a niche in the rocks. I wondered why worship had to be so spartan and uncomfortable. We next crossed the impressively clean Broad Haven. This beach must be perfect for bathing, as it's got everything. Dunes, nice sand and a very gradual change in depth as it goes out. We turned off the beach and made for our B&B, Home Farm, along the famous lily ponds of Bosherton. We reached the farm -- BINGO! Another good choice. Linda James was most welcoming and showed us to our rooms. We showered, got ready, and made our way to the village of Bosherton, which was about 1 æ miles away. It was about 8.30 and the journey was alongside, or across (via footbridges) the ponds. The birds were singing their hearts out, and the cacophony of different songs was a joy to listen to. We even heard the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker. We soon reached the village and went into the pub. I can't remember the name, but you turn left at the village, and it's just up the road. It's a touristy place, but the menu is good, so is the beer. I had the Cumberland sausage (with French mustard) and it's one of the best I've ever had. At about 11.30pm we rang Linda, as she had kindly offered to pick us up, and sank into comfortable beds for the night. This morning the breakfast, along with everything else, was PERFECT. The weather looks set fair Robert is setting off early to try and push for the end today. My lift isn't due to arrive `till Sunday, so I'm having two leisurely days to get there. I think I'll investigate the ponds again, see if that big Pike is still where we saw it last night. I must put some sun tan lotion on - yesterday the sun really caught me out.

Saturday 29th May -- Bosherton to Penally

It was the kiss of death to put that sun tan lotion on! The day started well enough with a stroll along the lily ponds in the warm sunshine, (the Pike had gone) before following the range road to St. Govan's Chapel. I had already walked this bit, but had not actually visited the Head and as the guide said it was too good to miss, I felt it would be a mistake not to go. The climbers were like fly’s on a wall, obviously enjoying the challenge. The scenery lived up to all expectations and I took a few photo's. The wind was freshening now, so I donned my fleece, also I could feel the odd spit of rain in it. I again dropped down to the delightful Broad Haven where I got quite a shock. The lovely expanse of sand, which the night before had been so clean, was now strewn with the remains of a barbecue. There must have been at least 40 beer tins just thrown around, along with various other bits of rubbish that is the morons trade mark. In just one night the thoughtless fools had ruined the initial impact of the beach. I will never understand the mentality of that sort.
I headed away from ‘civilisation’ and skirted Stackpole Warren dunes. There is a massive hole in the ground here. I have seen plenty of those, but the difference with this one is that there is a path down into it. I looked down into it, but decided against further investigation. I checked my watch and estimated I would arrive at Penally at about 5.30ish. The rain came a little harder and the wind got noticeably stronger so on went the ‘waterproof’ jacket. I am always loath to put on the over-trousers, as they make you feel so ungainly and restricted. I decided that this rain wasn't quite bad enough to warrant the trousers yet. This was a mistake, as the rain was the insidious sort that slowly soaks you through. I took a photo' of the natural arch that is large enough to sail a ship through and pressed on towards Barafundle Bay. (I think it sounds a bit Australian that, ‘Barafundle’). The weather was far from Australian though as the wind became more brisk and blustery. There were just four hardy youngsters on the beach throwing a frisbee about, but they soon disappeared as one of them inevitably threw it into the sea and they lost it. After Stackpole Quay, the cliffs changed colour. The red Sandstone was in stark contrast to the White Limestone I had been used to seeing, and I wished the weather was nicer for photography.
From here on, the path is a bit roller coaster-ish. I climbed and dropped steeply, almost losing my footing a couple of times. I rounded Greenala Point and Trewent Point before dropping again down into Freshwater East. The guide dismisses Freshwater East in a couple of sentences. I suggest you don't just ‘pass Freshwater East’ , but call in especially if you need refreshment or communication. There are three phone boxes, a general store and a pub. ‘The Miracle Inn’. Although it looks a bit ‘Heath Robinson’, and it's a ‘miracle’ it's standing, I went in, as the rain was thrashing down and I sought shelter. I found the food and drink both good and reasonably priced. I talked with three lads from the West Midlands who were going to try to get as far as Castlemartin. This would be a hell of a push in good weather, but TODAY!!! Rather them than me.
I felt sorry for them that it was such a bad day, as they would be passing arguably the best scenery on the path. They shouldered their sacks with enthusiasm and went. I looked out of the window at the even worse weather, sighed and shouldered mine. I got a little lost, taking a path upwards too soon. There are loads of paths here, but again no signs. I suggest you just walk along the beach, not through the dunes, and right at the far end you will find the path. I took seldom few photo's from here, and the weather just kept deteriorating even more. The rain was driven into stinging needles by a strong South Westerly wind. The water had got through my leather boots, but worse still had begun to penetrate the map case. Of all the things I wanted to stay dry, the map case was the most important. I could see the pages of the guide going soggy. From here to Lydstep Haven there is some nice scenery, but for me it was head down and push on time. For most of the time I was staggering into the teeth of the gale, turning my head against the stinging rain, and it was slowing my pace dramatically. Consulting my watch confirmed that It would be much later than I had first thought before I would be ‘home and dry’. I passed what I can only describe as the Eyesore of Lydstep Haven caravan site. I have not been used to many signs of habitation -- the odd tent here and there -- but this place was like Skegness! As many vans as possible crammed into the land bordering the shore, and for why? This was an awful beach. The view out to sea looked good, but the ‘beach’ was steep and stony. I was glad to leave that portion of the walk behind me. I reached the path from the Army range to Penally and gratefully descended. I looked at my watch, it was 7.10pm. It had taken 10 hours to get here. I wondered how Robert had fared and was glad I hadn't undertaken the same journey.
When I found my B&B, they converted it into a drying room. My things were hanging everywhere. I had a shower, went out and got something to eat and returned early at 9.30pm to carry out ‘sock turning’ duty. It was about 11.30pm when I finally turned in.

Sunday 30th May -- Penally to Amroth

Gale Force winds greeted my waking this morning. I am not really looking forward to the ten miles to Amroth, but I'm going down now for breakfast before facing the storm yet again. At least it's not raining (yet!).
It was raining steadily as I left my B&B in Penally. Learning from yesterday, I donned the full gear before setting out, resigned to another day of bad weather. I had started late, so called at the village shop on my way out. I left Penally via the footpath across the golf course, and joined the Coast Path again. Quite soon I came across the South beach of Tenby. The tide was coming in in large waves that made Catherine Island look very dramatic as they smashed up against it. I went up the steps from the beach, around Castle Hill, and dropped past the new lifeboat station into the dry harbour where the forlorn boats waited for the tide to bob them back into life again. By this time, I had removed my waterproofs, as it had stopped raining at last. It was quite warm and I regretted wearing a sweatshirt today. I crossed North beach and climbed some steps to gain the road. I lost time here, as because I was hurrying, I inevitably got lost. My compass saved the day as a quick glance told me I was headed in the wrong direction. I had turned West instead of continuing up a road into a car park. (A sign, a sign, my Kingdom for a sign). I backtracked and, after asking, found the steps to re-join the path. The path to Waterwynch Bay is quite muddy at first, but then it suddenly becomes one of those patterned concrete affairs one associates with reservoir parks. After convincing myself that this was too good for the coast path, I asked some people passing by. It was the coast path and a finger post at the bottom confirmed this. ‘The climb out of the valley is very steep’ say the instructions... BELIEVE IT!!!! Probably the steepest climb of the whole path followed. Luckily, it had stopped raining (again) and I continued my disguise as a mobile tailors dummy by removing my waterproofs and sweatshirt, and putting on a tee shirt. After an extremely pleasant interlude between Monkstone and Saundersfoot, through woodlands, I emerged onto the beach and had my photo' took before the tailors dummy went into action again... Captain Gore-Tex!! I went through the road tunnels, as the tide prevented the alternative of walking along the beach, before dropping through the woods to be suddenly confronted with Amroth. Wind and stinging rain greeted me and I again had to suit up. I baulked at doing this, as I was so near the end, but do it I had to. It seems cruel that the trail ends along a mile or so of tarmac. I pushed on anyway, with the waves crashing on the stones, before stopping to have my photo' taken at the end of trail marker plaque. The weather was in total contrast to when I started, and there was no way I was going to try to dip my feet in the boiling cauldron that was the sea. However, I did walk to the stream that separated Pembrokeshire from Carmarthenshire where I took my last photo'!

Sunday 31st May -- Epilogue

Although I had quite a bit of bad weather, in fact the worst I have had on any of the long distance walks I've done, the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path has left a long, lasting impression with me. It's stunning beauty really does belittle my vocabulary. Of the paths I have walked, I think this one is the best. Not just for the scenery, but for the people and the infinite variety of things. On the minus side... well, not much but I wish they would build a bridge from St Ishmaels to Angle (into the Reeces back garden). If the military gave back all the land it would be better as well.
I would gladly live in Pembrokeshire today, even in preference to the Lake District which I love so much, because it has so many ‘secret’ places, unspoilt spots, friendly people, surprises around every corner that, for me, make it a winner.

© Les J. Singleton

31st May 1993

2006-07-25T14:51:00.000-07:00

THE SOUTHERN UPLAND WAY DIARY
(OR THE ‘TARMAC TROT’)
By Les Singleton.

PROLOGUE

.......or at least that’s how it seemed for the first two and a half days! Too many sections of this walk are on Tarmac, but the middle bit which isn’t, is really good. As my brother Colin and I had walked the West Highland Way last year, we decided to give Scotland’s coast to coast a go and were dropped off at Portpatrick by a friend on Thursday evening. I had been told the walk was tough, and so it is.
After counting the months, then the weeks, then the days, I was now sitting counting the minutes waiting for the journey up to Portpatrick to begin. A friend, whom we shall call ‘H’, had kindly offered to take my brother and I up to the start, and collect us again at the other side of the country in Cockburnspath. This solved a lot of logistical problems and I will be eternally grateful to ‘H’ for that!

Thursday 23rd April. Arrival at the start.

We arrived at Portpatrick at 7:25pm with ‘H’ panicking over the fact that his car was running on fumes, as this was rural Scotland - i.e.; “no petrol stations for miles, laddie!"
We both emptied our cigarette lighters into the fuel tank before ‘H’ rode off into the sunset. We did consider trying whiskey, as we were in Scotland but, come on - be serious - it wasn’t that far to the petrol station!

We were bade enter Melvin Lodge by the proprietor, Mr Tinder, and were delighted to discover that we had got a sea view from our window. The brochure described it as ‘a stone’s throw from the beach’. We knew this to be true, as all the glass in the windows was broken! Actually, the room was very nice and it looked directly into where the Sun would set. This was something to look forward to, as the sky was nice and clear.
We decided to go for a walk around Portpatrick to seek food and, more importantly, drink.
Just before 8:00pm, we went back outside to look at the sea and the lazy harbour. The stage was set for the sun to ‘do the biz’ so we went to the far side of the cove for the better shot. It really was lovely to hear the sea birds calling. Although they are often seen inland, it is rare to hear their call. Perhaps they are homesick or something. Whatever the reason, they were quite prepared to call themselves hoarse in such a lovely place as this. This really was the best way to be eased into the holiday mood. The sound of the waves, not crashing against, but caressing the rocks, accompanied by the russet sun slowly sinking to leave an air of tranquillity in its wake. I hope it comes back again in the morning.
We got some arty shots of it for the record, and had a quick look at the plaque that marks the start of the walk. I felt a bit like a bridegroom seeing his intended before the wedding - I hope it doesn’t bring bad luck! As we made our way back through the harbour to the village, I noticed a guesthouse right on the front. It was advertising B&B for £16, en suite. Telephone 01776 810441. We went into one of the pubs on the front, where I had a really good game of pool. I didn’t win, but enjoyed the challenge. Colin studied the menu, and when he finally decided what he wanted, was informed by the barmaid that they had stopped doing food. However, she told us that the hotel just above where we were staying was open until ten o’clock for food, so we decided to investigate it. The sun, which had now set, had left behind an atmospheric scene with the lighthouse and surrounding rocks gently silhouetted in the gloaming. We soon reached the hotel and it was well worth the visit. The food was interesting and fairly priced. We sat and talked to a couple from our neck of the woods (well, Cheshire actually, but it was near enough - they were English!) They told us that they were staying at the old lighthouse on the cliffs, which we would pass in the morning. With the promise of a wave and maybe a cup of tea, we said we would look out for them.
After a surprisingly comfortable night (I’m usually restless with excitement on the first night) we awoke to a bright morning. By the time we had had a lonely breakfast (we were the only residents) it had clouded over a little. We left at about 9:15am and went down to the beach where, by the state of the tide last night, I had calculated that the water would be low. It was full in!
We took a few photos, one in particular of me picking up a stone to drop on the other side of the country. This was something I should have done on the English coast to coast, but I neglected. I was now to rectify this. I also took one of Colin lifting a great big rock, as though to carry it. This was just for effect because, as time would tell, he had more than enough to carry.

Friday 24th April. Portpatrick to Stranraer - 12 miles.

If you want a packed lunch, the Old Port Pantry is the place. They brew a pot of coffee especially for its aromatic properties to attract custom and, I must admit, it worked on me.
We finally started walking at 9:53am. We got a passing dog walker to take our photo, and he was suitably impressed by Col’s new digital camera. The weather was a little grey and overcast as we set off up the cliff path. The first climb, however, is never a problem. We passed the tall Telecom towers, which had the wind whistling noisily around them. The wind was also stirring the sea and it was quite nice to see it in a different mood this morning, bashing up against the rocks below us instead of just lying there.
At Kale cove there is a small but pretty waterfall and a couple of caves, which we didn’t investigate. Bluebells carpeted the northern slopes of the bay, but they were only just coming into flower. In four or five days they would be at their blue and sweet smelling best.
We left behind the buildings that mark the spot where the first telephone cable was laid under the sea to Ireland. As we climbed the steep hill, aided by a chain handrail, I began to feel really good about the walk. I always get a ‘good to be alive’ feeling at the beginning of a long walk, especially when the weather is like this.
We hugged the cliff top, Killantringan lighthouse looming ever larger. At 10:45am the sun broke out and it began to warm up. It still looked very grey inland but here on the coast, it was good weather. Hopefully this weather would spread inland for us, but realistically I didn’t expect it to do so.
We were hoping to see the couple we met in the pub last night, as they were staying in the lighthouse, but they weren’t there when we got to it. Maybe they were having a lie-in. The lighthouse looked good with the sun gleaming on its white flanks, but it still looked dull inland
After the lighthouse, the path ominously turns inland for the first of many Tarmac stretches. This was at 11:00am. As we turned, we waved goodbye to the sea, and it waved back. We had been hoping to see the remains of the good ship ‘Craigantlet’, which foundered on the rocks in 1982 but despite our vigilance, we never did. On the way inland, we passed a farmer who waved and wished us luck. The postman too drove by in his van, also with a smile and a wave. (Somebody once asked me what you'd call 'postman Pat' if he were made redundant. I didn't know. 'Pat', was the reply!)
Just like it says in the instructions, the air was full of the song of the lark and, just before Knock & Maize cottage, we saw a big hare but he ran off before I could ‘shoot’ him.
Just as we turned off the road we were on to join a track, a large herd of young calves ran down to the wall on our right to investigate us. Young ones often do this, to the consternation of lots of new walkers, and I slowly won the confidence of one and let it lick the salt from my hand. I remembered vividly when I first started walking and I was crossing some fields locally, a great herd of calves decided to run towards me. Instinctively, I ran. This is always a mistake and they nearly caught up with me but I managed to vault a fence, standing panting on the other side. I know now that all you have to do is stand your ground. They always come to a halt before they reach you, but the first time you do it, it is really frightening.
On the approach to Mulloch Hill we came across the first of many leaflet boxes put here by the rangers, God bless them. They are well stocked with accommodation leaflets and info’ on the way & wildlife etc. This one was located at Map ref. 010,588.
After Mulloch hill we walked down the fields to a muddy track, which turned into a beautiful green strip of moorland with Knockquhassen reservoir on the left. We could also see distant views of the Galloway hills ahead.
By 12:30pm the sky had completely cleared and what was dismal to look at inland from the coast was now a perfect day, brightened by the brilliant yellow gorse.
We crossed a section of land called the Rhins and got our second view of the sea today.
At 1:00pm we passed Greenfield cottage, which looked like it had just been painted, as it was glaringly white in the sunshine.
At Auchtrelair, the Bay of Stranraer came into view. A ferry was just coming in, so we stood and watched for a while. A large conspicuous lump of rock was obvious just off the coast. This was Ailsa Craig, an island of close-grained granite from which all the best curling stones used to be made. Nowadays, it's not allowed, as it's a protected place.
The way here turns right towards Spoutwells farm. This was the name of the place we were staying at tonight and, realising we were ridiculously close to our objective and it was only about 2:00pm, we decided to stop for lunch. We sat at the side of the road. Not the most salubrious place you may think, but it was a very quiet road and besides, it didn’t look like there would be anywhere else before we reached the B&B. We were early and we knew it.
We ‘unsacked’ on the grass verge and started to remove our lunches from the sacks. All of a sudden there was a loud ‘CLICK’ followed by a loud expletive from Colin. The innocuous looking strand of wire next to us was electrified, and he had received a tidy shock. We repositioned ourselves at a respectful distance from the wire.
As we sat in the sun, a girl clip-clopped up on a large horse. She spoke to us and it was clear she wasn’t local (the Irish accent gave her away). She worked at a local stable and was exercising the horse. She chatted and I thought, what a perfect job on a day like today!
After lunch we re-shouldered the sacks, but it was only half an hour before they were off again as we reached Spoutwells farm even sooner than we expected.
We turned into the drive of the farm and knocked on the door a bit sheepishly. No answer, but a glance round the back revealed Mrs Wilson, complete with golf club, swishing away at a ball in the field. Revealing my intimate knowledge of the technical terms of the game, I shouted ‘FORE’ loudly. This had the desired effect and Mrs Wilson came smilingly towards us.
We settled into our lovely room and decided to get ready and go into Stranraer later to look around and get some food.
We eventually met Peter Wilson who, when questioned about all the trophies in the house, told us he had been Scottish curling champion several times. Apparently Stranraer produces good curlers, a la production line!
Later on he gave us a lift into town, with the promise of a ‘nip’ of something special later on when we got back to the farm. We went into the Ark house pub first before venturing further afield. We walked all around, investigating the ferry terminal and sea front. Stranraer is ok, but not what I’d call interesting. We settled for a Chinese meal, which was very good, before making our way back at about 10:30pm.
As we left the centre, the street lights ran out and it allowed a really good view of the stars. It reminded me of last year on the West Highland Way when Colin ‘navigated’ us home from the pub by the stars. We didn’t need all that old fashioned stuff this year as Colin had invested in a global positioning system. (Prudent really, especially if you knew his star-nav technique).
When we got back to Spoutwells, Colin decided to turn in but I went to see if there was any snooker on the telly, and also await the arrival of a promised tot of ‘something special’. No snooker until late (and I was getting tired) and no Mr Wilson. Eventually I went to bed. I noticed that it was raining and, as I lay there, it came harder and harder until it was lashing on the window and yard outside.

Saturday 25th April. Stranraer to New Luce - 12.5 Miles.

I came to my senses the next morning with the thought of last night's rain first on my mind, but it was quiet. I gingerly pulled back the curtains to reveal a sunny and bright morning.
After having to virtually drag Colin from his ‘pit’, we were served the first of what were to be many good breakfasts. Apparently, Peter had been up last night waiting for the dog to come in. They’ve got a nine-year-old spaniel, and there’s a bitch on heat up the road. The dog didn’t get in ‘till about eleven. This was the reason the ‘something special’ was lacking last night. There must be life in the old dog yet! When we had packed and paid our bill we set off walking at 9:10am.
Yet more blue sky and singing birds greeted us. It was another lovely morning.
The first hour or so was spent on Tarmac, after which the way turned into some woodland with a small loch on the left. Shortly we came upon a small bungalow. If any house has the perfect setting on a day like today, then is was it. Surrounded as it is by tall trees, the bird song was incredible. So many different ones and so loud. Also the whole area was completely covered in bluebells.
More Tarmac walking followed, with a railway line to our left. The remains of an old train boiler stood in the field, it had had a piece cut out of it and was now serving as a water trough - very quaint.
Presently we crossed the railway line via a bridge, and the way now left the road to re-enter the woods. This was a younger wood with lots of saplings bordering the path.
We next came upon the strangest thing. What at first looked like a mound of earth turned out, upon further investigation, to be a piece of concrete pipe completely buried with earth. It had a door in one end and obvious signs of being inhabited at some time. We mused over its possible uses, and wondered why it didn’t even merit a mention in the guide. We took photos and pushed on.
Tracks started to appear in the mud on the path, and Colin asked what they were. “They’re definitely bear tracks” I said. “But don’t worry, I’ve killed a bear before.” There was a pause before Colin said; “What with - your ‘bear’ hands!”
We emerged from the woods to find another Way information board at Castle Kennedy. Each one of these things has a section of basic information, then a specialised bit about the immediate locality.
We crossed the busy A75 main road and entered the grounds of the old castle. It was funny how the surroundings changed from sort of run down village to grand baronial pile. It was evident straight away. The tall trees and rhododendrons bordering the road in gave a sort of grand entrance feel. The ruins of the old castle can be seen in front as you walk along.
Soon we reached the loch and the mixed deciduous woodland, along with the bright sunshine and the loch water, made for super pictures and we took many. The new Loch Inch castle can be seen on the other side of the loch. It was built when the old one accidentally burned down when it was being ‘aired’ for the master's homecoming. Why the old one wasn’t repaired I’ve no idea, as it’s in a fantastic position.
We walked past fiery red rhododendrons in full bloom before turning left across the bridge that spans the linking canal of the two lochs (black loch and white loch). It was built by one of the past owners, and it looks very man-made.
We reached the ruins at about 11:10am. There is a gatehouse at which the admission charge (then £2) had to be paid. We decided to use this as our elevenses stop and, as we had time in hand, paid the fee and went in to look around. We decided it was well worth the money. The walled garden is really stunning with a huge assortment of different plants and trees. We got some good pictures of the castle ruins too. We walked around the grounds and down to the far loch (black loch), where we witnessed the strangest thing. There was a very small island, you could have just about fitted a car on it, and vast amounts of sea birds were squabbling to stand on it. You could hear the cacophony of their cries from a long way off. When we saw it, it was a bit unreal. Why didn’t they just settle on the large island nearby, which had trees to perch in and all? Only they knew and they were too busy falling out to take time to answer.
We walked back through the wood, deliberately dawdling in this rich man's paradise, and wondered what it must have been like in the ‘old days’ to look up the vast lawns to the castle and know that it was all yours.

We strolled up the soft green carpet and back to the entrance. The man inside told us lots about the history of the place. Who’d done what, how it got burnt down, how old the plants and trees were etc. I managed to stump him when I asked him if he knew what the most common owl was. He went through all the usual ones before I had to tell him it was the Teat-owl (tea towel - Geddit?). We left him groaning and shaking his head before, after a tea in the cafe, we addressed the more serious task of continuing the walk.
The Tarmac drive rose and entered a wood. Again the birds sang and the air groaned under the weight of the bluebells scent. In these conditions it really was a joy to be walking.
The road began to climb quite steeply. We were now very warm in the sunshine. It was day two, 1:30pm and we still hadn’t encountered any other way walkers. It really is so quiet as soon as you leave the B&Bs on this walk. If you want solitude then this is the walk for you.
When the way again left the road, just as we turned left, a stoat (or was it a weasel) scurried across the quiet road in front of us. It had what looked like lunch in its mouth. Someone once told me she knew a foolproof way to tell the difference between a stoat and a weasel. I asked how. She said; “One’s ‘stoat-ally’ different, and the other’s ‘weasel-y’ recognisable! (GROAN).
Yesterday, we bought some items for our lunch today. Mrs Wilson kindly buttered our rolls for us, and I decided on smoked mackerel. Where the way left the road, we found a little depression in a field, and sat out of the breeze to eat elevenses.

Sods law concerning rucksacks!
A rucksack, when placed on any flat surface, will roll directly away from its owner.

The mackerel was lovely, but it left my hands very greasy. No problem! Last year, when we did the West Highland Way, the airline we flew up with gave us what they called a clean-up wipe. I had saved it all this time, and at last it came in useful.
As we were getting ready to leave, we noticed some ‘mobile crumbs’. On closer inspection, we must have been sitting near an ants nest, as the crumbs we had dropped were being carried away almost at once by the inhabitants! We sat and watched them for a while, deliberately dropping more food to keep their interest away from our pants!
We entered a forest, but this one wasn’t quiet like the rest we’d been in. There was the constant buzz of a motor saw. As we turned a corner, we saw why. Great lines of trees were lying like murder victims, waiting to be carted away to a new pulp mill. The main forest was being ‘harvested’ by a dedicated machine, which made short work of them, but the edges were apparently more difficult and the noise of the saw was the man whose job it was to strip the edge trees. He told us there were 20,000 tonnes of wood being taken from that patch. The wood was over 35 years old (planted in 1961), and was now ready for harvest.
We pressed on, past the line of sad corpses and one would almost swear the others, still standing, looked frightened in the knowledge of their impending fate. At least the forest would be re-planted for future use.
Another quiet section of woodland walking followed. So quiet in fact, that I removed my camera from its case and carried it, ready to snap any deer that I fully expected to see. I was disappointed, as the only sounds were the sound of the breeze in the treetops and the squelch of our feet in the soggy ground underfoot.
The feeling of solitude became greater still the more we penetrated the forest. Eerie even, I would describe it here. Colin and I spent the best part of this section walking apart as I was in front hoping to see the elusive deer. It gave me feelings of deja vu from the days when I used to walk alone, with only the sound of my footfalls for company. After the amount of Tarmac in the last couple of days, it was comforting on the old feet to be walking on this damp, yet soft and springy forest track after it had changed from a vehicle roadway to just a footpath for walkers.
After twisting and turning, the path suddenly took a dive, and I do mean steeply. Still faultlessly waymarked, it made a direct line for the (unseen) floor of the valley to the left through the dense trees. Colin’s walking poles came into their own as we struggled for traction. I would imagine this to be difficult in the rain, great fun even, if you didn’t mind a wet backside! One of my walking companions, Dave Cooke, is so adept at losing his footing that he has gained the nickname 'wet-arse cookie'. I also wondered how the people coming the other way would fare with this in front of them.
We passed through a delightful grove of mixed trees and crossed a small footbridge which led to a cleared area of the forest and, as the path levelled out, some railway lines appeared in front of us. Something else that appeared was a shower, and we reluctantly put on our waterproof coats.
We dropped into a meadow and crossed it to reach a bridge over the lines. It had stopped raining, and we removed our coats again in readiness for what was sure to follow our steep descent of 20 minutes ago - a steep ascent!
As we slogged up the incline I noticed Colin in a little world of his own, fiddling with his camera case. Apparently he had got a bit of mud on it when we stopped to put our coats on. In the depths of his concern, he wandered off the edge of the Tarmac and went up to his ankle in deep, slimy mud and spent the next five miles dipping his foot in every pool of water we came across.
Although the forest we were now on the edge of didn’t seem particularly dense or big, it produced our first deer. It was drinking from the stream as we rounded a corner and ran away, clearing the fence in an effortless leap when it saw us.
Shortly the track levelled out to cross a moor. To the right was a long ridge and, as I glanced up at it, I thought I saw other people. On inspection with binoculars, it had either been a mirage or an hallucination as there was only a cairn to be seen, so it was just Colin and I, as usual.
At this stage I noticed Colins' limping was more pronounced. He told me his Achilles tendon was hurting him more than ever. I turned slightly away from him and, with a quiet ‘click’, loaded the cartridges in to the humane killer to do what I knew I just had to do to spare him any more suffering. I wasn’t going to see my own brother suffer this way, and I certainly wasn’t going to carry his sack for him! He must have seen the glint of metal in the sunlight, as he immediately said he felt better and started to walk again. I put the ‘angel of mercy’ handy in a side pocket of my sack - just in case!
The walk across the moor from the ruined farm was spent in the company of rain. It’s longer than it looks on the map (the walk, not the rain), but then I realised I had the map folded! By the time we reached the Tarmac road it was ten past five. The way here turns up the road (why not along the riverbank?) but our digs, and New Luce, were about a mile to the left. It had almost stopped raining now, so we padded on downwards towards what had been described as ‘the B&B to miss’. As it was the only B&B in New Luce, we found that one difficult to comply with. New Luce has a Post office and store (combined) and a ‘phone box. It is a small village with, I was told, no children living there.
We went into the hotel (Kenmuir Arms) and were shown up to our room. It was a modest size but the view from the window was nice. I asked if we could dry some washing later, and the landlady told me to use any or all of the radiators, as we were the only ones in tonight! We washed up and hung everything to dry. This place was recently taken over (about three months ago) and, although still needing some work on the building, needed no change to the welcome, which was excellent. We were made to feel at home at all times and the food we had was lovely. I had steak pie (home made) and met the cook later on in the bar. It was like one big happy family in there, and we were taken in to the fold with ne’er a bat of an eye. I must admit to teasing the cook. Colin had been showing everyone his digital camera, which is a marvellous thing, and I told the cook that mine was even cleverer than Colin's. I knew that if my camera was opened, it would automatically shut down on its own if not used for three minutes. As I came down with it from my room, I switched it and my stopwatch on. I placed it on the table in front of the cook and a couple of more people. I told her it was a voice operated camera, and she could tell it to shut down. She leaned forward and, on command, said; ”CAMERA - SHUT DOWN!" With a whirr and a click, the camera slid the cover over the lens and collapsed the flash. Gasps from the assembled crowd, and smiles from Colin and I. Yes, I did tell them it was a trick (but not untill much later on!)
The next morning we were treated to a smashing breakfast, and Mrs Wilson had done us a packed lunch too. The dog was not allowed in the room while we were eating, but he was so lovely that we made special dispensation whilst Mrs Wilson's back was turned and gave him a bit of sausage. It was a Border collie, and had the strange habit of barking at you when you left, but not when you arrived. Apparently, we had a visit from him during the night. We had gone to bed before the bar had closed and, at about 2:00am, the Wilsons were creeping upstairs so as not to disturb us, but the dog just nosed our bedroom door open and was just about to give Colin a wet lick when he was dragged out. Blissfully unaware of all this, we slept on. I can only imagine what Colin would have been dreaming if said lick had been delivered!

Sunday April 26th New Luce to Bargrennan - 17 miles.

The next morning Mr Wilson very kindly offered to give us a lift up the hill and back to where we left off yesterday. We gratefully accepted but were in no rush to go as the rain was tipping down. Had our luck run out with the weather? I thought so, as it had been raining steadily since we got up and the sky looked unforgiving. Wrong! As soon as we had put on all our wet gear and rushed to the car, it stopped and the sun started to shine. As we stepped from the car we had to take off our coats again and, although we had not had a late breakfast, all the faffing about had brought 9:30am around by the time we actually started putting one foot in front of the other in earnest.
We came across a dead sheep and reported it at the next farm we came to. It was lambing time so I would imagine it’s a fairly common occurrence, but it was still sad for us ‘townies’ to see.
The weather kept getting brighter as we made our way over the moors. The going underfoot was therapeutic although rather wet! Every footfall caused the wet ground under it to spurt water upwards and it was quite a nice sensation to feel the squirts of cool water on bare skin as we walked along.
We were soon into forest again as we crossed Purgatory Burn and followed the wide track onwards. I took a photo of the forest steaming as the strong sun attacked last nights rain. It made it even more eerie, and we kept expecting to hear a wolf howl.
At about half past eleven, we came upon the strange but delightful ‘beehive’ bothy. We decided to have elevenses here and, on consulting the bothy book, realised we had missed actually meeting another person by about an hour. It was clean and tidy inside, and the book made for amusing reading. I would imagine many a grateful eye had fallen on this place in adverse weather. I would have no problem with spending a night here. I made an entry in the book, we re-packed our sacks and, after the inevitable photos, we re-joined the Way. Map ref. NX220, 714.
It had started to rain a little, so we re-dressed for it and reluctantly started off. Shortly we came upon the standing stones of Lagangarn, probably erected around 4000 years ago. (Actually, it was probably nearer 4000 years and one month. You see, it said 4000 years in this book I read about a month ago). There were once about thirteen stones here, but now only a couple remained. They look strangely stranded, surrounded as they now are by tall pines.
We were walking along, admiring the view through a tree break, when we suddenly met three people, a couple and their son out for a day walk. These were the first walkers we had met since the start. We exchanged the usual chit-chat and, being a local, he explained that this was the easy part of the walk. Just what we wanted to hear when we’d been climbing steadily for about three hours!
Shortly after meeting the trio, we were confronted by a notice explaining that ‘they’ were harvesting the trees, and the Southern Upland way had been temporarily diverted. ‘Please follow the diversion’, said the notice, and was backed up by ‘scene of crime’, red tape and an arrow pointing into the bowels of the forest. We dutifully followed along what started out as a good, firm path. However, it soon degenerated into the sort of path on which only the Messiah himself could have safely walked! It seemed to me to be about a foot and a half of water, covered by about 4mm of grass. I could imagine forestry workers hidden in the undergrowth, stifling sniggers as they watched us trying to make progress through this primordial goo. It slowed us down immensely, and was not good for Colin's ankle, but we had no choice so just kept on keeping on. Also there was nothing to see, as the trees were so close to us, the only view was forward, back, straight up or straight down. Not very inspiring!
When we eventually emerged from our ordeal (or ‘temporary path' as it was officially known), we were heartened by the weather. We hadn’t realised how strong the sun was now, having being shielded by the trees. We took long draughts of water, consulted the G.P.S. as to our position and realised that we had lost about an hour in the forest. Now though, we were back on solid ground so progress was a lot easier and the views were more than wood! We actually saw our first eagle. Colin spotted it, and thought it was a buzzard (just like he did on the West Highland way - he NEVER learns!). I examined it through the binoculars to confirm what it was. Well, we’d seen our first eagle but it was day three and we hadn’t heard a piper, nor seen haggis. I thought I had seen a wild one in the trees, but they’re such shy little creatures, you can’t be sure.
At three o’clock, Mrs Wilson’s’ breakfast finally ran out of steam and we had to consult the packed lunches she had made us for energy. They were very good too, ham, tuna, cheese, fruit, and she had packed us Mars bars (my favourite). This was double yummy for me, as Colin isn't allowed Mars bars.
The afternoon turned a bit chilly, so we put on our fleeces. The G.P.S. said we were about two and a half miles from Bargrennan, but the path was so up and down in front of us that it was probably more like five miles. That’s my only beef with G.P.S., it only talks in straight lines!
We passed a small place that was being restored. It was almost done too. The views from their windows were stupendous. I suppose it was a lonely farmhouse, with some poor soul eking out a living once, but now it was probably yet another holiday cottage. The path now descended and we joined another quiet Tarmac road. At map reference 295,718 there was a place doing B&B, and they displayed the ‘walkers welcome’ sign. I suppose bacon sandwiches would be no problem here, as they had about ten pigs roaming around the garden!
The view really opened up from here on, and the sky, with its stormy disposition, made it all the more dramatic. Although the day had been long, it was a very enjoyable part of the walk and when we finally topped the hill, we were surprised at the good condition the trig’ point was in. It looked as though it had been freshly painted. It reminded me of the sad state the ones at home are being allowed to get into. The 'powers that be' have decided not to maintain them anymore. Some lucky ones are ‘adopted’ and kept in good nick, but they were the exception rather than the rule. At this point we both agreed that it was here the walk started. The last couple of days had been hard and not very interesting, but now- WOW!
We reached Bargrennan at 6:10pm. It’s further than it looks from the top of the hill, as the path meanders about quite a lot. The search for Limetree House commenced thus; stand still - look around. Bargrennan is a small place so you don’t have to waste much time exploring. A sign in a garden (which we will come to in greater detail later) pointed us up the church driveway, where there was a fork to Limetree House gates. You can not prepare yourself for the shock of Limetree House. The gates should give it away really, huge and well maintained as they are. We almost expected the Heavenly Choir to start singing as they swung open to reveal the stunning house and gardens. We crunched along the gravel drive and up to the front door to be greeted by a smiling Jan Atkinson. We were beckoned, and stepped inside the cosseting womb that is Limetree House, onto the only thing which identified us as walkers - newspaper for our boots. Personally, I would have preferred a wooden raft to prevent them sinking into the carpet pile and getting lost. I must have had better welcomes, but I just can’t remember when! We were shown to our room and left with a promise of ‘tea in the sitting room in ten minutes’. We waded around in the bedroom carpet for a while, wondering if we had been mistaken for foreign diplomats and given the state room by accident, but apparently this sort of treatment is meted out to all by the Atkinsons'. We hadn’t met Mr A’ yet, so perhaps he was a right miserable git, and all this was in compensation for his disagreeable disposition. Perhaps he was some demented axe murderer, and all this was to make us at ease before he ‘came to us’ in the night. We decided it had worked and, completely at ease, we went down to tea.
We sat in the lounge, wondering where the other six people were that were supposed to eat the rest of the cakes and biscuits, when a smiling Paul came in. He was quite normal! In fact he was just as nice as Jan. I asked them what they were doing inviting scruffy walkers into this kind of alien environment. They then said something really nice. They said walkers were the best kind of people. All they need is a shower, a comfortable bed and a good breakfast. They are always knackered, so come home and go to bed at a reasonable hour, and they’d never had a bad report from one yet.
Colin and I asked about an evening meal, and they told us of the local pub, the ‘House ‘o Hill’. In retrospect, this was very magnanimous of them, as I wouldn’t have acknowledged the place if I had been them.
Before we left we were given a breakfast menu choice to fill out. I am half expecting Jan to be there in the morning when I open my eyes, waiting with a cup of tea. THIS is how ALL B&B's should be - take note!
We walked down the quiet drive and across the road and headed for the pub. It is only a short walk. It’s not too impressive looking from the outside, but any port in a storm, eh?
We walked in and I would say were greeted, but it was more like confronted, by the landlord. I have never met such a cold fish in all my life. I tried to make pleasant conversation, but was greeted by monosyllabic answers, and an expressionless, fed up looking face. We enquired about some food, and were told it would take a while, as we were the first ones in. When the food came, I would like to say it was awful, but it wasn’t bad. It was fair for what we paid, and the beer was quite drinkable. The snooker was on telly, so we all sat in the bar watching it. Over the evening I gleaned he was not Scottish. In fact he was from Mansfield, about eight miles down the road from where I live. What had the world done to this man to make him so dour? All night there were only about four more people came in, but they were quite normal.
We made our way back to Limetree House, grumbling about him and his disposition. Colin said if there’d have been anywhere else to go, he would have turned around and walked out.
We got back and Paul and Jan were still up. Paul came out to us and asked us how we’d got on. As we recounted our story, he smiled wryly. He told us he was barred from going in himself, along with the guy who used to own it before ‘Mr Happy’. The guy who used to own it lived in the house at the end of the road, the one with the sign in the garden pointing people to Limetree House. Apparently it used to have a sign pointing to the ‘House ‘o Hill’, but it blew down. For months the man who used to own it was ringing ‘Mr Happy’ and asking him to re-erect it. He never did so Paul asked if he could put a sign up to his house to guide his guests. He said yes, and Paul put one up. The next time the guy went in the pub he was told by ‘Mr Happy’; “You’re barred, and tell him he needn’t come in again either”! So now Paul has to travel about twelve miles if he wants to go for a pint. All the locals say he has taken the heart out of the village by doing what he’s done but in his own words; “I don’t care about the locals, I can make my money by fleecing the tourists”. And some of the tales we were to hear along the way only went to reinforce this.
An expectedly comfortable night was had in the ‘Laura Ashley room’. I expected breakfast to be small and neat, well it was neat all right, but so big and scrumptious that I can’t describe it - go and find out for yourself.

Monday April 27th. Bargrennan to Ref. 543,789 - 18 miles (approx.)

To split today up into three manageable bits, instead of a 27 and a 25 mile day, the Lochinvar hotel do a service where they pick you up at the end of about seventeen miles, then take you to the hotel. The next day you are dropped back at the same spot, you walk back to the hotel for lunch, and are taken forward to walk back to the hotel again. The next morning you are dropped off at the same place and walk on. It sounds complicated but it works. Before we left Limetree, Colin rang the Lochinvar to arrange a pick up time. I was talking to Paul so I didn’t pay much attention. We took a picture of Paul and Jan standing in the sunshine on their front step, and Paul then showed us around his workshop where he ‘tinkers about a bit’ as he put it. His tinkering produced some very nice Welsh dressers (why not Scottish dressers?) and sets of drawers. Is envy a sin? I think it is, forgive me O Lord, for I have sinned.
When we finally managed to drag ourselves away, it was half past nine! Paul told us it was a nice section ahead, so we set off with a spring in our step and the sunshine on our backs. There was the ‘breakfast hill’ to tackle, but the path soon eased into a steady climb. The birds were singing loudly, the rays of the sun were shafting through the trees and we were overcome by a feeling of well being. How can anyone hate Mondays when you can have one like this. It was just as if God had said to himself; ‘you two are obviously going to do this walk whatever so here, have a perfect B&B followed by a perfect day'. Days like this are difficult to describe in words. It makes the hairs on my arm stand up just trying! As we left the forest, the mountains just zoomed at us and it was all a bit much to take in. The clouds were just hanging on the tops, the sky was a dazzling blue and the sun seemed to have a little extra quality about it today and the forest was alive with the sound of the birds. It really was almost too perfect a day. We stopped at a clearing and had a drink. The water was lovely. We had filled our bottles at Limetree, and were told that Bargrennan was not on mains water! Everyone had his or her own well. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough to sell, as it usually just lasts over summer. They have run out a couple of times in recent years, but somehow I think there’ll be a surfeit this year. Up to now it had been the wettest April on record, but we weren’t complaining as it had turned into perfection since we arrived. Although slow starting, this walk was now really beginning to take off.
We passed a small, still pond. There must have been millions of midges (some with Paul and Jan’s name on) just waiting to hatch. This was the main reason we came to Scotland at this time of year, as they hadn’t hatched out yet. Scotland can be paradise at times, but the midges are the other side of the coin.
The next section of the walk goes along the banks of the water of Trool. Another very pleasant location complimented by the weather. The water is dark and peaty looking and meanders in a most agreeable fashion. Some of the meanders have large eddies which look as though they would be productive to fish in. It also looked a bit sinister if you tried to penetrate the surface, as it was so black as to prevent this. It was tempting to take too many photos here, as because we had been denied this kind of beauty the last couple of days, we were forever taking ‘just one more’.
Almost all the stiles and wooden bridges on this walk have had chicken wire underfoot to aid grip, but for some reason, here in Glenn Trool there is none. This takes you by surprise, and could be dangerous if you slipped.
The Water of Trool is the fastest, most active water we have walked alongside since the walk began. It gave me the chance to be more creative and use the S.L.R. camera I had lugged along with me. At this moment, my advice to anyone intending to walk this path would be to catch a bus to Bargrennan, spend three nights at Limetree House, and then set off walking. If you read the instructions to the walk, you can pretend you’ve done it!
At about eleven o’clock we met someone else, a rare thing on this walk. It was a lone Scotsman and his Alsatian dog. We started to chat and the dog kept growling. This guy was huge, and although he hardly seemed to put any effort into it, he gave the dog a back-hander, which fairly ‘clonked’ on the poor animal's head. Mind you, if you’d have seen the size of his hands! He reminded me of a heavyweight boxer. The dog quickly shut up. Within a minute of chatting about this and that, the conversation turned to the disagreeable creature at the House o’ Hill. He said he knew of the man, and he avoided the pub whenever possible, as did a lot of people. It was beginning to seem like word of this famous 'man of misery' was spreading all over Scotland!
At 11:30 the sun just disappeared and it started to rain lightly. As it looked more than just a shower, and as it was early in the day, we put on all our waterproofs. At about ten to twelve we reached a caravan site on the edge of Loch Trool. It was one of the most tidy and well-laid out ones I have ever seen. This is how it should be done. There is a shop here, so you can get supplies if you need them. Also, more importantly for us, there is a phone box. I rang the Lochinvar hotel and explained that we would never make the half past four rendezvous Colin had arranged, due to our late start. We agreed on six o’clock instead, which I still thought would require us to push it a bit.
When I came out of the phone box, it was raining a lot harder and there was hail in with it. Paradoxically, the sun was shining as well. We climbed the path into the woods, where the famous battle of Glenn Trool was fought, and it stopped raining. We couldn’t keep the gear on, as it was so warm, so we just hung it over our sacks to dry.
A new sound now accompanied us, as we could hear the thunderous roar of a large waterfall on the opposite side of the Loch. Paul had told us about this, and said we could have walked up the other side of the Loch to get close to it. I would have liked to take that option, and would have done so had it not been for the pressing meeting we had to keep for our lift. It is a truly magnificent drop of water. It was loud enough from here, so goodness knows what it’s like when you’re at the side of it. Today would have been perfect for photos too, with the sun again shining brightly.
We passed an information board about the battle that took place here. It was strange to think that we were here now, feeling like we were in heaven, and all those years ago so many were dispatched that way violently and prematurely.
Just as we climbed the track to leave the dense woodland for a more open track, we noticed there was another waterfall opposite, but unfortunately trees mostly obscured it. What a terrible shame! It was a mighty drop of water, right from the top of the cliff and in good flow. I wish that the rangers would get the trees cut back here, as it would be a terrific viewpoint for all to see. As it was, we only got tempting glimpses of parts of the falls.
Shortly after this we left the forest to gain wide and wonderful views. At 2:00pm we chose a rock and sat down for lunch, which Jan Atkinson had prepared for us (the lunch, not the rock!). Two Chicken salad rolls with coleslaw, a mini pork pie, a Kit-Kat and an apple. Whilst we were tucking in, two people walked up and stopped for a chat. Luckily Colin and I could remember how to talk, so we passed the time of day with them. What we failed to do was ask them to take a photo of us having our lunch. The problem with not seeing anyone on this walk was that we got seldom few photos together, except when a good ‘perch’ could be found to use the self timer on the camera. Ah well, we could always wait for two more people to come by, but then I remembered - we were only here for two weeks!
We sat in the sunshine and cool breeze, looking at the shadows of the clouds running across the valley sides. It certainly makes you feel good to be in such a place as this.
It was now like walking in some Garden of Eden. Everything was just so perfect. The climb upward after lunch is a stiff one, but you can’t fail to want to do it in these conditions. The blue sky peppered with fluffy white clouds, the warm sun accompanied by a zephyr of coolness, the birds and the babbling water and, as if the views weren’t good enough, they improved even further with the appearance of Loch Dee and the uplands beyond. Again, as is so often the case in these situations, my mind turned to the people who had been this way in appalling weather and seen none of this. What a terrible shame for them!
Today the tranquillity was broken at intervals by the jets suddenly appearing from nowhere. The first couple really made us jump, but after that we got used to it. They were upon us so quickly that I never did get a photo of one.
We made our way along the delightful path towards Black Laggan. The White Laggan bothy is a short way off the path, and the chimney was smoking invitingly but we didn’t take the detour for a look, as Colin's Achilles tendon was hurting and we still had to make good time to keep our lift rendezvous. We were to spend two nights at the Lochinvar hotel, so we could have the luxury of a day with light packs and, hopefully, this would ease Col’s problem. I was strapping it with a bandage each morning for support, but it still hurt him. We had to content ourselves with a sniff of the wood smoke and a distant photo of the bothy before pressing on.
Colin stopped to use that well-worn excuse to sit down for a minute; ‘I’ve got something in my boot’. I took a photo to remind him of this pathetic sham.
As we continued, we could hear a droning in the distance. It was obviously a plane, but I said to Colin: “Is that a plane or a bee?” He said: “It’s a bee!" I replied: “It’s a bloody big one, then”. He said: “Yeah - it’s a Bee-52!"
The next thing we saw was a seat in memory of someone who loved the area. When you’ve walked without evidence of people for such a long time, something like this is very strange. It seems too permanent for such a lonely place. I must admit though, the people who put it there chose the perfect place, as the view from it couldn’t be better.
The instruction book we were following calls this section an ‘undeniable trudge’. Yes, it all seems uphill and the path is firm underfoot, but with views like this we had to disagree and thought it probably the best bit so far. Obviously, if you go to Scotland you expect rain, so to get a day like today, in a place like today, we felt really privileged.
As we walked along, Colin asked me how much he owed me for the packed lunch. I hadn’t paid much attention to the bill when I paid it, so I got it out to look. To our astonishment, Jan had only charged us one pound each! We shook our heads and I said I would ring to thank her tonight.
We were nearing the point where we were to meet our lift so Colin turned on the G.P.S. to check our position. We didn’t need it however, as it soon became obvious we were going to reach a minor road. The impressive thing was that, as we crossed the stile and stepped onto the road, the arrival alarm on the G.P.S. told us we were there!
It was only five thirty five so we ‘unsacked’, took a few pictures, lay down on the verge and soaked up the evening sunshine. Nothing came along until our lift appeared. We could see and hear him coming for ages.
Our driver was the landlord of the Lochinvar Hotel called Lester. He was very easy going and this was reinforced by his style of driving, i.e., one hand on the wheel, one arm out of the window. Lester had a quite pronounced Liverpudlian accent and, as he drove, he told us of his interesting life and travels. I must admit he sounds like a right workhorse. He is doing up the Lochinvar Hotel, and spends all his days building, and then his nights behind the bar. Still, this is Scotland, and it seems it’s either work or drink here. We soon reached the hotel and the entrance itself is grand. We were shown to our room, which was passable. There was no shower in the old fashioned bathroom, but there was plenty of hot water. The view from the bedroom window was good, and looked over the hills we would be coming across tomorrow.
After freshening up we went down to the lounge and we were served a meal by Laura, who was very friendly, very cheerful and very Essex! It was so strange to hear her cut glass accent among all the Scottish ones. Mind you, the landlord had a heavy Scouse accent and his wife was something like Czech, so it was getting quite cosmopolitan.
Halfway through our meal we were joined by Gerald, a charming chap who was absolutely blotto! It was hard enough to understand the accent without the alcoholic accompaniment. He went on about how he worked on a supply ship to the oil rigs, and how he’d had an argument with a shepherd in the bar and had to come away as he would have struck him. The barmaid asked Gerald not to swear, as he seemed to be doing so with regularity (about every third word). He turned to her and said; “I only said s**t, can’t I even say s**t? Aw s**t, wha’s wrong with you?" At this point Eva, the landlady, came in and told him to leave. Actually she had already told him to leave once, but he must have thought she only meant the bar, because that’s when he joined us in the lounge! He was still there when we finished our meal, so we made our excuses and went up to our room.
When we came down again about half an hour later, he was back in the bar, apparently now the best of friends with the shepherd. We sat at the bar and Laura came in and joined us. She was off duty now and wanted to see the pictures on Colin's camera. She told us she was going back to Essex for a long weekend to see her boyfriend (who was, in her own words, ‘a babe'). We asked why she didn’t get a local boyfriend, as it would be easier. With a nod towards Gerald she said; “because they all end up like him”. Later on we heard Gerald had been arrested at his home for assaulting his wife.
That evening was an education. We got to ‘ken Lyn’.
Lyn was an almost permanent feature of the bar. Lyn was the man! He had been everywhere (locally) and everyone ‘kenned’ him, and now we did too! He was already well on the way when we went in (about 7:30pm) and, although lucid, was quite slurred. This didn’t seem to affect his powers of recall though, and we spent a lot of the night in his company and he told us a lot about the way ahead, and how he had walked most of it as a lad.
Sometime during the evening, about 9:30 I think, the old shepherd who had been threatened by Gerald earlier on, started to get a little abusive to the landlord, Lester. To the uninitiated (i.e. us) it sounded quite serious but Lester just took it in his stride, saying things like; “you know you love me really” when things like his parentage were questioned. The shepherd even tried to remove his coat at one stage, but only proceeded to almost knock another chap's drink over, who then said: “If ye knock that over, I’ll drop ye where ye stand”. The old shepherd stood, looked, wobbled a bit, put his coat back on and walked unsteadily out, with Lester calling after him; “goodnight, see you tomorrow”.
The rest of the evening went quietly, with Lyn telling us to tell everyone from here to Cockburnspath that we ‘kenned Lyn from Dalry’. This statement would act like a good luck talisman and we could go our way in peace and safety.
At the end of the night, Lyn stood up to go. He was very unsteady on his feet, and we expressed some concern. I was even prepared to see him home but Lester said he managed quite well every night. I asked Lyn how far away he lived and with his sense of humour still intact, he replied: “Normally about a hundred yards, but tonight it’ll be more like three hundred! “

Tuesday April 28th. 543,789 - 639,917 (Stroanpatrick) 16 Miles (Approx.).

We had a comfortable night and breakfast was a short, sharp affair, which was over in 20 minutes. I would have loved a bit of extra toast, but none was forthcoming. Whereas at Jan & Paul’s we were struggling to get away for half past nine, here we were kicking our heels at 8:40 waiting for our lift. What happens today is that we are taken back to where we were picked up yesterday, and dropped off. We then walk to the hotel and are supposed to have lunch, then we are taken forwards about eight miles and walk back to the hotel again for our second night. We had been to a local shop and bought packed lunch stuff, so we would have it ‘out on the trail’.
It was another lovely morning as we booted up outside the Lochinvar hotel and walked around to the car. Lester was hard at work today, so his driver, Mick, gave us a lift. It was comparative luxury to recline in the leather interior of his car. It didn’t take long to get to the ‘drop zone’, even though Mick took us the pretty route, and we started walking at 9:20.
We were surprised that it took a bit of getting into this morning, even though we were carrying light packs. Our legs were still a bit stiff from yesterday.
At the top of a climb, I got my binoculars out to look for deer.

Colin: “Any deer?”
Me: “No, deer”
Colin: “Oh dear.”

At about 10:15 we reached a small clump of rocks. This was an unusual and welcome extra feature, and we used it to good purpose for photos
Today was again very remote. A lot of the walking was on forest trails, and consequently hard on the feet. We hadn’t seen a soul again so far today, even though it was a perfect day for walking. At the top of a climb we came to an old farm building which was being done up in earnest. Although miles from anywhere, it had a commanding view of the surrounding land. We peeped through the curtainless windows to see the progress. It all looked very civilised, more so than when it was a working farm, I’ll wager. At the bottom of the valley there is a large farm that displays the ‘walkers welcome’ sign. It’s at grid ref. 567,822. We reached here at 11:10am.
11:30am arrived, and the sky clouded over a little. It went cooler, but still not too cool for shorts and tee shirt. We plodded along Tarmac once again for what seemed ages. When it did eventually swing left off the road, we crossed a burn and into a soft field. It would have been nice if the walk had followed this burn more, as there were bluebells all around and marsh marigolds in abundance. We took pictures and rested awhile before moving onward. There was a lone cow in this field, and I think it must have had some recent and disagreeable contact with humans, as it was decidedly skittish. We tried to walk slowly so as not to spook it, but it ran like a crazy thing, (luckily away from us)! We skirted the edge of the field, at which it then whizzed past us and galloped to the far end of the field where we had come from.
We climbed waterside hill and decided this was lunch. We ate, and watched the antics of some crows harrying a buzzard. He toyed with them awhile before soaring off lazily to join his mate and catch the thermals. We watched them diminish to dots before tackling the final uphill bit.
At the top of waterside hill we could see Dalry and the Water of Ken. I kenned it was the Ken, because I looked at the map! There are fine views all around from the top, and we spent time appreciating them.
We dropped down, reaching the power generating plant at the foot of the hill. We crossed the road and skirted a very stony field on the last bit before we reached the hotel. We entered Dalry by a long suspension footbridge.
We walked into the hotel bar, and who should be sitting there but Lyn. I greeted him with a big smile and a cheery ‘hello’. He just looked puzzled and said; “do I ken ye?" I told him he should, as we had spent most of the previous evening with him. He looked a bit thoughtful, before saying........"Oh aye!”

We showed him some of the pictures Colin had taken that day with his digital camera. Lyn put his hand in his pocket and took out a pair of glasses. I have never seen a pair of glasses like them before. The hinges seemed to bend in all directions, and a sober man would have struggled to put them on. When he finally managed to balance them on his nose, he looked like some demented snooker player, and he wondered why he couldn’t see. I leaned over and gently tilted them until they were right, and his face lit up as he could suddenly see the photo in front of him.
We had a pint of cool shandy and a rest. Apparently it was Lyn's birthday tomorrow, and the barmaid, obviously a friend of his, was saying he could have no more to drink. It was an education hearing Lyn trying to get one though. He was still trying when we left.
We asked how old Lyn would be tomorrow, and to our utter surprise, were told 58. Poor old Lyn, he looked all of 78! And I thought things were preserved by alcohol.
We were taken out to Stroanpatrick and dropped off. We started to walk back to the hotel at 3:00pm on yet another glorious afternoon in a part of the world that was so well known for its rain.
As we climbed the hill in front of us, we kept looking back (which was, paradoxically, really forward) towards some hills with a wind farm on the top. There is a lot of controversy over these things, but I’m not too bothered about them. I still think they look nicer than pylons and they are cleaner too, so as long as they’re not everywhere, I don’t mind them.
The sound of the jets accompanied us again today, and it was fun watching them screaming along the valley floor. They seemed to come for about ten minutes, then give it a rest for about 3/4 of an hour. I still hadn’t been quick enough to get a photo of one.
As we crested the hill, we could see a strip of Tarmac in the valley, and we knew that’s where we were headed.
We passed a signed turn to the youth hostel, but as it went downhill, I didn’t think it would seem very inviting at the end of a days walk. It was, however, set in some lovely countryside, and today it looked as lovely as ever. There was a rather unattractive bridge, from which there was a very attractive view. We stood and admired it, realising how lucky we were to be here, but with no one except ourselves to share it with. We had a cool breeze to keep us company, and the sound of Curlews and lambs was everywhere. At Earlstoun burn, it was even better. I took yet another photo, if only because the sky looked better than I had ever seen it before with huge cumulus clouds and azure blue backing.
We eventually reached the outskirts of Dalry at about 6:00pm. It was a lovely evening. The air was still warm, and we sauntered down the main street towards the hotel.
We got bathed and dressed and went down for a meal. We later went to the bar, where it was much more subdued by last nights standards. Lyn was not in, as he had gone somewhere else to celebrate his birthday. We met and chatted to a couple who were Scottish (him) and Canadian (her). They were very interesting, and most of the people in the bar joined in with the conversation from time to time. Colin went to bed at about midnight, and I was to follow shortly (but you know how it is when you get talking)!

Wednesday April 29th. Stroanpatrick to Sanquhar - 17.5 miles.

At breakfast the next morning, Colin asked what time I’d come to bed. I estimated about half past twelve. Lester let the cat out of the bag when he revealed it was nearer two in the morning. No wonder I felt a bit tired! What was worse, today we were making for Sanquhar, and it was probably the hardest day on the walk.
Breakfast was again a bit short and sharp, and we were ready for the off in no time. Lester dropped us off at Stroanpatrick, the point where we re-joined the walk. We said our goodbyes and set off at 9:00am on a pleasant, bright and cool morning. The cost of all the running around was £25. This cost was the same no matter how many of you were in the car. I thought it seemed quite fair, even cheap if there had been four of us. The service, however, is only available to hotel residents.
By 10:30am the day had become positively summery and very warm. Not to be caught out, we stopped and liberally applied sun block. As we sat doing this, we spotted our first person of the day - a shepherd on a quad bike. We didn’t see him to talk to, but we still felt he counted as a person. Ahead of us we could see lots of hills and, upon further scrutiny with the binoculars, they all had waymark posts up them!
As usual, we were surrounded by sheep. There were literally millions of the things. Today, however, we took more interest in them than usual as we had a secret weapon. Last night the old shepherd had taught us to speak ‘sheep-ese’, and we now knew what things like ‘come by’ and ‘away to me’ meant. We flexed our multilingual muscles on a few of the surrounding sheep, but they must have misheard us and thought we’d said ‘carry on munching’.
We were plodding a little this morning. It is all a steady uphill from the word go today, and we could feel it. We took the climb up Manquill hill in our stride, which was followed by a short downhill section. However, the view forward lets you know this is a brief respite. The big pull up to the top of Ben Brack stares you in the face. It was now 10:45am, beautifully sunny, with a light breeze and high cumulus clouds- perfect for walking. Today was more like I expected upland walking to be - up! Although we were not on a track, the path underfoot was definitely laid for the purpose. It was hard and rocky, as if someone had come along here with a big lorry load of stones and steadily dropped them behind as they went along. It was very easy on the eye around us, with evidence of deciduous planting as well as broken patterns in the pine plantations.
We touched the trig’ point on Ben Brack at 12:00 o’clock exactly. Unfortunately, it was a little hazy on the horizon so not very good for photos. Still, it was great to see it with our own eyes, as they were better than any camera. The top of Ben Brack is a bit ‘plateau-ish’, so you don’t see anything close by, but there are good distance views.

Day six - still no haggis or pipers!
We left Ben Brack in our wake and walked along a gentle ridge to Mid hill. The G.P.S. again proved its worth, as I thought we were on Cairn hill. That was the next hill, and we were soon up it.
We stopped for lunch at the side of High Countham. We unwrapped the rolls we had ordered from the shop in Dalry. These were my kind of rolls, with really thick fillings - very good value for money. We topped them up with Scotch pie, which was filled with mutton, something I never see at home. I ‘mutton’ forget to tell my wife to get some!

The temperature was now about sixteen degrees so we re-applied the sun block before pressing on for Allen’s cairn. As we stood up, I took a couple of paces forward and was startled witless (spelling mistake) by a spaniel suddenly barking madly. Luckily he was on the opposite side of the fence to us. I didn’t realise he was accompanied until, as we got a little further, we could see a bloke asleep on the grass behind the wall. I studied him for a while through the binoc’s, as I wanted to make sure he was asleep. Satisfied, we continued, amazed that he couldn’t even be bothered to greet us as we passed.
Soon the path turned into a forest again. I couldn’t reconcile the path to the instructions and, even with a fix from the G.P.S., I wasn’t sure which of the two forks in front of us to take. After a long discussion, we took the left one, only to find the right one re-joined us fifty yards further on!
After leaving the forest we joined a quiet road for our next dose of Tarmac. There were a few cottages strung along here, and we saw people in the gardens (well, person). We did actually meet someone to talk to, and he was tending to a poorly sheep in a pen (at least, that’s what he said he was doing).
The views forward turned into massive, open views of rolling hills and valleys. The walking was tough here, but extremely rewarding. There are a few good climbs, about four in all, before you start the descent to Sanquhar. You do see a town, which you imagine to be Sanquhar, but it’s not. We reached the top of the hill at 5:30, and from here you really could see the town of Sanquhar. We dropped steadily, enjoying using a different set of muscles, and crossed a foot bridge. Colin spotted a rabbit, and was so determined I should see it, that we spent about ten minutes with him trying to point it out. I did eventually spot this master of camouflage, and felt vindicated to carry on.
The sky had clouded over and it started to spit with rain. We decided to get the waterproofs on, and so stopped once again. By the time we started off, it was raining quite steadily. Although it only rained for a few minutes, it was the right decision as we got quite wet. It was twenty to seven, and the skies were growing more and more angry as time passed. As we dropped down to the outskirts of Sanquhar, the sky all around was black and it looked like it was raining everywhere but where we were. We hurried on, with thunder now rolling loudly, and lightning flashing across the surrounding hills. As we crossed the bridge over the river, the heavens opened. We scurried to the nearest shelter, which was one of the information boards. They have a small roof for, I would imagine, just such an occasion. We sat on the bench looking out as the rain clattered and poured off the small roof over our heads. So near, and yet so far. Sanquhar was only a stones' throw from where we were but, if we’d tried to get there, we would have been drowned! We observed the sky. Although it was still lashing down, the edge of the huge black cloud was clearly visible and I said to Colin;:“If we wait here five more minutes, I reckon it’ll stop”. We watched as the edge of the cloud slowly came towards us and, when it reached above us, the rain stopped. We made our dash for the town in dry but heavy air. Not realising exactly where the B&B was, we asked a van driver. He directed us, saying; “go to the top of the street, turn right, and the McDowall place is just next to the derelict red building”. So this was why it was only £12 per night. I shot Colin one of my ‘what have you got us in to’ looks, but said nothing. We reached Penhurst, our B&B for tonight, at about seven thirty. We were welcomed in by Andy McDowall and shown to our room. The room was lovely, large, and the beds were comfortable. Colin went for a shower, and I was just looking forward to my turn when BANG! There was a bright flash of lightning and all the lights went out. They did come on briefly, but went out again, so we utilised our little Maglite torches. We discovered that if you completely unscrew the head of them, they are just like an electric candle. Andy said we could try the local pub for a meal, or bring a take-away back, if we wanted. We decided to try the pub and set off, as it had stopped raining by now. Unfortunately the pub couldn’t serve anything, as the tills were electrically operated. When asked if we could have a drink, we were told; “only if you’ve got the right money”. I was just considering the chances of anyone having the right money for about four rounds of drinks, when we decided to leave it and went out. Alarms were going off all over the place, and the police were out checking to see it was only power failure. We considered our options and finally settled on a Chinese meal. They were cooking by candlelight and, while I waited for the food, Colin fetched some beer from the local shop. I say local, he was gone ages and when he returned I asked him why he’d been so long. Someone had told him the shop was ‘just down the road’, when it was really about 3/4 of a mile away. He also said that the end of town had got lights. Our end still hadn’t, so we made our way back to Penhurst.
We must have made two sad figures, sitting there in the conservatory with our little electric candles, eating from our silver foil cartons. Just as things were hitting a lull, in came Mary McDowall and things looked up. Now here is my kind of lady. Always laughing, good sense of humour, easy to talk to - what more can you ask for. While we were talking I heard a noise and, from the darkness of the hall passage, Andy appeared wearing one of those ‘old men’ masks. He was quite surprised that we didn’t jump as much as expected, but the bad news is, Andy, with the mask on you didn’t look much different to when you had it off!!! (Except, maybe you had more hair).
We all sat and chatted for a while, and Mary regaled us with many stories of people she’d had in her B&B (a bit like one of those cab drivers - “you’ll never guess who I had in my B&B last night....”). She was even hoping for Princess Anne to stay, as it was Sanquhar's 400th year celebrations. We had noticed all the flags up in the street, but just thought it was Mary’s welcome for us! She did actually have ‘Mr Karrimor’, of outdoor gear fame (who she tried to get a free tee shirt off), and a Concorde pilot (who she tried to get a flight off) to stay, but so far Buck House were holding out (probably worried that Mary would try to get something a bit more substantial out of Her Royal Highness, like a knighthood for Andy). Her biggest challenge lay ahead, as now we had stayed, and she was going to try and get the £12 off us!
Time passed and it was obvious the electricity wasn’t coming on again so, as we were tired, at about 10:30pm Colin and I said goodnight. We made sure to turn the light switches to ‘off’ as it was ‘sods law’ that the electricity would come on in the early hours of the morning!

Thursday April 30th. Sanquhar to Wanlockhead - 8.5 miles.

The next morning we could see our surroundings. All the flags were fluttering in the breeze and the house opposite, although the roof had fallen in and it was unoccupied, was decorated with paintings. The scenes all depicted Sanquhar over the years. We took photos from our window and went down for breakfast.
The conservatory looked a lot better with some light in it, and Colin and I were treated to one of the tastiest breakfasts and another chat with the lovely Mary. I must admit, the chat got a bit cheeky but Mary has this trick whereby she hits any wayward guest with a tea towel. The only time, she says, that she’s had to go any further was with one guest who was staying with her for a longish period, and came down one morning looking a bit depressed. When Mary enquired what was wrong, he said; “no money, no drink, no sex”, Mary thought about it and hit him with a bath towel!
We packed everything away and went downstairs to say goodbye to Mary and Andy. I really wish we were staying here longer but go we must. We had a lot of giggles outside. We were taking pictures and I stood with my arm around Mary’s shoulders and, as Colin framed the photo, said: ”This is Mary -£12 a night and worth every penny, the bed and breakfast’s not bad either!”, (followed by a loud THWACK as a tea towel hit me). We waved goodbye with Mary chuckling as we left. She said that she had seen two friends last night who were policemen, and she was going to get them to arrest us for being cheeky about her B&B. especially as, when I came to pay the bill, I asked how much we owed her and, when she said £12 each, I asked for discount because of the power cut! Just a tip for if you should stay at Mary’s place. Make sure you order an evening meal, it’s only £4, and if the breakfast is anything to go by, you can’t go wrong.
It was about five to ten when we started walking. We ambled down the street, in no rush today, as it was a sort of rest day - only 8.5 miles and all day to do it in. We visited a local shop to get something for lunch. I don’t know what it is about Sanquhar, but everything seems so cheap. We got filled rolls for next to nothing, and cake to go with it. As we were waiting for our order, the shop door opened, and two burly policemen walked in. I burst out laughing and said; “ ‘ello, ‘ello, ’ello, - has Mary sent you?” They just looked sternly at me, and the laugh was on me as they had only come in for something to eat, the same as us. I explained about Mary and they saw the funny side of it. I thought she had set us up for our cheek, but it was just a coincidence.
After the flat walk along the main street we left Sanquhar by, you’ve guessed it, a hill. The track went steeply up the valley side. It wasn’t long, though, before we were walking along a flat, grassy track. The curlews were again singing their heads off this morning and it was lovely to hear them. The sun was out and there was a stiff breeze. It was cool but comfortable to walk in. We could see hills ahead, - hills that we would probably be crossing to get to Wanlockhead.
At about 11:00am it did cloud over quite suddenly, and we expected it to rain but, although the wind got up quite strongly, it stayed dry. I did have to change into a windproof jacket though, because as we gained height, the temperature fell and the wind chill became too much for just a fleece.
We reached a point where there is a choice of which way to go. A woodland route (alternative), or hill route (official). We chose the official route, as we had seen enough trees. Just over the stile there is an old ruin. We agreed it had ‘lunch’ written all over it, so went to sit in its shelter. We had just sat down and got the food out when there was a clatter and whoosh, and a large owl flew out of the rafters and into the nearby trees. We decided it may be nesting, so finished lunch quickly and moved on.
As we had dropped down into a valley for lunch, it followed that we now faced a climb. It is a long, steady pull up Highmill Knowe hill. The sky was looking quite threatening, but so far so good. If it did rain, there was no shelter at all here as we were on open ground.
I knew we couldn’t be far from Wanlockhead now, and we caught our first sight of the industrialism of the valley as we topped the ridge. It’s very obvious man has laid his hand on this valley. There are spoil heaps and bits of building shells all over the place. It has been mined heavily over the years, but now relies almost solely on tourism. There are guided tours around the old mine workings, a craft centre, cafe - you know the sort of thing.
By the time we reached the valley floor and crossed a small burn, the sun had returned and it was pleasantly warm again. We stopped for a drink and to finish what food we had left (and, as it was only two o’clock, to use up a little time).
We followed the Tarmac towards the village, which is surprisingly large, and it’s other ‘claim to fame’ is that it’s the highest village in Scotland. We called in at the old cemetery and looked at the gravestones. It seems everyone either died very young, or lived to a ripe old age. There are some very interesting stones, the oldest we could find was 1736, and it’s well worth taking the time to look around.
We reached the centre of the village at about three o’clock. A party was just entering the bowels of the Earth for the last mine tour of the day. We had a quick look in the craft centre and got directions to ‘the old garage’ B&B. My visions of sleeping in the back of a scrap car were pleasantly dispelled by Mrs Williamson, who showed us around and got us settled. She asked us if we would like a meal, but as we had not long eaten, we declined. This was a misunderstanding and what she meant was would we like a meal later. When we had showered and changed and just on our way out, we asked Mrs Williamson what people usually do for a meal. Her exasperated look said it all. “Ah - you meant an evening meal when you asked us earlier on, didn’t you”. Of course she did, but she still offered to whip us up an omelette. We accepted, and it was really nice so no harm done. While we waited, I noticed a video with ‘Southern Upland’ on it and remembered what a couple of people had said about one of the B&B’s showing its guests just such a video. This must be the place and so I started it up. Sure enough it was Jimmy McGregor on the Southern Upland Way. I watched it and noticed it was set to just where we were. The way ahead looked a bit arduous, but our hero Jimmy hardly broke into a sweat, so it couldn’t be that bad - could it? We were to discover the reality of the difference between television walking (i.e. being helicoptered to the best bits and walking a few yards), and the real thing (clambering over hill after hill and getting completely knackered doing so). Still, it gave us an insight of what was to come.
After tea, we set off in search of re-hydration. There is actually an hotel in Wanlockhead, but its got a bit of a dodgy reputation. Sometimes it’s open, and sometimes it’s not. There is also a working men's' club. This was the place to go, we were told, so we set off to find it.
We made a couple of ‘phone calls and, at opening time, (eight o’clock) we sought out the aforementioned club. Not very elegant looking from the outside, we wondered what we were letting ourselves in for, but inside it was quite nice. It was all clad with wood and there was a bar and a grand old-style type ballroom (complete with mirror ball on the ceiling). The walk down was cool in the dying rays of the evening sun, so we were grateful to find a large fire burning in the hearth. The locals were all friendly, as usual, and we spent the evening in pleasant exchanges with them.
The trusty torches lit our way home and we tucked up into our comfortable beds, ready for the long day to follow.

Friday May 1st. Wanlockhead to Beattock - 20 miles.

Awoke this morning to a surprise - there had been a really hard frost and everywhere was white over. The sun was out however, and wherever its rays caressed immediately turned green again. We dressed and went into the breakfast room to await Mrs W’s attentions. It was a cold morning and we discussed what to wear as, even though we were in the highest village, the ‘breakfast hills’ awaited us. I was sticking with the shorts, but would put my fleece on to start with. Colin decided to do the same, as we were quite cool even inside.
After breakfast we made ready, said thank you and goodbye to Mrs Williamson and set off walking at 8:20am. We passed the old dilapidated looking hotel and crossed the now defunct railway line at Wanlockhead station. There was a plaque set up by some rail society, so perhaps they’re trying to re-open it. I would have considered waiting for it, but even if it was re-opening, it was heading in the wrong direction for us. It sort of went along the valley, whereas we always seemed to be heading in the same direction - up!
The Lowther hills beckoned, and we watched the radar station loom ever larger as we steadily approached it. The wind was understandably stronger now we were reaching the heights of the hills. The temperature was five degrees. It was a two-coat job, but a lovelier morning would be hard to order.
We reached the top of the hills at half past nine. For some reason they were dismantling the ‘golf balls’ on the station. One was already gone, with just its platform left, looking like a heli-pad. Colin and I were both using Dictaphones to make notes. He re-played his to listen for what he’d said, and noticed that there was interference on the tape. It was a constant whine and obviously caused by the radar station. I listened on mine, but it wasn’t affected.
As you skirt to the right of the station, the way ahead looks painfully hilly. I have seen this phenomenon before, where you can see a hillside opposite and in it the dotted brown marks going vertically up. This is where a succession of people had put their feet and worn steps into the hillside. This is usually on the steeper slopes. I think that new or contrived ‘ways’ tend to go straight up such hillsides, where an older path or drove road would do the sensible thing and meander.
With the cool wind this morning, eyes and noses were a bit runny. We stood at the top of a hill and paused to get our breath. I blew my nose for the umpteenth time, and Colin stood and said: “It just goes on and on, doesn’t it?" I finished my wipe and explained it was the wind that made your eyes water, which made your nose run. He paused for a few seconds and said: “I meant the view!"
We descended an unbelievably steep slope, which I would imagine is almost impossible to negotiate in wet weather. Each time we came to a downhill, Colin would mutter; “pleasure”. Conversely, when we started the up bits, he would say; “pain”. We started to apply this simple differentiate to lots of things. It had me worried though, when Colin looked at a sheep and said; “pleasure”! He’s been away from home too long.
At about ten thirty, we sat down for elevenses (?). Whilst I was watching the video last night, a hen harrier was shown in close up and its call played. I said to Colin: “I’ll remember that, just in case we see or hear one”. Well, as we sat against the wall in silence, a hen harrier flew right over us, calling as it went. It stayed around long enough to allow scrutiny through the binoculars before winging off. I took a photo of the hills across the valley, and it came to mind that there probably wasn’t anyone on those hills, even though it was a perfect day. They call this ‘the forgotten country’, and it’s sadly true.
At the top of Laght hill, we could see a long way forward. We could also see signs of civilisation - cars with the sun glinting on them, going along what I presumed to be the A74 to the left of where we were. We could also see a range of hills, some of which had snow in the higher cols. I turned and said; “look at those cols, Col”.
As we lost height, the going became much easier with fewer ups and downs. We could see a river, which had many wide meanders. This usually indicates a flat valley floor. The temperature rose as well to about ten degrees. The next thing was we saw a bus! It was weeks since we’d seen a bus. Colin started to ask if I thought there would be a burger bar too! We finally reached the valley road at the side of Over Fingland farm. All around the farm there was a great show of daffodils and narcissi, which had already been and gone at home. Here they were in the full flush of spring.
It was a bit of a shock to the system to come across the busy road, with lorries, cars and the occasional bus tearing along it. We hadn’t seen traffic for days now but the stench was familiar. The road is reached at the side of Trawloss cottage. Its claim to fame is that J.M. Wilson was born here, and he was the nine times ‘one man and his dog' champion. We know this, because we spoke to Mr McMaughan, who lives there now. He farms over three thousand acres here, and he still prefers to use a pony, shunning the ubiquitous quad favoured by so many of his peers. The pony was there, happily munching on hay and looking well. Mr McMaughan was happy to while away half an hour in chat, and we asked him if he kenned Lyn from Dalry. He didn’t, but he did ken the miserable creature who runs the House o’ Hill pub! Did this man’s infamy know no bounds?
Mr M’ asked us some questions about the walk, and asked how far we were walking today. We told him, and it put us in our place a bit when he told us he used to walk to where we were going to get to school every day! He said you didn’t see many fat kids in those days. It was time to move on, so we bade Mr McMaughan goodbye and thanked him for his friendliness. As we trod the short section of road, we were surprised at how many drivers pipped and waved to us (we checked our flies, just in case).
Soon a stile appeared on the right and we left the Tarmac to start the steady climb up into another sea of trees. The day was warm, bright and clear and the views back to the Lowther hills were stunning. Halfway up the climb, a fallen tree presented itself as lunch stop, and as it was about one o’clock, we sat down. This was a perfect position as, due to recent clearance work, we had good views. Apart from the distant hum of traffic in the valley, all we could hear was the bird song and the hornets, on whose main flight path we were apparently sitting. Lunch was a short affair, due mainly to this fact, and we were walking again before we knew it.
The trail rose at an acceptable gradient, and we followed. Another bit of wildlife to tick off was a stoat (or weasel) that ran out in front of us, looked at us, then ran back into the undergrowth.
The path underfoot was hard, being comprised as it was of packed limestone. We followed it through the forest until eventually we emerged onto a Tarmac road. “He was ready for that!", remarked Colin. Looking down I saw the most incredible pile of dog droppings I’ve ever seen. It was curled very artistically, a bit like a fancy ice cream. It would have been funny except that it soon became obvious that someone was coming up to this beautiful spot with the dog and just letting it out here, whilst they sat in the car and ate a snack, throwing the paper out of the window before leaving. The whole area for about fifty square feet was just littered with dog muck and chocolate bar wrappers. The other thing that made this place stand out was the cardboard box we found under a tree. On examination we found it to contain about a hundred girlie magazines! We crammed as many.............I mean we left them where we found them, wondering if some irate wife had found them and dumped them here, and we were just imagining some old farmer coming home and asking his wife where his books were, to receive the reply; “in the forest - get looking”!
We walked on, and soon saw what must be the place where the litter culprit lived, a row of cottages for the Daer reservoir workers. I suggest that someone set up a camera, find the litterer and immediately sack him, re-house him in Glasgow and say; “there you are, drop your litter and dog mess here, there are street cleaners to pick it up”. Some people don’t deserve to live in the countryside, and whoever was doing this was one of them.
The path left the road and started to climb steadily along the side of the valley towards the reservoir. We lost sight of it as we skirted behind a wood but, on crossing a stile, got the most spectacular view of the glistening expanse water. It really is most aesthetic, surrounded as it is by hills, and with the sun shining on its surface. We decided we needed to look at it for longer than a glance, so parked ourselves and had a bite to eat. I had noticed that the path, after crossing the stile, went directly up the hillside behind us. Neither of us was in any hurry to tackle this lung buster, not least because it was warmer now than it had been the whole walk. We were drinking far more and losing considerably more sweat. Although we had brought ‘extra rations’ of water, this walk should be treated with respect, as there are seldom places where you can get water should you run out and the streams do not look very inviting. It reminded me of one chap who wrote to me prior to my leaving, telling me of his experience. He became seriously dehydrated one day after walking in a heat wave, and had to ring his B&B to get picked up. When he got in, he just went upstairs and collapsed. The landlady was so worried about him that she went up to his room to check if he was ok. She knocked and went in to find him almost comatose. He apologised for arriving in such a state, to which the landlady replied: “Och, it’s all right.................. .Everybody does!!!”
We stood up to face the rigours ahead. The sky was a completely unblemished sea of blue and, as we climbed higher towards the ridge above us, a welcome cooling breeze appeared. The going underfoot was springy, cool grass. After the forest tracks and Tarmac, I seriously felt like taking off my boots and walking barefoot in it. Halfway up the hill, a bird fluttered out from almost under my feet and flew off in a great act of faked injury. Colin said: “What’s up with that?" I looked down and there was the answer, a nest with eggs in. The bird adopted this act so any predator would chase it and leave the nest. When at a safe distance, the bird would just fly off, leaving the bewildered hunter behind.
At a quarter past three we finally crested the ridge and the view was really rewarding. A brand new vista of upland opened to us and, on a day like today, we could see it in all its glory. These hills we were seeing now were higher than any previous ones, and some even had snow in the corries. It reminded me of the West Highland way, where you see lots of this sort of view. We stood and drank it all in. The feeling you get on a day like this is indescribable. I even forget the euphoria myself and, even though I read back my diaries, that magic is never recaptured exactly and further visits are compulsory for a ‘top-up’ of one's senses. It’s the same with photo, they never quite give you that buzz of actually being there, but that hadn’t stopped me from taking over 200 so far!
We carried on among the loveliness of it all. The ridge was very undulating, and the old legs were beginning to feel it now, as we had been walking for about seven plus hours. As we approached the day we were to start this walk, reports on T.V. said that April had been the wettest on record, and it wasn’t over yet, but here we were, over halfway through the walk and had the most tremendous weather anyone could ever hope for.
Although we had already eaten our packed lunches, we were beginning to feel hungry again. We decided to sit and eat our emergency bananas and flapjack to keep up the energy levels. I wondered what the difference was between ordinary food and ‘emergency’ food. Things like Kendal mint cake are always in the ‘emergency’ class, whereas certain items, i.e. chocolate, are sort of ‘ambi-class’ and can slip from a treat to ‘emergency’ at the drop of a hat. As I didn’t have any mint cake, I decided to elevate my humble banana from simply ‘spare’ to the title of ‘emergency’.
At about 4:00pm we were feeling quite foot sore. I spotted a small burn at the side of the track and, after a quick management meeting, all were in favour of a dip. It wasn’t very deep but a small engineering feat soon produced a dam and about eight inches of cool, refreshing water. We sat wiggling our toes, feet feeling better by the twiddle, and reflecting that there just weren’t enough of these burns on this walk. They were usually of the dark, dank variety, but this one was quite sparkling and clear. We wiggled away for about half an hour before, rejuvenated, we continued.
Some time later, at map reference 031,053, we crossed a track and saw a sign, which said ‘Ramblers Rest - Rivox’. This is a B&B place, I don’t know the ‘phone number, but it may help someone to know it’s here.
The next place we came to was strangely out of place. It reminded me of a man made nature reserve, looking as it did like a little Garden of Eden. It really does look strange when you come out of forestry to be confronted by this little oasis. Even the path underfoot is more pleasant here. I would imagine it’s alive with midges later on in the summer, but now it was quite idyllic.
Soon after the oasis in Moffat forest, we again joined the Tarmac. There is not much of a verge here, so you have no choice but to put sore feet to the firm surface. The walk down into Beattock can only be described as unpleasant. The view comprises mainly of a huge quarry and road works. The noise is all rail, cars and plant and the only word to describe this place is a dump. Seldom have I had a more unpleasant end to a day's walk.
We reached the Barnhill Springs guest house, which is about two miles outside Beattock, at about 7:30pm. We were made very welcome by Mr & Mrs Gray and shown our room. We had a bathroom all to ourselves just across the hallway, and proceeded to make good use of it. When we were ready, we could probably have done with a night in as we were both a bit bushed, but the only action was in Beattock itself and Mr Gray offered to run us in there, which we gratefully accepted.
Beattock was a strangely busy place. Very busy, in fact. All the pubs and eating-places seemed full, so we decided, wrongly as it happened, that the quickest solution to our hunger would be the fish and chip shop. We went in and it soon became patently obvious that they were frying to order, i.e. they took your order as you walked in and then proceeded to do it. Nothing at all was already done and this meant that, as we were about eighth in the queue, we were in there for almost three-quarters of an hour. We stood in the queue transferring weight from one sore foot to the other, all the time wishing we had done something else other than this. When we did eventually get served, the food was definitely not worth the wait but, hey, it was the only fish and chip shop in town.
After we had eaten we went to the late shop and bought supplies for the following day. We then had a quick pint and decided to go back to Barnhill. As it wasn’t even ten o’clock, we thought we would have no trouble getting a taxi but we were told that 10:45 was the first we could get. (Hey, it was the only taxi firm in town). In desperation I rang Mrs Gray who very kindly came and fetched us. I felt awful asking her, but we were so tired I don’t think we could have lasted until 10:45.
We didn’t take any rocking that night, and morning soon came. We were both very lethargic and I’m sure would have had a real late lie-in if we could have. However, breakfast and the next 21 miles beckoned so we had no choice but to get ‘up and at ‘em’

Saturday May 2nd. Beattock to St Mary’s Loch - 21 Miles.

Breakfast was served up by Mr Gray. We thanked him profusely for the lifts last night, but he wouldn’t accept any payment. The breakfast was just what we needed to set us up for the day and Mrs Gray even buttered our rolls for us. After our meal, we ‘packed and sacked’ and started walking at an early 8:15am on a bright, warm and sunny morning. After a short Tarmac section, the path climbs up the side of a grassy hill.
The instructions described a ‘handsome house’ next, and very handsome it is too. After this the path threads through a really lovely deciduous wood, full of bluebells and bird song. Along with the weather, the mood was set fair for the day. We left the wood and joined the river and walked through the meadows that skirt along it. This was what I would think was ideal Kingfisher country, so I kept my eyes peeled for the elusive native.
By nine o’clock the sky became unexpectedly overcast and covered the sun. So long as the rain kept off we weren’t complaining, as it was too warm in the strong sunshine. Now, however, it was perfect for walking. Although we didn’t see a Kingfisher, we did spot a red squirrel. He hopped across the track in front of us, picked something up and then shot up a tree. This was a good excuse to pause and recover from the long climb up into the forest.
Right in the middle of what seemed like endless forest, there was a cottage. It was called Hope cottage. By its remoteness I’d say it was neighbours they were hoping for! We passed it and continued on the climb, which had now lasted for almost two hours. It’s hard going with a big pack on and stuffy and enclosed by the nearness of the tress. Again, today was devoid of people and this part of the walk seemed even more remote than ever. We saw a deer on the track in front of us and even managed to get a photo before it ran off. There were many deer tracks on the trail, and we expected to see more of them as we went on.
The valley sides closed steeply around us and we pressed on and up the trail. We saw at least two more deer before we reached Craig Mitchen scar, which is where we had elevenses. It is a really peaceful spot and we must have looked like gnomes, sitting as we were, Colin on one side of the stile, and me perched on the other side. All was quiet except for a song thrush singing away in the trees somewhere. We got a sort of protected feel because the sides of the valley rose very steeply and were close to us, sort of cosseting us as we ate.
We followed the steadily but acceptably rising path. Just as we were getting into our stride, we saw a way marker sticking up on the side of a very steep hill in front of us - PAIN!
We were heading towards lunch now. We were planning to investigate yet another bothy. The path had become a twin-rutted track with a strip of soft, comfortable grass down the middle. As we plodded along, I noticed the strangest thing - the stream had changed direction and was now flowing with us instead of going in the opposite direction! A glance at my notes confirmed that we had just crossed the watershed, and all streams etc. would now flow in an Eastward direction along with us.
The weather had stayed overcast and cool, with not enough light for good photo for my liking, but I mustn’t complain as it was absolutely perfect for walking, which is what we came here to do, after all.
We soon reached Over Phawthorpe bothy, which our ‘hero’ Jimmy McGregor had also graced with his company, and went inside for a rest and something to eat. This place is a real home from home. You can feel the loving touches of the various hands that have made it the neat and tidy place it is. There are pictures and maps on the wall, brochures to read, spare food, arm chairs (I kid you not), romantic candles in bottles, pots and pans to cook in on the wood stove (wood provided). There is even a ‘bridal suite’, which is a small room with two bunks in it. The main sleeping accommodation is, as usual, a platform. High in the corner of the ‘bedroom’, there is a shelf and I would love to have put a small portable T.V. on it, just for a laugh! We ate lunch whilst reading the comments in the ubiquitous bothy book, and added some comments of our own. As usual, there were the ‘nutter’ comments, ranting on about wanting freedom for Scotland, and how young Scots were being trained up in mountain bothies all over the country, ready for ‘action’. What were they going to do with all these fit young things now that Scotland was ‘free’, with their own Parliament in the pipeline, and all?
It was after lunch and, as we left the bothy, we saw our first people of the day. It was a couple and their two children out for a stroll from their car, parked further down the valley, I presume. They had no packs and were just going into the bothy as we left. The thermometer was showing eight degrees, the sun had disappeared and the wind was noticeably more bitter than when we had gone in to the bothy. This was really what we wanted, as we needed to put some miles behind us and would be generating some heat for the next few hours. Top speed was facilitated by again walking on a Tarmac road. It was a quiet road, which ran along the valley floor. The river ran alongside so, apart from the hard surface, it was idyllic. The surrounding ridges also looked lovely and I couldn’t help thinking that the walk would have been far better running along the top of one of them. There were farms dotted along the valley, and we saw several farmers going about their sheepy business. We also saw a lady coming out of what she told us was a holiday cottage that she owned. This was a real get-away-from-it-all place, and I could easily see myself here for a week, exploring the ridges at my leisure.
The lure of the water to my right became too much and, although we were trying to press on, I flexed my leader's muscles and overruled Colin and stopped for a paddle. The water, as expected, was freezing cold but deliciously reviving to aching, hot feet. If you’ve never done this simple thing, you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s almost orgasmic to slowly master the overwhelming desire to pull your tootsies from the cold, caressing liquid but the longer you can leave them in, the more therapeutic it becomes. I can only relate it to full skinny-dipping in its appeal, except even I wouldn’t skinny-dip in water of this temperature! (I did skinny-dip the sea at 7:00pm on November the first once, in Pembrokeshire. Mind you, it was a really balmy evening and the sea was flat calm.)
Too soon the pleasure was ended and we set off along the road again. In the late section of the road walking, the burn on the right has a change of bed, and it struggled this way and that, trying to work its way between the hard limestone. It looks very pretty and sounds even better as it gurgles and splashes over the obstacles, trying to find a deep section to rest in. At about 3pm, a welcome sign appeared, pointing us into the fields on the left. Granted, the path did go straight up, but at least it was soft underfoot. A glance at the map told me we should reach Tibbie Shiels at about 6pm.
We grunted up to the top of the climb, where there was a confluence of walls. I decided a call of nature was needed, and Colin walked on while I attended to business. Halfway through, I heard the sound of a woman’s voice. I panicked and ended proceedings prematurely. When I turned around, Colin was talking to a couple. I sheepishly apologised, but they smiled and were very diplomatic.

Sods law concerning going to the toilet.

Going to the toilet, no matter how remote the situation, is always just preceded by the arrival of another human being, usually of the opposite sex.

These were the first people we had seen on the path all day and we chatted about our various experiences. The woman admired our spirit, but said that they were; “just fair weather walkers”. Without a moment's hesitation, Colin turned around and said: “Right, I’ll come with you, then!"
The rising path up the gully was a pleasure to follow. The gradient was far more acceptable now, and the rolling hills and blue sky made it all the more pleasurable. We could see evidence of old gold mine workings on the other side. They must be worked out now though, or there would have been a craft shop nearby.
We finally crested the ridge and started on the long path down, which had now turned from an alpine style grassy path, to a hard limestone track. We caught a glimpse of Loch of the Lows, and of course thought it was St Mary’s loch. It soon became apparent that we had been premature, as the real thing came into view. As usual, we could see our goal, but the path down to it was tortuously long and seemed never ending when you want a rest and a pint. Another factor was that the sky had darkened and we were feeling spits of rain. We did get a two minute shower, which had us thinking about getting the coats on, but it cleared and held off until we had reached the Tibbie Shiels inn, the most charming looking place perched on the side of the loch, at 5:35pm. As we entered its welcoming portals, the rain started to beat down. I can’t believe the luck we are having on this trip, regarding the rain.
We settled in to the lovely room. It was a bit expensive by the usual standards but, given its position, that was acceptable. We did some washing, as we noticed there was a drying cupboard and we were about out of fresh stuff to wear. Colin told me that all his pants can be worn four times. I wondered how he managed this, until he told me; Front to back, back to front, then inside out gives you two more wears! I went to the cupboard, which was right by the front door, and put four shirts and our boots in it. I noticed the cupboard had a lock and, as I reckoned there was about four hundred pounds worth of gear in there, was surprised when the landlady looked at me as though I had two heads when I asked for the key. She told me I was the first person to ask for the key in six years but, as Colin said, if it had been unlocked and all the stuff went, that was our problem. If it was locked and it went, it became theirs and we’ve got a long way to walk yet.
After freshening up in our bijou but comfortable en suite room, we went in to the pub to sample a couple. First there was our ravenous appetite to attend to. The meals here are surprisingly cheap. A mixed grill was on offer for £5:25. Colin ordered the fish, which was the same price. Our verdict? Mine was very nice, cooked and presented well and I thought good value. I have had bigger mixed grills, but not for that price. Colin said his was tasty too, but he thought overpriced for what it was - fish, chips and a bit of salad.
We adjourned to the bar, where we were ‘entertained’ by a couple who had just driven up for a drink from about an hour away, and by Eileen the barmaid, (a Geordie lass who never stops smiling and laughing.) I can’t name the couple, for it transpired that they weren’t married (well, not to each other anyway) and they were on a lovers tryst. Apparently they did this sort of thing all the time.
After a fine evening, all the more enjoyable for no telly or juke box, we went to bed happy men. The next morning broke as if we had ordered it ourselves, and it was probably the best morning so far. There was not a cloud in the big, blue sky, whose perfection was only marred by the white slashes of jet trails. The loch was flat calm and we couldn’t wait to get up and join the day.

Sunday May 3rd. St Mary’s Loch to Traquair - 12 miles.

We sat down to breakfast at 8:30, but it was 9:00am before it came. To be fair, I think the landlord was working on his own, and he was doing a sterling job and, when it did arrive, it earned the accolade of the hottest breakfast I have ever had. The landlord had a real love of the place and, when he’d got time, told us he had been there for ten years, and still looked forward to each day. I really envy people like him who have the privilege of living somewhere like that, and really do appreciate it. It’s a rare quality and folk usually find something to moan about rather than counting their blessings. He was also a bird watcher in his spare time, so this was an even greater heaven for him because of that. I went outside to take some photo in the morning light, and the Tibbie Shiels looked even more perfect. I can recommend the place for many reasons, comfort and position being the top two. Even though everyone seemed busy, they took the time to welcome us and that goes a long way with me. What a difference between here and a place like the House o’ Hill.
We packed and said goodbye. Eileen, the barmaid, said she lived in a remote cottage in the hills, which we would be passing sometime today. She promised us a tea break and we said we’d look out for her. It was comfortably cooler outside. There were a few mountain bikers in the car park, creaking and groaning from the previous day's efforts and trying, like us, to get the old bones mobile again. Colin remarked that it was hard to get the legs going again, to which one replied that it was the their backsides they were worried about, not their legs. “Haven’t you got those jelly-type seats?” I enquired. “No, I’m afraid we’ve got those jelly-type arses”, was the reply.
We started walking late, at about 10:00am. It really was too perfect to describe now. Days like this are for the front page of life’s scrapbook. It makes my skin tingle even now just to think of that morning. We walked along the bank of the loch in the still and tranquil mood of the day. We met and chatted to a girl from London who was rounding some sheep up with a quad bike (get a horse, get a horse). She worked as a nurse, but her family farmed around here and she just comes to unwind every so often. What it must be to just drop the stressful coils of one life and recline into something like this.
We took a lot of photo that morning. Every little corner of the loch demanded it, every little hill thrust its green breast towards us and said “me, me”! There are also some ingenious stiles along this section. Having walked in a lot of places, the style of the stiles always intrigues me. The best idea I have ever seen are the stiles on the Pembrokeshire coast, which have a simple bar at the top with ‘CODWCH’ on it. This means ‘lift’ and allows the walker to simply step through the stile, instead of over it. As you let go of the bar, it automatically falls back into place. The ones here had a similar idea, but more complex and the unwary (i.e. me) could find themselves with trapped fingers.
We crossed a small burn by a wooden bridge and, as we were pausing for yet another photo, heard an unexpected sound - there was an owl hooting nearby. We didn’t see him, but just stood and listened for a while to the haunting call.
At the end of the loch you are jolted back to reality by the ugly concrete structure which, I presume, is something to do with collecting power from the loch overflow. Whatever it is, it sits uncomfortably amongst the beauty around it. We crossed an equally unattractive bridge, noticing how quickly the water below us was flowing. It was ‘captive water'; held in regimental order by the concrete sluice it ran along. Further downstream it was released back into its natural state, and was far more enjoyable company.
After crossing a few fields and the road, we began the steady climb up to the remains of Dryhope tower. We recorded the ruin and crossed a stile to a track. Coming up behind us were the party of jelly-bottomed mountain bikers we had seen this morning. One of their companions was a black Labrador and, as he approached the stile, a large hare, in a seemingly kamikaze move, ran straight towards the dog. I watched as it followed what seemed to be a collision course. At the very last moment the hare shot under the gate at the side of the fence and that’s when the Lab’ noticed it. He perked at the flash of fur and made a dive at it, but the hare was like lightning as it then proceeded to run up our side of the fence, accelerating at an astounding rate. If only I had had my camera to hand, I could have got a super photo of it in full flight.
The next part of the walk is along a path, which is halfway up a ridge side. The sky was blue, but held many large clouds which, from time to time, briefly hid the sun. It was so pleasant here that we decided to take elevenses. At times like this I slip into terminal contentment and have to be forcibly ‘chivvied’ into continuing, as opposed to reclining and falling asleep in the warm sunshine.
We made our way further along the path, which dropped into the gully and across a burn. On the other side of the burn were the remains of Craig Hope tower. It was just a pile of stones really, and I didn’t even take a photo of it. Next to it are a couple of cottages, in one of which lived Eileen, the barmaid from Tibbie Shiels Inn. We had completely forgotten her promise of last night, and were surprised with her greeting of; “ Good afternoon -tea, coffee or water?” As we had only just got up from elevenses, we declined but were more than willing to spend half an hour chatting to her and her husband. We could well afford the luxury of time today, as we had only twelve miles to do and all day to do them in.
After Craig hope, the path winds quite steeply up a track into the forest. Colin remarked that the chap who wrote the guide we were following, and described today as a ‘rest day’ either; A) took the bus. B) Got a lift, or C) took a different route from us.
After a couple of more hills, we crested one and got our first sight of Traquair (or so I thought). What you are actually looking at is Innerleithen. This is quite a large town, and was clearly visible on that bright day. It soon became obvious that this was not our goal, as we saw Traquair house, reputably the oldest house in Scotland, to our left and we knew we were staying somewhere close to this.
The walk down is pleasant and soft underfoot, much like ordinary country walking through the fields. This soon changed as the final couple of miles are on Tarmac. We passed a sign saying ‘Traquair’ and reached a crossroads where the way goes right. It was 3:45pm on a glorious spring afternoon when we plonked down on the seat at the cross-roads and used the (very handy) telephone to ring Mrs Caird for instructions on how to get to her. She wasn’t in, but the answerphone took a message. I gave her the number of the phone box, told her the time I’d rung, and said we were going to await here for further instructions.
While we were waiting, a friendly local engaged us in conversation and told us where Traquair Bank farmhouse (Mrs Cairds’ place) was. It was down the road opposite and, just as we set off to find it, Mrs Jennifer Caird arrived in her car and picked us up.
On arrival we were shown up to our room, which was typically farmhouse (i.e. huge). The view from the window was across the fields to Innerliethen, but a river separated us from it. We went about getting bathed and changed and, while all this was going on, were entertained by piano music. The strange thing was that one minute it was childish ‘plinky-plonk’, and the next it was note-perfect light cavalry music. I thought it must be some child prodigy or something. When we had finished and went down, we discovered two lovely little girls called Danielle and Kimberley. Kimberley, the youngest, revealed all as she pumped the pedals of the pianola, and it played a tune on its own! Whenever she stopped pumping, she gave the keys a tickle and revealed her true talents, ‘plinky-plonk’!
She stopped playing and grabbed my hand. “Come and see the kittens, come and see the kittens” she said excitedly as she led me through the kitchen and into a utility room. There in a cardboard box, were four or five tiny kittens, with mum lying there feeding them. Next I was asked if I would like to feed the lambs later. I said I would and went back to try and find Jennifer to sort out meals, etc.
When I found her, I said; “your daughter’s just been giving me the grand tour”. “Oh, that’s not my daughter, they are guests”. They were on holiday here with their Mum and Grandma, but were so settled in they treated the place like home. Later Colin and I went to feed the lambs. What a smashing experience. The children ran to the edge of the field shouting; “Braaaamble” to the lambs which, to the consternation and loud disagreement from their mothers, came running to be fed bottles. Bramble, as they had named one of the lambs, was obviously the favourite. Mum stood by while the babies hungrily gulped down the offering and when they'd finished they went back to their life in the fields. We also got to see lots of other animals here and there on the farm, and saw the hens, which now roosted in the trees since the fox killed several of their number and, last winter, some of them froze to the branches by their feet when the temperature dropped and couldn’t get free for a couple of days!
Jennifer said she would normally take guests into Innerleithen and fetch them back again, but she had to go and see her Mum in hospital today, so she could only take us in. No problem, we’d get a taxi back. Problem! There is not a taxi service in the town. As it was about a two mile walk back, we decided not to go.
Before she went, Jennifer did us a gigantic evening meal of roast beef and vegetables, plus home made soup and fresh fruit salad, during which she hurriedly disappeared. We spent the evening walking around outside, watching the antics of the hunting bats. In the middle of the lawn was a rather large sit-on mower. We looked at each other with the same idea in mind, and it was all we could do to resist starting it up and going in to Innerleithen on it! I played Ludo with the children but they soon started getting tired and went to bed. Later I sat watching the snooker but I too started flagging so went to bed before it had finished. When I went in the bedroom, Colin was sitting looking out of the window and across the fields to the lights of Innerleithen and the pub. I could hear him sobbing softly as I turned out the light to go to sleep.
In the morning we went down to be greeted by the children, batteries now fully re-charged and up to entertainment speed. To see Danielle trying to get the shell off a boiled egg was an education. Our own breakfast was just like last nights’ meal - huge! Jennifer attended our every whim, she never seems to stop working. While we were eating, we heard a noise outside and noticed the cat climbing up the trellis with what looked like a dead rabbit in its mouth. When she came in, we told Jennifer and she said: “Oh, she’s always bringing me presents like that”. Apparently it leaves them on her bed. One up on the Milk Tray man, I’d say.

Monday May 4th - Traquair to Galashiels. 13 Miles.

We got all packed up and, after a long goodbye with the children trying on our ruck sacks, we set off on the next leg to Galashiels at 9:50. It was so sad to leave, and Kimberley made it even harder as her parting shot was to look up at me sadly with big forlorn eyes and say in that Scottish twang: “Are you not coming back?”. I’d like to think that one day I would.
It was drizzling very slightly and one side of the sky was black, the other bright blue. We were hoping for the latter to accompany us. We left the bluebells in the yard behind, and the cock crowed us off the premises. We walked down the road, past Traquair house again, and followed the sign to re-join the Way - up a track.
At ten past ten the sky cleared and we were treated to more of what we’d been used to. We got some great pictures of the view back, including Innerleithen, from the rising track. We reached, and inspected, Minchmore bothy. It is a purpose built structure of wood, as opposed to a renovated barn or old shepherd's dwelling, and is very neat inside and out. It’s small, with just six bunks and a table. The only thing which concerned me was that it had a bolt on the outside of the door - this could be dangerous as there was no other way out and their were no neighbours to hear you shout if you were ‘accidentally’ locked in.
The climb out from Traquair Bank is long and, depending on your view point and what you’re carrying, hard, tortuous, demanding (we were really going through the book) but the now excellent day took away the pain with its terrific views all around. At the top the trees finish and the views become better and better. It’s so easy to take too many photo, but the best ones were definitely from the top.
At Minch Moor there is an arrow pointing to the very top of a hill. It is supposed to be one of the best viewpoints on the way and, as today was so clear, I was reluctant to pass it. Colin said he wasn’t bothered and would mind the sacks if I wanted to go up. That sounded like a good idea, so I left him reclining on a bank while I, with amazing ease due to my lack of baggage, shot up the steep path to the summit, there to be astounded by the enormity of the panorama. There was a couple at the top but, apart from a perfunctory greeting, they sat and I stood in silence. The perfect 360-degree view, which I stayed to enjoy for about twenty minutes, didn’t need conversation. Someone else arrived, with four dogs (God, Scotland is getting busy) just as I was leaving and, as the people who were already there had got one too, the place suddenly seemed full of dogs. I was soon back down to where Colin was starting to get a little chilled due to his inactivity. We were just about to set off again when, who should come strolling up the hill but Eileen, the barmaid from the Tibbie Shiels Inn, so we re-lived a bit of last night and she made me promise to send her a diary when it was written. As we were talking, the couple whom I’d seen on the top came down. As they walked by, the man asked Colin if I’d mentioned the fish and chip shop on top, or the free beer!
As we pressed on we could see a way ahead that the path split into two. One went up and one went down. We wondered on our destiny but I suppose it was inevitable which path we’d take, after all, it is called the ‘Upland’ way.
The path climbs up to a stile, where it changes from grassy and soft, to stony and hard on the feet. It is like a ridge walk and the views are great, but a lot of the time you spend looking down to make sure you don’t stumble or fall.
At Four Lords’ land the path again mercifully turns to soft grass for the climb up to three impressive cairns, known as the three brethren. We walked alongside a wood to our left, which immediately killed the cool breeze. We soon realised just how strong the sun was today as we slowly baked. We stopped and applied more sun block.
When we reached the Three Brethren, a natural lunch stop, we pulled up a rock and made ourselves comfortable. There was a couple already there, and we took the opportunity to have our photo taken together with the dramatic backdrop, and reciprocated for them. They too were doing the walk, and we swapped tales. They knew of old misery guts from the House o’ Hill, as they had had the misfortune to stay there once. Never again, was the verdict. They left, and we were alone with the Scottish magic. I have no idea who built these cairns, or how long they’ve been here, but whoever did it chose the perfect spot. We were just sitting there, munching and enjoying it all, when a red faced and heavy breathing man, accompanied by a dog, came running up the hill to our right and slumped against one of the other cairns. “It’s a hard pull up, isn’t it?” said I, stating the obvious. “Aye, but it’s good for you”, came the reply. He then proceeded to remove a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and spent the next ten minutes or so pulling on one and coughing loudly. At the end of his fag break, he just got up, said, ‘Cheerio’ and ran off back down the hill. Colin and I looked at each other in wonderment.
After our repast we reluctantly arose and left the sentinels to their guard duty. The path down is steep and stony, but it seemed like the first time we’d gone downwards in days!
At a forest clearing, we saw two more walkers. Today has been the busiest day so far, and we must have seen a dozen other people.
We noticed a ‘set’ of three hills in the distance. These were called ‘The Eildon Hills', and were to dominate the view for the next day or so. They disappeared behind a ridge as we lost height. I could see another high ridge ahead, and commented that they might be the ‘breakfast hills’ for tomorrow. Colin looked and said he thought we might have to do them today. He was right, as we soon found out, and it was a long, steady climb to face in the late afternoon. Before too long though, we were descending towards Galashiels, which we could now see. We stopped, and I rummaged around in Colin's sack for a leaflet we had been sent with a map for the ‘final approach’ to our B&B. “Wow! Listen to this, voted best B&B in Scotland in 1992, 1993. 1993 & 1994 voted best B&B in Europe, and in 1995 came top again!” Colin stood in thought for a moment, then said: “Yeah, then it went to pot, and we’re staying there tonight!”
Nothing could be further from the truth, and Mayfield Bank is yet another jewel in Scotland’s B&B crown. The people are welcoming and cheerful, the room is vast and comfortable and the bathrooms (yes, one each) are the place to relax after a hard day walking. After all this luxuriating, we did a bit of washing and went down to ask Mrs Platt if she could dry it for us. She kindly agreed. She asked how we had been finding the walk, and when Colin commented about his foot and knee problems, she quickly offered to take his pack to Lauder for him the following day. On further discussion we decided to load all the excess stuff into a spare bag, and just carry what we needed for the day. This settled, we sallied forth to the greatest choice of eating out so far.
Galashiels is quite a large town, so we surveyed the possibilities for food and went to a bar to discuss them. We had a couple of pints, and I had a game of pool with a local, who absolutely destroyed me! Chinese came out top of the ‘really fancy’ list, so we left the pub to eat.
The restaurant was quite big, but we were the only customers. We were getting quite accustomed to being on our own, but it seemed odd to be sitting here with more staff than customers! We were tended to hand and foot by the cheerful little waitress. The food was very good but, as usual in these places, the beer was very expensive.

Tuesday May 5th. Galashiels to Lauder-14 miles.

We didn’t take any rocking that night, and the morning soon came. We packed all the spare kit into the large polythene bag, and I was amazed at the weight of it as I struggled to carry it downstairs. I couldn’t believe we were actually lugging this weight on our backs! It’s incredible how a few bits and bobs add up to this sort of load.
Breakfast was served in a lovely room set aside for just this purpose, and I couldn’t fault it. Our washing was dried and neatly folded by Mrs P’ ready for us to pick up. Mr Platt told us he used to be a headmaster in Hawick, but was now ‘retired’ to this life. He showed great interest in Colins’ digital camera, and I think he’s probably got one by now, the way he was enthusing over it!
We took our parting photo and set off walking at 9:20. Of course, this entailed a steep hill, and the surprising thing was that, although we had lightened our packs considerably, we didn’t seem to be feeling a lot of benefit.
We soon left the fields and walked through the industrial outskirts on an old railway bed (Tarmac, of course). The sky was bright, and the sun warm as we walked along the banks of the Dee. There were a few large clouds, but all seemed perfect for now. The thermometer showed 15 degrees so shorts and tee shirt were just the thing today.
The way carries on along the river Dee, but we decided to visit Melrose. We wanted to make a couple of ‘phone calls, and I needed yet more film. I thought twelve rolls would be enough but I do tend to get carried away taking photo. I sometimes wonder if I added up all the time I take on these walks to take all the pictures I do, how much it would all come to. I suppose it would amount to one of those awful trivia facts like, ‘the average person spends three years on the toilet’ or such like.
Melrose is quite a busy, bustling place. There is a really quaint reminder of days gone by in the old fire station. It even had the old siren perched on the roof. It’s not used nowadays, of course, but it is attractive to the visitors.
Whilst in Melrose, the sky darkened and it started to rain. We decided to take refuge in the visitors' centre rather than succumb to the waterproofs. It was ‘manned’ by two lovely, helpful ladies. We chatted and joked with them and, unfortunately, the thing that I remember most was that one of them had quite bad breath. This must be a cardinal sin when you deal with the public. The rain came down quite hard while we were in there, and we counted ourselves lucky, yet again, to have been able to dodge it. When it did eventually stop, we had lost about an hour in total, what with everything we had done, and Melrose was becoming a bit ‘Hotel California’, inasmuch as we didn’t seem to be able to leave! We made the effort, and crossed the very impressive chain footbridge out of the town. There are some very noteworthy structures devoted to feet on this walk. As I looked on this bridge, the one at St John's town of Dalry came back to mind. This one was even grander, and had plates and plaques on it with all the information you need. I always feel that the ordinary bloke is cheated with these plaques. The people that actually get the thing up and safe never get a mention, but some local dignitary turns up with a pair of scissors on the day it’s all finished, and with a quick ‘snip’ becomes immortalised. Poor old Johnny Worker just rolls up his sleeves and starts on the next project.
Just when we thought we’d escaped the gravitational pull of Melrose, we both decided it was time for lunch. I ask you - we were only at Melrose and eating lunch already! It was past twelve o’clock and, had we had any complaints about the packed lunch, it wasn’t too far to go back and complain! No worries on that score, as the lunch was as good as everything else at the Platts’. Two seedy rolls, two pieces of fruit, some cake and a biscuit - all for £2:50. There’s always something relaxing about sitting and eating at the side of running water. I love to do it. You tend to start off sitting upright, but slowly recline into that ‘I’m gonna take some shifting’ posture. The thing that shifted us was rain. It started to spit, but then turned to drizzle as we packed and put on our coats. We walked back up the opposite side of the Dee to what we were on earlier. This was the quieter side, and more wildlife was in evidence as well as lots of wild garlic to sniff at.
The next section I would describe as a bit of a comedown. It was mainly farmland, with such interesting names as ‘Deadwifes Grave’. The views were tame compared to what we’d been used to and we started to realise that the uplands were going, and the coast was coming. The hills were spending themselves on the farmland, much as the waves do on the beach, and we were on the final paddle to the shore. It’s still nice to be out, but I think we’ve been spoilt, as this was a lovely walk by normal standards, it’s just that we found this bit a little boring.
By 2:30pm the rain had gone and it was sunny again. The wind got up considerably, which I always enjoy, and I felt better for it’s efforts.
We met the same couple we had seen at the Three Brethren, and learnt they too were staying in Lauder tonight. We arranged to meet up with them before pressing on. We could soon see Lauder and, at about 4:15, we entered the outskirts. Although we had messed about a lot today, it seemed we were here a lot earlier than expected. We actually entered the place at the opposite end to where our digs were (see ‘sods law concerning digs’ - West Highland Way diary) so we got chance to see the entire village, earmark the pubs etc.
We reached ‘The Grange’ at about 4:25 and met Peter & Tricia Harris. As our boots were a bit muddy, we took them off at the door. As I removed mine, I had to tread ‘sock-footed’ on the gravel path - BLISS! I never realised how therapeutic gravel could be until that moment. They all looked at me agog as I deliberately trod around, making orgasmic noises. If your feet are feeling tired, you should try it, it’s great! We were shown to our room and noted that the window had a superb view of the ‘breakfast hills’. They just seemed to sit there, taunting us. I’m sure I could hear a soft chorus of; ‘Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough’ floating on the breeze!
We went downstairs for the traditional tea and biccies. We got to chat to Peter and Tricia and she told us of her years in South Africa. It sounded quite exciting, but now she was happy to be here in Scotland. I think there was a lot less chance of being murdered in your bed, or something trivial like that.
When we had rested and got changed etc, we went out in search of food and companions.
Our first port of call was the Lauderdale Hotel. This is where we, unfortunately, decided to eat. The food was expensive and the portions tiny. I would not recommend it at all. We soon left and went further into the village to find the ‘Black Bull’ pub where the couple we had met earlier were staying. We also called at ‘The Eagle’, as it was on the way and just in the interests of research, you understand. We had the usual chatter, but the evening was a little flat. Maybe we were all tired, maybe it was that we knew we were on the ‘home stretch’, I don’t know but I couldn’t help feeling a bit low that night.
We went back to the Grange and had (for us) an early night. Breakfast the next morning was as we had ordered on the menu card we had filled in the night before. We tried the South African sausage (highly recommended on the menu) but, if this is what they eat over there, it’s no wonder they’re always causing trouble. It was dry and hard and even I couldn’t eat it. On the other hand, the herbed tomato was brilliant. I think there could be a big market in exporting British bangers to South Africa.

Wednesday 6th May. Lauder to Longformacus - 15 miles.

We set off walking at 9:00am. Before leaving we donned our waterproofs as it was drizzling, with the temperature at about nine degrees. We had ordered a packed lunch each at £3:00, but there are plenty of shops if you wanted to ‘self cater’. Peter was again transporting our extra baggage, so we would be travelling light.
At the end of the village, we turned left and into fields. The wet grass really damped down the boots, and I could feel it seeping in. I took a dramatic picture of Thurlstone Castle with a hell of an angry, black sky above it. It looked like something out of a horror movie and I half expected one of those maniacal laughs to ring out.
Against expectations, the sun came out and it got too warm for the coats. We did remove them, but just hung them over the sacks, ready for what the sky was promising for later.
By ten o’clock we had topped the ‘breakfast hills’. After crossing a small burn, we first met Birt, a retired further education teacher from Holland. Scotland is very popular with the Dutch, as they don’t have any hills over there. Birt loved it here, and he had done the West Highland Way the previous year, as Colin and I had. He said he also liked Derbyshire and had done a little walking there, but this was his first love and he looked a man totally at ease with the world. What a charmed position to be in! We hoped to meet up later and talk more, as he was staying in Longformacus.
We left Birt to his elevenses and made our way on through and alongside the forest. After we turned left and went through a clearing, we were confronted by a totally different landscape. Here were heather moors as far as the eye could see. This was corporate country, with the poor old Grouse top of the Entertainment bill. It was very wild and windy on the moors, as we did not now have the protection of the trees. The temperature fell, and it was necessary to wear a coat. It was still nice to wear shorts though, but I was glad to have been able to remove the sticky over-trousers I had been forced to don in the earlier rain. We got a lot closer to a pair of male OysterCatchers than we would have normally. This was due to the fact that they were falling out over a female (always the case) and were squabbling noisily. Apart from that, the vastness opened out before, with not a lot to interest us. We did play ‘I spy’ for a short while, but ran out after exhausting ‘ M for moor, S for sky, and G for grass’. (Actually, I got two goes for ‘S’, as Colin wrongly guessed Sheep - YES!).
Presently we got our first view of the Twin Law hills, with the huge cairns on the top. These were our objective, perched as they were at the end of the long ridge. It would take some time to reach them, but we weren’t complaining, as today was perfect for a moorland walk, with big, blue skies and a powerful wind. The clarity was superb and I took a lot of photo to bring it all back in the future.
We continued to follow the moorland track until it quite suddenly turned right and made a beeline for the cairns. Looming ever larger now, we were really looking forward to reaching them as the instructions say that on a clear day, i.e. today, we would be able to see the sea. It is also described as the last and best panorama of the walk, and after that it would be down into the farmland and the last stretch. This prospect quickened our pace a little and we soon reached our goal. Well! What can I say. How is it possible to describe a scene like we witnessed that day? How is it possible to make someone feel the way we felt, just by writing down words? Of course, it isn’t possible, but Colin and I were there and, let me assure you, there is very little comes close to the happiness and feeling of complete freedom you get when you’re on top of a hill on a day like that one. There are little niches in each of the cairns, just big enough for one really, and you can sit and eat while admiring the stunning surroundings and yes, we could see the sea! One of the cairns has a long gully at the side of it and today the wind was in just the right direction for us to snuggle into it and be protected. There is also a book, a bit like they have in the bothies. It is kept in an old biscuit tin, along with a few items of food, and I read it and added my own bit. A chap called Mike from the West Midlands had left the entry before mine, and little did I know we were to meet later on in our B&B.
After a protracted stay, we reluctantly heaved our bones off the floor and set about going further. A quick blink in the binoculars confirmed what I thought, we could see the sea on the far horizon.
The walk down off Twin Law took us to the Watch Water reservoir. The sky had darkened a little, reminding me of that old Scottish adage; ‘if you don’t like the weather - wait five minutes - it’ll change’. Today it was living up to that and we fully expected the heavens to open at any minute. Is someone up there looking down on us or what? As we reached the reservoir we noticed a brand new wooden building. It is a sort of fisherman’s retreat. There is no mention of it in the instruction book, and it smelt very heavily of creosote, so we knew it was new. The rain was falling steadily as we scuttled underneath its protective veranda roof. Here were seats and tables we could use while the rain had its say. Use them we did, and we watched the waterfall as we ate our lunch. No one disturbed us, and the hardy fishermen that were there stayed out to try and tempt their prey. It rained for about 45 minutes, then out came the sun again and off we set. That was another point to us, I think!
We did have a couple of slight showers after that, but nothing of substance. We had made good time, despite all our stops, and reached Longformacus at 3:15pm in bright sunshine and a pleasant breeze.
We crossed the bridge to the left and asked a couple of painters where the ‘Old Post Office’ was, as our B&B used to be that. It was now called Eildon Cottage, but we thought we’d stick with the old name for identification purposes. “Up the hill”, came the reply. You get resigned to this answer when you become a seasoned long distance walker. I well remember at the end of a long day on the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path how the walk ‘up the hill’ to one of the B&B’s nearly did for me. (N.B. It was worth it in the end). Up we trudged and saw the sign ‘The Old Post Office’. We knocked on the door and it was answered by a pleasant old chap who informed us that this was one of THREE ‘Old Post Offices’ in Longformacus! Ours was - guess where? - down the hill and back up the other side. It only took a few minutes to get there, but we were very glad to see it when we did. It looked really inviting, bathed as it was in the afternoon sunlight. We walked up to the door, knocked and were invited in by a cheery and welcoming Mrs Amos. We were shown to yet another terrific room, complete with en suite corner bath and shower. Our pack was also waiting for us so Mrs Amos said she’d see us downstairs and we set about removing the day's crud and ‘dressing for dinner’.
We felt completely spoilt with all this luxury, and we had television too! After relaxing into it all, we made our way downstairs. We had been warned there were no pubs or shops in Longformacus, so we had some tins ‘bussed in’ with our pack. They were put in the fridge for later as we waited on the other guests coming down for the evening meal. When we first booked at Eildon Cottage, we were told the evening meal was £10. I thought it would be just another case of being taken advantage of, as there was nowhere else to go. I suppose you could always send some food with your pack, if you wanted, but having experienced the meal, I would strongly advise against this. Our £10 meal was really more like a £20 gourmet feast. Mike, from Droitwich, and Rab and his wife were soon assembled around the table with us, and Mrs Amos began the delightful process of serving dinner.
We started off with peaches and grapefruit in glasses, covered in a sweet juice, then on to smoked bacon and crouton soup with warm bread. The main course was a lamb casserole, with so many vegetables that even we hungry walkers couldn’t finish them. After this came the piece de resistance, which was a sort of pavlova affair, with peaches and a soft rice, It was so mouth-wateringly super but, again, so huge we couldn’t eat it all. Compliments were flying thick and fast in Mrs Amos’ direction for the excellent fare she was serving. Next came the cheese and biscuits, which was a very varied selection, and finally coffee and a mint. I half expected one or all of us to burst at that point! We all crawled to the settee and armchairs like snakes wanting to coil up for a week to digest the huge meal we had just devoured. In no time at all, Mrs Amos was back in the room and entertained us with all the local gossip and news. She has also travelled a lot and told us many stories. One concerned the fact that, being in B&B, she took her holidays ‘off peak’ and so consequently met many other landladies. She says they used to sit around and each would tell their own horror stories concerning unsavoury guests and the things they got up to, stole, etc. The trouble was, she said, she couldn’t join in, as she had never had a bad time yet with the people she’d put up over the years. It made me feel proud when she put it down to the fact that she only took walkers in, and she considered them the salt of the Earth. She also touched on her plans for the future, and how she wanted to retire and travel more. If she sold the house, she said, one of the stipulations would be that the buyer must be prepared to carry on the B&B, as it was so needed here. I thought this was a really nice display of unselfishness. I don’t know how she manages to be so enthusiastic, but she really made us feel like special confidantes and it was one of the most convivial evenings I have ever had. Colin and I broke out the beer and we sat with Mike, discussing aspects of the walk (as usual) while Rab and his wife went for an evening stroll. I went out myself later on to the ‘phone box, and enjoyed the evening tranquillity here in Longformacus.

Friday 8th May. Longformacus to Cockburnspath - 17 miles.

A comfortable night was followed by another faultless breakfast. It’s quite amazing how perfectly these landladies can prepare food. There were two rashers of bacon, four little sausages, a big pile of scrambled eggs in the middle of the plate, mushrooms, tomatoes, never ending brown and white toast, plus all the usual refinements of juice, cereals etc. We had booked it for eight o’clock as we were being picked up at Cockburnspath by ’H’, our trusty logistics man, between four and five o’clock and we had 18 miles to cover by then. It was a bright and sunny day, but the wind was whistling at the corners of the house, and young trees were bending violently this way and that as we waded through our meal. After all was consumed, we all looked at one another. What a way to start the final day of the walk.
It was a bit sad to say our goodbyes, as the one night we had spent at Eildon had seemed to have brought us as close as if we had spent a week there. Mike was away first, haring off into the distance, as he had an even tighter schedule than us. We followed, but we left our excess baggage to be picked up later, and Rab and his wife brought up the rear. We started walking at about ten past nine, with the mercury showing twelve degrees.
As we left the village we got a view back to the grand house on the left. This was where the only man to refuse the Southern Upland Way passage rights lived. Apparently he had come from down south, and when he had been approached to let the way go through two of his fields, had refused point blank and that was why we were now plodding along Tarmac again. Paradoxically, the place next door to his had come up for sale and he took it upon himself to go for a walk round it. On being approached by the bailiff and asked what he was doing, he said; “I believe this place is for sale and I’m looking round." The bailiff told him ‘looking round’ was by appointment only, to which came the reply; “there are no laws of trespass in Scotland, I will go where I like”.
We soon reached the ‘breakfast hills’ which were now no more than mounds. The viscous uphill struggles had now been tamed into gentle uphill strolls. It was made all the easier by this very strong, almost gale force wind, which was fortunately on our backs. This helping hand made the going quick and easy, although it was more than a little disconcerting when walking alongside trees, as they looked as if they would be torn up by the root at any moment. I kid you not, at times we were so worried that we veered away from the trees and walked in the middle of the field, just in case.
We soon reached the outskirts of the village of Abbey St Bathams. Now here was something unusual - a village mid-walk! Although it was still early and Mrs Amos’ breakfast had not been completely absorbed, we decided to patronise the cafe, just because someone was bothering to run one, I suppose. We crossed the footbridge over the river, where some workmen were laying a more substantial path than the muddy track they were replacing. As we passed one of them, Colin thanked him, but told him there was no need to have laid a path especially for us!
At the end of the path we saw a sign which had Portpatrick signed one way, and Cockburnspath the other. Luckily we seemed to be headed in the right direction and we took photo for the record. (I bet this signpost is well photographed).
The cafe lay over the other side of the river, so we re-crossed it by yet another impressive footbridge and went in to the neat and clean interior. We decided we could just about manage a cream tea with a cuppa. In no time at all the gooey treats appeared. We were just tucking in when Birt, our Dutch friend, appeared. We invited him to sit with us. He was sporting a wide, beaming grin as he sat down. “Why so happy?”, I asked. He had just ‘phoned his wife for the first time in three days, and she informed him that he had been knighted in Queen Beatrice’s honours list. He said he wanted to celebrate with us, as we were the only people he knew here. His solution was to have a cream tea himself, and pay for ours as well. Congratulations were proffered, and back-pats issued but unfortunately even ‘the gadget brothers’ didn’t have a sword to dub Birt with. It wouldn’t have been the same with the Swiss army knife, so we didn’t bother. (There must be a blade for this purpose).
After the celebrations, we girded our loins for the final part of the journey. We left Birt, still smiling and with cream on his chin, and re-crossed the bridge to get back on the path signed ‘Cockburnspath’.
The path keeps the river company for a while before turning up and into open country again. We passed beneath some high voltage pylons and the wind was making the most terrific roar in the structures. I can honestly say I have never heard anything like it before, and we walked on edge all the time we were beneath them.
The next point of interest we reached was a cairn topped out with a big, red weathercock. The Cockburn family erected it to celebrate 100 years farming of the land from-1848 - 1948.
Today was spent skirting the farmers' fields, a lot tamer than what we were used to, but this was tempered by the day itself. It was my kind of day. The wind was very strong, but not cold, and the sky was big, blue and with huge white cumulus clouds in it. I really do love these sort of days!
As we followed a lane up to Blackburn village, we noticed a strange phenomenon to our right. These fields must once have been smaller, but I imagine fences had been removed to make them more productive. That productivity was now being blown away, as the wind was whipping up the red earth and blowing it away in huge clouds.
We could hear the noise of traffic as we approached the busy A1 road. For some reason this place was overcrowded with bright yellow Gorse. It made a good foreground for photo.
We chose our moment and made it to the other side. The old road, now defunct, is followed for a while before crossing the train lines and entering into deciduous woodland. The track winds steadily up the hill towards the top of the ridge. When the crest is reached, the coast view really hits you. A sad point was a small deer, which was dead on the track. The track didn’t really show any signs of vehicular use, so I wondered what had befallen it.
In the bay itself there was a small island, drawing strange parallels with Ailsa Craig on the other side of the country. Also, just on the coast is a very large house-like structure. You would swear it was a house, except that there are real houses at the side of it, and it dwarfs them! We mused on what it could be, but couldn’t come up with a feasible answer.
The path now descended towards the coast by a long series of wooden steps. What the path was like before these were built is anybody’s guess! Eventually, we passed through the nature reserve and up to the edge of the caravan site. It soon became apparent why the national park didn’t want the walk to finish here, and the path takes a left and starts to climb up the hill on the Tarmac road. A sign directing you into the fields is soon reached, and we started the pull up to the top of the impressive sandstone cliffs. The wind now was frighteningly strong and, coupled with the fact it was an offshore wind, gave us plenty of worrying moments as we walked gingerly along the exposed path, sometimes clinging to the fence and crouching down. It really was that strong! Luckily this section was not a very long one, and the path turned so we were now walking almost into the wind. We could see Cove harbour below us. It was very Cornish looking, tucked away as it was, and we decided to drop down to it to throw our stones (the ones we picked up in Portpatrick) into the sea. The path turns down the cliff, and then threads through a dainty tunnel excavated through the soft sandstone of the cliff. We emerged out of the other side to a great surprise. There in the sand was the message;

‘WELCOME SINGLETONS’

in great big letters. Mike had obviously paid a visit to the beach too, and had left us this sign. It really was a nice gesture, and one we greatly appreciated. Of course, we took photo of it before also recording the ‘stone throwing’ ceremony. We found a great big stone for Colin to throw in, so it would look in the album like he had carried it all the way!
We made our way back up the cliffs to re-join the last section of the path. It unfortunately started to rain, and as we were going to get into a car shortly, we put our waterproofs on straight away. The rain kept up until just before the end, which was about three-quarters of a mile, and then stopped. We approached the end plaque in sunshine. ‘H’ was there to slap us on the back and take the victory photo with the (closed) Cockburnspath Hotel in the background. He looked amazed that we had actually walked 212 miles since he last saw us and kept saying; “I can’t believe it”. We could hardly believe it ourselves, but here we were, and we had conquered the tough Southern Upland Way.

Epilogue.

This is one tough walk. Make no bones, if you’re going to do it you do need to be reasonably fit. Navigation isn’t really a problem in good weather, and the way marking is very good. The B&B’s are better, on the whole, than some of the more popular walks I’ve done, my favourite being Limetree house, but there are several very close seconds! It’s not a walk that I would repeat as there is far too much Tarmac and forest walking. It takes three days for the walk to really get going, but the sections after that are pretty good. If you like solitude, this is where you’ll find it.

The Borders are, to a great extent, largely ignored and so you often walk days on end without seeing another soul. Making sure you are provisioned for the day ahead is a must, as sometimes the only places you see are your B&B at the start and end of each day. Booking too, I would say is important as, although not the most popular of walks, the scarcity of accommodation on some of the sections could see you bedless if you have haven’t booked.
I enjoyed most of this walk, and I suppose I should be grateful for only having had about five hours rain in all, but I wouldn’t put it in my ‘must do’ list. It is certainly a challenge, and the people are super, but next year I think I’ll do the West Highland Way again, now THERE’S a walk!

© Les Singleton

July 13th 1998

http://www.southernuplandway.gov.uk/cms/index.php?option=com_content&view=frontpage&Itemid=1

2006-07-25T14:22:00.000-07:00

THE WICKLOW WAY.

This was to be my first foray outside of England for a LDP. I have relations living in Ireland, and decided to combine a visit with a walk. My sister Maureen accompanied me, but didn't walk, instead opting to get transport between the stops, just coming along for the famous Irish 'craic' (of which we had PLENTY).

http://www.wicklowway.com/wicklow_way_map/index.shtml

THE
WICKLOW
WAY.

(Sli Cuallan Nua.)

Prologue.

After a very uneventful flight to Dublin with my sister, who was not taking part in the walk but seeing me each evening for the 'craic', we were picked up by my uncle and taken for some lunch. The flight had cost £59-00 with Aer Lingus and it took about an hour and ten minutes from East Midlands to Dublin.
On Sunday morning, my uncle Sean dropped me off at Marlay Park, where the Wicklow Way starts, and waved goodbye as I set off into the Grey morning.

Day One - Marlay Park to Glencree - 12.5 Miles (20km)

I started walking shortly after ten o'clock, the time the park opens, and started the steady meander through the pleasant woodland paths of Marlay Park, dodging the Lycra clad joggers who were there in abundance. There is no chance of going astray, as there are plenty of the little yellow way markers to guide you.
When I reached the car park gates, I turned right out of them, then after a couple of hundred yards left, then left again, before starting the steady climb up Kilmashogue road. I got a toot on the horn from a passing lady driver - my first taste of Irish friendliness - or the fact I was wearing shorts?

When the car park entrance appeared on the left, I noticed that to the South West I could see the famous 'Hellfire Club' which, in it's time, was one of the greatest dens of iniquity in Irish history. I screwed a long lens onto the camera and took a photo'.
The terrain underfoot changed from Tarmac to forest trail and the steady climb continued up into Kilmashogue forest.
I reached the 4km mark and the views to the left of Dublin, the bay, Howth and Irelands eye were getting better the higher I climbed. I met several people out for a Sunday stroll, and all were only too willing to stop for a chat and pass the time of day.

The forest became denser for a while and people became scarcer. I started to see the odd rabbit and I also spotted a deer in a small clearing. I took a quick picture with my 'ever ready' camera, but as I tried to get the telephoto lens out, she disappeared into the undergrowth. Still guided faultlessly by the little yellow arrows I continued on, listening to all the bird song.

I had had a giggle at the instruction book description of these way mark arrows. i.e.

Arrow left = go left.
Arrow right = go right.
Arrow straight on = go straight on - have you got that? Good.

I turned right up a stony path that I had been looking for some time, as the instructions said; 'as soon as the masts come into view, look for a stony path to the right'. I needn't have worried as the trusty yellow arrow pointed the way.
I put a bit more effort into things now, and removed my fleece, as it was warm in the forest but as I reached open moorland the cool wind chilled me, I put it back on.
I turned left at the wall, and followed it as, after a short distance, it turned right. Fairy Castle and its masts were now behind me as I walked along the first ridge. The view to the left was huge. Great and little Sugarloaf mountains were the dominant features, and were to remain so for a couple of days.
I again entered woodland as the path dropped downwards. A stretch of uncomfortable but quiet Tarmac road walking now followed before I re-joined a forest trail. I again warmed up as I climbed steadily up a track. The East West mapping company were spot on with instructions as I followed a clearing upwards and was totally exposed.
I reached a plateau and crossed a section of ground which was a little boggy, but I welcomed the soft conditions after the last few miles.
I lost the way a bit through Curtlestown wood, but it's not a problem. I just headed on down and turned right at the next track to see the next yellow way marker.
Sugarloaf reared even more majestically now and all around the views were crystal clear. Another section of Tarmac followed before I turned onto the track which skirts Knockree Hill. Here I saw the first of many incidences of dumping. Someone had just turfed out an old washing machine and several plastic bin liners full of rubbish. I can't understand how someone could defile such a beautiful place.

When the path reached the road again I turned left and walked the couple of hundred yards to Knockree An Oige (Irish Y.H.A.) hostel. It was only three o'clock so, knowing the hostel didn't open until five, I sat reading outside in the sunshine. I was presently joined by the warden who came out to greet me. He explained that he was going out for a couple of hours, but I was quite welcome to stow my gear and have a shower. The only problem was that the shower in the gents’ dorm was being re-furbished, so he said I would have to use the one in the ladies. I would be ok, he said, as they were walking all the way from Powerscourt and would not be here until about five o'clock. I said that was fine and so I followed him as he proceeded to show me the common room and the shower. He bid me goodbye and said he would sort me out for food, etc, when he returned. I proceeded to get undressed and have a shower. I had just finished and dried myself, and got my trousers on, when the door suddenly burst open and in walked two women and a girl. She looked at me in surprise and said; "Oh, sorry..am I in the wrong place?". I explained she was in the right place, but the wrong time as it was only four o'clock and I told her that the warden said I would be o.k. until about five. He hadn't bargained with the fact there would be 'bag carriers' and here they were, early, having driven from Powerscourt. I thanked my lucky stars that they weren't a few minutes earlier!!
I spent the evening surrounded by lively 15 to 16 year old girls, and it would have been lonely without them, as, apart from them, I was the only one booked into the hostel that night. I told them all about Darren, my blond-haired blue-eyed son, and they all vowed to write to him. I giggled to myself as I gave them all his address and tried to imagine his face when he started to get the first of the promised 21 letters.
The warden had arrived back later in the evening and looked after me admirably. He supplied all my food requirements for tea, breakfast and a packed lunch the following day. I couldn't believe it when he told me it would only cost one pound fifty pence

Day Two - Glencree to Laragh - 17.5 Miles (27.5km)

I had a very comfortable night in Knockree hostel with no snorers to disturb my slumber. The morning was cool as I went about cooking breakfast and packing my sack for the day. I finished up and said goodbye to the girls before I crossed the stile opposite the hostel and descended the fields to cross the river. In Crone woods I saw quite a few Red Squirrels. I half expected to be seeing deer too, as the morning was still and my footfalls light but today I was disappointed.
I reached Ride Rock and had a commanding view over Powerscourt deerpark and its impressive waterfall (the longest single drop waterfall in Ireland). I wanted to get pictures of the fall from its base and, although it looked a long way down, I could see a track on the opposite side of the valley. I pressed on along the path, which dropped left through the woods to cross the river Dargle. Sure enough a path led off into the woods so I followed it.
I knew it would be a steep drop to get to the bottom of the falls, so I concealed my sack in the forest and just took my camera with me. I got the photo's I wanted and returned to my sack. It was just starting to drizzle a little, so I took shelter under the dense canopy of trees and ate elevenses while it blew over.
I rejoined the Way and spits of showers came and went for the next couple of
hours. I made my way up Djouce mountain, not forgetting to look back at the splendid view behind me, and marvelled at the other view which was starting to open up to the South East.
As the panorama widened I was treated to a very warm spell of bright sunshine. I crested White Hill and saw that the rain was coming from the North West. I took the hint and put on my waterproofs.
Rain, hail and high winds soon replaced the pleasant sunshine and I wished there were trees for shelter. It abated as I reached the memorial stone to J.B.Malone, the founder of the Wicklow Way. The lough in the background made a lovely backdrop for the inevitable photo'.
A bit more Tarmac bashing followed before I turned into Balinfunshoge woods. Here it rained again for a short while, but I took advantage of the tree cover and ate lunch and when I had finished, so had the rain.

What followed was an eerily quiet walk through Balinfunshoge woodland trail. Not much bird song, but lots of lovely views.
I caught up with two other walkers, it was two o'clock and these were the first people I had seen all day. They were Dutch and apparently Wicklow is very popular with Dutch people, and I can't fault their judgement.

I plodded up the road from Oldbridge, which is quite steep, before dropping into Laragh. It immediately struck me as a touristy place. The day was still warm and I passed the time of day with a guy outside a local restaurant, trying to get the gen’ on where to eat that night. He said he thought blokes like me were heroes, carrying all that stuff on our backs day after day, and how did we remember where it all was? I didn't have the heart to tell him I just spread it all out every night to find out!
As I had been told the Wicklow Way hostel in Laragh was good, I went to it, only to be disappointed as a sign on the door said; 'only open weekends in winter'. As I stood there in the warm summer sunshine, I couldn't help but think that their clock must be a bit slow....about two months I think!
I went in the pub next door to buy a glass of thinking juice and decide on my next move. When I came out I saw a girl walking down the road and at the same time I saw a sign saying; 'Old Mill hostel 300 yards'. I asked her if she knew the place and she said she did. I asked if it was o.k. and she said it depended what I meant by o.k. I asked if it had hot showers and she said yes. When I remarked how well she knew the place, she informed me she was the warden. I decided to follow her.
When we got to the hostel, the common room was quite pleasant so I booked in. I paid my money and went to take my sack to my room and have a shower. When I saw the dormitory I was a bit taken aback. It was crammed with beds and very damp and dank. The beds looked as though they were An Oige cast-offs. When I went back upstairs Joanne told me I'd better bring my duvet upstairs to dry it out. I was also told I had to switch on the heater and wait for about 1/2 hour for the water to get hot. I did get a hot shower, but didn't shave as the washbasin only had a cold tap! I left my evening wear on the bed next to me overnight and it was really damp the next day. I would only use one word to describe the place, DIRE! If it hadn't been for Joanne being so pleasant it would have been a really awful stay as the owners, who went through from time to time, barely said hello. I was the only one at the hostel that night. The only thing going for it is that it is right on the Wicklow Way so I had no trouble when setting off the next morning.

Day Three - Laragh to Aughavannagh - 18 Miles (28km)

The windows of the dorm' were running with condensation this morning when I woke up and everything was damp. I did breakfast and set off at 9:15am on a cool and overcast morning. As I walked along the forest trail towards Glendalough I saw many red squirrels and Jays. My muscles were a bit sore from yesterday so the first mile or so was a bit uncomfortable. I saw the tower of the Monastic City come into view and I stopped to take a picture, using the flaming yellow gorse as foreground. The wild flowers were noticeable for their absence; spring here in Ireland was dragging her feet, just as she was back home.
As I turned the corner the lower lake of Glendalough started to appear and I marvelled at the peace of the place. I could see why the monks would choose this place above others to make their home.

I soon reached the visitors centre, which was closed, and was treated to the sight of the upper lake in all it's splendour set deep in the glacial valley. The way turns South here to climb up the South West flank of the Derrybawn mountain. There are a series of very pretty waterfalls here called Poul An Eas, which were thundering, down the valley. Unfortunately the light wasn't as good as it could have been for photo's but at least it was a feast for my eyes.
A very long, steady climb followed, during which the views of Glendalough became better and better. As I climbed higher I spotted some forestry workers on the other side of the valley plodding rhythmically upwards to work. This was the first human life I had seen today.
I left the clearing and the trees closed in once again obliterating the views. I finally reached the edge of the forest at Borenacrow. This short section before you re-enter the forest is really brilliant. As I stepped out onto open ground I felt my spirits soar.

The feelings of solitude, wilderness and insignificance as I looked around were indescribable. I could see clearly for miles and, where the path turns right to go downhill back into the trees, I sat on a rock for a good while just to appreciate all that was before me. Apart from the waterfalls of Carawaystick brook, I also noticed the zig-zag path on the other side of the valley. According to the guide, this was the path the donkeys used to wend their way up to get to the top plateau to fetch the turf. It looked wonderful from my vantage point, but I wouldn't like to think I had to labour up it every day, day in day out, for the span of my useful life.
I arose and continued on my way, slipping and slithering down the badly eroded path. The path follows the North East flank of the valley before joining the minor road at Drumgoff. There was the sound of forest workers here, and I also saw the single largest group of people I had seen so far. They looked like a walking group, and the tail-enders were a couple of women. I was most grateful for the wolf whistles I received from them (those shorts again), and it brought a smile to my face.

I stopped off at the Glenmalure Inn and had a pint and a very expensive burger, after which I continued past the old military barracks to start the next long climb.
During this section I heard the first Cuckoo I had heard this year. I also saw more deer and squirrels, as this was a very quiet part of the walk.
I crossed the road and followed the track, which led up and around Carrickashane mountain. On a clear day, the views from here must be impressive, but it was a little hazy on the horizon today so I missed out to a certain extent, but at least I had kept dry today, as there had only been the odd spot of rain blown in the wind.

The track continued down and eventually I reached the bridge over the river Ow. There stood a bungalow on its own, and I assumed that this was the place Brian, my host for tonight, meant when he said there was somewhere I could 'phone from. I noticed two Border Collies in the garden, so was not too keen on walking in, but as I had no alternative, I sallied forth. The dogs never murmured as I rapped smartly on the door. They seemed far too interested in each other. Presently, and after several more knocks, an old lady appeared from around the back of the bungalow. She seemed surprised to see me so I gave her my most disarming 'I need your help' smile and asked if I might be permitted to use the 'phone. She said she didn't normally let strangers use it, but; "it's through here, follow me". I noticed the old farmer sitting at the table in the back, and it occurred that he must have heard me knocking but chose to ignore me. I still greeted him cheerily before ringing Brian.
Everything arranged, I thanked them, paid for the call and went outside to wait.
I sat across the road observing the Collies. It soon became obvious that they were of different sexes, as what followed made me laugh out loud. The old dog was chasing the bitch and trying to mount her at every opportunity. She was trying everything (except turning nasty..didn't want to put him off too much) to stunt his progress. Every now and then she would jump up and run off, hotly pursued by the dog. When she stopped, the whole game started again. I could just imagine the old man saying to his wife; "I think I'll get old Rover a mate", and this was the outcome. What a way to spend your days, far better than rounding up sheep!!

Brian Groves arrived shortly, and we became aquainted on the short drive to the Annacurra Inn . He told me if I had turned left after crossing the bridge, I would have found another bridge and a house that I could have also rung him from. He informed me that my sister had arrived at the pub, so I looked forward to her company for the evening. My first impression of the Inn was good, and I never altered that during our entire stay, which was longer than I anticipated as I decided to play hooky for a day to go and see Avoca village. Avoca is famous for the meeting of the waters, its hand weavers and the T.V. series Ballykissangel that was filmed there. Brian again came to our rescue and dropped us off in the village. We had to use the local transport service to get back again, i.e. thumb a lift!

Day four - Aughavannagh to Tinahely - 12 miles (20km)

The room I was in had a Dormer window in the roof, and this serves to act as an instant indicator of the weather so I awoke to the patter of rain on it first thing.
I said goodbye to Brian’s family and he then took me to the bridge where he had picked me up so I could re-join the Wicklow Way.
I waved and set off upwards along the familiar forest track to skirt the Ballygobban mountain in the chilly morning air. I had had a lazy breakfast and it was now well after ten o'clock. I crossed a road before re-entering the forest as the way turned south. Just then I saw a tractor chugging towards me along the track and, as it got closer, I could see two Wicklow way markers in the bucket at the front. The driver smiled at me as he passed, and I wondered if he had uprooted them, ball of concrete and all, to cause mischief, so I made a mental note to pay particular attention to the map just in case. I needn't have worried though as the markers throughout the wood were exactly where they should have been, so I wonder where he got them?

As I was padding quietly along, I surprised two deer that were standing on the track. It was the closest I had been to deer so far, and with a bark and a leap they disappeared to my left. My hand had automatically moved to the camera case on my belt, but they were gone. I relaxed and went to continue and as I did so, a third one sprang across the track right in front of me. I watched their white rumps vanish in to the gloom.

After Moyne I descended a lovely grassy track, all too rare on this path, and met my first people of the day. Again they were a Dutch couple and we passed a short while in chit-chat before I carried on to try to find St Colmcilles well, which is marked on the map and mentioned in the guide. I, along with the Dutch couple, could not find it. It went into the 'things not seen' file.

I crossed Sandyford bridge, noticing the rich brown peaty water, and followed a quiet back road with grass in the middle, which led to another lovely springy green lane. The next thing I didn't find was a cross, which is in a wall somewhere between Garryhoe and Rosbane. I wasn't alone in my disappointment as I met Terry, who was doing his own version of the Irish coast to coast. He didn't see it either, but he said he had met my sister in Murphys pub in Tinahely, so at least I knew she was safe and sound. Terry was also going to cross Scotland when he had finished this little stint, and I couldn't help admiring the fact that he was carrying a video camera. I had brought camera's myself, but I ruled out a video due to the weight of the paraphernalia that goes with it. Not only was he carrying all that, but he was backpacking a tent etc too!! I was tempted to see if he had a shirt with 'S' on it under his coat. I wished him well and fair weather, and pushed on towards Tinahely. At Mangons there were signs for a short cut to a B&B in the village, but as it was still early I decided to keep following the trail proper.

The weather was still dry as I walked along the Coolafunshoge lane. More evidence of people dumping stuff anywhere but in a bin was evident as I contoured and then dropped down towards the Derry River. At the road I would have walked into Tinahely, in fact I started to, but there is no footway and it is quite busy so I stuck out the trusty thumb. The third vehicle to come along, a large truck, stopped and took me the two km into the village where I was re-united with my sister and had a well earned cuppa. I asked her if she had made any enquiries regarding accommodation and she told me that Murphys was 24 pounds a night. I thought this a bit steep and said so, so I decided to ring round for a better deal. I think pubs have got it all wrong as, if they were to charge the same as the local B&Bs, they would do well out of the deal as you would probably have your evening meal there, and also do your drinking, so to overcharge loses them more in the long run.
I consulted the trusty guide book and found the number for Orchard house and rang Alice D'arcy. My sister had seen the place as she passed it earlier and it looked o.k. Alice had room so off we went.
We found everything to be just perfect. When we arrived, we were shown to our rooms, and Alice was just finishing making the bed in mine. She was also taking a picture off the wall, it was the (in)famous 'crying boy'. I said I was surprised she had left it up so long, considering it's reputation. She didn't know what I was on about so I proceeded to tell her of the dire events that usually followed houses that it was hung in, and how there had been fires and all that was left standing in the ashes was the picture. She said that it was strange, but her now late-teen son had always inexplicably cried at the picture...eerie or WHAT!
Not only did Alice make us most welcome, but also she dried some washing for me, organised tomorrow's B&B and even offered to transport my sister to Clonegal. The price of the B&B here is only sixteen pounds, the same as at Annacurra.

Day 5 - Tinahely to Clonegal - 20 miles (31km)

Last night we went down to the village to one of the pubs (not Murphy’s) and fell in conversation with two local lads. We had a really good night of putting the world to rights and all, coupled with a few jars of the 'old Liffy water'. You always know when the locals have accepted you as the language gets a bit fruity! They use what we would consider to be bad language all the time, but not in the same context so it's not offensive. Anyway, it transpires that Damien, one of the two, was the son of the local butcher and my sister wanted to take some the lovely local white puddings back with her to England. Thing was, it was Thursday and we weren't due to fly back until the following Tuesday. "No problem, missus, we've got one of those vacuum wrap machines, it'll keep them fresh for weeks"; said Damien.

The next morning, just before I set off walking, Alice met us at the bottom of the stairs and said there was a funny burning smell, and she at first thought something was on fire. When she had gone into the room where an elderly Dutch couple had spent the previous night, she realised it was coming from there. With a knowing smile I asked if I could have a sniff. As soon as I entered the room my suspicions were confirmed. The old guy had been smoking cannabis! I told Alice and her face drained. "Oh God, DRUGS!" she said. I calmed her and explained that in Holland they sometimes smoked it for pain relief from arthritis. Then she remembered that the man had said he suffered from it, and his wife had asked Alice if she minded if he smoked a couple of cigarettes. Alice had said she didn't mind at all. If only she'd known it was 'wacky baccy'!!
I said goodbye and Maureen went into to the village to see Damien. She also wanted to take some of the soda bread home, and wondered if Damien could wrap that up too. "No problem missus, give it here". With that, Damien disappeared into the back of the shop with the bread and white puddings. After about ten minutes and some hefty cursing, he reappeared and said; "Jayzuz missus, I 'tink the machine's a bit too feckin’ strong for the bread". With that he produced what looked like a large Yorkshire pudding and when Maureen saw it she collapsed in apoplexy. Damien spluttered apologies and even offered to buy more bread, which Maureen refused as she knew that the loaf he had 'wrapped' would provide endless laughs back home. Even Alice wanted us to 'destroy the evidence' but we have it still as a family heirloom.

While all this was going on, I had begun the final leg of the Wicklow Way. Although there was a cool wind blowing, the morning sun was really beginning to make its presence felt. The sky was a powerful blue and the odd fluffy white cloud scudded lazily across it. I joined and followed the grassy and pleasant Muskeagh boreen and the views became more dramatic as I gained height. I looked back and was surprised to see that the highest mountain had acquired a sprinkling of snow overnight. As if the views weren't good enough already!!

I dropped down a minor road and made my way into Mullinacuff village. I called at the post office with the intention of purchasing and posting a few postcards but the plan was thwarted by the simple fact that here was a post office that didn't sell postcards? Ah well, I would just have to tell folk how lovely it all was.
Between here and Stranakelly crossroads the sun seemed to get quite a bit stronger. There was no traffic at all and I was left to enjoy the pastoral sights and sounds of the lush valley.
When I reached the crossroads I came upon a real postcard pub. Small and white with empty barrels outside, it looked very inviting but as it was only eleven o'clock, I gave it a miss.

I climbed the short hill and took a few photo's North and Northwest. I hadn't expected the views to be as good as they were today so I was pleasantly surprised.
Near Kilquiggan I approached the imposing St Finians church. I looked around but didn't see the rainbow! Something else I didn't see was the head and socket of an old Irish cross, reputed to be in the fields to the East of the church. I searched through the gorse, getting scratched legs in the process, and I even asked the guy mowing the grass in the churchyard, but he didn't know where it was either. It too went into the 'sights not seen' file along with St Colmcilles well.

Later on I at last left the Tarmac to join a forest trail. This time it was the turn of the mountains in the South and Southwest to figure largely in the views, and I took picture after picture, using all three of the cameras I had brought. It may sound a bit over the top, but I always carry a compact camera on my belt for those quick shots you may miss, and I like to carry a manual camera for such as waterfalls. The extra camera was a panoramic, which weighed next to nothing so it was no task to add it to my pack.
If the weather is clear, the path around Stookeen has arguably some of the best views on the walk. I was certainly being treated today and attempted to record of much of it as possible. I rounded a corner to be confronted with a forestry lorry completely blocking the path. He was loading up with freshly cut timber and the air was heavy with the pungent smell of the wood juices. When they saw me, they stopped what they were doing and paused to wipe their brows and offer greetings. I got the usual "howaya" greeting and returned their salutation before pressing on to what the guide says is a muddy farmyard. I just couldn't believe how muddy and deep it was!!
I tried to wade forward, but feared it would go over the top of my boots. I did eventually manage to get by to the left, using stones and dry patches of mud, and continued along the farm road.

I again returned to tarmac and followed the quiet road around Moylisha hill. As I rounded a corner, I saw two sheep with their lambs standing in the road. As I approached them they moved forwards, keeping a respectable distance between themselves and me. This continued for about 2km and I was worried I was walking them away from where they should be but suddenly they turned into a gate that was open slightly to join the rest of the flock in the field. I closed the gate as I passed by.

It was all road walking from Urelands on and as I walked over the Wicklow bridge, I realised that the only things I could hear were my own footfalls and the bird song. I stopped to revel in the tranquillity and beauty of it all. I doffed my cap, metaphorically speaking, as I passed the road which leads to where Eastwest mapping 'live', as I had found their guide and map faultless and informative (even though I'm tempted to believe that the old Irish cross and St Colmcilles well were spurious admissions!).

The first clue that I was close to Clonegal was the sight of a church perched on a hill to my right. Shortly I saw the sign for the village and I had my photo' taken by an ever-friendly local, before walking into the local pub for a celebration pint of 'Liffy water' (what Guinness is colloquially called). It is true what they say about the Guinness in Ireland, it has no equal.

I rang Bridie Osbourne, my B&B hostess, and was promptly whisked to the small hamlet of Park Bridge where her farm, Park Lodge, is. I very strongly recommend Park Lodge. Proper Irish people, proper Irish welcome, proper nice place. Bridie immediately made me most welcome. She showed me to my room, and a huge affair it was with great big beds with cast iron headboards and hand sewn quilts. It was also en-suite, and all this for just sixteen pounds a night! My sister was already here and her room was just as nice. We went downstairs and I was asked if I would like 'a little something to eat'. It was late notice but Bridie 'rustled up' soup (home made), a steak done in some sauce that had my taste buds squealing with delight, and a sorbet for afters. I was also offered some of her homemade pie, but even I couldn't eat another morsel.
I had originally intended to head down South for a day or two, but changed my plans as I didn't want to leave Park Lodge...EVER! Besides, there was a traditional music night planned at Egans bar, the local pub, for the following night, and I wanted to go. I'm glad I did, as Larry and his wife made it a really special night. Larry asked if I liked the traditional music, and when I said I did, I was invited into their kitchen, where another session, besides the one going on in the pub, was taking place. Well, we were there until the wee small hours and it was one of the best musical nights of my life, a really fitting end to a smashing holiday.
The next day, Bridie took my sister and I to Bunclody (the great Metropolis) where a rare sight could be observed...buses pulling in to town! We caught the bus that would take us North with Bridie waving us off.

Epilogue.

First the bad points. The Wicklow Way suffers terribly from what seems to be a favourite pastime - dumping! There are enough scrap cars to start a scrap yard, and every roadside ditch holds its share of plastic carrier bags and bin liners full of rubbish. It despoils the most beautiful places.
The fact that there are no public footpaths in Ireland, apart from the designated trails, inevitably means that a lot of time is spent walking on public roads. Wicklow is described as a 'walkers paradise'. I would dispute this. It is probably nearer the mark to describe it as a cyclist’s paradise, as with so many quiet back roads it is ideally suited for bikes.

On the positive side, the Guinness really is the best! All the people are so very friendly, they even wave as they pass you in cars and have time to spend with you to help or just talk. The Groves, D'arcys and Osbornes of the world steal your heart with their warmth and their; "sure, no problem” attitude. The mountains and valleys are beautiful....exceptionally so, and I looked back on my holiday and sighed as I boarded the plane for home.

You will find everyone readily gives you "c'ead mile failte" - a thousand welcomes, and you will want to say to them, as I do to everyone who befriended me, looked after me, and made me feel so good;

go raibh mile maith agat

(Thank you very much)

© Les Singleton

May 1996