Hadrian's Wall Path - Day 4, part 2

Just after Greenhead, the path came to Thirlwall, a hamlet overlooked by a little castle on a hillock, built from robbed Roman stone, which made me mad. So I smashed the castle up. This is what it looked like after I was finished with it.

This bullshit story was on the 'information' panel for Thirlwall Castle, it's complete rubbish, there's no such thing as magic

I also found a cat which had been grafted onto a stone by some sick monster.


Past Gisland, the Wall runs in a tidy straight line down to the river Irthing, which it crossed over a substantial bridge whose massive foundations can still be seen.


On the far side of the steep valley stands Birdoswald fort. I was excited about Birdoswald because it has a museum and stuff. It also has a fake Roman shouting from a fake rampart.


Best of all, though, is the site of the granary in the fort, where excavators found evidence for a massive post-Roman timber hall. They marked the positions of the main posts with wooden bollards, as you can see here.


The information boards show what the granary was like in Roman times...


... and then what it was like in the Dark Ages.


The theory is that Birdoswald, after the Roman withdrawal, became the headquarters of a chieftain or petty king, one of the many local strongmen who must have exploited the power vacuum left by the empire.

I admit I’m a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to the sub-Roman period. A few years ago I saw ‘The Not So Dark Ages’, a documentary by the prehistorian Francis Pryor, in which he knocked down a series of cunningly erected straw men to show that the so-called ‘Dark Ages’ were actually a vibrant and sophisticated era in British history.


The documentary included a stroll around Birdoswald, and the argument that things kept ticking along smoothly after the end of the empire. Pryor also used evidence of pollen analysis to argue that there was no mass re-forestation of Hadrian’s Wall, which would be one knock-on effect of population decline and reduced farming.

As far as I can tell, Birdoswald shows pretty clearly how far things declined in the sub-Roman period. The elite were no longer able even to maintain the stone buildings around them, let alone build new ones. Instead they lived in the crumbling shell of a far more technologically advanced civilisation. When one granary building collapsed, they moved into the neighbouring one; only when that one also collapse did they erect their own timber hall.


As for the pollen analysis, from the documentary itself it looks to me like the fifth century saw a massive increase in alder woodland on Hadrian’s Wall, and a mirror-image reduction in heather and grassland, while by the sixth century very few cultivated grains were turning up in the samples. But then I’m not an expert in pollen analysis.

Basically I’m of the opinion that after the withdrawal of Rome from Britain, the population dwindled, the economy contracted, agriculture returned to near-subsistence levels, and the former British provinces fragmented into tiny warring polities which hardly deserve the title of ‘kingdoms’. I do get irritated by post-Roman apologists who seem reluctant to concede that the end of the empire led to a systemic collapse across the board.


Anyway, once I’d finished kicking over the gay little wooden bollards and spray-painting ROMANS RULE on the walls of the fort, I walked the few remaining miles to a campsite at the hamlet of Banks, where I accidentally camped in someone’s back garden.

Hadrian's Wall Path - Day 4, part 1

From Steel Rigg westwards was probably my favourite section of the Wall, although the fact that the weather turned nice may have been a factor. Also, I saw far fewer people, at least until I reached Greenhead.

Looking back to the east from Steel Rigg

At the highest point of the Wall (not very high)

Milecastle 42 is another ingeniously situated fortification, accessible from the north only up an impractically steep bank. There is no reason for this at all, except for asinine military planning. In this capture from Google Earth you can see the Wall running down the ridge from the top left, and the rectangular milecastle near the bottom.


If the engineers had shifted the milecastle just 50 yards to the right, the gate would have been placed in the convenient cleft where the modern lane runs. But the boneheads obviously didn't do this. I suppose this strict, inflexible level of regimentation helps explain both the success and the ultimate failure of the Roman empire...

Just before Greenhead is the best-preserved section of the Wall, which in places survives above head height. It's the most amazing thing in the world.

Hadrian's Wall

The so-called 'Great Wall' of China

I didn’t have time to stop at the Roman Army Museum near Greenhead, but at noon I did pause at a visitor centre, where I was stalked by a chaffinch who wanted my ice cream.

Hadrian's Wall Path - Day 3, part 2

From Housesteads the Wall climbs and dips along the ridges towards the west: over Cuddy’s Crags, Hotbank Crags, Highshield Crags and Steel Rigg. I’ve walked this section on a bright, windy day, when the moors feel vast and open, and broken cloud-shadows glide swiftly over the folds of the land.

From an earlier trip, when the weather was less shitty

Today, though, cloud was everywhere, and everywhere was damp. Not that it mattered, with so much of interest to see. At milecastle 37 you find the arch of the northern gate with its springs still in place, as well preserved as any on the Wall.



A little farther the path takes a sudden dip into Sycamore Gap, where you see what is now popularly known as the Robin Hood Tree. This spot, as Hollywood has taught us, was once part of Nottinghamshire.


Scramble up the path on the other side of the gap, and there is a fine view of milecastle 39, whose north gate leads directly to a sheer drop from the crag. This makes the gate useless from a practical point of view, but it does demonstrate the strict by-the-book mindset of the Roman engineers, who insisted on placing their milecastles at precisely regular distances. There’s an even better example of this peculiar sort of military madness farther west.


And coming to Steel Rigg, here is a fine view of one of the turrets originally built between the milecastles. The turrets were systematically demolished by the Romans later in the second century, presumably because they were no longer considered necessary for the functioning of the Wall.


I left the path at Steel Rigg and finished my third day at Once Brewed youth hostel. I wanted to stay here mainly for nostalgic reasons, as I stayed here with Dunk thirteen years ago (almost to the day) during our Land’s End to John O’Groat’s bike ride.


I arrived two hours before the hostel opened, so I sat and drank more tea and hot chocolate in the neighbouring visitor centre. In my bunk room were two oldish men, also long-distance walkers. One of them was doing the Pennine Way, but had just decided to quit after two weeks of continual rain. Unluckily for him, the weather decided to improve the next day...

Garden gnome

Sotheran bought me a paint-it-yourself garden gnome for my birthday, so I painted it myself. I think it's turned out a lot better than the shit he usually produces.


I once went to Gräfenroda, the village in Germany which invented the garden gnome. True story.

Hadrian's Wall Path - Day 3, part 1

Those poor Romans. What did even the height of summer have to offer them here, on these wild, craggy moors that collar the neck of Britain?


If the Wall crosses the neck of Britain, then the high ground between the valleys of the North Tyne and the Irthing is its throat. The land is scrubby and rough, broken by outcrops of limestone and the great rupturing ridges of volcanic rock that rise gently from the south and fall sharply to the north: a most suggestive natural defence whose potential must have made Hadrian’s engineers giddy with excitement.

Probably the giddiness wore off when the diggers of the north ditch reached Limestone Corner: at any rate, having made a frustrated attempt to smash their way through and clear the ditch of boulders, they threw down their tools and called it a day.

Screw this

These were the upland pastures where the farmers of the river valleys found summertime grazing for their stock. Every spring the hills were invaded by legions of goats and cattle, driven up paths well-worn since prehistory. Many of these paths and grazing lands must have been severed when the Romans built their wall, and doubtless the auxiliary troops garrisoned here had a busy time regulating the transit of flocks and herds at the beginning and end of summer. It gave them something to do, at least.

It was early morning, two days by foot from the conurbation of Newcastle, a day removed from the tourist hotspots of Housesteads and Vindolanda, and the weather was uninspiring: damp, cold, foggy. Outside Carrawborough – the old fort nothing but a fenced-off field of grassy tufts – the temple of Mithras squats beside a little boggy stream.


I had the place to myself. The temple was ankle-deep in rainwater, as quiet and still as a tomb. No doubt Mithras was below in his cave, wrapped up warm against the Northumbrian chill. The last time I was here, on a university field trip, a coachload of American tourists appeared and their leader ceremonially placed a rubber chicken on the high altar. Even this sacrilege had not been enough for the god to emerge in anger.


The next few miles were quiet except for a couple of determined hikers. There were times when the distant road was empty of traffic and the only sounds were the soft patter of rain and the bleating of far-off sheep, muted by the fog. Strangely absent were birds; only later, when the rain paused, did they emerge, seemingly from nowhere, and swarmed the air above me in a banquet of bugs.

Heading west to Housesteads

A mile or so before Housesteads, the public began to appear: daytrippers, Roman enthusiasts, families. This is the most famous and most dramatic part of the Wall, where it rises up and down the switchback-like convulsions of the Great Whin Sill. Housesteads is also one the best preserved forts, built at the top of a volcanic ramp, with a civilian settlement huddled below it.

Approaching Housesteads

The surrounding slopes are striped with cultivation terraces, for the soil here was richly suited for crops in Roman times, and this was not so much a lonely garrison outpost as a bustling community of troops, farmers, retired veterans and their families.

From a previous trip to Housesteads

I skipped the fort, since I had visited it twice already in the last year, and went down to the visitor centre, drawn by the prospect of tea and a dry place to sit. My backpack was heavy enough, but I couldn’t resist buying this book by Alistair Moffat – a little thematic reading to keep me entertained in the evenings.

Hadrian's Wall Path - Day 2, part 2

Later on the downpour hit, rain as heavy as I’ve ever seen in fair Albion. I took shelter under the thick roof of an oak tree, hoping it would pass over, but this hope soon passed. So I decided to put my waterproof gear to the test, since I was lugging it around with me anyway. Backpack cover, coat, trousers and gaiters all deployed, I headed out into the maelstrom.

Soon I passed Mr Japanese Predator, who was hiding under a tree. The path turned down a steep country lane which had turned into an inch-deep torrent as the floodwater poured down from the high ground. Happily, my new boots performed well, and my feet were still dry an hour later when I reached a café at Chollerford.

The river North Tyne at Chollerford. There was once a really big and impressive Roman bridge here. You need to use a bit of imagination though.

After spending five minutes peeling off my waterproof layers so as not to soak their nice clean floor, I hammered my fist on the nearest table and demanded a pot of tea. By the time I finished it the worst of the storm had blown over, and I was ready to continue the remaining three miles to the next campsite.

A Roman turret

From Chollerford, site of a major Roman bridge and the fort of Chesters (I didn’t stop, since I’ve seen them before), the Wall – visible again for the first time since Heddon-on-the-Wall – climbs steadily up to the moorlands of the central section. The campsite was on a farm about a half-mile from the path, down a dirt track; it was starting to rain again, so I was glad to see that the farm also had a bunk barn.


A bunk cost £10 instead of the £5 for a camp pitch, but it was warm and dry, and I was doubly glad for the upgrade when I opened my rucksack and found that my sleeping bag was wet through. I cooked noodles on my stove in an adjacent junk barn, watching swallows flit in and out from a nest in a corner of the roof.

Batchelor's noodles taste good wherever you eat them. On the left is my tent, hung up to dry.

I shared the bunkroom with a mother and her four children, all hiking the path in the same direction as me, and three chaps about my age from London, who were hiking in the opposite direction. They had planned to bivy-bag the whole route, sleeping under the stars, and had reckoned that mid-July offered their best chance for dry weather. Unfortunately, the last week had seen the worst weather of the year; on their first night they had almost drowned in their bags, and they had quickly decided that youth hostels and bunk barns were the way to go. Also hiking west-east were a father and his eleven-year-old daughter.

This doll house was in the farm's laundry room. The weirdly crooked chimney bothered me.

Wall hikers turn out to be a very varied bunch. I met retired couples, pairs or groups of friends, old and young, male and female, entire families, and solitary hikers like me. The majority are middle-aged or slightly older, and they typically carry only a day pack, arranging for their luggage to be ferried from one B&B to the next. I deliberately made the walk more of a challenge (not to mention cheaper) by tenting where possible and carrying everything with me. This included five days’ worth of food, even though it was easy enough to buy food en route.

And so ended the second day. I was looking forward to the third, which would bring the most remote and dramatic section of the Wall.