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.