Hadrian’s Wall: Silloth to Newton Arlosh. Just a terrible day really (but nice ending).

Day 2; somewhere about 15km; about 7hr

I took over two hours to get off this morning, trying to figure the best way to stay as dry as possible which included eating my porridge in the laundry room- the rain began as I started to boil my water (and would not stop all day). After a nice chat with the camp owner I set of 9:30 to trudge the hedged way to Silloth with stiff legs.

My legs became no less stiff as I made my way past yesterday’s fish shop and through the now much grayer and Wetter community gardens and onto the promenade. I followed this upwards, passing a few dog walkers - one told me my good fortune to be walking with the wind behind me rather than against it as he was, which reminded me to appreciate little things.

The sign entering Skinburness turned out not to be as far off as I dreaded. I immediately decided against my guide books recommendation of the ‘fun’ route around Grune Point and cut off the corner up the road to put myself at the edge of Skinburness marshes (have I emphasised how long these little sections take).

Despite the guide books warning my mood was yet strong enough to believe I would enjoy the adventure of crossing the marshes. I climbed the defensive bank, crossed a wooden bridge, and set a bearing. It certainly was a remarkable landscape - remarkably desolate at the least (I felt like Pippin at the start of great expectations). This vast expanse consisted of grassy plain crisscrossed with streams. I thanked my poles, and my mum for waterproofing my shoes. One stream was particularly threatening in width; I undid my straps and leaped across but managed to scope up water with my heel. Heading onwards in this vast expanse that felt less and less welcoming by every stream - no sign of life but a few cow pats, I realised I had lost my map, panicking I phoned mum- I had no way of directing myself off the marsh other than the bearing I had set and the few poles standing at intervals. I eventually decided to retrace, and found the bag floating in the stream where I had crossed, thanking everything; it was sodden but surviving.

I made the decision there to leave the marsh and headed to the road this side of the defensive mound where I had seen cars passing, therefore proving the whole expedition onto the marsh pointless. This exit required a few more serious stream crossings but I stopped onto the tarmac in relief and soon stopped to get some food inside of me.

Plodding heavily along the road I reached a bend and Hartlaw farm, as I would have if I had followed my guide in the first place. So promising to stay loyal to its instructions I entered the bridleway past Meadow Lodge. But, having trudged past many fields I found the way blocked and chained. Not bearing to climb over and find the way blocked further on (and only having a 50,000 map with no sense of field boundaries), I turned back. And the tears arrived.

I rejoined the B road, passed by lorries and cars as a trudged in its side, heavy footed and crying at thoughts. I refused to follow the guides suggested route from Calvo, no longer having any faith in the signed footpaths, so instead set off on the long trudge on the Abbeytown road, seemingly immeasurable before me and an awfully long way (I can’t wait to be on a 25,000 map). The rain poured, my feet ached like anything, and my legs moaned incessantly as i tried to imagine it was possible to reach the end of the road.

Grim grim grim. Road aweful endless trudging, past by 3000 cars , more trudge, grey road, more tears, more tears, grey sky, long straight hill an hour away, bend on map, see cars bending in distance, reach bend, trudge through past houses, see seat, sit! Phone mum, hope of tea at inn, inn closed, trudge to church, church open! Inside it is calm and beutiful, this strong defensive building shares a feeling of security. After a brief sit with another helping of tears I made my way through the side door signposted ‘exhibition, toilet, and tea rooms’ suppressed again it was open. I walked passed the exhibition which would be fascinating to a less exhausted eye, pleases the next door was open to find the toilet- a large disabled one with fluffy towel and mirror, to my great relief as I had not stopped all day. My luck was defeated by the next door labelled tea room which was locked, so I returned to the church and sat, at the children’s table, gathering myself. I wrote a letter of thanks to the church.

My blessings returned as my phone wenzt from having absolutely no service to full signal and 3G so I called through to mum and decided on taking a taxi for the last kms which had been playing unbearably on my mind - it would take many more hours of rain road trudging. After a few missed goes I got hold of a taxi who would be along in 5 minutes, and sure enough was soon outside the gates. This saving decision took me to Cumbria camping barns on Watch Hill, where I was again lucky to catch the lady as she was leaving, this lovely women showed me round and i found an incredible barn of cozy beds, telly, sofa, microwave, fridge, mugs and all - I had been joyously pinning my hopes on a leaky barn and creaky bunk, not a luxury place all to myself. Pauline returned laden with eggs, cheese and tomatoes, set about making my duvet and chatting. After I had a brilliant hot shower with all the shower and hair products I could have imagined, then sat down tired to get some food in me.

The day can be described as misfortune and misery before 4 pm and thankfulness after.