Scotnatrail day 2-4: Cessford to Three Brethren - beauty (& sun)

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Day 2 - cessford to maxton, St Cuthberts way-22km sore and warm

I take the getting up very slow so it’s after nine when I leave. Today will be hot. The wheat is nearly at full ripened. I’d love to eat it like I did years back in Southworld. Oil seed rape stains my trousers with oily patches then wonderful feast of raspberries for second breakfast. There met a wonderfully talkative old Scottish gent, who gave me all the facts about the local area and told me about all his past walks (suspect he needed a natter!). company organising Hadrian’s wall for £140 + st oswolds way. So many Scottish trails. It is so uplifting, the jolt of pride I get when I tell people I’m walking the Scottish National Trail- I always tell them I’m willing to give up on the way, and I definitely am if I want too!, but I feel confident, armed with this challenge, I feel like me.

Into a beautiful wood full of bird call. It’s hard not to believe that walkers are the best sort of people in all the world.

There is honeysuckle blooming in the hedgerows, and the air of the path through long woods is full of calm.

On a steep river cutting I see exposed the red sandstone that constructed Morebattle church and cessford castle.

I am pretty tired by noon and the last March to Harestanes is very hard work as my water is low. The place is a sort of kids play park with outdoor cafes. Got an excellent gluten free chicken bacon and lettuce roll with brownie drink and crisps, used their bathroom (3x) but sadly couldn’t charge. And killed time.

Back inti beautiful woods - nice and cool and shady. They smell strongly of wild garlic. I was flagging well before lunch and still tired and sore after but again taking it v slow as I don’t want to arrive at camp early.

The trail carries on on the Roman Dere street so is straight and dull, but passes the sight o the Battle of Ancrum moor where a wonderful legend has grown about the stone of Maiden Lilliand who joined e the battle (it was once actually sight of a treaty stone and the story got different inputs from all sorts of sources). I go up to explore and have a good long boots off break sat up on her monument, with wide views.

Plentiful raspberries help me on the last few miles - so plentiful it’s slightly mad, don’t see this many blackberries when they are in season.

I’m really enjoying getting to walk in the evening. The light is so much richer.

Finally reach maxton. Filling up my water at a fancy tap (doesn’t say drinking water so I filter/ use to cook with to be carful), I meet two nice ladies from Devon- they’re meant to be getting to Jedburgh for the evening (so many people today have talked of Jedburgh I wander what is there) - it’s already 7 at least, and Jedburgh is an awfully long way away- think they settled on a taxi!

In the woods behind Maxton’s church i find a bench and think this is a decent palace to make dinner - popping to find a loo spot however my string of luck that has lasted 20 years finally runs out: I see things flying, then hear aggressive buzzing, then I’m being attacked by wasps swarming from the ground. One is in my arm stinging me. I run but one determination follows me. Throw my hat away as destination and run. I give them ten minutes to calm down and by that time my first ever sting has formed a nice oval lump on my arm. V sad because I’ve always taken assuring in the fact that you can’t have an allergic reaction on your first sting, now, who knows. I find another dinner spot a bit further on, behind a graveyard, and use my water bag as a cold pack.

I explore the cemetery and down by the river after eating and decide to camp behind a wall in the cemetearu - discrete as long as no one wanders in. I notice on the wall where I set up, the three grave stones are enscribed to Fairfax’s of Charlecote (the family of Charlecote Park) - what a strange coincidence (another act of trail fate putting things in my way?), do find myself in Scotland 300 miles or so away, and yet to sleep a meter from the Fairfax-Lucys

It was hot today, as I’d predicted, with beautiful sky’s of fluffy clouds. But it was also a lonlier day. Fewer walkers to chat with for most of it. Lilliand was my favuourite new acquaintance I think!

Day 3 - maxton to Melrose, St Cuthberts way

This morning I remember why I don’t like walking. I’m tired, and what is ahead hangs heavy - I get through these things by thinking only if the next hour, or next evening max, but still it’s hard not to wish it were over and know it’s an awful long time till it is. But then again, this is why I do this. To see what I can endure, what I can overcome. Pushing myself to see if I can pass the test: that I don’t give up.

I reach the river tweed where a fancy horse powered pump room once brought its water up to Benrig House. The day is already warm by 9 (though their was a lot of dew last night, my tent very wet inside).

The pebbly beds of the river remind me of the Yukon, washing clothes out on the stones on those evenings. I stop by it to wash my clothes - would be a shame not to make use of such nice weather and good water access - and behind me another Walker with a big pack catches up and stops to chat… he’s walking the Scottish National Trail (and also has just done the Pennine way so on week 3)! He said he’s heard about me -a lass on the Scottish National Trail - from the people heading the other way , which I suppose isn’t surprising though I found it so. Of Halifax. He was really lovely to chat to, and it would be nice to bump into him again as I hadn’t expected to meet anyone else doing the scotnatrail but I expect he’ll walk far ahead of me. I stayed washing my stuff for a bit after, letting it dry in the rocks in the sun. Herons fly by and perch on the opposite banks. I do love rivers. And feeling so happy knowing someone else is also on the scotnatrail. Crowds of swallows fly over the tweed

I reached st boswells and found the cutest cafe imaginable- it was literally the one I dream of making: a book cafe - book shop, wonderful fancy tea and gluten free polenta cake, fantasticlal decorations and posters pasted on the walls of all the author talks they host - proper fancy authors and all, michel morpurgo, Kate humble, Rick Stein - and the book selection is sooo good, even the bathroom is decorated with poems.

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The next section really is rather lovely - along the banks of the river tweed. Met a strangely arrogant cuthberts way Walker who seemed self conscious that me and Halifax man (who he’s met earlier) were walking farther than him.

Bowden has an Interesting ‘pant well’, and I swing on the playground swings - as I say, your not allowed to pass a swing without a go - life’s too short for that!

Then the big climb up east mild hill. Bilberries at the top! and spectacular views.

I descend to Melrose excited for a proper campsite - I’m glad I didn’t phone in advance as they might have turned me away, being full; it’s harder to turn down someone standing in front of you! But I’m a bit shocked to pay the extortionate price of £16.01. Don’t have much choice though as I really want a shower - besides wild camping is free at least (although I used that to justify my hotel on night 5…)

I go to the Ship Inn for dinner - it’s a great pub, with big screens showing Olympic highlights, and I get a table next to a charger, charge all my stuff and have pizza for dinner. I call mum, and edit the blog

Back at camp I chat with a neighbouring camper, he’s on mile 400 of John o groats to lands end! (Sick of wild camping so campsitting when he can - respect) - and doing huge days (going to Kirk Yetholm, where I started, tommorrow)

Day 4 Melrose to three brethren. Southern uplands way

I take the next morning really slow - it’s another wild camping day but short miles. I want to dry my tent and clothes too in the morning sun, as much as I can. I love my tent so much - it’s nearly perfect in every way but it does build up a LOT of condensation most nights, I wipe down the inside with a jcloth when I wake up, and if I get to camp early I put it up and give it lots of time to air, but these late wild camping nights make that harder.

I take a second shower too - what luxury; not washing everyday like I used too hasn’t been as bad a so I thought, but I still very much like to be clean (unlike Halifax man who claimed he’d only washed once since starting the Pennine way!- can hardly believe it.

It’s ten when I leave (I just sat in my tent killing time to let stuff dry). Melrose is such a lovely town of shops and pubs. And I spend even longer exploring the town - the priorwood gardens is full of sweet smells and bird song, it’s orchard trees heavy with swelling apples. The great abbey remains peak over the walls. Although every day when I look at the schedule I wonder why I planned such short days, I am living the freedom they give me to spend time at interesting sights. Oh yeah, and I saw two ferrets. Being walked. On leads. 🤷‍♀️

I explore too Harmony Gardens. The garden thermometer says it is 24 degrees. The huge site of the Abbey, and all its surrounding buildings suggest it must once have been very important, I wish entrance was not ticketed as it would be lovely to go inside.

Here I am sad to leave St cuthberts way - who lived in Melrose for a time - and come into the Southern uplands Way. The tweed looks glorious again in this sunlight. I take a little detour from the scotnatrail to stay along the river, I’m glad I did: cool woods and herons standing in shallow water watching for fish. On the other bank by abortsford house, a father, only knee deep at the rivers centre, leads his kids in a canoe along the river while some children practise archery on a mini target.

The next section was fine, lunch on a bench in fields up above the towns, in the sun, then descended mid found a nice cafe - the coffee tree - for tea in Galashiels (glad I didn’t choose Costa, wouldn’t get the same natter) . I fill up 3 litres but then decide its way too heavy (I love my bag but it doesn’t hold up so we’ll under large weights) so through away 1l in the local woods. I ll filter at the river instead when I get too it. Maybe 4km.

Then suddenly out into huge open fields, marching steeply up under the sun. Marching and marching to the woods at the top where steps in the stone wall give me a wonderful cool rest. I always feel a touch of relief when I leave urban areas for rural: a feel safe out here, when no one is around, at ease because those who are know who you are; you are a Walker, in the towns you are a stranger visiting and people are unsure how to act to you. Passing greetings more ill at ease. But entering the countryside away from settlements comes with nervousness too, being away from easy access to water, to food, to shelter - I have to trust in my preparation, which I know is fine though I worry still. At the very top of the open hill is a wonderful egg shape cairn (cairn seems an old word I wonder it’s origins?) Almost feels as if it should have an entrance. I wonder if it is new; neither the guide or the map mention it though it dominates the hill. These wide open miles are beautiful, wildflowers nodding in the breeze across the hills. The breeze disguises the heat of the afternoon sun, forming a temperature and light so perfect you could pause the world in this moment and always be content (… if you didn’t have miles to go).

I descend down to the river, passing through a farm and looking about in case of water taps, wandering about the front of the houses to see where is a good way to the river to filter; a gentleman pops out asking if I’m okay, I mention I’m looking to go to the river for water and he immediately goes in to fetch me two bottles of beautifully cold water!!! How kind people are! He also points me to an outdoor tap of drinking water. I fill up probably nearly 4.5 littered - probably FAR to much, but I’m nervous that I won’t be able to find any tomorrow morning as I plan to camp up on the hill. Cross the bridge and a bit of road walking, The bag is super heavy but I can deal with that, id be tired and footsore any way so only a little more

Then it’s a long long long climb up hill. This time on a narrow path with only view in front. It’s surprisingly well warn for the fact I have seen no one else really since the morning. Every time I see a view I realise I still have so much farther to go up then I think. I do meet two walkers heading the other way though we don’t chat. On and on. The weight of my bag is silly. An opening on the path gives my some logs to finally take a rest at. Two mountain bikers arrive, off their bikes having struggled up the last bit (that must be how the paths stay open). They say it’s lovely up at the Three Brethren, the top of the hill where I’m heading - originally this was marked as my camp spot, but the new plan is to have dinner their then go on; take up a few of tomorrow’s Kms. I keep my break on the logs in the clearing short - nearly 6, and getting hungry. On and on and on. And on. And on and on. The path IS so beautiful, with heather and bilberry beside, gold in the evening light, and just behind, spruce trees giving cool shade. If I was here any other time, or on a bike descending this track there would be little more perfect.

(Opinion on the hill!)

A feast on some of the most plentiful bilberry bushes I’ve ever seen gives respite on the climb, so large and juicy they could be mistaken for blueberries from the shop (though therere far tastier). If I stood their for a day just eating, I would hardly make a dent!

Just beyond, the way suddenly opens out to Moor ahead. And I turn beside the wood for the final leg of ascent.

Here the growth is low: heather and bilberry spotted here and their with a stubby fir tree. Up and up and up and up. Then is spy two big blocks up ahead - the three brethren ??

I pass between two firs and I ask the mountain permission to enter the summit. The wind replies in their needles. Then before me suddenly the view of the three cairns and rising between them a bright white trig point lit on the sun! I sing a song of praise. Nothing! Could be more wonderful than this - the view from the top 360 degrees of hill and field. And up at the top I see a tent, surprised to meet two lovely campers on the southern uplands way. Into the far far distance hills roll away fading to the bright blue of the sky, purple mores and yellow fields and green forests and valleys. Three three grand cairns, one for each county bound,sit proudly watching over their lands, while the little trig point shines between, guarding my bag.

I had a magical evening up there at three brethren. Eating dinner with David and …. we’re the loveliest couple imaginable, in their 50s, wrapped up jobs in the City to live their best lives: David is doing a masters in particle physics: a dissertation on whether Einstein’s equation of general relativity can be applied for quantum gravity at higher energies with additional terms. …. is doing a masters in politics and international relations, and they hike: they’ve done John o groats to lands end and so so much more. …. has hiked since she was 5! Just the life advice listening to their experiences was so wonderful to heat and felt so possible for me. they were just so kind! And kept saying please don’t not camp here because of us. I was really torn as the view from the theee brethren’s was simply magical, dusky light in all directions, and I feel much more comfortable camping there with other people than I would on my own exposed like that. But I’d promised myself more miles tonight, and it was quite gusty there too, and they had the best space around.

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So I walked on at 9, towards the setting sun now snuggly behind a cloud though the evening is still presently warm away from the breeze. Sheep call across the Moor.

I am in such raptures about the beauty of the moor that I take video after video and video call mum to show her. I choose a spot sheltered by the lichen coated dry stone wall that runs to saddle of the ridge, separated from the path by heather. Tent set up and stuff ready for bed by 10. A very late night in hiker terms but so worth it for this.

10pm and I feel like I’ve entered another reality, is life meant to be this perfect ? Sunset over the moors and dusk time butterflies on the heather and me in my beautiful tent through which I can see the colours of the sky fading grey to orange. I know I’m theory I did the hard work to climb that hill, and I did the hard work of life too - all that past behind me, so maybe good things can come by, now and again. But something so good as simplicity, purity of joy in this life feels too big of a gift for me. To be here in this moment with no commitments or worries or care at all, and this land to be all mine to explore, and yet only to need to sleep, when I have had enough of staring, why that is the greatest blessing indeed.

All those tears, all those low moments, all that unhappiness, all that life, I pass through, as I always do, to this.

I sleep with my door open, to watch the stars appear one by one in the sky