Bellingham to Greenhead

Crossing the sandstone bridge across a mist swathed Tyne, I strode out of Bellingham following forestry commission workers on their daily commute. The route that followed was a patchwork of fields, small woods, driveways and farmyards, little jaunts along lanes before once again hopping back over a stile into enclosed moorland or searching for footbridges to cross tiny streams. I’ll happily admit to not really knowing where I was as I followed wooden signposts through this maze of slightly scrappy walking. Shitlington Crags were, as the name might suggest, a bit rubbish while Brownsleazes was also aptly named. Progress was slow and I was glad to finally reach more open country.

After a pleasant bit of forestry, a distinct ridge formed the horizon ahead, a likely candidate for Hadrian’s Wall. I forged ahead across a grassy plain that held a shallow lake and headed up for my first glimpse of this piece of history. Disappointingly the wall on top was distinctly modern, but after crossing a track I could see a more impressive ridge across the next plain and regained my enthusiasm. It was a cruel trick to be rewarded by another rough track and I continued to the next ridge, again a more obvious choice than the last. On it was a wide wall of similar sized square stones that represents another significant milestone on this journey.

It is the almost continuous ridge that really makes this a natural border and the walking is fantastic with views across the aforementioned parallel ridges to the vast Northumbrian forests that I was leaving behind. Steep crags unfolded underneath, and well preserved remains of milecastles and forts added constant interest. As the guidebooks warn, in sticking to the ridge the wall spends most of its time heading up or downhill. But although I was spending a lot of time gaining and losing height, the ups were never big enough to require a proper rest and miles began to swiftly pass under my feet. With much ground to cover, the sun set slowly as I followed this ancient structure.

At the ending of the wall I struggled to follow a ditch in the darkness and stumbled around trying to find the correct way into Greenhead from Thirlwall Castle. Finding a sign that promised a cycle track to my destination I approached the lit streets in the distance. Just before the village, the track headed underwater at a ford. As it was the end of the day, I completed plunging in, but luckily caught the glint of a footbridge with my torch just in time.

Being the only person booked into the youth hostel that night (why does no-one do the Pennine Way in December?), I was put up in the hotel to save on heating it for no extra cost to me. With a good distance covered and some unexpected luxury, the blog may be getting a bit boring but the journey is really beginning to flow.