Sunday 6th September: the 9.11am from Waverley, the first public train to Galashiels for more than 46 years (and the first public train ever to Tweedbank). Yes, I made it – and what a pleasant trip it was too, on this fine sunny morning.
Next stop Hawick?
Should we be up on the hills in the snow? It’s a bright but cold afternoon, with a biting wind – perhaps something a bit more sheltered. We decided on a walk beside the Severn in Shrewsbury, a route that in my mind was roughly S-shaped. Looking at the map afterwards, it’s a bit more than an “S” – not sure how to describe it. Inevitably, though the sky was mostly blue, the sun spent much of its time behind a (relatively small) bank of cloud.
View OS map on Streetmap http://www.streetmap.co.uk/map.srf?X=349224&Y=312694&A=Y&Z=115&ax=349252&ay=312687
Saturday afternoon: we’re out on the Wenlock Edge, enjoying some winter sunshine. There was a moderate sprinkling of snow at home – perhaps there would be a bit more up on the edge? No such luck – just an occasional dusting to prove we were in the same county. Sadly, one or two short stretches of the (public foot)path have been deeply churned by tractor tyres and are almost unwalkable. In fact they are unwalkable. The only progress that can be made – very cautious hedge-hanging, slithering and clambering out of one rut into another – cannot be described as walking. We’ve walked these same paths and tracks in previous winters, and one or two stretches can get a bit sticky, but now they’re seriously damaged. (Did the local farmer get a new tractor for Christmas? One of those really huge, heavy monsters that completely fill the lanes? I hope it came with a rut-filling attachment…)
It was more like fog at home, and might be worse further west. We headed east instead, for a walk on Cannock Chase, from Milford to the visitor centre at Marquis Drive (tea, sausage rolls, cake – we try to live life to the full). Our outward route followed, roughly, the old railway trackbed – not so easy at the southern end of the walk. Returning, we made our way to the Sherbrook valley, retracing our steps only for the last half-mile down the cutting. As forecast, the day gradually brightened, and the sun began to break through towards the end of this very pleasant ten-mile trip.
Or view OS map on Streetmap http://www.streetmap.co.uk/map.srf?X=398585&Y=317851&A=Y&Z=120
Monday: the weather’s too good to stay indoors (and it can’t last) – we’re wandering on the Long Mynd, making the most of what little light there is in late November. The steep hillside path takes us quickly up into the sunshine, and by the time we’re coming back down Mott’s Road, it’s almost gone. Instead of the heavy clouds that shaded us yesterday, there’s lots of wispy cirrus, much of it forming from jet trails. And instead of that biting wind, there’s just a gentle breeze. Perfect!
Or view OS map on Streetmap http://www.streetmap.co.uk/map.srf?X=343240&Y=294746&A=Y&Z=120
We did this walk, more or less, this time last year – more or less. Late November is good on the Hope Bowdler hills, or perhaps it’s the other way round. A stubborn bank of cloud limited the sunshine on the ridge, though there was plenty of sunlight in the distance, and the wind was biting, briefly carrying a light shower of rain (that wasn’t forecast!). We sheltered, more from the wind than the rain, behind the Gaerstone for a few minutes, before descending the last of the ridge as the sun dropped.
Or view OS map on Streetmap http://www.streetmap.co.uk/map.srf?X=347350&Y=293596&A=Y&Z=120
It’s no mountain – just 192 metres (630 ft) above sea level at the summit – but it’s a great viewpoint for the real hills of Shropshire and the borders. Not that it was particularly clear, nor did the sun manage to break through, but it was a pleasant afternoon to wander through deep carpets of fallen leaves, sweet chestnut husks etc. (the many squirrels have dealt with the nuts). The deeply-cut former quarries are worth a few minutes’ exploration.
At Clive we wandered around the village briefly before taking to the stone lane in its deep cutting beside the church and headed the highest point. As we walked back to the car, our eyes were caught by a bright flash of green (woodpecker), then the red of a pair of fly agarics. Peer over the wall – there are some deep dark holes…
We’ve done it before, more then once – from the end of the surfaced lane up onto the edge, then south-eastwards along the crest to the point where it peters out, almost at the main road. There’s a red kite quartering Corvedale, gradually working its way southwards and out of sight. The return route follows the stream, barely a trickle today, before tending away to its west and up to the manor house, where there’s tea and coffee, but we’re too late for the cakes – they’re all gone. A Twix will suffice – it’s not far back to the car.
There’s a regular bus service from Broseley to Much Wenlock – that’s one every two hours, from 9.30 am to 3.30 pm (ish). So today’s outing requires a little planning – it’s not wise to just turn up at the bus stop and hope – might be a long wait. The 1.30 (ish – it was late) gets us to Wenlock just before 2.00 – that’s a good time for the walk to Benthall Hall, which is open four days a week – we can call in for refreshments. The autumn days are becoming hazy, but it’s sunny and pleasantly warm. It can’t last…
Aberystwyth was always “Aber” on the railway – as a chalked destination on a parcels van perhaps. We’d be travelling by rail today, for a leisurely stroll along the cliff-top path from Borth to the university town.
The rain that started minutes after our arrival in Borth accompanied us to the top of the headland; a little way beyond it eased, and we were soon able to pack away the waterproofs and enjoy the coastal scenery. The cliffs are not high, but there is plenty of interest along the route, not least in the stripy strata clearly visible in the rocks.
The shingle spit at Wallog, “Sarn Gynfelyn”, is one of several similar features of the coast. Of man-made appearance, they are the stuff of myth and legend – ancient ways to submerged kingdoms.
Clarach Bay is full of caravans and chalets. It’s not the prettiest part of the walk, and we pass through quickly – but a little way beyond, back on the cliff path, there’s a picnic bench. It provides a quiet spot for a break and a late lunch before we arrive at Aber, to walk along the promenade and enjoy a well-earned ice-cream (“Mario’s” – excellent!)
“Aber” is perhaps a touch ambiguous, and appropriately so. The full name means “mouth of the Ystwyth” – but that river makes a rather inconspicuous approach to the town, sneaking into the Rheidol just yards from the open sea. It’s the latter that is more obvious, providing the harbour for numerous pleasure craft – and, as we waited on the station platform, a Vale of Rheidol train steamed gently into the former Carmarthen line platforms. Aberrheidol perhaps? If nothing else, it would be easier to spell for us poor pob sais.
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