Hadrian's Wall Path (2013)

Hiking along the Roman border with 2000 year old fortresses and beautiful countryside

After the Coast to Coast, this is one of the more famous English trails. The 135 km long Handrian's Wall Path combines a beautiful setting with a Unesco World Heritage monument: the impressive wall built by the Romans to separate the conquered land from the barbarians. In 135 beautiful kilometers you walk from Wallsend near Newcastle on the east coast to Bowness-on-Solway on the west coast.

Day 1: Wallsend - Wylam, 24 km

Traditionally, this trail starts in Wallsend, a Newcastle suburb and the eastern end of the wall. Perhaps it is more appropriate to end the tour there, but agreeing with the guidebook I prefer to exchange the busy city for nature and not the other way around. From the hotel I walk to Segedunum, a museum surrounding the remains of an old Roman fortress. From a 35-meter-high watchtower, the stone remains suddenly make sense and buildings, walls and gates are drawn on the ground. It looks like a small village and I try to imagine it full of people, soldiers, horses, merchants, travelers. A bathhouse has been reconstructed on one corner of the site, an almost modern looking building with various rooms that are not inferior to a contemporary sauna. The first room, with semicircular alcoves in the wall that probably housed clothes, leads to several others. A cold bath, a hot bath, a basin with Medusa's head. There are no murals or mosaics. This was a soldiers' camp and the buildings were functional. I cross the busy road, paying close attention because the traffic here comes from the ‘wrong’ side, and that's where for the first time I see the wall Hadrian had built. The real wall is nothing more than a low row of stones barely rising above the grass, stretching out towards Newcastle. A short piece of wall has been reconstructed, but archaeologists do not know how accurate this reconstruction is. How high was the wall exactly? Was there a walkway, turrets? The reconstruction towers over me and I can imagine you wouldn't just slip over this as a barbarian. I do know that the wall I see here was only one part of the extensive defenses. On the outside a deep ditch had been dug, where the earth was raised on both sides into large earth walls, the Vallum. There was also a moat on the Roman side of the wall, but it’s purpose is still a mystery. Surely the Romans were too disciplined to desert? Or were they not completely safe even behind their wall?

After an hour of looking around, I get the first stamp of my Hadrian's Wall Passport at the museum, which I bought for £ 2.50. The money will be used for maintenance of the wall and with a stamped passport you can get a diploma afterwards. Then I head out behind the museum to the cycle path past the shipyards and other companies. Work is in obvious progress, the sound of a jackhammer rips through the air. But gradually the noise diminishes. The cycle path winds along the Tyne, surrounded by shrubs and flowering cow parsley. A few people are walking their dogs, there are no other hikers. The weather is lovely, even this early it’s almost tropical. Warned in advance of the English weather, I stocked up on serious rain gear, but it's still in the backpack that will be transported to my next overnight address. After exchanging the bike path for the hills overlooking the river, I arrive at a boulevard along the water. The North Sea has receded and the river is a narrow stream in a muddy mud flat. Close to the quay wall, I discover the wooden trusses of an old boat. A bit further on, a rat trundles into the tall grass. Slowly I approach Newcastle. There are no fewer than six bridges across the river in quick succession. The first is a graceful white arch, which beautifully frames the next, a tall green. Here I leave the river briefly to go to the castle that gave this city its name and which is built on the remains of a Roman fortress. On the way, I pass the house of Bessie Surtees, a young lady who ran off with an important politician and escaped her protective family through the window. The castle is not far, but is under construction. Only a tower is clearly visible. According to a sign it is still accessible, but I cannot find the entrance between all the scaffolding that keeps people away from the construction site. I go back to the river through a small gate, where I resume the route. I get to follow the river for a good while, with the occasional small turn inland to avoid industry. There I come across a monument to 38 men and boys who died in 1925 when a mine shaft filled with water, the Montague View Pit disaster. At Elswick I end up on an old railway line and the booklet  announces a prominent structure called ‘the Lemington glass cone’. I assume it is a large glass work of art and am disappointed when I don't find anything. It turns out to be the last surviving glass oven of the local glass factory, built in 1787. I have passed Newburn by now and it is barely noon. Today's end point, Wylam, is approaching far too fast. When I meet an ice cream vendor, I therefore decide to take a break and settle in the grass with a cone. I cannot sit still for long, because a little further I discover a monument that commemorates the battle of Newburn. It turns out to be a battle from 1640 by the English against the Scots, with a new lithurgy for the Anglican church at stake. The 20,000 Scots beat the barely 3,500 English and occupied Newcastle. In some panels the exact course of the battle is explained and thus I spend another pleasant hour. After a while I continue after all. Just before Heddon-on-the-Wall I leave the path, because my B&B is a few kilometers from the route. 

Day 2: Wylam - Chollerford, 36 km
I return to the route via a beautiful winding river path. Immediately after a golf course I turn towards Heddon-on-the-Wall. Right away there’s a steep climb to the village, luckily through a nice fresh forest. Once at the top I leave the trees behind and have a beautiful view of the river in the valley. The sky is misty and the hills in the distance hazy. Girls in school uniforms are waiting at the bus stop. I pass them on my way to the first section of the ‘real’ wall on the other side of the village. This is quite a long piece, that extends a few stones above the grass. Where the wall disappears into the grass, you can see the semicircular shape of a grain store, a medieval extension. I leave the village via a back path and then continue on a quiet road. Nothing can be seen of the wall here, only a deepening in the landscape points to a special history. I cross the busy highway and then I finally get grass underneath my feet. It is immediately clear that the English take the protection of the Unesco monument seriously. At each swing gate, walkers are kindly requested to walk side by side in order to minimize erosion of the grassy path. Countless remains are still hidden in the ground, safe from our stomping feet and the devastating effect of oxygen, sunlight and exhaust fumes. Because although I soon leave the highway behind, the path now runs parallel to a road that is well traveled. To be honest, I expected it to be more rural, away from the highway. A pasture further on I pass the remains of the Roman fort of Vindolaba. Remnants, however, are a big word for the grass bump barely 50 cm high. Most of the fort was used constructing the road from Newcastle to Carlisle, I read on an information panel. For a while the wall disappears again, but I don’t mind. The scenery is beautiful. At every turn I am allowed to climb walls via protruding stepping stones. There are fields of rapeseed blooming to the horizon and a lake shimmers in the sunlight. The skylark chirps it’s heart out. Could it be any better? In the hamlet of Halton Shields I meet one of the volunteers who maintain the trail. With his rake he sets off to rake the grass on the stretch I have just completed. Sometimes I walk to the left of the road, then to the right again. In a field full of sheep for the first time  I get a good idea of how impressive the Vallum must have been. Young lambs scurry around between huge waves of grass, a congealed sea, the effect no doubt enhanced by the hill. Not much later I arrive at the driveway of Halton Castle. Here I deviate from the main trail for a loop to the Roman fort at Corbridge. Yesterday I finished so early I can handle the extra kilometers. I descend past the beautiful castle, complete with a small cemetery. Although that modern lawn mower is a bit out of place. I cross under the highway again and stop to admire two pottery kilns used mainly for simple pottery.The graceful bottle-shaped structures in the backyard of a private house tower high above the flowers. They are no longer used and you can therefore walk inside them. Sunlight enters through a small hole high above me and illuminates the thousands of bricks that form a simple yet hypnotic pattern. The Roman fort is a bit outside of Corbrigde and after passing the center of the village, I'm there in a jiffy. I enter the fort through the museum. Here too the Roman remains barely rise above knee height, but there is still plenty left to admire. So ingenious. A grain store, recognizable by the raised floor, so the air could circulate underneath and the grain did not get damp. Because of the great pressure that all that grain exerted on the walls, the building was reinforced with buttresses, the remains of which are still visible. A semi-underground chamber is also still reasonably intact, used as a safe to store the soldiers' wages. The fort is not very big, so after an short hour I continue on my way. This time I have to climb a lot, because I have descended quite a bit from the surrounding hills. It goes fine for a fair while, until I get lost just before I reach the castle. I ask a farmer for directions, who must have shown lost hikers the way before. He points to a stile at the end of a meadow and I follow his directions to get back on the route. I have taken a shortcut, I suspect, because I was a bit further back on the route than where I return to it. Well, I don't feel like going back and continue strolling. At a large roundabout I see some hikers at a pub. I actually feel hungry and decide on a short stop. On the terrace I chat to a couple of Belgians and an English couple. I hike oin with the English for a while, but their pace is just too slow for me.
After fifteen minutes I leave impatiently. Somewhere in a random meadow I come across a piece of wall again and, urged by the guidebook, I look at this piece carefully. Here you can clearly see that the architect changed his mind halfway through the construction process. The first half is the originally intended three meters wide and then the wall suddenly becomes a lot narrower. The foundation, which had already been laid before, continues undisturbed. Here you can also see a gutter, which drained away water from under the wall. A group of hikers meet me, lugging heavy backpacks. I am amazed that they barely look back at the wall. Surely you are hiking this trail for a reason? I am glad I opted for luggage transport so that I can stroll through the grass at my leisure and take the time to explore this remarkable piece of history. I know one thing for sure: civil servants have not changed much in all those centuries.

Just before Chollerford the route makes a strange loop to the village of Wall. Just before I reach the village, the route returns to the road I just left. It's the only way to get to Brunton Turret, without actually walking the same way back and forth. The wall had a mile castle every Roman mile and two towers in between. Here a tower is quite well preserved, still more than a meter high and the entrance recognizable. Too bad that unsightly wooden fences have to prevent people from climbing the ruin. That shouldn't be necessary, should it? Just before the river I have the choice to walk a kilometer into a meadow, to admire the remains of three Roman bridges. I leave them for what they are. Meanwhile, the afternoon is nearing its end and although most museums are open until 6 pm, I still want to be able to look around in Chesters at my leisure, where another Roman fort can be admired. Here the bathhouse is most impressively well preserved. The wall with semicircular alcoves, the boiler hole. The commander's house with its semicircular entrance and floor heating. Part of the site is not accessible because a bird is nesting between the ruins and the underground ‘vault’, of which the roof is still intact, has turned green after a flood and is temporarily closed to the public. A shame, it's one of the best-preserved spaces I've seen so far. I leave the museum just before closing time. I cross the road to the sidewalk, but first stop to pick up a coat from the middle of the road. It feels heavy, there must still be a wallet or camera in it. It has to belong to one of the two hikers who walk a short distance in front of me. I speed up my pace until I catch up to them. They are two Norwegian ladies, who ask me if they can take a shortcut to their overnight address. While lady 1 ties her coat back into her backpack, lady 2 tells me she is severely suffering from blisters. We say goodbye and I walk a short distance to my B&B. Fortunately this time it is right on the trail, so I can continue immediately tomorrow.

Day 3: Walwick - Holmhead, 35 km
Early in the morning I meet a hiker from Denmark who warns me: "You can also take the military road, then you avoid the hills." But he is 70 and I am many years younger. I wouldn’t dream of skipping the hills, that's what I'm here for. The first kilometers are not too bad. Directly out of the village, the route runs along the ditch with beautiful views in the distance. There are white, fluffy flowers, the skylark sings and occasionally shows up on the path. The distance from yesterday has tired me and I notice I am not making much progress. Still, I am enjoying myself. There’s plenty of time still. In the next pasture the wall shows itself again with a watchtower. Too bad there is so little left. A rabbit demands to be admired in the distance. Flowering gorse and spindly trees make a lovely pair against the horizon. The ditch which has guided me so far ends in a heap of rocks. Apparently this was even too much for the Romans and they gave up here. I cross the road to get to a temple dedicated to Mithras. It is a peaceful dip into a green valley. Even now the pillars exude a mystical atmosphere. Too bad the statue of the god itself is a replica.Moments later, the road that has accompanied me from Heddon curves to the left. Finally free of noise I have a short break in a lovely pine forest. Once out of the forest, the route begins to gradually ascend until it towers well above the surrounding landscape. Every now and then there are remains of a watchtower or a mile castle, but the wall itself is most impressive here. It nestles in the grass and follows the contours of the hills to the horizon. This is clearly the ‘modern wall’, an English reconstruction to show where the original wall ran. The modern wall is narrower and has a rounded top. Moreover, no cement was used, but the stones are stacked in that typical English way, like the drystone walls that I encountered on the way. The Roman wall looks strong, sleek, sturdy and square. It still exudes the atmosphere of military efficiency and where the English wall mainly prevents sheep, you would believe of the Roman one barbarians would fail to conquer it. Just before Housesteads the Roman wall reappears, working its way up the hill to join the Vercovicim fort. It’s  located on a steep hill and the familiar walls drway buildings in the grass. The communal latrines in particular are well preserved, with a semicircular poop hole in various stones. In the middle, on a platform, are the sinks for when the water was rationed and was not allowed to flow freely through the gutters around it. When it rains hard, the water still flushes through the latrines, a volunteer walking by says. At the museum I meet the two Norwegian ladies from yesterday. They took the bus a short distance, but still want to hike the whole trail.After Housesteads for 150 meters walking on the Roman wall is allowed. I stick to the path next to it. Although it is allowed, this remains a World Heritage Site and in terms of view, walking on the wall has no added value. Yesterday there were a few small hills, but now big whoppers appear on the horizon to make your mouth water. The wall here is overgrown with grass and at mile castle 37 part of the entrance gate is still intact. Very nice. Now the route is really starting to get fun. Stones form a rough staircase downwards. There is a view of Crag Lough, a lake at the bottom of a steep cliff, and it is gorgeous. I keep climbing and descending and enjoying myself. Just before Steel Rigg there’s a great descent. Clamber down, while others climb up carefully. For the third day in a row it is almost tropical warm and I am so glad it is not raining. Then these rocks would have been smoother and the climb more treacherous. It has been unusually busy on the route since noon. Many people take the bus to walk only the most beautiful parts and Housestead-Steel Rigg is certainly one of the highlights. In Steel Rigg I deviate from the route to admire another fort at Corbridge. This is a disappointment. Larger than the previous forts, but apart from the enormous amount of low walls, little is recognizable. Yet here you get an idea of ​​the enormous size of the fort and the adjacent ‘vicus’, the village where civilians tried to earn something off of the soldiers. Especially for that time, when cities were scarce, it was a huge community. Archaeologists are still busy digging the ground here. At the bathhouse I sit on a wall for a moment and a yellow wagtail, with a fly in its mouth, shows itself up close.
I walk back to the National Trust Visitor Center and get a drink there. On a sofa I wave myself a little coolness, because I feel quite weak. Refreshed I continue with the last stretch to Holmhead. Every kilometer is beautiful. There are wonderful cliffs and on one of them I discover a mountaineer full of tinkling iron. At a kissing gate it’s not entirely clear which way I have to go. I climb the hill along the wall and it is only when I am all the way at the top that I am warned of a sheer drop. Back then and now I see the white acorn on another fence. As I continue around a small lake, I also see what that ‘sheer drop’ means: the hill just ends, as if it had been cut in half with a knife. The wall runs right to the edge and then disappears into thin air. The path continues through meadows. For a moment I leave the guidebook for what it is, although it causes me to miss an original altar that was hidden somewhere in a corner. I don't feel like going back. Dark skies appear on the horizon. With the sun still shining above me, it’s a beautiful sight. The trail becomes more undulating, although we are still high above the villages. I start chatting to an American and an Englishman and I follow them to the base of the hills. Until I see a piece of wall above me from the corner of my eye. With the finish in sight, I still have some energy left and it turns out to be worth the effort to climb up. This is precisely where the wall is about two meters high and squeezes itself past a few man-high rocks. Impressive. I still meet several people, but I am glad to be in Holmhead. It was another long day.

Day 4: Holmhead - Irthington, 22 km
A clear blue sky greets me when I wake up. Since breakfast is only served at 7.45 am, I can sleep in. The distance to Irthington is also short, so today will be a lazy day. Before I set out, I take a quick look at the ruins of a castle. A few walls are still standing, with windows and hallways halfway up. Once this was a living building, now only the skeleton remains. After a few more pictures, I set out along a babbling brook and an unguarded railway crossing. The trains are also running on the wrong side, I realize, when one rushes past honking loudly. Past a golf club is a stile and I get to go back into the meadows. This part of the route is quiet and rural, with only birdsong and the bleating of a lamb calling for its mother. The wall reappears briefly, in a field of buttercups. A little further on are the remains of an old Roman bridge. The river has now moved to the right and curves around the former bridgehead in a wide arc. As a layman, it is hardly recognizable as a bridge. Only at an opening in the stones can I imagine the lock described. On a modern bridge I cross the Irthing, a shallow stream which tumbles across round stones. On the other side, a long climb awaits to get back to the wall and I think what a height difference the Romans had to overcome. Clever fellows! Because I read ahead, I know I have to pay attention here. In this stretch of wall to the Roman fort Birdoswald, the Romans left some sculpture. I do not find the Centurion stone by Julius Primus described in the book, but do see a large phallus, the Roman four-leaf clover, meant to avert the evil eye. A film crew is recording on the other side of the wall. A man walks a long way along the wall and then back again and then jumps into a van. He's definitely going to pretend he's walked all the way. If that’s how you do it, I'm glad I don't make travel programs. Birdoswald's gate and waiting rooms are quite recognizable. The east gate is the best preserved of all the fortresses I have seen so far, you can still distinguish the beginning of the arch. I also discover stones with round holes in them, which may have supported a door. Beyond through the meadows full of blooming flowers. It is tropical warm again. When I walk a bit on a road, I come across a couple with trekking poles. We start in English, but when I find out that they are Belgian, we continue in Dutch. They are hiking the entire trail, but in very short stages of 10 to 15 km. After a while I continue, because my pace is significantly faster. I pass the remains of a signal tower that predates even the wall. The distant views are impressive. At a stream I rest on a moss-covered bridge. Wonderfully soft. Not much further I come across a rest post at a farm. In a shed is a refrigerator full of cold cans. Delicious! On the wall are notes from hikers who have passed by this year. This reminds me of the Pieterpad in the Netherlands, where the outside of a refrigerator was also covered with grateful words. I take off my shoes and get comfortable on one of the picnic benches while a small dog rummages around in the grass. Indeed, a lazy day. It's only a short distance to Walton. I come through a forest with beautiful flowers. A pheasant calls from close by and I am scared to death, but it disappears into the grass before I get a picture. After Newton I deviate from the route to Irthington, where I spend the night. The route is beautiful and I pass an abandoned badger sett. Tomorrow will be another long day and it will be the last. Too bad, I would like to continue for weeks.

Day 5: Irthington - Bowness-on-Solway – 36 km
I start late, at 8.30 a.m. Along the badger's sett, back to the route. There are a lot of flies and that is a bit difficult. Again I come across a rest post and box with goodies at a farm and I pick up a packet of raisins for the road. It won't be long before I get to the river Eden, a wide stream that creeps slowly. Two villages further I enter Carlisle. In a park I deviate from the route again to visit the castle. Some of the buildings are still in use as offices for the army. The Keep, a fortress in a fortress, can be visited. The wall sculptures on the third floor are particularly special, drawings carved into the stones by guards during their often boring shifts. I skip the museum across the street. I want to get to the end. In the park I briefly enjoy the shade and then hit the road again. It's a great path along the river that curves around Carlisle in a big loop. You don't have the feeling at all you’re walking past a big city, as was the case in Newcastle. Meadows and buttercups, hikers are being spoiled. Slowly the trail progresses, I can turn the pages of the guidebook and the remaining pages become less. At Grinsdale, the first signs appear that there is a detour due to a landslide on part of the trail. The map that is drawn looks complicated. In the end it turns out to be very simple. A short distance on the asphalt and I arrive at the church of Beaumont, where I resume the trail. I run into a number of hikers and three men advise me not to skip St. Michael's Church in the North End. The church is built with Roman stones, like so many buildings along the trail. And so it happens that a head of a pagan god is visible in the eastern wall. The church is more famous as the place where King Edward I was laid out after he died of dysentery. I stop at the pub for a drink and have to persuade myself to go on. I don't feel like reaching the end at all, don't want to be finished just yet.Eventually I continue to the road through the Solway swamp. Now that the tide is low, the river shimmers in the distance. The hills in the background are beautiful, the cows in the foreground don't care about the busy traffic. I'd rather choose the seawall than the road, safe from the cars that don't hold back here when they pass a hiker. At Drumburgh the route goes inland past a castle. At least, that’s what the sign says, I would certainly not have recognized it as a castle otherwise. It is a sturdy farm. All right, the original entrance is on the first floor and there are few windows, but a castle?I walk on a farm road to Glaston, where I reach the coast. However, the route follows a tunnel of trees, so you don't experience any of the expansive water. I slip into a side path and admire the view over the mudflats, pools, hills and beautiful blue sky. When I walk to the water, I hear a kind of crackling, as if thousands of crickets are hiding in the sand. Amazing. Again I have to push myself to continue. It is a short stretch from Port Carlisle to Bowness. There, at the official end point, I meet the film crew again, who welcome me in a festive manner. It turns out to be Flanders Holiday Land. After a short interview, of which they probably won't use anything, I hike to the King's Arms for my final stamp. It's a wrap. In the guestbook in which hikers write their reactions, I can only come up with a single thought:  "What a shame it's over.".