We Walk the Wall

27 June 2018

Running clear across Britain from east to west is an old Roman wall, known as Hadrian’s Wall. Built in the 2^nd Century AD (finished around 127), it marked the northern boundary of the Roman Empire in Britain. It apparently served to tame those unruly Scots and Picts, and may also have been used to control traffic and commerce to and from the Roman areas (making sure taxes were paid and duties collected). Now a UNESCO World Heritage site, it is the largest Roman artifact in Britain (and maybe in the world).

I first heard of Hadrian’s Wall in connection with (I have to admit it!) George RR Martin’s “A Song of Fire and Ice,” better known as Game of Thrones. It is likely the inspiration for The Wall, a massive ice fortification to keep the People of the North out of Westeros. (The more I travel and learn about history and geography, the more I admire Martin’s ability to crib from things that actually happened to create his stories!)

Hadrian’s Wall, the real one, runs some 75 miles through beautiful countryside. It is now accompanied by a hiking trail, the Hadrian’s Wall Path. When we were in the Lake District two years ago we visited several parts of the wall by car. This time around, I really wanted to get back and hike a bit more along it. So yesterday was our Hadrian’s Wall day.

View from the car park

Wall climbs up the hill. Those Romans!

We drove about an hour and a half north and east to a conveniently-located car park that gives easy access to the Path. We paid the fee (£2 per hour; it’s hard to find a place to park anywhere in England that’s free) and got started. It was satisfying to hike on the same trail we’d been on in 2016; even more satisfying to get past where we’d had to stop before. We made it to the place called Sycamore Gap, a low spot between two hills, where a magnificent tree (presumably a sycamore) is growing. This tree was awarded the English Tree of the Year award in 2016 (where but England would we find a Tree of the Year award?). It’s claimed to be the “most photographed tree in England.”

A romantic view of the tree (from Getty Images, I'm told)
https://metro.co.uk/2016/12/18/tree-of-the-year-winners-are-pretty-spectacular-6331190/

My own view of the tree in Sycamore Gap

Much as I would have liked to keep going along the trail, it wasn't long before we had to turn back. The day before (our first in the Lake District) we’d done some ambitious climbing just outside our door in Braithwaite, and my legs were feeling every one of the 1200 feet we’d climbed up (and down!). Plus, it was threatening rain. So, we headed back.

Along the way we continued to admire the wall itself. Almost 1900 years old, and much diminished (stones were taken for other projects over the centuries; and why not, since they were just sitting there for the taking and so much easier than cutting and hauling more stone?). Now barely head high, it was a good 10 feet in height and 8 to 10 feet wide when built; most likely there was a walkway along the top for sentries. Every mile or so along the wall were “mile castles,” towers for observation and signaling, and every five miles a garrison. (And how far was a “mile”? One thousand Roman Legion steps; mille in Latin, from which we get, yeah, mile.)

The wall: taller than Paula!

Mile Fort 39 -- or what's left of it

It’s difficult for me, from my soft 21^st Century perspective, to even conceive of how such a massive thing could have been built, and in just a couple of years. It was made from local limestone, and the stones were cut so uniformly and placed so well. Quite a piece of work! (I’m not sure I could even lift one of those stones!)

Lots of very even, carefully placed stones

We got back to the car just as the rain started (it seems it always happens like that), so we left feeling both gratified and a bit disappointed – there is, after all, so much more to see! We took refuge at a pub nearby, the Twice Brewed Inn, had some coffee and biscuits and thought about getting back up here sometime. There are groups that walk the whole length of the wall, from coast to coast, over a period of five or seven days. Paula spoke to the desk clerk at the Inn as a man brought in packs and bags from hikers who would be arriving later, to spend the night after a long day on the trail. And yes, there is a network of inns and hotels all along the wall, and companies that will move baggage between them, so hikers can focus on hiking. Our wheels started spinning… there’s so many possibilities!

 

A much-deserved rest at Twice Brewed

So, I guess this kind of overcast is pretty standard, then?

 “Once its construction was finished, it is thought to have been covered in plaster and then whitewashed: its shining surface reflected the sunlight and was visible for miles around.”

                        --- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hadrian%27s_Wall

         "...reflected the sunlight and was visible for miles around." Gosh, that sounds like another wall I heard of!


up next: End of the week we leave for Newcastle for two days; then York for two days; then to London for the month of August. Awesome!

Over the Bridge to Skye

If that title seems a bit familiar, it’s a modified version of the last line of the Outlander theme: “…over the sea to Skye.” The words were penned by Robert Louis Stevenson, a solid Scot from Edinburgh, which he set to a traditional Scotch tune.

15 July 2018

We’ve just arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital and second largest city. Back to hard-paved streets and noisy traffic in narrow canyons between tall stone buildings. Ah, but Edinburgh does indeed seem like a fine city. There’s a lot going on, with the streets full of shops and busy engaged (and engaging!) people. And we have yet to make it to the Old Town, where the good stuff is. We will do more exploring tomorrow; we’re staying here for a week, let's not rush things!

The last couple of weeks have been lovely, though, being away from the noise and traffic. Since arriving in Bergen, Norway on June 7 we’ve been in a series of major cities (the Seven Cities, we’re calling them). Now, for the last two weeks we’ve been in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, delightfully rural and picturesque. We started in Glasgow, flying in from Amsterdam, to start our 90-day out-of-the-EU period. We picked up a car at the airport, and have been auto touring since. From Glasgow in the south we drove past Loch Lomond to spend a few days in Oban, a small but popular town on the west coast. From there we caught a ferry to the Isle of Mull and a quick drive across it to catch another ferry to Iona – but I think we’ve already talked about Iona.

Once back in Oban, where the ferry left us, we headed north, past Fort William and west again to the Skye Bridge. Intrigued as I am by the idea of a bridge leading to the sky, this bridge took us across the water to more land; specifically, the Isle of Skye. We’d planned a couple of days in the south of the island, and a couple more in the north. Now having been there I realize we could have stayed much longer! There are endless rolling vistas, twisting roads, blue water, green hills, brown beaches. And sheep. Everywhere, sheep. It’s what they do, in the highlands and islands. And the summer lambs are big enough to wander on their own, but still close to mama. (Or is that maaaaaammmma!)

We didn’t know what to expect, on the Isle of Skye. My research had turned up a number of hot photo spots to visit, but as usual, the reality never matched the photos. It was much, much better!

The first spot we went to, called Sligachan, was very crowded. Huge weekend crowd, we thought. Rare sunny day, everyone getting out. Cars parked along the road all the way to there. Ah, but we soon found this was not just any day; this was the day of the annual foot race, up a 2000 foot mountain. It was a charity event, and a very popular one: we were told there were something like 250 entrants, plus all the support folks – family and friends – to see them go. Once the runners were off – and we watched, astonished, as the runners shot up the face of this distant cinder cone – we started exploring the trails that started at race headquarters, a well-established hotel.

See that tiny stream of white in the lower third? That's the runners, headed for the top. And back!

It didn’t take long until we were out of sight of the hotel, and the cars, and all the people. We headed over the low rolling hills towards the south, and the endless, open green country broken by rolling hills. Since we weren’t prepared for an extended hike we didn’t go far, but a check with the map showed this trail ran for some 14 miles, to the south tip of Skye. Fabulous! Maybe someday we’ll be back…

 

Fourteen miles to the south end of the island.

Awaiting the runners return on the bridge at Sligachan

Our next outing was to the lighthouse, the Neist Point Lighthouse, built to guide ships passing between Skye and the Ulst islands to the west. This is one of the featured points on Skye, shown in all the tourist brochures, so we didn’t what to miss it. Getting there involved some very narrow roads, up and over those rolling hills through endless grazing land. And sheep. Always sheep. While we’d gotten pretty good at the Scottish single-track roads, with the periodic passing places that require levels of cooperation between oncoming drivers that is rarely seen in the US, these roads had a new wrinkle: blind summits. Bit of a white knuckle experience: driving on a one lane road, coming over a hill not knowing what may be on the road coming towards us! We had some interesting encounters, but nothing traumatic.

We soon made it to the coast, encountering the long trail of cars parked along the road well before we got to the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We hiked along the paved road to the trailhead, and then down down into the valley and up the other side until we could see the lighthouse, far below.

View from the car park; the lighthouse is hidden by the cliff

Paula contemplating the long descent to the lighthouse

The lighthouse is a complex of buildings, well below the cliff where we were standing. We invoked our oft-repeated manta, “what goes down must come up,” and decided not to actually visit the lighthouse itself. After all, we were on the hill overlooking the jagged, rugged coast of Skye. The seas were calm today, lapping at the base of enormous cliffs, the sky above blue and white. Why ruin that with pointless physical effort? Paula headed back, I stayed, but instead of heading down to the lighthouse, I started climbing further up the hill we were on. I was quickly passed by a couple of boys, 10 and 12 or so. I asked if they were going to the top. They barely paused to say, yes. How could I stay behind?

Me, at the top of the cliff 

Classic view of the Neist Point Lighthouse

View back toward the car park.Cars are visible at the far right, top

The boys were soon joined by their mother, and I made a long slow climb of it to allow them to enjoy their time at the top. I arrived just as they were leaving, and the mother offered to take my photo. So, I’ve got that moment! After a brief rest, and time for a 360 degree photo, I headed back down. And then back up out of the valley to the car park above. Then we started the long slow drive back, stopping now and again to check out the sheep.

 

Sheep guarding the road to the lighthouse

We wait in a passing place for traffic to clear. Sheep are doing what they do: eat.

The Old Man of Storr is a famous rock formation rising above a valley and is on the must-photograph list for the Isle of Skye. The road to this venue was better, and the string of cars parked along it even longer.

We made it to the base of the formation, from which the shape of the rocks can be examined. (Yes, we made it, along with a passel of families with 6 and 7 year old kids. OK, so I guess it wasn’t quite that tough…). After taking the requisite photos Paula was ready to head back, but the trail – and many of the visitors – climbed further upward. So did I…

At the base of the Old Man of Storr

View to the north, back down the trail

Eventually we got to the top and to the endless views across the top of Skye to the sea and further islands beyond. Stunning! I found these landscapes, blending into seascapes, more satisfying than the iconic photos of the Old Man I had seen. It was worth the extra effort!

Looking out from the peak to the distant ocean

Looking back down at the Old Man

That afternoon we headed for the Quiraing – the name derives from Old Norse brought by the Vikings, as do many place names in this part of the world – along a desolate single-track road between the tiny communities of Brogaig and Uig. Right from our arrival at the car park it was clear this place was special, even after all the extraordinary landscapes we’d seen. As we hiked along I mulled over what the signboard at the trailhead said: 8^th & 9^th century Highlanders hid their cattle in the folds of these mountains to keep them from Viking raiders. It gave a further poignancy to my hike, as I negotiated the narrow trail cut into the steep cliff, black rock rising above me to the left; and to the right, a steep drop opening to the coastal plains and the flat ocean beyond.

View from the trailhead out over the Quiraing

We didn't have to go far for this perspective

View of the trail. I made it to the "notch"

I went up and over, the trail went down and around...

But again, we had not planned to devote a full day to these explorations. Eventually I came to a narrow pass between cliffs (was this were the cattle were hid? I kept wondering) and decided it was time to return. I added a stone to the cairn slowly built up by previous decades of hikers and turned back, the trail a thread reaching into the distance.

Sheep 

So now we're in Edinburgh, in the Lowlands. In a few days we'll get another car and head further south to the Lake District in Northeast England, and eventually to London for the month of August. Maybe then we'll have a chance to catch up to the month of June...

Our Pilgrimage to Iona

(Ed note: We've been moving pretty fast since we left Alicante on June 7th. We've skipped over Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Hamburg, and Amsterdam, but we really need to say something about our time on Iona, a small island off the west coast of a slightly larger island off the west coast of Scotland. We'll catch up to all the rest soon. August, maybe, when we'll have some time in London.)

Iona, a tiny isle off the west coast of Scotland, is considered the starting point for Christianity in Scotland. In the year 563 the monk Columba arrived after being exiled from his native Ireland. He put up a monastery, which proved a big hit, and their religious practices soon spread throughout what’s now Scotland and Northumbria (roughly the eastern part of the UK from Edinburgh to York, including the now-famous Lindisfarne Abbey, known as a favorite Viking pillage site). The Book of Kells was reportedly written here in the 8^th Century, but the monastery was abandoned in 849 due to continuing Viking raids and the “book” was sent to the Kells Monastery in Ireland for safe keeping. (They got to put their name on it.)

The Abbey at Iona, seen from the arriving ferry

Today it is a tranquil respite from modern life. Although heavily visited by tourists, only locals are allowed to have cars, keeping things quiet on this tiny (1.5 by 3 miles) island. As I sit writing this I am gazing over the rugged golf course, with its dips and hummocks, the calm ocean only a few hundred yards away. Hikers pass by from time to time, and sheep graze, slowly moving through my view. There’s cattle, too, over in that corner. It’s fine for the animals to be on the golf course (until one gets hit by a golf ball; then it’s time to pay up). Everybody seems to get along pretty well (although there is one noisy malcontent of a sheep out back). Iona is a place for retreat and restoration.

Houses along the shore of Iona; the island of Mull in the backgrouned

Sheep! Primary residents of Iona (plus, it's lambing season)

It’s a real treat, after our non-stop month of big cities.

Our own pilgrimage here started this morning in Oban, on the mainland (if the island of Great Britain can be considered a mainland). We had, of course, planned to come here to Iona for some time; it was part of the original plan, but the details kept changing as we explored transportation around Oban. We’d planned on leaving our rental car in Oban with our Airbnb host, taking the ferry to the island of Mull, then a bus across the island, and final short ferry ride to Iona. But eventually we decided to drive.

View of Oban from the ferry dock

The ferry to Iona arrives

Cars (and a lorry) loaded, heading to Mull

Saying goodby to Oban

That is, drive on the ferry in Oban, and drive off in Mull, then drive across the island. The schedule for the bus across Mull seemed a bit dicey (we’d end up waiting a long time for a ride), as did the arrangements for leaving the car in Oban, so driving ourselves seemed a better option. It was very exciting, driving onto the big boat with all the other cars and trucks (er, lorries). It was about a 45-minute ride, through incredibly blue waters, past incredibly green islands and an ancient castle or two. Really spectacular. Fantastic sun. (People here are blown away by the weather, two weeks without rain!)

A brief rest stop on the road to the western shore of Mull

We got off the ferry on Mull, and after an hour and a half of winding up and over and down and through the most gorgeous green countryside I’ve ever seen (sorry, Ireland!), we arrived at the ferry dock on the western side of Mull. A snack bar, a restroom, not much else there. But in the hot sun, looking at the azure water and the red shore rocks, Iona with its distinctive abbey across a narrow strait, I thought for a moment I was in Italy. Ah, but the soft Scottish burr of the people around me soon got me sorted!

Waiting for the ferry to arrive on Mull; that's Iona in the background

              The Pilgrimage Continues

Ferry ride, walking and waiting, a lift from our B&B host (also the island’s taxi driver); we get settled into our room. Big plan for the morrow: visit the abbey, which is hosting a chamber concert of music by Mendelson, among others. (It seems Mendelson visited a cave near here, so now he has a music event, the “Mendelssohn on Mull Festival,” named after him; people always want to capitalize on celebrities).

The Iona Abbey from the land side; I think that's me on the left

On our tour of the abbey we learned that in the 8^th century, after St. Columba died, Iona became a major tourist site. The isle prospered from this early tourist trade, and the monastery was started in the early 1200s. As happened with most of the religious buildings in the UK, the Reformation of the 16^th Century left the monastery in ruins. It wasn’t until the 1900 that it was restored.

The Reformation: When Henry VIII broke with the Catholics and started his own church so he could grant himself a divorce from his first wife, Catherine of Aragon.

The distinctive Celtic cross, with a circle at the intersection of the arms, decorated all over with carvings of intricate symbols and designs, is believed to have started here. Several early examples still exist, although some are in pieces! (Engineering note: the carved stone circle helped support the heavy arms, originally a structural rather than an aesthetic feature.)

Intricately carved Celtic cross, believed (by the folks on Iona) to have originated here

Early Celtic cross (12th Century?) at the Abbey (this one's a copy, the original - or pieces of it -  is in the museum)

Paula on pilgrimage

Passing a cross that other pilgrims have been passing for 500 years

After the tour we continued our pilgrimage to the north end of the island, another 20 minutes or so. The impossibly green hills complimented by the white beaches, surrounded by azure waters, with distant (and not so distant) islands – also impossibly green – was totally stunning. (I probably shouldn’t say this, but Scotland is how I expected Ireland to be…)

Paula headed back to the village to forage for dinner; I was filled with the spirit of pilgrimage and wanted to continue around the island; our B&B was within sight of the beach, and I figured I’d just head around the western shore until I got back. Turns out, it wasn’t that simple…

What with sheep fences and rocky terrain I ended climbing the steep ridge that runs along the northern part of the island. After climbing over several more fences and trudging through bog areas that were, fortunately, dry after the long drought, I made it back to the main road, right near the abbey. I sat, sipping a cool drink, contemplating the abbey’s ancient stones. This is where my “pilgrimage” took me: back to the abbey.

I felt my return to this sacred spot was significant, and a sign…

Mostly, though, I was disappointed that I didn’t end where I wanted to (ever practical, I am). Still, it was satisfying to have made the effort, and another 20 minutes on the road and I was back at our B&B.

View from the high and wide windows of our B&B -- yes, cattle on the golf course!

Rocky terrain of Iona