Sandstone Trail

A walk in Cheshire

I am guilty of procrastinating these days, taking too much time to complete a simple job or plan anything of note, but I do flit between lack of anything and being over active when the mood takes me, I’m often accused of hurrying people up when a day out is planed simply by sitting still in the living room waiting people feel pressured by me?.

For some time now I had in mind a route in Cheshire, a route that I had run parts of some years ago and thoroughly enjoyed exploring with adventure dog and always felt a little unsatisfied that I had never gone back to. Starting in the little town of Frodsham 15minutes away from Chester the Sandstone Trail travels for some 34miles roughly following the rather impressive sandstone escarpment that rises above the plains of Cheshire to its final destination of Whitchurch in Shropshire, passing some amazing history along its varied paths.

In days gone, I would simply have hoped off a train and ran straight for 30 odd miles and completed this in one day, in fact at the height of fitness this would of taken me around 7 hours, these days however I am somewhat absent in my splendor on the trail and have to settle for a more sedate 2 days of walking, splitting the trail with a stopover at the Bickerton Poacher which is roughly half way.

In its early conception in the 1970s, the trail ran for approx. 16miles, but over time and with popularity it has been expanded on three separate occasions to its now lengthy 34 miles, the dedicated website has a wealth of information for places to stay, cafés and other notable sights on the route and they have nicely split the walk into three sections.

Now, it has been about 3 years since I did any miles of note and so with some spontaneous action running through my veins I decided that I would go ahead and walk it, maybe as proof to myself that I can still do these sorts of activities and have the ability somewhere hidden inside this tattered shell.

I opted to stop in Chester for the evening, when looking at accommodation in Frodsham it was around £30+ more expensive than the places in Chester and with only a 15 minutes journey time on the train it seemed an ideal place to stay, with its fantastic historic buildings, castles walls, museums and Christmas market running at the same time I was sure not to be bored whilst there.

Early morning start and I left the hotel in Chester around 6am on a damp cold morning, it was unusual to find that there were so many trains running regularly towards Frodsham with about 20mins between each service as usually I would be waiting for an hour or more for a train on previous expeditions. After a quick hot cuppa and a rather naff bacon roll from costa, I boarded the train in the dark for the short 15minutes journey to my start.

Once off the train I had a short walk down the street towards the main starting point outside of the Bears Paw pub, a hand made stone sculptor using local sand stone and steel signaled the very start of the trail with a little information board next to it. I did a quick video introduction as commuters zipped past on their early morning drive and began the walk, now every single time I’ve done a walk it always seems to start with a hill or incline and today was no different.

I walked the short distance back up past the train station again and took a turning right up along a narrow footpath towards St Peters church where I was afforded a nice view back down into Frodsham before the walk onto Overton Hill. The first footsteps on this new terrain gave me a taste of what I was in for during the next 34 miles as the recent rain had turned the mud into a slick and almost icy surface that provided little purchase on, still onwards I pressed legs burning and lungs wanting to give up until I reached the top and was met with a spectacular view out across the Mersey and into Liverpool itself.

A slight wisp of mist was rolling off the hill adding to a magical first climb, I stood around and marveled at the scenery and the impressive war memorial before taking off on the well sign posted route, little yellow circles with a black footprint showed me the way.

I threaded my way through woodlands atop the ridge, large cliffs of sandstone flanked my left and I was soon coming out onto a large open field, the signs directed me up towards a main road and it wasn’t until I had walked for 30minutes and realised that for some reason the path separated here to the main road and nowhere else, so I walked back down to where I came from and I managed to locate my path, this wasn’t to be the first time the path became a little spurious in its direction.

The wandering here was very sedate, slight up hills followed quickly by downhills and pleasant autumn woodlands surrounded me at every turn, this place was old and I was soon passing the base of WoodHouse Hill Fort and its large impressive ramparts, a large iron age hill fort where during one archeological dig small round stones were found which were identified as sling stones used to defend the fort or perhaps hunt animals. The next few miles were a gentle mix of low level paths, many of which were now a muddy mess and I slid along the best I could at times shuffling along trying to some degree to avoid the worst of what lay beneath my feet, I stopped momentarily for a rummage in my trial snack pack, a delightful heady mix of dried fruit, MnMs and beef jerky.

I was soon wandering alongside fields and past beautiful but rather rude and standoffish horses (posh horses) and into the very start of Delamere forest, I hadn’t been here since I was a kid, not that I could remember the labyrinthine fire tracks and roads, I had read and watched a few blogs of this route with most saying how boring this section was. I do get where they were coming from, with endless miles of the same type of forest track it can get a tad dull, I would of preferred more off track route here but it was still a pleasant wander non the less. Delamere was a busy little place which seemed off for me to have come across so many people as usually I had been wandering on my own for hours without seeing another sole, they were just starting to erect the light trail for Christmas and miles of wires and lights stretched the route.

At one time I came across what I believed to be a ramblers meet in a local car park and laughed at the signs from the forestry commission here stating their green credentials whilst hordes of people hopped out of cars in the car park, still was nice to see the place being so well used.

I did consider making a beeline for the café but decided I would rather push on,  7miles seemed to pass quite easily and I was soon crossing a rather busy road (A54) and into Primrose wood where a little descent and assent awaited me. I stopped for a time and had a break with water and snacks and watched others wander past on their day out, the paths all around here seemed to be quite accessible and easy to reach. I made a beeline for the lovely named Urchins kitchen which unfortunately given the recent wet weather had flooded the main walking route and I opted not to try and access this today and end up knee deep in cold swampy water, Urchins kitchen is a remnant of geological movement with a large gorge cutting through the woodland here.

Another road crossing and into Willington wood where I was greeted with a strong haunting vibe, the young trees had formed a lovely arch way along the path, but the dull autumn light and slight mist provided the woodland with a sleepy hollow feeling,

I quickened my pace and was soon wandering through numerous open fields, the ground here wet and claggy underfoot and each step needing an extra one or two to move forward as my feet slid on the ground. On my way I passed by some rather fancy houses and extremely large stables that wouldn’t look out of place in a period BBC drama, a quick crossing over the Shropshire union canal and in the distance began to form the impressive ruin of Beeston castle, sat atop its rocky outcrop.

I skirted the base of the  ancient site, its history tracing back to at least the bronze age, before a short road section led up to the front gates which loomed impressively. Unfortunately it is not open every day and requires pre-booking to enter, still somewhere I definitely need to return to in the future, the café here was also closed for the day and I had to make do with my water and snacks.

Nestled behind Beeston sat the impressive Peckforton castle, built in the 1800s as a rich Victorians country house, it is not actually a castle but built in the style of one, today however I was wandering around the outer grounds, my more than smelly bedraggled look probably wouldn’t of been welcomed at this now rather posh hotel and spa.

I took a seat here in the woods and marveled at the almost tropical noises around me. I assume the calling was from the local crow/rook population, but today it sounded like a pack of monkey’s following me through the woodland. A very sharp climb awaited up onto the summit of Peckforton Hill and a brief sit to catch my breath and I was off again. Nearly 19miles in according to OS map but nearly 22 miles according to my GPS watch? I decided I had enough of the slippy terrain for today and made a beeline for the nearest road, Stone House lane seemed to drag on forever passing by some rather large and fancy houses but thankfully lead simply to my rest stop for the night and in the distance I could spy the Bickerton Poacher and the eventual stop for today.

I wandered inside and grabbed a cup of tea and a Sandwich before making my way to my room and a short rest before ordering evening food. I was glad I wasn’t sleeping outside tonight and a quick look at the Met office signaled a yellow weather warning for rain for much of the area tomorrow.

I had a fit full sleep in the night, hot and legs aching saw me wake periodically, I woke early and made a brew whilst I waited for breakfast to start, for some reason it seemed to take a rather lengthy amount of time for my breakfast to be made (40min) but it was nice and I was soon leaving the warmth and dry of the pub for the drizzle outside. I had now donned my waterproofs to help protect me from what was promising to be a miserable day on the trail.

The path was straight from the pub and a quick dash across the very busy road saw me slowly climbing up a wet and muddy path, before a short road section saw me join up with the Sandstone way path and onto Bickerton Hill, as I joined the path at RawHead farm I instantly remembered the route I had run all the years before, I had hoped to check out the many caves along this route, but it would of meant me climbing down and then back up again and so I opted to avoid them today.

I passed Queens Parlor, a rather large multi-chamber cave gradually dug out by human activity over the years and the infamous Rawhead cave, said to be home to a gang of highway men in the 18thC who would use this as a hideout and staging area for their numerous crimes. It was definitely out of bounds, I had tried to find this on previous visits but the overgrowth had hidden it well, today however the rain had made the ground a little treacherous and there was no way of getting down there. I also managed to find the well which would have provided a local source of water in the past.

I wound my way along the footpath as it narrowed and opened out along the ridge, passing by large scars in the earth which helped to give the whole place a Switzerland type feel, the relatively slight stature of the hill hidden in the dramatic geology.

I was soon coming down off of one hill when it was time to start the ascent and onto the second section of Bickerton hill, again a short but sharp climb up on the top to be met with another great view of the Cheshire plains and yet more caves were hidden underneath, this time Mad Allens hole, home to hermit in the 19thC who not being allowed to marry to woman he loved, took up residence in the cave for the rest of his life.

I passed by Maiden Castle (iron age fort) and stood in its deep and intricate ramparts, the work it must have collectively taken to build these things really does astonish me sometimes, passing down again and into the lowland for the final time of the trip.

Here I was met with more large country houses, farms and stables, fields freshly harvested now stood bear with mud looking like barren battel fields and making any walking through these extremely difficult. I wandered into a field at one time, a large groups of young and enthusiastic calves eyed me before walking up to meet me at the style, I had to physically push them out the way at one point before they continued to follow me and began to pick up speed behind me, I turned round quickly and waved my hands whilst shouting at them and they stood there looking surprised and scalded like naughty children before I was able to make my escape from them.

Not far away I was greeted by the singular church in the middle of fields surrounded by a fence, Old St Chads once served the local area, a 14thC church rebuilt in the 1600s feels cut off from the world around it, today it is very little used but still holds burial plots for the area.

I continued on my way threading along various fields before coming upon another field of young calves, this time however the calves seem to have been very energetic and every inch of the field was now a pot mark of small hoof sized depression each one filled with muddy cold water, there was no way of avoiding any of this now and my feet already drenched from the many previous flooded fields became wetter and muddier, the cows thankfully stayed away this time.

I was great full to finally come across the canal, or more specifically the Llangollen canal where a nice path absent in mud and water awaited me, a pleasant little trundle along and a short stop in a local café for much needed cake and tea and re warmth before setting off again for the final slog.

The only issue I have with the canal is how straight they can be and seemingly never ending length, I passed over an old swing bridge just on the outskirts of Whitchurch and on towards the town itself, the canal finally running out and onto sedate local town paths, where the signs became a little less here and at one point I seemed to be on the opposite side of the path and passed out into a park, I soon ended up in the Centre of Whitchurch and looked around for the ending and after looking at google, I realised that I had seemingly walked passed it at the park entrance (oops) being too focused on the end haha.

I took off for the train station eager to get some warmth and head home and when I arrived I found out that the trains were now buses, but after a 20 minute wait I was pleased to step foot into a warm place and finally start making my way home.

So I spent 2 days walking this route but those of you that are fitter may very well complete it in one day. There are options for accommodation but they are both expensive being around £70 per night and one stop over entails a walk off from the path of about 2 miles.

People have wild camped it and I have seen places where people may do this, personally I don’t think I would risk it, the route is quite populated and frequented, meaning that any stops are going to be very late arriving and very early leaving.

I wouldn’t recommend walking this in the winter months, the ground here is just far to slippy in most places, it might be devoid of height and technical underfoot, but this dosen’t mean that some will not find it difficult to walk across, my choice would be late spring and into to the summer months.

There isn’t really many places to grab a drink or bit to eat along the way, so make sure you pack smart for water and food, apart from the café in Delamere I cant say I seen many stop off points for a cuppa and cake.

Access to and from the start/end is easy, Id recommend stopping in Chester the night before, more choice and cheaper, you can alternatively start from Whitchurch end, don’t be like me, make sure you know where the end is lol.

A time for reconnecting.

It has been some time since I have had a real adventure, time, money, ill health have all played their little part in the restriction of me just taking off as I used to. With the school half term holidays looming, we booked our annual week away, this time we headed off into the most Western part of Wales.

We booked a cabin in the hamlet of Gell, which nestled just outside Criccieth in Wales, sitting near to the mighty Snowdon and the wild and rugged hills of the Rhinog’s. Gell is a sleepy little collection of farmhouses around 1 mile outside of the historic town of Criccieth with its history dating back to around the 14th C and overlooked and protected by the imposing castle.

We had set off on Monday morning and began heading into the more rugged and wild landscape that the Western part of Wales offers and is less touristy than other more popular areas, I had planned a route towards the little village of Beddgelert in order to take in some of the local history and stories there, our road twisted and turned around the mighty mountains and took us through quite lanes, spectacular views and amazing lakes.

Beddgelert rested at the foot of mount Snowdon and once out of the car you couldn’t help but feel a little small in your surroundings which some believe derives its name for the 8thC Christian Missionary Celert and not after the hound of Myth Gelert. We were no more than 5 minutes into our wander when the heavens opened and we were treated to a rather monsoon style down, one which become common for our 4 days away. Unfortunately we never quite made it to the 18th C tourist grave and instead quickly headed back to the dryness of the car and a much needed hot chocolate.

It was only a short drive to our cabin, we were delayed slightly from gaining entry into our abode by the shuffling of large static caravans on the sight and were informed there was a rather nice chippy in Criccieth of which we made full use and yes they were very delicious.

Once inside, the cabin was larger than our actual home, with oodles of space for a family of four and adventure dog and once unpacked, we settled into our first night, I have always had a love of Wales the whole countryside is far more accepting of walkers and general outdoors folk, it never feels to busy and there is so many unique and interesting bits of history around every corner. In our cabin we gazed outside at the amazing dark skies filled to the brim with stars.

The morning soon came and with it a sunny start, which was in contrast to the rather strange monsoon downpour that peppered the night time. Today’s foray saw us head firstly into Porthmadog, the closes large town, we parked up in the town and had a browse around the shops, buying the main staples of a week away, beer, pastry filled items and some rather tasty doughnuts and made our way down onto Back Rock sands parking up on the beach and a short walk around.

The beach was long, flat and away from the tide line numerous cars had parked up with families enjoying the walking and playing games, a cave sat at the end of our part and begged to be looked in, unfortunately it didn’t reach too far in and I felt it was little mundane and full of rubbish, its only saving grace was the amazing green and yellow colours the dripping water and rock had created making it appear otherworldly. On our way back to the car a large military cargo plane (possible a C17) flew low and across the water and with a wave to the crowd it took off and over the hills.

We headed back towards our cabin with a brief stop off at Criccieth and a wander around the seafront and up towards the castle and lower beach, the 3 mini beards were all needing a nap by this time and so we headed home for lunch and a brief lull in activities before heading off later that evening for a drive towards Phwelli, we drove around to the outer harbour to the oddly placed holiday park there.

During the night the familiar downpours began again, each more ferocious than the last, but with the dawn breaking through, sun again beckoned us outside, now if like me you have teenagers in the house, getting them up at an appropriate time can sometimes be a challenge in its self, today the children once woken, kindly went back to sleep for another hour, prompting a more vocal call to get dressed. Mrs Beard had identified a woodland not far away from us and this was to be our destination, the ancient oak woodland did not disappoint and despite the rather vertical path upwards seemed to be enjoyed (see separate blog here).

Lunch was needed in order to keep the clans spirits up and so we headed into Harlech for a bite to eat, Mrs Beard as always made a bee line for the local charity shops as myself and adventure dog headed down towards to castle for a look, Harlech castle is one of the finest examples of 14th C architecture and so has been placed as a world heritage site. It wasn’t open for our visit today but would be on the final day here, with Ice-cream in hand we headed back down towards our car and with a plan for a trip into Phwelli later that evening for a meal we had a little rest at the cabin again.

With our last day now here and the inevitable monsoon rain during the evening again behind us, myself and Mrs Beard headed off into Harlech for the castle, I was a little early in my timings so we headed into the local ice cream shop for a brew and a view across Afon Glaslyn and onto Harlech and the inviting Rhinogs. Once open, we headed into the castle and spent around an hour here exploring the buildings and view before heading back to collect the children and our final journey home.

I have always loved Wales more than the Lake District which I feel has become a little over saturated with people in the last few years, Wales still holds those hidden places and secret spots where one can escape the hustle and bustle of the world, I’m always left feeling that I have never had enough time there.

Criccieth isn’t a large place to be, but there is some much going on around you that you’ll never be left bored.

Cost- yes like pretty much everywhere in the UK there are areas or attractions that are expensive, we had planned on the railway and Portmerion but both of these were nearing £60 + for our group and so seemed a little on the high side for us, but there are options for cheaper days, the many castle are often good value, with miles and miles of beaches and the numerous mountains, waterfalls and forests to explore for free there are other options out there to explore.

Stay- I lost count of the many campsites, caravan parks and holiday homes throughout our time there, they all vary in cost and experience so it worth googling to find the best option for you. Me, I would go back in a heartbeat, I had manage to do some short trail runs whilst there and forgot how much I loved being out in the wild weather and darkness.

Travel time- Approximately 3hrs from our home in the Blackcountry, the route was clear and easy to follow, I had purposely extended our time travelling there to take in some of the country side and towns along its many winding roads. There is lots to see and do along the route to Criccieth so add time into your travels to make sure you make the most of it.

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Wizards, princes and an army of trees.

Todays little wandering adventure takes us to a most spectacular woodland walk in the Western portion of Wales.

Nestled near to the little hamlet of Maentwrog lies a large and ancient woodland, bespeckled with autumnal colors of browns, reds and oranges of the season our target for today is Coed Felenrhyd

Mrs beard had been searching through the internet and came across this little gem shortly before we headed off on a few days away in Gell, hovering just above the town of Criccieth.

The weather was a little odd the night before with heavy downs pour on and off over a number of hours, but thankfully as the dawn began to emerge the weather had improved massively to a warm autumn glow.

Being only 20minutes from us by car, it was a simple affair to arrive at our destination, having looked previously, there was no designated car park as such and a small laybye on the A496, for reference I used the post code for the Magnox power station LL41 4HY, from here it was a short walk over the bridge and on to the footpath.

Once you step through the gate, you feel instantly transported into another world, ferns almost drip from the ledges and trees, whilst moss seems to sprout abundantly from every available surface, we follow the river for short distance and stop to take in the hydro-electric plant and the shear force of water gushing through the outlets, when we first arrived at our parking spot the Afon Dwyryd had flooded from the torrential downpours during the evening and the water now flowing from the power plant seemed to help add to the flooding.

Once at the first intersection of paths, we eyed the welcome information bored and opted to take in the red loop which followed the now still and serene Afon Prysor, plus given my families fluctuating enthusiasm for anything more than a flat path this was the best option today.

We wandered slowly along the path, stopping to take pictures and take in the lush autumn forna, we came across our first amazing view, known through OS mapping as the Ivy bridge, as its name would suggest was draped in long strands of Ivy, overgrown with centuries of moss and grass, once my fellow walkers had caught up and viewed the fairy tail bridge the audible appreciation was notable.

We took turns standing upon it and gathering many pictures, maybe wasting a little to much time admiring this most intriguing structure, later searching would enlighten me to its history. It is a grade 2 listed structure, a bridge which once provided a crossing the original pack horse route between Harlec and Maentwrog and built somewhere before the 18thC, this most amazing bridge now provides a excellent photo opportunity, unfortunately, my own pictures did not quite do it justice.

We headed on, but were met with a taped off gateway and a sign stating the path ahead was closed due to recent storm damage and many trees covered the path, having been across a few of these in my time, I have both been blocked and found the paths passable, but with family and dog in tow, I reasoned that the path may not be quite that safe and headed back to the information board to take the yellow loop path.

The ascent was steep and seemed to go on for more than a mile or more upwards, the steep route a cause for the more than occasional pause along the winding and ancient pathway, about halfway along the path we came to a much needed bench, which at this time of year, had an obscured view across the valley and onto the hillside of Coed Llyn y Garnedd, once breath were caught, we continued on our mammoth hill ascent until we finally reached a forestry track and hidden around the bend lay 2 cottages which seemed at odds with the remote surroundings, I have yet to find out if these are private accommodation, but what an amazing place to have some much needed time away.

We looped back around the fire track, a more gentler and welcomed route downwards to our car, the promise of a lunch seemed to spur the family onwards, the views kept arriving as we twisted and turned along the track and marveled at the geology and crumbling rock edges along the way.

The footpath downward soon arrived and we wandered along an uneven path, through numerous horse chestnut trees, their fruit covering the ground below in a spiky green carpet, now before the thoughts of warm fires and the hearty smell of roasting chestnuts fills your mind, these are but the humble British native, small in stature and not much of an snack.

We were soon at our entry point to the woodlands and I’m sure the family were more than happy after a slightly hilly wander today.

Overall the route took us some 2 miles, but for a mile of that it was a strenuous climb upwards, the paths are uneven and slippy at times over the exposed wet slate.

Parking can be tricky, with one layby near to the power station, but from here there are many walks around the woodland.

I would love to spend an entire day here, wandering and taking pictures, so perhaps in the near future, this can be a plan.

There are may tales associated with this magical place, it is mentioned in the writings of the Mabinogion, the earliest stories written, here in this very woodland a great battle arose between Pryderi and Gwyndion.

Gwyndion is said to be a magician god in the stories and by trickery and theft, started a war between two houses. In the aftermath of a great battle, Pryderi offered to fight Gwydion one on one, to help spare his people from anymore blood shed, but Gwyndion who had caused so much trouble for his own family and by his magic ability managed to kill Pryderi, who is thought to reside on a nearby hill.

Another tale tells how Gwyndion having lost a race, fashioned an army of monsters and trees to battle his foe, the sight of an army of trees and shrubs brings to mind the famous scene in Lord of the Rings where an army of trees attacks the evil magician.

Go visit, go see this amazing and rare woodland.

https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/visiting-woods/woods/coed-felenrhyd-llennyrch/

My first bikepacking adventure.

It is no secret that I have been somewhat absent from the world outside for the best part of 14months.

I spent my recuperation at home, watching others heading out into the post lockdown world and enjoying what nature has to offer, I missed my running immensely, to be able to transport myself for never ending miles around the countryside and exploring and finding little hidden gems that are simply forgotten.

I knew I wasn’t able to run anymore, or at least not for the foreseeable future that is and so began my own path towards bike packing. I had purchased my trusty steed a few months back, spending time trying to find what was right for me, I tried to stay clear of the more purpose built latest tech bikes, the 1000s of pounds immediately relegated them to the ‘only if I had the money’ board and opted instead for a more moderate £400 from my local Go Outdoors.

With the addition of a few necessary bags to provide the all required storage space I began to plan my first trip out. Bike packing seemed to me, to be the next logical step, I already had more gear than I really needed form my trail running days and with the light weight options I chose it seemed ideal to get back into a healthy lifestyle again.

I knew straight away where I was heading, I had been wanting for years to be have a secret wild camp near to the Wrekin in Shropshire. A secret, hidden little spot that I had visited many times on my previous runs with adventure dog. I knew that from my last visit (some 3 years ago) that it was rarely visited, I had seem on the odd occasion evidence of other humans, less careful that myself by evidence of their detritus.

I downloaded Komoot to aid with navigation specifically for the bike and made the simple request to plan a route from my Black country home to Wroxeter, home to an amazing piece of Roman history and from there I would be able to locate my camp for the night.

I had completed only a few long rides on the ‘bearded wheeler’ before hand, but was confident that I could cover the 32 miles with ease and set forth on a mini over night adventure.

This was more than an overnight for me, it was the first time I had been out on my own since 2021, the first time I had not had any supervision from people wanting to wrap me up in cotton wool, but more that I sometimes struggle to feel connected to the world around me and so this would be unplanned therapy.

Knowing that it wouldn’t take me 8+ hours as previously to complete the ride, I opted for a more gentler time of mid morning, with many adventures before, I began packing up my gear the night before and instantly felt at ease with something that had become second nature to me over a 2 years ago.

My route was one of mainly roads and little lanes, but thankfully one that avoided most of the busier main roads, initially Komoot decided that I need a rather odd large diversion around my local town, but I dually followed the suggestion anyway as it thread me through main roads and quiet back streets into Wolverhampton before I was finally able to join a very brief section of the Shropshire union canal, I did note that at this stage there appeared to be more downs than up and this would mean an inevitable climb back to home.

I took a leisurely pace along the roads, passing without notice into Aldersley and then Codsall before coming upon the little village of Albrighton, I passed by a local café and then quickly turned and stopped for a brew and a delightful piece of cake. When ever I was out running, this would always be the plan, at 15 miles in, I believed that I deserved it, It was soon consumed and off I set again, heading this time for RAF Cosford and the museum that we had visited on numerous occasions and enjoyed this little ride past.

More sedate and quiet country lanes awaited, cars for the most part were well behaved and apart from a few close calls, I cycled my journey in peace. I edged around Telford on the many cycle paths they have, they seemed to be more geared up than where I am for cycle provisions, there were a few steep descents leading me into the town of Wellington, where I would need to return later on to meet a friend for dinner.

The road leading from Wellington to Wroxeter was a little more busy than I would of liked and cars zoomed past me at 60 + mile n hour, one thing I noticed is that electric vehicles make next to no noise and you only know they are they when they are less than a few feet away, this makes it a little disconcerting when they suddenly appear by the side of you.

I diverted down along a very underused side road that pasted between fields and wished the rest of my ride was this nice before finally coming across Wroxeter. As I arrived a large group of small children where had commandeered the gift shop, buying little gifts with the pocket money their parents had supplied. The lady behind the counter, once free, looked at me with relief as the children began to be herded outside to the coach.

There I bought a brew, an ice-cream and one entry, as I had time to kill today, I sat and read through the guide whilst I finished my ice-cream and then had a wander around the historic setting.

I am always amazed by the structures of the past and this was no exception, the intricate brick and tile work stunning, to think that as we Britons lived in mud huts, the Romans where building massive stone structures, underfloor heating and sewer systems, nothing short of amazing.

After a few hours there, I headed back into Wellington where I met my friend for a long overdue catch up and meal and then off I headed towards the Wrekin.

This that Know, are more than aware of how busy this prominent Shropshire landmark can get, I had long ago found a little spot to sit and contemplate the world, away from the bustle of the crowds. I had intended to get to my spot via the running route, but found that I was blocked by a gate, put there to deter bikers and horse riders and instead had to circumvent this obstacle by having to push my bike up a rather steep incline and boy was it steep.

I sweated, puffed and panted as I hurled not only my weighty frame, but also that of the bearded wheeler and a dry slippy slope. I soon found myself at ‘my’ spot and set up my tent by a recently downed tent. I sat there listening to the last of the visitors leave and by 10pm the world was silent again, at this point however I could distinctly hear footsteps in the dry leaves around my tent, I only assume this was a small animal, as i was not disturbed.

Sleep came easily for me and I had a relatively settled night, by 5am I was waking up and lay there listening to the world begin to come alive, the birds chirped happily away and I used this time pack away and make a hot drink.

My return was a mirrored of the ride here and so I settled into a leisurely ride home, of course with a stop at the café again for crumpets and tea.

The art of nothing.

I sit atop a small hillock, taking my time to just enjoy being there in the moment, my precious moments spent watching a sunset, a sunrise or the stars. Life at these points is as simple as it can be, my more than ample derriere becomes my makeshift cushion for the evenings, as nature provides its finest entertainment. The sun begins to set and soon the stars will drift slowly across the sky as the world slowly turns.

Nature carries on and provides no second glance, just another new anomaly in the landscape to be weary of for next time, wandering and running has taught me my level of need, the simple equation of stuff=comfort sustained me over each and every park I crossed.

Solitude

It has taught me what I am capable of and also what I am not, teaching me humility and respect for the natural environment that I choose to inhabit for brief periods of time. Wandering for multiple days teaches you something very important, that want does not equal need.

In my home I have numerous objects and belongings which I believe make my life easier and happier, like anyone I love buying something new and shiny, the momentary joy then subsides and the item is left to the side to be stared at for months and not used. I've long held that these items are just that, items, they mean little in the grand scheme of things other than brief glimpses of enjoyment and they contribute little to my general feeling of contentedness or fulfillment.

Walking for days across the remotest parts of the UK helps one to strip back that life, to get back to what simplicity of need over want is. Maslow would argue that there are 5 different levels of need in order to be fully content or happy, psychologically speaking, that each level needs to be fulfilled before moving onto the next but in reality it is much simpler than that, its subjective what one person believes to be the need is not the case for others.

My 9kg of basic items sustained me through my various treks, warmth came from a few clothes and my sleeping bag, shelter from my little tent and food in the form of dried meals gave me sustenance to fuel my journey. The simple act of seeking a warm drink and cake became an event in itself, one to savour the reward of hard work, the warm sweet liquid coursing into my body and warming and reviving every part of me.

It was simple, no frills, living my life confined into a 40ltr bag of items that provided everything that the body and mind required for the purpose, I laugh, that little chuckle of amusement when I read blogs or posts around what is the top 10 essential items for camping or running, some people make doo with a little bivvy bag and sleeping bag, others carry 14kg of kit for a single overnight camp in the wild. Bulging bags adorn the backs of weary campers who trod like laden snails across the countryside in search of that 'break from society' but inherently we are all a little unwilling to give up some connections to society and all its modern trappings.

I am no different in this respect, I fully enjoy the stripped back living arrangements, but the warmth and comfort of a shower always held a certain sway for me and lure me in like a sirens call, but its greeting and welcome are brief and the next day I leave again for the unknown.

How much kit? "The secret of happiness, you see, is not found in seeking more, but in developing the capacity to enjoy less." Socrates. If a Greek philosopher was aware of this at a time when people had far less than we do now then why dose it escape us today. You learn a lot being away from the safety of home, lessons that I feel will improve my wellbeing.

For me its not about being happy with stuff, it's about being content with what I already have in my life.

Simplicity if nature

Wenlock Edge, a place for villains, heroes and treasure.

I have been reading a few books about Shropshire of late

Todays little bimble takes in Wenlock Edge, a Limestone ridge running for some 18ish miles, I say ish as it depends what article/website you read.

It holds a world importance with in Geology circles, dating to some 425million years old, formed when the midlands held a warmer climate near the Seychelles. The Sullarian period dominated by coral reefs, the start of life on land and the first time fish developed jaws, Wenlock even lends its name to a period within the Sullarian era, with Ludlow offering another.

But today we explore relatively more recent history.

Following the way.

Our first figure is a rather villainous 13th century knight Ippikin, well less of a knight and more an all round nasty guy. There are rumors that Ippikin was the son of a knight, cast from his land and inheritance due to his un-natural cruelty and temper.

For years Ippikin and his band of robbers terrorized the edge, from their cave they robbed and pillaged anyone unfortunate enough to come across them. The stories differ, from some saying he had struck a deal with the devil, to having

supernatural powers to renew his youth every 70 years. All the locals feared him enough to stay away from his hideout where he is reputed to have kept his ill-gotten gains, mere men feared him but mother nature feared no mortal man and one night shook the earth so violently it caused a stone to tumble and trap Ippikin and his robbers inside. Soon their food ran out and they died trapped inside. Legend tells that Ippikin's rock is the sealed entrance, the highway mans spirit still roams the edge. standing above the suspected cave only the foolish are brave enough to try and summon his spirit, repeat the following 'Ippikin, Ippikin, keep away with your long chin!' but beware you may anger his spirit and he is prone to pushing those over the Edge.

it's a cracking little place, the wild garlic fills the air with that heady early summer aroma. It was hard to spot a potential rock fall big enough to block such a cave but with the local geology being of limestone it would lend itself to caves and rock falls, perched upon high it is easy to see amongst the twisted ancient wood why such a place retains the folklore.

It was such a hot day that I dare nor run to far with the pup, not far from here lies another wonderful folk tale, this one involves England civil war, horse chases and leaps of faith.

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Major's leap so named after Thomas Smallman, a local lord of Wilderhope manner, finding that his home had been looted by Cromwell's men he set off in pursuit and retook his possessions, returning home he was captured by a larger force and held captive in his own abode, using a secret passage he managed to escape, thundering along Wenlock Edge in fevered escape, his pursuers closed the gap quickly, not wishing to be captured again he spurred his horse into jumping from the cliff edge

His horse died but he lived and managed to return with a Royalist force and retook his home. Standing here looking over, it's a hell of a drop and one a man of steely determination would attempt.

I covered some 10miles overall, my first explore of the Edge, a quarry sits to the side of the path and warning signs declared blasting may be happening, these are but two of the many legends in the area the famous abbey still awaits an explore along with Much Wenlock its self.

Tunnels, dragons and towers.

Hello my little bimblers, as I am currently in between jobs I took myself off to God's own country, Yorkshire to be precise, to visit the mother beard and have a few cheeky days exploring, and what a treat I have for you all.

We start our journey some 4000 years ago, Neolithic man set up home on a large 300 meter high hill in a little place we call Huddersfield. We know they lived here from the stone axe heads found atop this impressive feature and other associated items both on the hill and in the local area. The site of Almondbury hill holds a scheduled ancient monument honor owing to its unique history of occupation.

The first written account of occupation was via the Brigantis, Queen Cartimandua was a proxy put in place by the Romans after the defeat of Boudica, she later went to war with her husband after she handed over the hero Caractacus as he sought sanctuary with them. It is said she took refuge here during the ensuing civil war but little archeological evidence has been found to support this, the Romans later came to her aid and defeated her husband only for her to disappear into obscurity. The hill abounds with many myths and legends, the most popular being tunnels that run from Castle Hill towards Deadman stone and Beaumont Park.
It is also said a dragon sits beneath the hill protecting its gold, best not to dig then.

Around 400bc at its height of power and importance a fire or internal explosion (it is thought a battle took place and saw the walls burned, another theory is that rubbish thrown into the ditch spontaneously combusted which has been evidenced at similar sites) resulted in the settlement being abandoned.

The site remained abandoned until the arrival of the Normans around 1,500 years later. A motte-and-bailey structure was quickly established by a family called the de Lacey/Laci, it is said that it was an odd choice to reuse the Iron age structure, but no doubt served an imposing feature on the land offering a unadulterated view of the area and the important river Colne. The de Lacy family fell a foul of the king refusing bailiffs access to his lands, this was not uncommon and many Norman lords ruled as king with a sadistic nature in their own lands. It is said the castle holds a dark and murderous past, the de Lacy's took locals with property, tortured and strung them up by their thumbs, heads and feet before being thrown into the castle dungeons with snakes and toads. Enough was enough and in 1303 a jury set forth to investigate after a rotting corpse was found in the moat. It was found that the 'stranger' was killed and dumped there but by who and why was never discovered, the Normans were cruel folk and lay waste to much of the north in order to establish their rule.

By 1320 the castle was reported as ruined, most likely abandoned due to its exposed location and impractical use, the attached settlement was still in use up until the fifteenth century where it was also abandoned. The site remained in sporadic use with warning beacons atop and used to warn of the approaching Spanish armada. Only the well now remains of the medieval period and if you are afraid of heights don't look inside.

It wasn’t until the Victorian era that the hill became a beacon again for many speakers, politicians and religious groups of the day. The chartist movement held four gatherings here and during the weavers strike around 2-3 thousand gathered atop the blustery rain-swept hill.

Some time around 1810 a tavern was built to cater for the various groups and pleasure seekers of the day, equipped with a bowling green it also held boxing bouts, dog fights and cock fights, ah a lovely day at the pub. Much of the castle stone vanished as it became an easy quarry for the growing town.

Back to the tunnel stories, it is said that below the tavern in its cellar lay a tunnel which was thought to connect to the castle, I understand that it was never fully dug out and poor planning and regulation breaches saw the tavern demolished.

Sitting atop the hill stands the rather impressive Queen Victoria tower, opened to the public in 1899 and built at the cost of £3,289 it stands as a fitting memorial to the reign of Victoria. Its height when first built was some 106feet although in the 1960s the turret was removed due to safety fears and its height thus reduced. The tower in all its scary form offers an ominous beacon atop the hill and befitting with its scary exterior brings along a 'jinx' or curse.

Just 2 weeks after the idea was conceived the chairman of the tower died from apparent malaria contracted on an earlier voyage abroad, a year later the next chairman also died, having for unknown reasons walked into the River Clyd not one person who knew the man could say he had any designs on suicide. 6weeks after it opened the architect was seriously hurt in a fall accident from scaffolding. Around the same time another man had been seen to climb the metal barrier and fell to his death, again no explanation of suicide was given although it was recorded as such, it was recorded that after having consumed a number of adult pops, he uttered "i sharnt be two minutes before i’m down" how true he was.

Whilst we were there, the wind blew strong and in many directions with a smattering of rain to add, I can see how the place can add a spooky feeling given all its deathly history and goings on.  Another side note, during the 1940s there was a few voices that called for the tower to be demolished as they feared it would become a homing beacon for the Germans, fortunately only 2 bombs ever fell and caused only minor damage.

As you stand facing our next two stops, there is a small V-shaped gully which runs by Hall Bower, a little brook burbling along but if you stand either side of it or even from Castle hill it is pretty hard to see anyone if they were to escape this way towards Deadman Stone, it would be easy to conclude that this may explain some of the long running tunnel myths.

Our next stop is but a few minutes drive, a very unassuming side road that does not appear to be a main road at all, just to the left stands Deadman Stone, once home to a mansion and Berry Brow village both now lost to time. The mansion was said to have deep cellars and one tail told of an excavation underneath which in the end did not go anywhere. It is quite a forgotten piece of local history, again linked with the Castle hill tunnel, in two folk tales, bodies were said to have been passed through the natural tunnel in the rock on their way to Almondbury church, as a sign of rebirth.

One story tells of a body bricked up inside, that of a soldier caught off guard by marauding Scotts. Now surrounded by modern housing developments and roads, Berry Brow was reputed to be a fine village perched on the hill-side that would have looked at home in the hills of Europe, its worth being sought out and its history remembered.

We toddle on from here towards Beaumont Park, work commenced in 1880 on what was to become Huddersfield’s first public park. when it was first conceived the cost was estimated at some £3000 with a simple plan and straightforward landscaping it was to be a quick and easy build, but by 1883 the cost had risen to well over £20,000 with many unique and well constructed features such as band stands, arched retaining walls, gothic style bridge and even a castle refreshment room.

The park in its heyday

During the 1940s much of the parks metal work was removed for the war effort, a blast wall was built to make use of the strong arches and protect those visiting during the day time. It is during this time that two men found and explored a tunnel beneath Beaumont Park, they went for a little distance where the tunnel lead into a cave and then split into three but they did not explore any further, there are other similar stories of children finding these tunnels but again no-one ventured very far into them and no modern tales exist.

Alas by the 1960s the park had fallen on hard times the band stand was removed and replaced by trees and shrubs, in 1964 the castle tea room was demolished due to long running repairs and a costly renovation estimate. Its decline continued as the other features were removed, flowers beds no longer tended and parts of the park were being used to dump rubbish. The park is now reclaiming its glory with many hands making quick work of the clean up.

The geology of the area is made up of hard Sandstone which when wandering around the park, lends its self to easily carved grottos, large cracks and massive impressive cliffs, retained within one particular cliff face is the remnants of Huddersfield 300 million years old history, the layers of rivers beds preserved for us to view today.

There was a tunnel discovered with in Huddersfield which sits below a building in the town center, most are just cellars or vaults related to the wine, beer and banking in the town while some are said to have never been fully explored.

It is doubtful that the Romans built any extensive tunnels from Castle hill, they were not stationed there as a fort but rather as a look out post and so there would have been no need to construct such a time-consuming system, as said before the gully which runs down the valley can easily hide anyone fleeing for some distance. Never the less Huddersfield has a rich and diverse history making it a must for a few days explore, there are other areas I would like to visit in the future and if anyone has any access to or would allow me access to any tunnels I would be more than grateful for the chance to explore these at length.

Until the next time happy bimbling.

Running Skidaw

Written in 2020 (in between lockdowns)

It's not often these days that my legs get to hit some serious hills, so when we recently took a week long break in the heart of the Western Lakes, you can bet I was chomping at the bit to get out.

Our little cottage nestled just outside of Bassenthwaite afforded a superb view of the accompanying fells and hills, with Skidaw providing the looming focus and challenge.

With Wednesday set as 'my day' I eagerly reviewed OS mapping and examined the Ridge line heading up towards the top, trying to figure out not only the best route, but most interesting route up to its summit.

Groaning, the alarm sprang to life at 4.30am, the world outside remained dark as I attempted to carry a well rehearsed nighttime ninja maneuver so as not to wake anyone, with porridge consumed and trainers fixed to my feet, I left adventure dog at home due to the humid temperature outside and off I set into dark morning.

With the world outside still bathed in a dark blue hue, I ran the short distance into Bassenthwaite winding my way through the still sleepy streets and threading out onto empty country lanes that held no names, the little hamlet of Burthwaite passed quickly before crossing Walk Mill Bridge.

View back across Bassenthwaite

I passed one local out walking their dog who seemed to eye me with suprise, I bid good morning before stopping to admire the inversion which held sway over Bassenthwaite and the outer edges of the lake.

I hopped onto the footpath near to Barkbeth Hill and followed the steep hill towards Ling How and the start of a relatively short but sharp ascent towards the top of Skidaw.

It has been some time since I have had the pleasure of any meaningful hill climbs and my legs definitely reminded me of that fact. It wasn't long before I was bringing out the 'win sticks' to provide me with some extra momentum upwards.

Sheep in the mist

As I climbed The Ridge, I stopped periodically to take in one of the most amazing views behind me, the inversion had shifted little and continued to emerse the valley below in a mysterious and otherworldly aura.

I noticed behind me and quickly gaining ground on me, a solitary walker, I took this as a race and set off determined to beat my unknown foe to the top, after all I can't let a mere walker beat now can I.

The long Ridge

My particular route seemed to veer away from the main throng of day walkers, the path made up of boulders and small craggy outcrops with loose shale in between kept me alert and on my feet. With a rather severe drop either side this was not the place to be miss-placing my step. My walker foe appeared to have slowed on the final steep ascent of Ulock Picke and once summited I took off running along The Long Ridge.

This equally nifty ridge line gave me that all important Kilian esq feeling as my feet danced across the boulderous pathway. I was thankful of the now downward path that took me towards Carl Side tarn, the local sheep hangout now found, it looked a tad rough for me so I plodded on, happy that I had massively increased my lead over my opponent.

From here however, the landscape took a decidingly upward slant, the path became almost vertical as my win sticks dug in deep to move me forward, I stopped briefly, drank water and ate some breakfast before making my final push to the top.

The Ridge

I edged over the Ridge and onto Skidaw proper, the sun rising and desperately trying to burn off the haze from the morning. I touched the trig, took some photos before taking in the hazy views all around me, a mom and son were bid good morning and I began to descend down towards Sale How a more boggier route it would seem. I did consider cutting across as per my usual routine but opted for sticking to actual paths today.

Skidaw Trig

The Long Ridge

The boggy option

I passed by a large house sat smack bang in the middle of the open and dramatic countryside. I learn later that this is a YHA and can be privately rented, no road access so a brisk walk in but what a place to stop.

Cumbria way

I hopped onto the Cumbrian way and headed North East towards home. I took a dip in a cooling stream before coming to the conclusion that my my inner thighs where now chaffing some what, I took some moist moss from a near-by bank and strategically placed it, instant relief, along with sitting my hot arse in every river I came across certainly helped.

The path was easy to follow and required no navigation from me, I was soon coming upon Whitewater Dash Falls and what a site to behold, it never ceases to astound me the power of these waterways, carving out the landscape.

Dash Falls

A few people were passed along the way as I headed along pathways leading to disused mines and rolling farmlands, crossing a road I passed by Peter House Farm and followed the convenient White dots painted onto trees and walls.

Fields crossed and cows avoided, I entered into Bassenthwaite and took the opportunity to eat some rather delicious plums overhanging the pathway, it reminded me of all the remote running from last year, wandering and eating wild berries and fruits and these were super sweet. The village was a little more alive now, people wandered around and children played.

My few hours up Skidaw reminded me why I love the wilder places, routes that are a little more dramatic to run and walk. Having been absent from my home turf for a prolonged time, I definitely miss this landscape, ancient, bold and dramatic and complete with thousands of years worth of history.