Rossendale Ramblers - Past Walking Holidays

Melrose 2009
Fri, Apr 10th, 2009

Scotland the Brave.

Our host town.

The first weekend away of the year finally arrived and eighteen of us escaped over the border into Scotland taking walking gear and provisions for three days of lunches. Keith and Elaine had worked hard to put together a walking program that was to go like a Swiss watch and it didn't even need winding. Being Good Friday the traffic was a great unknown but proved to be light and without any hold up. Some had a meal and mooch round Richmond and we were all in the hotel by about five pm.

Not so rapid as that.....

...more of a sitting target.

Shearings Waverley Castle was expecting us and we blended into the other senior citizens without undue disturbance. We were able to move rather more rapidly and a whole lot further than the other inmates. The staff, many from Eastern Europe, were efficient and friendly and the whole place ran very well. Seven pm. was a good time to eat, so we ate and were out again in short order to sample the ‘live' entertainment that appealed to some sufficiently to join in and liven it up a bit. The decibels coming out of the speakers was enough to render us quite impotent on the noise front, so it had to be a spectacle instead that improved in direct proportion to the amount of red wine or equivalent other alcoholic beverage consumed. Some, who shall be nameless acquitted themselves very well and one or two, also nameless, abstained and either kept their head down or did a vanishing act en route.

Both ahead full.

The walks were scheduled to depart at 9.30 on both days and that is what they did, on the dot. No driving required on the Saturday so Keith took us down to the bank of the river Tweed, where we could smell the narrow leafed wild garlic, and observe the stationary heron as it waited patiently for natural food instead of somebody's goldfish. 97 miles in length and famous for salmon fishing the river is as a river should be, clean, delightfully picturesque and accessible.

Come on, give me that camera.

Down stream was Melrose town that was in a state of siege as a rugby match was to take place sometime during the day. On the far side of town three hills stuck up in the air, the remains of an old volcano, and brew time was between the highest two. The Eildon Hills, site of an iron-age fort and later a Roman one just had to be climbed. No mercy, we just had to get on with it and toil upwards into the sunshine and blue sky that defied the weather forecasters and had us borrowing sun-tan cream, in my case to keep some skin on top of my head.

Ann pacing Chris.

After our refreshments Ann produced a touching poem in memory of Mike Sadula, a member of our group who recently passed away prematurely. This was read out on behalf of The Rossendale Ramblers, the Duke of Edinburgh Award Scheme and other groups that Mike had connections with, and it was then buried in the heather; Elaine arranged fresh daffodils over the spot and we had a reflective moment to remember Mike and probably consider our own mortality. Never have the Rossendale Ramblers been so quiet whilst out in the countryside.

Tweed suspension bridge

A dot on the horizon

To walk the hills and valleys,the mountain peaks to climb

To run across the hilltops, in weather foul or fine

To reach the highest places, where only rocks and clouds are seen

To saunter on a red-hot day, beside a rippling stream.

To be at one with nature, feel it's teeth and see it's beauty

That's what Mike sadula saw, as his primary duty

So then quietly, but swiftly, he left behind the hills he loved

Called to recce pastures greener, for the rambling groups above

So thank you Mike, sincerely, for the help that you gave to those

Who showed a genuine interest, in the activities that you chose.

Mike, who was scheduled to be with us this day, would have picked the highest of the two hills so, although it wasn't on the itinerary, ten of us set off over the top to meet the others on the far side. The view was only limited by the curvature of the earth, or failing eyesight, in all directions and a passing rambler took a picture of all ten of us adorning the concrete pillar carrying the brass plate pointing to all visible landmarks.

After crossing the road at the edge of the forest we were into superb farmland with fine lamb infested fields, between 40-acre arable areas and natural, clear water lakes complete with a fisherman or two. Lunch was up on a hillside above one such lake and it was a day for realising just how lucky we were to be out in such beautiful surroundings, with food, our health, lots of friends, and the time to enjoy it all.

The Tweed.

Then it was back to the moving water as we hit the river some miles upstream from where we set off and followed the good path, close by the bank, to visit Sir Walter Scott at his castle, or more rightly Abbotsford House. Bought in 1811 he lived there until his death in the dining room in September 1832 when, after five months, it was opened to the public. The tea shop demanded that boots be removed, and lost a bit of business as a result, but we had a good look round the gardens and the exterior of the fine building, taking many photographs of the good, bad and indifferent type.

On top of our first hill.

We returned to base after 12 miles of great walking to clean up, quaff a few beverages and generally prepare for re-stoking the boilers at dinner. The evening entertainment was a little less noisy, we failed the quiz and somebody else got the fizzy whatever it was.

Sir Walt's place of domicile.

Sunday breakfast saw an increase in food consumption as the energy requirements needed satisfying, and there was plenty of it as we were first down and waiting for the door to open at 8am.There was a Cadbury egg under each cup in recognition of Easter Day and we tucked them away for later. Graham joined us for the day, which was nice, taking time off from preparing his ‘retirement' cottage not too far away. How he can just walk 12 miles without any problem after a long lay off is amazing. A short drive to Selkirk and the start point in the trees didn't take long and we were soon in line astern going down the road to reach the river Ettrick, a tributary of the Tweed.

Yes, that is a real shadow caused by the sun.

The old water wheel powered the biggest sawmill in Scotland for 100 years until electricity took over in the 1980's and the gearing for the sluice gates to the supply canal still appear to work. After we crossed the road again, the hill on our starboard bow was the one we were suspicious of, and it was the one that Keith had kept pretty quiet about. The path through the lower woods climbed gently and the went over the lawn of a large chalet with four dormers on the top that was the oldest youth hostel in Scotland, around 1931 and almost the average age of us lot.

The youth hostel and some once-upon-a-time youth.

It then became a bit steeper and we emerged from the trees to join a track up onto the shoulder and a leisurely lunch spot where we posed with the breakfast Easter eggs and ate them. Ken appeared to be asleep, so photographs were taken for proof of how invigorating rambling can be, unless you have eaten too much. It was getting very warm and we lounged as long as Keith would let us, but eventually we moved off to descend to the stream and then climb the hill opposite to reach The Brethren.

They have to sit down every hour.

Malc and Ian holding down a safe seat.

Three well-built cairns adorn the hilltop marking ancient boundaries and right on the Southern Upland Way. Each one is 9ft tall and 6ft diameter at the base. We called them Frank, Walter and Richard. Frank, in memory of, and the other two, founder members of our group. They made up the original ‘Three Lonely Old Men' that used to go into a huddle in the pub on a Tuesday night and set the world to rights. Things have deteriorated since they ceased this practice

Sometimes we sit and think, and sometimes we just sit.

It was mostly downhill, with a bit of ‘up' in the middle, back to the car park and Keith was first away to lead us to the teashop. However an officer of the law bade him stop and declare how far we wanted to go along the road in that direction as there was an incident preventing progress. The teashop was twixt us and it, so we were allowed to proceed and enter the premises where a masterly demonstration of rapid, synchronised furniture shifting took place to seat us all together for reasons not totally clear, but likely to be health and safety with traces of nuts. A fine building made of wood it didn't, however, have a kettle capable of boiling more than four cups-worth at once and what should have been a single blanket on the noise, was a rather drawn out mix up. We put the furniture back afterwards and returned to base where we said goodbye to Graham and prepared ourselves for another foray at the live entertainment. Jim Reeves not only turned in his grave but wept as well.

Monday was leaving day, but the weather was still good and, as is our wont, we were determined to wring as much out of the weekend as possible. The door to the dining room was still locked and a small crowd of us had gathered and, when we were just about to force entry, it miraculously opened and we were through for a hearty breakfast with extra toast. Eight of us had nothing better to do but go for another walk on the way south, so we were away ahead of schedule, intending to do a circular walk in and out of Kielder Forest along part of the last 24 miles of the Pennine Way just beyond Catcleugh Reservoir. A convenient, and empty, parking area at the second road crossing was a good place and we joined the Pennine Way along the river Rede for about 3K, which was pleasant enough, and crossed the road again to follow it northwards.

We got our money's worth out of this holiday.

However I lost the track somewhere in the trees and we had a bit of a detour to find it again. The bonus was seeing a deer and the downside was the ‘ye canna come through here' from a chap operating a logging machine of gigantic proportions. By the time Gretchen had questioned him at some length he was wishing us a nice day and wondering what happened. We had a brew and found the right track, leaving the forest at Byrness Hill and having a rest to admire a good view over Kielder Forest.

The moor was either very dry or rather wet, although it was 3to1 in favour of the former. Up at 1500 feet the wind was a bit chilly but after lunch on Houx Hill the troops stretched out for a while and went quiet. Speaking of troops we were entering MOD land but it didn't appear to have been used in a long time. The road through it is one of the most remote in Northumberland and we went for it cross country to pick up a bit of the time lost in the forest and sleeping on the hill. Skylarks abounded (On a military range) and bragged about how high and how long they could fly, no doubt to impress their intended mate. Isn't that always the case, and where does it get us? The only trace of ordinance we saw was an empty flare casing. Cottonshope Road was to take us all the way back to the cars and it was here that we could see signs of troops. Lots of live, but blank, ammunition lost along the road in several calibres but no dead sheep or cows, which was re-assuring.

That was the walking program over for this trip, what a good weekend Keith and Elaine had arranged for us. I hope Keith didn't have to sell his soul to get the three days of super weather for us, although we may all meet there eventually. We found a tea shop just down the road where a dour couple served us passable beverages and cakes before we continued our journey. There was still a bit more to be extracted from the trip and we paused in Richmond to dine at a pub in the pedestrian area of the town before parting company for the last 90 miles or so. The rump steak was excellent and just ask Dennis about the chips.

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