Hiking Hadrian’s Wall–Day Two, the first glimpses of the wall

by Sean McLachlan on

The second day of my hike across England dawns clear, a good omen considering the steady drizzle I endured yesterday. I feel glad to be out of Newcastle. There’s something deeply satisfying about walking out of a city and waking up the next morning breathing fresh air.

In the breakfast room of Houghton North Farm hikers headed either way along the Hadrian’s Wall Path swap information and anecdotes. I feel like I’m back in my early twenties, hopping from hostel to hostel in Europe and the Middle East. The owner doles out advice on the trail conditions and I listen to her every word. I have fifteen and a quarter miles to walk before my next bed.

“Do you know what you do with the shell of a soft-boiled egg after you’re finished?” she suddenly asks the room.

Blank stares all around.

“You smash it up, otherwise witches will sail out to sea in it and sink the ships,” she explains. Then she blushes a little. “Oh, I don’t believe that of course, but I do it just the same.”

That’s a new one on me. Perhaps I should ask her for a charm against rain.

But I don’t need one. As I leave Heddon-on-the-Wall the only clouds are puffy and white, broken by swaths of brilliant blue. The trail runs through farmers’ fields and up and down hills. I’m on the line of the Wall, but it takes some attention to notice. I occasionally see the remains of the ditch that lay to the north of the Wall and the Vallum, a ditch and double rampart, that stood to the south. They look like frozen waves in the harvested fields.

There are other traces too. Hadrian’s Wall had Milecastles, fortified gates really, every Roman mile along its length, and I notice that everywhere my map says there’s one there is now a gate into a farmer’s field. The stonework just below the surface meant no crops could grow on that spot, but it provided a solid base for driving carts. In some places I can see faint outlines of these rectangular structures. I begin to examine the drystone walls and farmhouses I pass, wondering if the more worn, weathered stones were taken from the Wall in some remote century and put to new use.

Up a hill and across a field and I come to the first strip of Hadrian’s Wall still standing above the surface (pictured here). I stop and touch it. I’ve been to hundreds of ancient sites, and dug up a fair number of them when I was still an archaeologist, but I’ve never gotten over the thrill of running my hand across old stone.

It’s easy to forget when looking at some low jumble of rock that it was once the center of some people’s lives. This Wall was a landmark for thousands of people not too different from us. The Roman Empire resembled our own in so many ways. We owe much of our architecture, language, and system of law to the Romans, but we owe them something else too–the idea of a multicultural society. Rome was a civilization whose citizens, generals, and even emperors weren’t just Italian, but Spanish, British, Arab, and African. The Empire was the first truly multicultural state, where race was no barrier and everyone could practice their faith freely. That is, of course, if you didn’t challenge the authority of the emperor like the Druids, Jews, and Christians did.

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I pass the remains of Vindobala Roman fort, now just a rocky field good only for the grazing of cattle. A few forlorn stretches of wall poke out of the soil over the next few miles. I pass lush meadow and a reservoir rich with bird life before coming to the peaceful hamlet of Halton. Here stands Halton Castle, a single tower made of reused Roman stone with a later house attached. These sturdy little forts, called pele towers, dot the borderlands and protected locals during the many attacks by the Scots. In fact, this 14th century tower is actually a replacement for an earlier one the Scots destroyed.

It’s now owned by the Blackett family, specifically Sir Hugh Francis Blackett, 12th Baronet and an heir to a direct line of Blacketts who married into the Halton dynasty. In more than 700 years this place has been owned by two families. I’d love to knock on the door and see if the baronet is at home, but I doubt he’d want to speak to a backpacker with a colonial accent and cow shit on his boots. A Baronet may be one step lower than a Baron, but it’s still several steps above me.

So I content myself with the overgrown churchyard next door, where tombstones moulder under gnarled oaks and the great tomb of the Haltons still bears the weather-beaten family crest. It’s peaceful place and I have it to myself except for a young couple making out on a bench (is there nowhere else?) but I’m intrigued by what I’ll find along the Wall and head back out on the trail.

The bucolic mood is abruptly interrupted by the appearance of the A68 cutting across the Path. Running in a straight line across much of eastern England, it’s built atop a Roman road called Dere Street. Many European highways follow Roman roads. How the modern world moves is dictated by engineers who have been dead for millennia.

The highway is soon behind me and I notice that habitation is becoming scarcer. The farms and hamlets are fewer and farther between, and the fields are giving way to uncultivated wildlands, what the lords and kings used to call “wasteland” since it didn’t produce taxable crops. The fragments of Hadrian’s Wall are becoming longer and taller, there having been fewer people in this wild region to have taken away stones for their own use.

On an open, windswept high ground pattered by a light rain I come to the site of the Battle of Heavenfield. In 634 AD, when the land was a patchwork of little kingdoms and the Wall and all other Roman buildings were already crumbling, King Cadwallon ap Cadfan of Gwynedd, Wales, invaded the divided kingdom of Northumbria. Facing him was Oswald, King of Bernicia, one half of the divided Northumbria. The Welsh marched up Dere Street and found Oswald’s army waiting for them. Oswald had picked his ground well. The right side of his army was protected by Hadrian’s Wall, now an overgrown ruin but still high enough to stop the Welsh advance, and his left was protected by a sheer crag. The Northumbrians slaughtered the Welsh and Cadwallon was killed. Oswald went on to unite the Northumbria and became one of the most powerful kings of his time. He spread Christianity to areas of Britain that were still pagan and he’s now venerated as a saint. This region is still called Northumbria.

A long, steady slope takes me down to the North Tyne river valley and the town of Chollerford. I’ve walked 15 miles but I’m not done yet. I couldn’t find an open room here and so I’ve booked one at the Barrasford Arms three miles up the road to the north. I’m tired, it’s getting dark, and I really don’t want to walk three miles on a narrow country lane with no shoulder, so I try something I haven’t tried for twenty years–I stick out my thumb.

I’m under no illusions here. I’m a ragged lone male on a lonely country road at twilight. Who’s going to stop? The first guy speeds past with a look of contempt. The next two cars are driven by lone women, no hope there, followed by a woman with a pack of kids. A young couple come next, speeding up as they pass and avoiding eye contact. I’m just beginning to resign myself to a dark and somewhat hazardous slog to my hotel when another car slows to a stop. A middle-aged couple tell me to hop in.

After only six cars I’m getting a ride! I’m going to have change my view of humanity completely. They’re a Welsh couple on holiday, and being a good guest I
don’t mention their ignominious defeat at the hands of Saint Oswald.

“So you’re a historian?” they say after we introduce ourselves. “The last person we picked up was a history teacher from Taiwan.” Not only do they pick up hitchhikers, but they make a habit of it! In a few minutes I’m in my hotel with a pint in my hand and dinner in the oven. Thank God Oswald didn’t kill all the Welsh.

Tomorrow: Day Three–The Underwater Temple

Read the entire series here.

All photos by Sean McLachlan unless otherwise noted.

Classic Trek: Semien Mountains, Ethiopia

by Kraig Becker on

Ethiopia is home to one of the more spectacular, yet lesser known, classic treks of the world. The Semien Mountains, found in the northern part of the country, offer amazing scenery, dizzying heights, and unique wildlife, with treks that can range anywhere from one to two weeks in length. Best of all, the trails tend to be remote and generally empty, providing solitude to travelers throughout the breathtaking landscapes.

The Semien range is quite rugged, with plenty of altitude. Many of the peaks rise above 11,000 feet, with the tallest, Ras Dashen, reaching 15,159 feet in height. The trails and campsites remain primitive, and there are few amenities to be had out in the Ethiopian wilds, but the mostly untouched backcountry offers deep gorges and unique rock formations, delivering stunning views to trekkers at every turn.

One of the more unique aspects of a Semien trek is that the trails wander through remote villages on a regular basis. This allows hikers the opportunity to visit with locals who live in the region and still maintain a simple lifestyle that has remained mostly unchanged for generations. The presence of these villages allows for cultural immersion, which is something that is often missing on similar treks in other parts of the world.
There is also plenty of wildlife to see on the trail as well, with Gelada Baboons being one of the highlights. The baboons make their homes amongst the rocky outcroppings of the Semien Mountains and rarely stray far from those protective spaces. Other animals in the area include the walia ibex, a species of mountain goats unique to the region, and the Ethiopian wolf, which resembles a red fox in most physical aspects.

For trekkers who have already covered the more well known treks of the world, such as the Inca Trail or the Annapurna Circuit, the Semien Mountains offer an isolated, little known escape that remains off the radar for many travelers. The incredible views, unique mountain villages, and interesting wildlife set it apart from just about any other hike, and will leave a lasting impression on anyone who makes the journey.

Gadlinks for Wednesday 9.2.09

by Brenda Yun on


Buenos dias, Gadlingers. I want to apologize for my brief absence over the weekend. I was lodging in Colca Canyon, the world´s deepest canyon, and was therefore unavailable to post my usual Gadlinks. Fortunately, Aaron´s been holding the fort. Here now is today´s dose of Gadlinks, a quick whirl around the travel blogosphere.

´Til tomorrow, have a great evening!

More Gadlinks here.

Walking across England along Hadrian’s Wall

by Sean McLachlan on

A few days before my 40th birthday my three-year-old son woke me up by crawling on top of me and squashing his stuffed animals into my face.

“Be nice to me, I’m an old man,” I mumbled around a mouthful of orange fur.

“You’re not old,” he said. “If you are boring you are old.”

Good point, kid. Better celebrate my passing into middle age by doing something interesting.

So the day after I and a few friends held a memorial service for my youth (1969-2009) I set off to the English/Scottish borderlands to walk the UK’s newest National Trail–The Hadrian’s Wall Path. This path cuts across the width of England along Hadrian’s Wall, the Roman Empire’s northernmost boundary. I’d never walked across a country before and figured it would be a good way to prove I’m not totally over the hill. Granted, that part of England is only 84 miles wide, but hey, I’m getting on in years.

Much of what we now call England was taken over by the Romans and called Britannia. Julius Caesar invaded in 55 and 54 BC, but didn’t stay, and it was up to the Emperor Claudius to take over the region in 43 AD. After a lot of fierce fighting Britannia became an important province. The common perception that it was a freezing backwater is untrue. Londinium (now called London) was a thriving provincial capital with impressive public buildings, and there was an extensive system of roads and public works all across the province.

Hadrian’s Wall was built starting in 122 AD by the Emperor Hadrian to defend against incursions by the fierce tribes of Scotland, especially the Picts. It’s the largest Roman monument in the world, a continuous stone wall with earthworks in front and behind it, as well as forts and lookout towers at regular intervals along its length. While it was obviously meant for defense, that was not its only purpose. The Roman legions weren’t constantly fighting hordes of northern barbarians swarming out of the mists. Trade was more common than swordplay, and the wall existed to control movement going north and south. A continuous ditch with earthen ramparts on either side called the Vallum was constructed to the south of the Wall. It’s purpose was to keep Roman citizens from passing to the north without being accounted for. The records are scanty, but they probably had to pay some sort of toll when passing through the Milecastles, fortified gateways found every mile along the Wall.

Most of the forts are located a few miles to the south of the Wall in areas with good farmland. If the sentries on the Wall spotted trouble the legions could march to the rescue. The smaller garrisons on the Wall itself could fight a delaying action until help arrived, or fall back and let the invaders cross over the Wall and get beaten by the legions in open battle.While Hadrian’s Wall is traditionally seen as the northernmost border of the Roman Empire, for a brief period there was a wall 100 miles to the north built by the Emperor Antoninus Pius beginning in 142 AD. The Antonine Wall stretched 37 miles from the Firth of Forth to the Firth of Clyde, but was abandoned after about twenty years because keeping the garrisons supplied that far to the north was expensive and the land between the two walls wasn’t very productive. A trail runs along that wall, and if there’s enough interest I might hike that one next year and write about it. Both walls are World Heritage Sites.

Hadrian’s Wall acted as the Roman Empire’s defense to the north for another two centuries until the Romans began to pull resources out of Britannia. Invasions by Persians and Germans were threatening more valuable provinces closer to Rome. One by one the legions were recalled to defend the Roman heartland, and in 410 AD the Emperor Honorius told the province to look to its own defense. More than three centuries of Roman rule had come to an end.

The Hadrian’s Wall Path became the UK’s 15th National Trail in 2003. It meanders for 84 miles along the route of the Wall from the Roman fort of Segedunum in the city of Newcastle Upon Tyne to Bowness-on-Solway, on Solway Firth. The path goes through urban areas, rolling countryside, rough crags, remote highlands, and quiet marshland, giving the walker several different experiences.

I decided to walk from east to west. While this put the prevailing wind in my face, it allowed me to leave Newcastle behind on the first day and to go into ever more remote regions of the English/Scottish border country. I divided the hike into six days of approximately 14 miles each. This allowed for time each day to take detours to the many museums and archaeological sites along the way, take hundreds of pictures, send lots of postcards to my son (he’s all about the postcards), and savor one of the most impressive and evocative hikes I’ve ever been on. So come join me every day for the next week as I walk across England and through 2,000 years of history.

Tomorrow: Day One!

Bowermaster’s Adventures — Kamchatka v. Kodiak, What a Difference 225 Years Makes

by Jon Bowermaster on

We sailed into Kodiak on a somewhat rarified day for this part of the world, one filled with sunshine rather than rain. The weekend just past had been its annual Crab Fest, an event dampened by typical summer weather: horizontal rain and temperatures just above freezing. But on a big, blue, sun-shiny day you’d be hard-pressed to imagine a more beautiful place, the entirety of Kodiak Island and the snowcapped mountains that rim it wrapped beneath an indigo blue sky.

Ironically, the place it reminded me of most of was Kamchatka, where we’d been a week before. Both are spectacular lands of active volcanoes and hot, spurting geysers. The seas that surround both are the same steel-blue, the volcanic mountain ranges similarly tall and foreboding, with fishing boats moving in and out of the bays. Both regions share physical turmoil as well as beauty, visited frequently by earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunami waves. Rain is a constant for both (Kamchatka, 110 inches a year, Kodiak, 68).

Though separated by one thousand miles of Bering Sea they started out with similar human roots as well. The very first Russian colony in North America was founded in 1784 at Three Saints Bay on southeastern Kodiak Island and until 1804 it was the center of Russian activity in Alaska. Russians are responsible for the name “Alaska,” derived from the Aleut alaxsxaq, meaning “the mainland” or more literally, “the object towards which the action of the sea is directed.”

%Gallery-69645%In the mid-1800s Russia, worried that the expanding U.S. and Canada would usurp its Alaskan territory without paying, attempted to play one against other in a bidding war, which proved unsuccessful. Ultimately, in 1867, the U.S. bought Alaska from the Russian Empire for $7.2 million (two cents per acre) and would become the 49th state on January 3, 1959.

Today both economies are driven by fishing. Kodiak is consistently one of the U.S.’s top three ports, with 750 fishing boats working off the island profiting from a wealth of Pacific salmon, Pacific halibut and crab. One thousand miles west, biologists estimate that a sixth to a quarter of all Pacific salmon originate in Kamchatka’s highly productive waters, including all six species of anadromous Pacific salmon (chinook, chum, coho, seema, pink, and sockeye).

But that’s where the comparisons come to a screeching halt. The state of the local economies and the health of the natural environments couldn’t be more different. The air and sea around Kodiak are nearly pristine; in Kamchatka, far from it, impacting the quality of life for all. Per capita income is widely different too (Alaskans, $33,000 a year; Kamchatkans, less than $7,500) and, no matter what you think about Alaskan politicians (Ted Stevens?), those in Kamchatka win the prize for blatant corruption.

How did these two regions, so similarly blessed by nature, turn out so differently? Two words: Soviet Union. During the Soviet era, Kamchatka was closed to outsiders for decades, for military reasons; today half of the territory of the Peninsula is still controlled by the Army. The result has been hard on both man and nature.

One of the first things you notice in Kamchatka is that there are very few old people. The harsh climate is partly to blame, but it is human influence, rather than natural forces, that shortens the lifespan of local residents. Despite its unspoiled appearance, the peninsula is filled with toxic pollutants, the most frightening aspect of which is that no one is really sure just how contaminated it is.

Until 1990 Kamchatka was home to the Soviet Pacific Submarine Fleet, several major airbases and is still an important testing ground for ICBMs. This substantial military presence has contaminated the landscape with heavy metals, radiation and other pollutants. The large naval base across from the capital city of Petropavlovsk bobs with poorly maintained nuclear submarines.

The decrepit capital appears to have been forgotten by time. Crumbling, Soviet concrete-slab buildings line the once-lush hills dropping down to the water. The once-bustling port is now mostly idle and crammed with rusting ships and scrap metal. Poaching – mostly illegal caviar, but also whales – are big economies and locals blame the intense poverty. It is estimated that criminal gangs poach at least half the fish sold from Kamchatka; when we were there twenty fishing trawlers were moored out at sea, impounded for poaching

While I met some beautiful and incredibly gracious individuals in Kamchatka, I couldn’t help but think that their situation was desperate. The few I met who would talk openly admitted that the corrupt bureaucracy that continues to oversee the plundering of the region’s unique natural resources cannot be – or at least should not be — continued. For their sake I hope big changes come. Soon.