Walking

 

Introduction

These walk stories are – well just as it says on the tin – about walking! But they are also a bit more than that.

The focus of this website is mental health and that is very much the slant of these features. The benefits of physical exercise in relation to mental health are well understood.  (Though not always to the ‘outside world’. I remember one conversation, years ago, about my walk stories which were being published in a newspaper. The lady I was speaking to didn’t, frankly, see the point if it. “A story about someone walking along a footpath,” she said.)

Not quite. The point being someone walking along a footpath and taking in their surroundings. Senses engaged with sights, sounds, a perhaps restless mind calmed by this. Thoughts given a chance to follow more productive lines.

That is the point of these articles and I hope you enjoy reading them. And perhaps are encouraged to walk along a footpath. I recommend it!

A Hidden Gem

Bede’s Community Woodland lies on the outskirts of Birtley, Tyne and Wear. According to legend, St Bede’s body was carried through Birtley, on its way to a final resting place in Durham. Hence the nature reserve’s name.

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Bede would surely have appreciated the greenery, the thought occurred to me, as I wandered across meadows and through forestation. Picnic spots can be found along the way, with tracks meandering hither and thither. I kept to the main footpath, heading for Urpeth Bridge. And trees, clothed in goldened leaves, arched over me. It was like a cathedral made of trees.

There are plenty more green spaces to enjoy around Urpeth Bridge, with another nature reserve extending towards Kibblesworth, a couple of miles away.

I was making for a particular place, a hidden gem.

Just behind the Bewick Main Caravan Park is a lake.  I wandered along the shore, found a nice spot, and sat down for a break. Under an overcast sky, the water was calm, sunlight sparkling on its surface. And I sat for some time, enjoying the quiet of this place. Leaves, yellow, red, brown, drifted from overhanging branches; swans glided past; water rippled gently on the shore.  I didn’t think about anything particularly, just sat with legs stretched out and hands in the long, cool grass, looking across the lake. And a breeze rustled the tall, tawny reeds, there were masses of them, swishing. It was a gentle sound, adding to the tranquillity of this place.

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My break over, I took to the trail again. The path followed the eastern shore, before skirting the lake’s southern tip, and climbing into a forest. Through this could be glimpsed hills and open country. I lingered awhile, enjoying the views, then turned north, following the track through tangles of branches, a wooded dell to my left. And the only sound was that of the occasional flurry of birds’ wings.

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A footpath called Clarty Lane – rather appropriate in wet weather! – led to the Bowes Railway Path. From here, another track took me to Kibblesworth, an ancient village. Its name comes from the original Saxon Cybbel’s Enclosure. Perhaps it was the name of the leader who established this community, so many centuries ago. On the way out of the village, I paused to study a great, age-worn boulder, wondering if it had been an original boundary marker. There was no way of telling how old the monument was; letters long since erased by wind and rain. But the rock felt solid, immutable, against my hand. A great tide of time could be glimpsed and felt in its gnarled surface.

I walked down the hill from the village, past fields, and to another nature reserve. This provided more enjoyable walking, to the Ravensworth Arms, and a lunchtime pint.

And then a walk into Lamesley, before heading onto Coach Road. This second half of the day gave me a chance to stretch my legs and stride along. It was getting on for dusk, with a sunset glowing red through forestation. In the flickering embers of the day, the shadows of dusk seemed like wild characters dancing through the trees.

And so I ended my seven mile walk in Lobley Hill. I was feeling a bit foot-sore but, as ever, refreshed and enriched by the journey. And, as always, there was a sense of achievement.

A World of Field, Tree and Stream

A bright, blustery morning, blue skies, but clouds building in the west. I was well wrapped up!

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Starting point for today’s six mile ramble was Sunniside in Gateshead. The bus dropped me off on Gateshead Road, not far from the Potters Wheel pub. I set off north, along a public bridleway. Just a few steps and you’re into a world of field, tree and stream.  I was soon crossing open country. And then the gale really let loose. Booming and bashing, it had smaller trees at right angles. Bits of branch and foliage rushed past me.

I stopped after a mile or so, to take breath and have a peruse of the map. I propped my rucksack against a massive old tree, overhanging branches creaking and grinding, a cacophony of woody sounds. The gale plucked and prodded, buffeted and pushed. I worked my right boot into a tangle of roots, to give myself a better grounding. Consulting the map wasn’t easy either, with it flapping around my ears.

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But, having got my bearings, I followed a footpath west. And gradually, the day changed. The wind dropped, until, as I walked across the fields, the morning became becalmed. But deep dark clouds rolled unstoppably overhead. And now the morning was very still indeed. I was quite breathless, after the pounding I’d taken from the gale. Slowly, gradually, snow flecked my coat. The flecks turned into streaks. Within a few minutes, visibility had become just a few feet. The snow fell swift and hard and silent. Soon, it was a blizzard. The silence of it. And the beauty.  My boots crunched in the snow. It had created a magical landscape, trees looking like white bearded trolls.

The blizzard abruptly ended as I reached the Byermoor road. Clouds broke and drifted. Sunlight glittered on fields. I enjoyed a relaxed wander into Byermoor for a well-earned pint at the Pack Horse Inn.

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The second half of the day involved a walk down to Rowlands Gill. The valley is covered in forestation, especially around Gibside. And down in the cradle of the valley, masses of trees there too, growing along the banks of the River Derwent. I leant on the bridge and looked across the still, calm water. Silvery leaves floated on bright water, birds winged silently through the trees. Another look at the map showed a network of footpaths, via which to explore the terrain. I’d definitely be returning!

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Leaves Woven in Sunlight

The start of today’s journey was Barley Mow (just south of the Gateshead Angel). I wasn’t in any hurry, wandering public bridleways and footpaths, a gentle climb west. And a chance to enjoy the moment: wild red berries and leaves so bright, it was if they were wrought from sunlight; silvery cobwebs; tangled knotty branches; moss and lichen covered roots; a squirrel running through long grass.

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I arrived at Pelton and judged it to be mid-morning by the position of the sun. (At the start of each walk, the watch comes off, and the mobile is consigned to a rucksack pocket!) From here, there was a change of terrain to enjoy. Open country, rising, rising to the hills around Beamish. A long winding footpath led me across a windswept field. And so, I walked on, with the sun warm on my face.

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This part of the day provided an opportunity to use my orienteering skills – I got lost! Map and compass in hand, I turned slowly on my heel, until facing due south. I was trying to get a fix on the Coast-to-Coast cycle trail. Or more precisely …. one of the rather unusual sculptures along the way. I spotted it, a giant stone face, an ideal landmark.

And so across the fields, stream on the right, the track following it, down to an embankment. And then a steep climb up wooden steps, which proved a good workout!

At the bank top I took a breather. I was here, on the Coast-to-Coast. The track itself was half covered by autumn leaves, more drifting from the trees. And the tree tops, swaying ever so gently, rustling and creaking.

A closer look at the massive stone face, set atop a hillock, was worth it. The face has an enigmatic quality. Weather-beaten, mysterious, it gazes across the landscape.

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I’ve walked various stretches of the Coast-to-Coast. Popular with both cyclists and walkers, it can be followed from Sunderland, right across to Whitehaven.

The open trail is tempting, to tip your hat to the sun and walk on. But I turned east and headed into Chester-le-Street. This is one of my favourite towns, plenty of bus services, parking, and a railway station.

Munching a biscuit, I followed a footpath downhill. The wind had dropped, there wasn’t a sound. The day was quiet and tranquil. I finished my six-mile walk with plenty of rich memories to take away. And plenty more walks in the area to plan!

 

Enriched by Coastal Scenery

My ramble today took in a stretch of beautiful coastline, following the England Coast Path, from Sunderland to Seaham.

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On a pleasant autumn morning like this, there are splendid views of the North Sea to enjoy, stretching away into a glittering distance. And on my left, the cliff, with beaches and rocky bays.

I decided to explore one near Ryhope. I had to clamber over mighty boulders, scattered about as if dropped there by a giant. This was a place of solid rock, with the boom-boom of waves echoing from a towering cliff. I worked my way down to the shore, to a pillar of stone, standing 50-feet tall. It looked ancient, as old as bones. The terrain was fascinating to explore, rock-pools home to starfish and sea urchin. And sea-weed, it was everywhere. The smell of wet rock, sea-weed, and salt water filled my nostrils. And the spray from the waves formed a watery mist.

I could have stayed here for the rest of the day, roaming about this deserted, rocky haven. But there was the rest of the walk to do!

Once into Seaham I enjoyed a break at the Crow’s Nest pub. Gave me a chance to take stock of what had been an excellent day so far.

After lunch I headed back out of the town and followed a path past St Mary’s Church. It’s an ancient landmark, late 7th Century, so old it looks more like a natural formation than man-made.

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A pleasant footpath can be followed from here, winding down into Seaham Dene. It comes to a small bridge and here the path forks, one heading towards the railway station, another north. I followed this one. The sound of the sea had been a feature of the morning, now it was a forest stillness. I walked along, boots clumping on the earth. There was a profusion of plants and trees, green and autumnal red, yellow and rich browns.

The path came out at Lord Bryon Walk. I followed this road for about a mile, before joining a public bridleway to the B1285, and the end of my six- mile ramble. From here I got the bus back to Sunderland. One thing I find so enjoyable about the walks, is that each one is unique, has its own sense of journey. You may have walked a route several times before, but each is different, offering a mosaic of sights and sounds to please the senses.

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The Roots of the World

THE Bowes Railway Museum in Springwell village, Tyne and Wear, is a memorial to the earliest days of steam locomotives. George Stephenson designed some of the track back in the 1820s. In its heyday the steam engines that worked the line transported more than 1m tons of coal very year. Some of the old railway can still be seen.  Like the skeletal remains of some prehistoric creature, the wooden rails create an evocative link with the past.

A footpath, named after the railway, can be followed from Tanfield to Jarrow and is well worth exploring. From Springwell I followed the track due east, in a gradual descent. Pleasant, relaxed walking, on a bright autumnal morning, clouds suggesting showers later.

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Down the path slopes, flanked by trees, wild red berries flaring like small red flames in the sunshine.  About two thirds along, I found a footpath to the River Don, a mile or so away. I walked across the open country to it, fields stretching away to Springwell village on the skyline. And on the left, grassy banks sloping down to the river, which crosses South Tyneside. Though it’s not really a river, more like a stream or burn.

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It proved a pleasant sheltered spot, trees growing thickly along the water’s edge. I sat on the bank and enjoyed a cuppa from my flask. The sun was bright, and I noted how it played on the water, creating a ripple of sparkling specks. I noted too, old gnarled branches, deeply fissured. And from one such came a burst of starlings. Under the green-brown surface of the stream were mossy rocks, smooth with age. I reached my hand into the water and picked one up, shock of cold water on my skin. I turned the stone over in my hand, observing how it was worn smooth by countless years of being in the stream. The stone glistened, and the water dripped from it, and the stone smelt of the roots of the world. I placed the dripping stone back into the stream. The clouds were now directly overhead. A few tentative raindrops plopped in the Don, a brief shower, with the rain falling more quickly, rustling in the foliage, puckering the water. And then it was over, almost as quickly as it began. When I got up and set off again, it was virtually into a rainbow arcing brilliantly over the fields.

On reaching Leam Lane, my route followed the Great North Forest Trail. And so I wondered along, in no rush, autumn leaves rustling underfoot. At one point the trees formed almost a tunnel, of bough and branch and silvery leaves gently falling.

With another shower coming on, I headed for a pub in Springwell, and the end of my walk, around five miles. A rather good way of siting out the rain! After that I walked through village and once again it was glorious sunshine, making the hills to the west glimmer like jewels.

The Park that was a Pit

My five-mile walk began in Philadelphia. But this Philadelphia isn’t in the USA but on Wearside. During the American Revolutionary War, a local pit owner named our Philadelphia after the American city of the same name, when British troops took it.

Especially enjoyable about walking is finding rural settings in urban areas. Herrington Country Park is one such, reached from Philadelphia via a cycle and walking trail.

I had chosen a good day for the walk; warm sunshine and no sign of rain! So, I enjoyed a relaxed wander past trees and stream, with a breeze gusting through the branches, and a cascade of flowers almost a blizzard.

After maybe half-a-mile, an expanse of hills and fields came into view: The country park. It is crisscrossed by paths, in-fact I was spoilt for choice. I followed one towards the park’s dominant hill, crowned by stone sculptures. I wanted to take a closer look at these.

It’s hard to believe that Herrington Park is built on the site of a colliery, in operation between 1874-1985. At the height of its production, in 1960, the colliery employed 1,766 people, 1,509 of them working underground. When it closed, the colliery had the largest spoil heap in the North-East. And now – there are fields and trees and several lakes.

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It was a bit of climb to the hill’s summit. Worth it though for the views, with Penshaw Monument a great black shadow on the skyline. And to the west, hills heaving into the sky and receding back into a far distance.

‘Good place for a break’ I thought, un-shrugging my rucksack and rummaging around for the coffee flask. And so, I sat atop the hill, with the great gaunt stones that ring it, for company. There was a definite autumnal feel to the day. It was in the air and the keen, bright sunlight making the stones glow gently. And the wind, sighing and whispering.

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Going down the hill proved a lot easier than climbing it. And a tip here, whenever descending a sharp incline, always lean into it. That way, if you fall, it’s against the hill and not into space!

Having safely negotiated the bank, I followed a broad pathway past the lakes. There were plenty of people, wandering along the shore of the largest. I didn’t blame them, it was a glorious day.

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I headed east, past West Herrington. Some enjoyable walking here too, along a quiet grassy trail. It led me to a country road. This rises to an old bridge, which crosses the A19. Away on my left, Hasting Hill jutted into the sky like a giant’s tooth. It’s an historic site. In 1911 archeologists found burial goods dating back some 4,000 years.

My route though led to Middle Herrington, where a pint was much enjoyed at the Board Inn.

The second half of the day’s trek followed the nearby Barnes Burn. This green corridor, right in the heart of Wearside, heads into Barnes Park. Another case of finding unexpected green spaces in urban areas. The park was opened in August 1909, quite historic. It was certainly very pleasant, found somewhere to sit and enjoy my sandwich.

It had been a great walk. Herrington Country Park is well worth a visit. And most memorable, sitting atop the hill with its standing stones.

 

 

 

4 thoughts on “Walking

  1. Hi I have been suffering depression since the age of 6, im now 40 and continue to struggle, I have periods of good health, during these times I manage to be productive, but shamefully even tho im on medication I still continue to have long episodes of depression, I have spent the last year isolated from the outside world, feeling alone, no motivation and have no social life at all. I have very few friends, due to not going out and finding it hard to express myself, many people just dissolve away. I am so sick of being alone, stuck in my flat with no positive outlook – I have attended counselling, and hardrian clinic on and off for years, but still im back to square one – alone, depressed and no interest in thee outside world, Im tired of feeling the way I do, and have decided to look into self help group where i can explore possible groups like walking wanderers – would you be so kind as to contact me with information on how I can join

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