Leaving the end of the West Highland Way at Milngavie, I had to get over to the east side of Scotland, near to the English border at the charming little village of Kirk Yetholm. There the Pennine Way started (or finished depending on you inclination), and I had around 260 miles to follow this classic route south.
NW2SE has no guide book. I’ve relented and indulged in a modicum of planning but each day I wake up, check my approximate direction on my mobile via the Routebuddy app and figure out some sort of attack.
The Forth and Clyde Canal
The start of the adventure was easy, I simply had to stick to the Cape Wrath Trail and then the West Highland Way. However, to get over to the other side of the country from Milngavie entailed connecting a series of footpaths, bridleways, old drove roads and even B roads.
I made mistakes and had to get around them. When a road diminished into a rough track that promised easy walking for five miles but in fact, was non existent, I had to re-trace my steps and work around the obstacle. Sometimes the map showed a tunnel under the railway, or a footpath away from a canal, but occasionally the reality disagrees.
Getting away from Milgavie was straight forward. A couple of hours strolling along quiet B roads was a delight before hooking up with the Forth and Clyde Canal. The Kilsyth Hills watched me from the north, brooding under heavy cloud and for most of the day I played cat and mouse with rain showers, using the trees as shelter. After 22 miles I pitched under one such tree to afford a little protection overnight.
Leaving Milngavie with a smile on my face – sunshine!
The Falkirk Wheel the following day signalled a change of canals over to the Union Canal. The wheel itself proved hypnotic as it slowly turned silently.
The Falkirk Wheel
Two swans and seven cygnets glided effortlessly just ahead of me for fifteen minutes, slightly slower than my pace but I held back to study them. The occasional canoe drifted past with a shouted greeting and nearing towns, dog walkers appeared.
Begrudgingly I left the canal. The flat route beside calm waters had proved easy walking and a wonderful tonic. Passing through East Calder and out the other side, my speed quickened for a short section to escape a busy A road before turning left and back to countryside.
The Cauldstane Slap heralded the next section. This relief from the roads was welcome and also historic. Passing between East Cairn Hill and West Cairn Hill this old drove road was used for almost two hundred years to drive cattle south from their highland grazings to the English markets. Robbers lurked in the heather along the Slap, giving the route it’s other name – The Thieves Road.
I walked on, and crossed paths with St. Cuthbert’s Way several times
After stopping at the Tollhouse Teahouse for a quick eggs benedict, and a coffee of course, I carried on into early evening and looking for a camp spot, I entered a thick forest just south of Crailzie Hill. So thick that the light diminished to a weak dusk before a break in the canopy revealed not only a flat spot, but a way in for the sun which for once, had come out to play.
Innerleithen beckoned in the morning, twenty two miles away and due to a little campsite symbol on the map, I was hopeful the place had showers as well.
Most of the day was spent on B roads, with the River Tweed sliding slowly past to my left. Don’t discount the humble B road, when footpaths are not forthcoming, or a disused railway track, these little veins running through Great Britain are, in fact, a delight.
Navigation is easy, I am able to look at my surroundings instead of concentrating on the ground for foot placement. Pace quickens, miles pass quicker and up here in Scotland at least, the traffic is minimal and courteous drivers slow down affording a wide berth. Remote tracks they may not be, but when little else is on offer there is always a B road to get me out of trouble.
Passing through Peebles, I picked up the Tweed again to Innerleithen and sure enough, nestled close to the banks was promised campsite and a hot shower. Even the curry house in town, with the smallest seating capacity I’ve ever seen (just twelve places), served me an admirable Chicken Ceylon.
Just forty six miles separated Innerleithen from Kirk Yetholm. I had mis-calculated the distance and having booked a bed at Kirk Yetholm Youth Hostal, had little choice than to put my foot down. By two o’clock I had reeled in twenty miles but carried on with the roll, eventually pulling over after thirty three miles for the day.
I was at Roxburgh, little more than a cluster of houses nestled near the River Teviot. Waking at 4.30am, as usual when the sun rose, I looked outside to a cloudless sky and felt grateful for a warming tent. Finally, away from the western side of Scotland and her mountains, the weather finally seemed to be improving. I calculated that morning that since leaving Cape Wrath some twenty seven days earlier, I had been rained on every day except for three. I was owed, and demanded some decent weather. Finally, the elements seemed to be obliging.
Weaving through almost deserted and forgotten country lanes, my surroundings, although barren now of the mountains back in the north west, were simply stunning. My little country lane, for most of the morning, settled on the north side of a broad hill, almost a plateau. To my right it gently swept up and to my left, it curved down gently to the River Till before rising once more up to distant hills. A chess board countryside, alternating between corn fields in varying shades of green and brown, hedgerows, and large clumps of forest and wood. Even the agricultural landscape up here is thought provoking.
The wind intensified as the day progressed, whipping up a frenzy and bringing my environment to life. Tall Pines bent to one side, arching over gracefully like ballerinas warming up. The gales brought Scotland to life, from leafy whispers in the sheltered spots, to frenzied roars up high.
Rain showers surrounded me, and guessing their course by the movement of the cloud, I made constant decisions to cover the gaps between forests where I could rely on the shelter. As it transpired, I seemed to have found the dry corridor that day where no rain, for once, fell on me.
And then I saw them. Cresting a hill, the Pennines crossed my path from north to south. A tall chain of hills, rolling up and down all the way to Edale, some 268 miles further south. Clouds merely tickled the upper elevations, but for the most part, they were bathed in sunlight, glorious summer skies acting as a backdrop.
I arrived at Kirk Yetholm Youth Hostel, got cleaned up and looking forward to a day off, strolled up to the Borders Hotel for a couple of pints of ale.
Don’t discount the humble B road.
However, for the second time this year on a hike, my body had other ideas and once again, I’ve been forced off trail. My NW2SE is, unfortunately, off. My right knee decided it wasn’t up to the task being asked of it.
At the time (sitting on a stile under my umbrella in the rain – again), I was obviously despondent. What with my Continental Divide Trail hike ended abruptly in May, the first thoughts racing around my head were that my body was falling apart. Having been back home for a few days now I’ve accepted my fate and am OK with it.
After all, I’ve been lucky enough to walk over 500 miles through New Mexico which was glorious, and hiked over 500 miles as well north to south through, arguably, the best part of Scotland.
As to the next step in my adventures, I’ll have to wait and see.
At the time (sitting on a stile under my umbrella in the rain – again), I was obviously despondent. What with my Continental Divide Trail hike ended abruptly in May, the first thoughts racing around my head were that my body was falling apart. Having been back home for a few days now I’ve accepted my fate and am OK with it.
After all, I’ve been lucky enough to walk over 500 miles through New Mexico which was glorious, and hiked over 500 miles as well north to south through, arguably, the best part of Scotland.
As to the next step in my adventures, I’ll have to wait and see.
