A Bongo in the rolling Radnorshire hills pt2 – Gwaunceste hill and the Hergest ridge

The high point of the road that crosses the Begwns was a perfect place to spend the night in the Bongo.  I was undisturbed until the first of the early morning dog walkers appeared.  I had a leisurely fried breakfast before setting off in the van via a series of very narrow winding lanes.  The pass above the isolated village of Glascwm was full of large shiny 4WD vehicles, all lined up in a row.  Very odd considering there was no one about and it gave the area the feel of a Chelsea car dealership.

Gwaunceste, Colva and Glascwm hills – 11.3 miles with 710 metres ascent

I squeezed the Bongo onto the verge a little way down the hill and walked back up to take the track that contours across the side of Little hill.  The village of Glascwm looked idyllic tucked into the deep green valley below.

Once again these hills provided exceptionally easy going as a wide grassy track took me through the bracken.  It’s a shame that the bracken has taken such a foothold  in the area.  The hills are pretty much choked in the stuff, almost to their summits.  However I bet the area looks pretty spectacular in the autumn then it dies down and turns various shades of golden brown.

A less defined track branched off to the right, which I followed before a final heather bash to the summit of Gwaunceste hill.  I sat for a while next to the trig point taking in the views, especially those to the west.  A patchwork of rolling green fields finally giving way to the more austere Cambrian mountains.

I retraced my steps and continued on the track as it descended to the north.  The high ground of the Radnor Forest was directly ahead with its prominent radio mast.

Following the edge of the moors the ground dropped steeply to my left, the isolated moorland of Llandegley rocks visible across the valley.

The next couple of miles were a joy to walk as a bridleway slowly climbed above one of the areas many Mawn pools, before dropping down into a hidden valley.  The valley is not named on my map and it had the feeling of being totally cut off from the rest of the world.  A bowl amongst the surrounding moors, where there does not appear to be a natural way in or out.

I rested and had lunch on a fallen tree next to a moss encrusted drystone wall.  I was really enjoying being out on the hills that day.  Although they are pretty unspectacular they do have a real charm that is difficult to put a finger on.  As I was packing up the only other hikers that I would see all day passed by with a cheery greeting.  I continued east towards the stream that eventually flows out of the valley and forms Gilwern Brook.

I managed to lose the bridleway for a bit when approaching the stream, briefly floundering amongst the bog.  Back on course I found another well defined track which led to Pant-glas.  This ramshackled building has a real charm and I have to admit that I was rather jealous of its owners.  It appeared to be an isolated smallholding, complete with large greenhouse.  This is proper off-grid living with power being supplied by a couple of small wind turbines.  It looked like at some point it had been connected to solar panels.  Although it was clear that no one was at home I had to resist the temptation to have a nosy through the windows.  If the owners read this and want to gift it to Backpackingbongos, please get in contact!

The grassy track continued to climb, giving great views back across the off-grid dwelling to the extensive hidden bowl in the hills.

As I crested the hill onto the moorland plateau my day quickly went down hill.  Rather than go over it once again, those who have not read it can follow this link to Get off my access land.

I left the trig point rather pissed off to be honest, an enjoyable day had turned sour.  A narrow track through the heather soon turned grassy as it descended across Llanfihangel hill.  I sat for a while, the excellent views south not lifting my mood.

Another superb grassy path took me to a boggy col before a byway led down into the valley.  A convoy of trail bikes noisily passed me by, kicking up a huge plume of choking dust that filled all my facial orifices.  I wanted to shake my poles at them angrily but they had just as much right to be there as I did.  A climb through sheep pastures brought me back to my initial outward route which I followed back to the van.

I sat and relaxed for a while and made a coffee.  I was keen to bag Glascwm hill so set off in the opposite direction.  A track took me close to the summit which was marked by a tiny pile of stones.  I did a little victory dance and offered a finger to the gamekeeper who had spoilt my day earlier.  He had mentioned that this was on his patch.  All around me the clouds were beginning to boil and churn, lines of showers tracking across the surrounding hills.  A rainbow formed in front of me.

As I descended the heavens opened and I managed to get my waterproof jacket on just in time.  It was too late for my lower half and I got back to the Bongo a dripping mess.  After changing into dry clothing I drove the few miles to the single track lane that crosses Llanbedr hill.  An excellent spot was located just before the road plunges down into the Edw valley.

During the evening the van was buffeted by wind and rain, brief glimpses of the sun giving a faint promise of another sunset.  However it was not to be as a shower passed by just at the crucial moment.

It was another peaceful night except for one slightly alarming moment when I was woken at 3am.  I heard a slowly approaching vehicle with very load singing getting nearer and nearer, the occupants playing percussion by banging on the roof.  Thankfully they trundled by without stopping and I could hear them for several minutes as they crossed the moor.  I have a sneaky suspicion that drink / drug drive laws may not be strictly enforced in such rural areas!

I had another slow leisurely morning complete with fry-up whilst I decided where to hike that day.  I did not want to get home too late as I had work the following day.  I thought that the Hergest ridge would be a good quick option and it was in a homeward direction.

The Hergest ridge – 3.7 miles with 210 metres ascent

As I drove across the moor towards Paincastle I passed the same lot of 4WD vehicles that were lined up above Glascwm the day before.  Once again there was no one around, most peculiar.  Maybe there is a 4WD hill walking owners club?

I parked up outside the school in Gladestry and followed the Offa’s Dyke path steeply up a lane.  The walk to the summit of the hill was a simple there and back with superb scenery.  The lane gave way to a tree-lined track which led onto open country.  Once again the hill was infested with bracken but another superb wide grassy path made the going very pleasant.

Looking west into Wales.

The ‘forbidden’ Colva hill which I climbed the previous day.

Looking north towards the Radnor forest.

The steep and shapely Hanter hill.

The path passed close to the top of a steep valley, the views to the north and west being extensive for a relatively low hill.  If the rest of the Offa’s Dyke path offers scenery similar to this I would be keen to walk all of it.

I passed the unmarked high point of the hill and walked over to the trig point.  A truly excellent spot which I had thought would be crowded considering it was a warm and sunny summer sunday.  Instead I only had to share it with the numerous sheep and a herd of fell ponies.  The views east across the Midlands were only restricted by the summer haze.  If it was not for a lack of water it would be a great spot to pitch a tent for the night.

I soaked up the views for a while before reluctantly turning round and heading back down to the van and the drive home.

A Bongo in the rolling Radnorshire hills pt1 – Llanbedr hill and the Begwns

North of the Black Mountains and to the east of the Cambrian Mountains sits a little know tract of hill country.  Between Hay-On-Wye in the south and Newtown in the north there is a long line of hills close to the English border.  These are gentle, whale back hills which culminate on the heights of Great Rhos and the Radnor Forest, just rising above the 2000ft contour.   This hill range does not really have a name, so for the purpose of these two posts I am going to refer to them as the Radnorshire hills.  Although Radnorshire itself was long swallowed up by the huge county of Powys.

Sandwiched between the heights of Great Rhos and the Black mountains is a large area of empty moorland.  Lush green valleys cut through the moors giving a contrast between the bleak and pastoral.  This area has been on my radar for years now but I have never really managed to put together a satisfactory backpacking route.  Although very remote in terms of nearby towns and villages it is a landscape dotted with farms and criss-crossed by narrow lanes.  Finding a hidden pitch and locating suitable water sources could be an issue.

The Bongo has been neglected recently and these hills looked like a perfect area for a spot of van wild camping.  The many high moorland roads with the potential to provide ideal spots to park up for the night.  My ankle was also playing up from a fall a couple of weeks previously so some short walks with a day pack would be ideal.  Due to the ankle, Reuben sadly had to be left at home.  I wanted to be able to use my Pacerpoles for support rather than being dragged along by a mass of muscle!

Llandedr hill and Red hill – 7.3 miles with 470 metres ascent

It was nearly 2.00pm by the time I parked the van and had finished a lengthy faff.  I had chosen to start the walk high up at 430 metres, aware that I may regret that most of the climbing would be at the end of the day.  However it was nice to start effortlessly with extensive views back across the English borders.

To the south sat a long line of high mountains, clearly broken down into three parts.  The whole of the northern escarpment of the Brecon Beacons National park filled the horizon.  I could make out the Black Mountains in the east, the Brecon Beacons themselves, and far to the west the Black Mountain.  I planned to spend the evening on a hill further to the south which is supposed to give one of the best grandstand views of them.

Llanbedr hill is a breeze to walk across, a wide track allowing swift progress.  This is excellent open country, empty hills rolling into the distance.  If you want thrills with your hills I advise you to stay away!

Gareg Lwyd is one of a few outcrops that break the landscape and provide a feature on this long finger of moorland.  It is a particularly attractive spot with a pool at the base of the rocks.

It was an excellent spot to sit, the rocks providing shelter from the breeze.  I watched a cyclist pass on the track I had walked, the only person I would see for the rest of the day.  I got so relaxed that it was a bit of an effort to get myself moving again.

A narrow path across rough ground took me to Cwm Lago where I picked up a path that contours across the northern slopes of the hill.

This path was simply a joy to walk with its sheep nibbled grassy surface, it almost invites you to remove your shoes and walk barefoot.  I floated along high above the Edw valley, the escarpment dropping steeply to a patchwork of fields.  Everywhere I looked there was a riot of every shade of green and there was a smell of summer on the warm air.  This played havoc with my hay fever!

I would have been happy for the path to go on for ever as it descended gently towards the valley.  Unfortunately it soon deposited me onto a steep minor lane.  I soon branched off towards Rhulen along another lane that was barely wide enough for a vehicle, the high hedgerows towering above me.  I was thankful for the shade they provided as I had lost the cooling breeze from the moorland heights.

I don’t normally get very excited about churches but the one at Rhulen is a bit of a hidden gem.  It’s a lovely old building and I spent a while nosing around its cool dark interior before utilising the bench in the churchyard.  There was a real feeling of time having stood still there, the hustle and bustle of city life felt far far away.

The road at the head of the valley turned into a track which gave an easy ascent back onto the moors.  At its highest point I headed directly for the trig point on Red hill.  The heather looked like a huge square had been mown into it, a curious feature but one I took full advantage of to get to the top.  Views to the north were restricted by the bulk of Glascwm hill but to the south the line of the Brecon Beacons revealed their full glory.

It was an easy yomp back down to the Bongo which I could see glimmering in the distance.  The wide grassy tracks across these moors mean that it is real hands in the pockets striding country.

I had noticed on my maps an isolated hill just to the south of Paincastle which stood out when I got back to the Bongo.  The Begwns are owned by the National Trust and I thought it would be an ideal place to watch the sun set.  I drove the few miles south, fingers crossed that I would not meet any oncoming traffic on the steep and very narrow lanes, which are rather lacking in passing places.

I parked on the common next to the road, a cracking spot with the Black Mountains looking rather special behind me in the sunshine.  A farmer came rumbling down a track on the hill opposite and waved as he passed, which I took as an endorsement for the spot I had chosen.  I sat and cooked dinner in the van, entertained by a young foal running about and making a right racket.

The Begwns – 1.2 miles with 60 metres ascent

At about 9.00pm I made the short ten minute amble up to The Roundabout, which is the summit of the Begwns.  The top itself is unmarked and hidden amongst some trees that sit within a large circular dry stone wall structure.  A large seating area had been built inside by the millennium project of Painscastle.  I would imagine that it would be a welcome spot to eat lunch on a wild windy day.

I wandered over to the trig point for grandstand views of Pen y Fan, the setting sun just beginning to give the sky a pinkish hue.  In terms of view versus the effort involved in getting to the top, this hill probably has the best ratio in the whole of Wales!  Isolated from other high ground there is an extensive 360 panorama and I wandered around for a while taking it all in.

Even the sheep appeared to be transfixed by the view and the setting sun.

I walked a little way to the west and watched the sun slowly sink below the horizon, a light show that I will never tire of.

With the spectacle over I slowly headed back down to the van, passing a group on their way up.  Sadly they had missed the sunset by a few minutes.  However the show was not over and the sky caught fire once more, turning yellow then orange and finally a deep red.  Magical.

I got back to the Bongo a happy man.  I had picked a truly peaceful spot and I was not aware of any vehicles passing in the night.

The Dovedale horseshoe

My planned ‘campsite’ for the night was the car park at Cow Bridge near the village of Hartsop.  The drive over the Kirkstone pass was spectacular in the early evening light, stars beginning to make an appearance.  I chose a pleasant spot next to the river to park, noting that there were already three vans who looked like they would be there until the morning.  The evening and night passed peacefully and I woke up at 7.00am to a slight frost and sunshine filtering down into the valley.

7 miles with 830 metres ascent

Even after getting up early I still managed to faff around for far too long and it was 8.30am before I set off with Reuben.  The climb started immediately from the car park, a narrow path branching up into the woods.  I was soon sweating buckets in the still air of Low Wood, even though the sun was low in the sky.  I was very proud of Reuben as we rounded a corner and surprised a very woolly sheep, he looked with interest but resisted the temptation to go and investigate.  He received lots of praise for that.  Exiting the woods onto open pasture we found a spot to rest and take in the views.

The first objective of the day was the summit on the knobbly ridge of Hartsop above How.  Once the ridge itself was gained the walking was easy and the views fantastic in the morning light.  In front was a sense of mountain drama, the area around Link Cove looking particularly inviting and possibly worth exploring for its wild camping potential.

St Sunday Crag across Deepdale had its head firmly hidden in the clouds, its summit being a mist magnet under reasonably clear skies.  Past the summit of Hartsop above Howe there was a small descent and then a long slow plod across grassy slopes towards Hart Crag.  The reward was the panorama opening up behind me with every step.  A great excuse to stop and look, nothing to do with trying to catch my breath!

The final pull onto the summit of Hart Crag was steep, although this means that height is gained relatively quickly.  I could not decide which of the two cairns was the true summit so we visited both.  The views to the west were impressive and I stood for a while attempting to identify the array of well know peaks.  Sadly the light was not at its best in that direction which means that it was almost impossible to photograph.

We left the deserted summit and walked the gentle slopes to Dove Crag.  A drystone wall runs along the summit and we used it as shelter from the wind whilst we ate an early lunch.  I saw ‘we’ but in reality this involved Reuben watching me eat and then him hoovering the ground for any stray crumbs.  I noticed that just about every male that had passed was wearing shorts.  Although warm in the valleys it was pretty chilly on the fell tops, emphasised by the fact that I soon had to get moving to keep warm.

The well-worn path was left as we branched off towards Little Hart Crag and started the steep descent down to Bakestones Moss.  I was struck by the views across to High Street, wave upon wave of hills, each one getting progressively higher.

Before the final rise to Little Hart Crag I went to peer over the edge and down into Dovedale, the steep slopes gave me a real perspective of height.

Signs of spring were evident as we passed a boggy pool full of frog spawn.  The fluffy white clouds drifting across a soft blue sky were reflected in the dark surface of the water.

It was windy on the summit but it was still a place to linger as the views of the crags at the heads of the valleys were impressive.  As we sat there a man approached the summit cairn with his Jack Russell and I told Reuben to stay at my side.  However after a few minutes the sheer excitement of another dog being in close proximity meant that he broke ranks to say hello.  He did not get the greeting he was looking for and I had to sheepishly apologise to the owner of a cross Jack Russell.

As I was about to start my descent towards High Hartsop Dodd I overheard a woman inform her walking partner that she was unhappy and pissed off that he was making her detour to its summit.  I followed at a short distance behind, their body language telling more of a story than words ever could.  As I reached the tiny cairn they had turned around to reascend Little Hart Crag and he mentioned that it had not been worth the effort of their detour!

The tight contours of my map were confirmed by the steep slopes on the ground as I started the descent towards Brothers Water.

It was hard going on the knees and it got warmer and warmer the closer we got to the valley floor.  The Kirkstone pass far below us was busy with Sunday traffic, although the only sound that carried upwards was that of powerful motorbikes.

It was with relief that we reached the valley bottom and I selected a boulder to sit on for a rest and to finish the last of my water.  I was regretting wearing my leather boots as my feet were cooking within the confines of a waterproof lining.  Time to put them away for a few months and go back to the freedom of unlined mesh trail shoes I think.  I enjoyed the easy walk along the shore of Brothers Water, passing a family having a picnic in the sun on a stony beach.  What I was not prepared for was the car park where I had left the Bongo.  At 8.30am when I departed there were only a handful of vehicles but on returning the place was heaving and the van was firmly wedged in with only inches to spare either side.  It took me ages to manoeuvre myself out.  I do wish that people would realise that vans are more difficult to get out of tight spots than cars and they have numerous blind spots.  With the stereo on and the windows down I started the slow scenic drive home along the shores of Ullswater.

Above Langdale – Pike of Blisco and Lingmoor Fell

There was a humid and fetid funk in the air when I woke up.  The van had been fully sealed from a night of Lake District weather, rain beating a repetitive tune on the roof all night.  I had arrived at the disused quarry with Reuben at around 2.00pm the day before in less than appealing weather.  The hills had vanished and a constant driving rain fell, accompanied by swirling mists.  We completed a 7 mile dash across a couple of low hills simply for the sport of ticking them off my list of Wainwrights.  Even at a lowly 300 metres the hills firmly had their heads in the clouds.  We returned to the van just as it was getting dark, Reuben covered in muck and totally soaked, whilst the watery onslaught had been too much for my eVENT waterproof.  I was thankful that we did not have to sleep confined in a small backpacking tent.  However a smelly, wet and muddy dog in a small van along with my sodden clothes and shoes soon turned the atmosphere to that of a particularly smelly sauna.

The rain had stopped when I poked my head out of the door and there were pale patches of blue in the sky.  Mist was rising and falling around the surrounding mountains, the tops appearing and then vanishing in the clouds.  It was an atmospheric place to sit and eat breakfast, the quarry giving an excellent alternative to a busy campsite.

5.7 miles with 880 metres ascent

The day was improving rapidly as I drove through little Langdale and up to the empty car park next to Blea Tarn.  Sadly it is pay and display and I went over to the machine to submit a couple of quid to the National Trust who own it.  My exact words when reading the all day tariff was “**** *** ******* ***?”  They wanted £5.90 and the machine does not give change, effectively costing £6.  I was about to go and remove the Bongo from the empty car park so I could park irresponsibly nearby when I noticed the machine flashing that it was out of order.  I therefore decided to leave the van where it was.

I have no qualms about paying for parking, especially in areas where it is possible to reach by using public transport.  However when in the middle of nowhere and there is no alternative to driving I think that £6 is a royal rip off.  All it does is encourage people to park elsewhere, causing difficulties on the narrow lanes.  Rant over.

Reuben did not share my early morning annoyance and simply thought that the area was full of fantastic smells.  I rarely visit the Lake District preferring much bleaker and emptier landscapes.  However standing next to a deserted Blea Tarn in the early spring sunshine I felt that there was nowhere else better to be on the planet.

I imagine that Blea Tarn would normally be crawling with people, so I felt lucky to visit whilst it was so quiet and I could have lingered for much longer.  We took the footpath to the south of the tarn before following a series of sheep trods directly up the fell side.  My lungs were soon heaving and my legs like jelly, unconditioned to such steep slopes.

With height gained we contoured below Blake Rigg on easy grassy slopes, slowly climbing onto Wrynose Fell without too much effort.  Wetherlam and the ridge up to Great Carrs looked impressive and I imagine would give a good horseshoe walk around the Greenburn Valley.

A narrow ribbon of tarmac snaked its way across the hillside below us before steeply climbing to the high point at Three Shires Stone.  I stood with Reuben and watched as tiny toy sized cars silently glided up and down one of the steepest roads in the country, probably en-route for the Hardknott pass.

Rounding a corner the cone of Pike of Blisco came into view, the only 2000ft fell in this part of the Lakes that I had not climbed.  The cloud was now quickly rolling in, occasionally brushing its summit.  I wanted to reach the top before the mist came down and the views were lost.

Just as I found a sheltered spot on Wrynose fell for a mid morning snack and with the contents of my rucksack emptied on the hillside, heavy sleety rain started to fall.  With waterproofs on and Reuben starting to whine as the wind blew the rain into his face, the break was abandoned and we began to climb once more.  Reuben tends to forget his discomfort when his attention has been diverted to exploring the hillside with his nose.

The summit cairn was reached just as the rain was turning to wet snow, my waterproof once again being defeated by wet and sweat.  Time to reproof it I think.  The views from the summit were limited and I noticed that the higher peaks already had a light dusting of snow.

I took the main path eastwards from the summit as I thought this would be the easiest option.  I did not count on a couple of scrambly sections which to be honest were a little tricky with a dog.  Wet rock and a squirming hound made for slow progress.  Once on safer ground the rain actually stopped so it was time for lunch and a fresh hot brew.

The steep pitched path down towards Side Pike was slippery and jarring on the knees but was very effective in curbing erosion.  I tried to keep focused on the rather excellent views.

Contouring round to the summit of the road, the murk cleared from the Langdale Pikes.  I have walked their summits a few times and have to say that they are hills to be looked at rather than climbed.  From the perspective of this side of Great Langdale they are magnificent, a complex crumpled mess of rock and deep ghylls, one of those iconic mountain views.

A steep path climbed up towards Side Pike, giving a different perspective of the surrounding hills, the weather still not deciding whether to brighten up or rain.  It did both.

Mountain lassitude took over and I opted out of the short climb to the summit of Side Pike.  A path contoured around its rocky crown and we came to a cleft in the hillside which has to be squeezed through.  Reuben initially refused to attempt this and I had to remove my rucksack and shove my ever-increasing bulk through.  It took a bit of coaxing from the other side to get him through.  It was then a simple case of following the great wall of Lingmoor to the summit.

Lingmoor is a good case for biggest is not always best.  At a relatively lowly 469 metres it gives staggeringly good views right into the heart of Great Langdale.  To the south low hills and forest stretch to the far horizon and I could make out the distinctive profile of the Howgills.  I sat for a while whilst contemplating the view.

An approaching figure looked rather familiar but I could not quite place where from.  As he got to the summit cairn he asked me if I was James.  I recognised his accent immediately from one of Terrybnd’s videos, it was Yuri who I had chatted with virtually under the moniker @MooShad1969 on Twitter.  It’s a small old world sometimes.  Reuben then did his very best at charming the pants off of Yuri’s wife, well not literally obviously.

Descending the steep path to Bleatarn House I began to ponder if Lake District miles are longer than a standard mile.  My legs had carried me less than 6 miles, yet I felt like I had walked double that.  My knees had also started to creak.  However that was soon forgotten when the light did something magical to the surrounding fells, giving them a texture of painted canvas.  I returned to the van a happy man.

The Cheviots – along the Border ridge

The previous evening and night was a perfect van ‘wild camping’ experience.  I parked up at around 7pm and no vehicle passed until 9am the following morning.  Time was spent generally lounging, eating and reading the latest TGO magazine that I had bought along.  Reuben was much more settled that night, probably due to the absence of the MOD blowing things up in the surrounding hills.

9.9 miles with 550 metres ascent

It was a good morning for a fester.  The day dawned grey and drizzly with low cloud shrouding the hills.  A mate was coming to join me for the day at 10am so I sat around in the van, content to do not very much at all.  10am came and went and the car park remained empty.  By 12pm I decided that I could not sit there all day so packed my rucksack and headed off down the narrow road towards Carlcroft, hoping to bump into them on the way.  No familiar cars passed so I located the bridleway and headed into the hills.  The path contoured at an easy angle, the ground soon dropping away, the surrounding hills every shade of green.

As a gate was approached I noticed that a sheep had somehow managed to get its head stuck in it.  For some reason it had put its head through the metal bars (grass greener on the other side?) but forgotten that it had horns.  The sheep spotted Reuben and Reuben spotted the sheep and there was a bit of excitement on their behalf.  I ended up tying Reuben to a fence a good distance away where he stood a whined whilst I set about untangling the sheep.  I was baffled how it even got its head in there in the first place.  Ten minutes were spent doing  a ‘live sheep puzzle’ before I finally cracked it and the poor beast was released.

The track named ‘The Street’ was soon reached and I sat to catch my breath.  As with the day before I was surrounded by green rolling hills in all directions.

My phone suddenly sprung to life, full of messages from the evening before by my mate apologising for not being able to make it today.  One of the problems being in a remote area is that communication with the outside world can be difficult.  Usually this is bliss, in this instance it was annoying.

Walking along the track towards the Border ridge I spotted a large herd of cows in the distance, milling around my intended route.  I have heard (get the pun there?) that they can be a dangerous mix with dogs, especially if they have calves.  I climbed and then hoisted Reuben over a fence and passed them with the security of a wire barrier.  They approached with murderous intent in their eyes, all of them fixated on Reuben who was blissfully unaware.  I have never seen cows act in that way before, the usual docile beasts really looked like they wanted to do him some damage.  We walked and they followed for some distance.  I think if the fence had not been there he would have been flattened.  I don’t think that I would ever risk crossing a field of cows with him in tow.

To my left was the long and winding valley of Rowhope Burn, its secret depths no doubt harbouring many idyllic wild camping spots.

Approaching the Scottish border the grass gradually gives way to heather, the head of Easthope Burn giving great views into its hidden folds.

The border fence itself is shared by the Pennine Way on its final stretch, the Cheviot dominating the horizon.  This is probably one of the remotest stretches of that long distance route, the only person passed was on her final day.

Easy and admittedly unexciting walking brought me to the trig on Lamb hill, where once again reuben demonstrated his new-found trig posing technique.  Actually to get one of these shots he has to be lifted up and he then immediately jumps off.  It takes a bit of perseverance and you have to be quick!

Just below lamb hill is one of the two refuge huts on this long stretch of the Pennine Way.  It is a welcoming little shelter, one that I imagine many people have been thankful for.  It is well cared for and litter free, voluntary wardens doing a good job.  I sat outside for half an hour, shoes and socks off, cooling down in the muggy air.

I think that one of the most appealing aspects of the Cheviots are the long and winding valleys that cut deeply into the hills.  The descent into Rennies Burn, which soon leads to Buckham’s Walls Burn was the best part of the day.  You get the feeling that not many people walk these little valleys.  A thought that sprung into my head whilst walking across what looked like firm short-cropped grass.  It turned out to be a thin crust on top of a rather soggy bog, one leg being covered in stinking mud above the knee.

Reuben then made an easy river crossing much more hard work than it should have been.  He has an aversion to getting his feet wet!

We were soon back at the Bongo for another evening of solitude, the mist once again settling on the hills as dusk approached.