Frontier of the Roman Empire : Robin Hood Inn to Twice Brewed

“Where ever you are, be there totally.”

 

Eckhart Tolle

 

An Early Morning and a Late Start

 

Yesterday had introduced to Hadrian’s Wall in fragments.  At Wallsend, we had found archaeology, signs, and interpretation. Through Newcastle-upon-Tyne, we had followed the memory of the Wall beneath a modern city layered with shipyards, bridges, roads, and Victorian industrial history. At Heddon-on-the-Wall, we had finally been able to touch a surviving  section of the Roman structure, only to be driven onward by rain, cost, and the lack of available accommodation. By the time we reached the Robin Hood Inn, soaked and exhausted, we had already walked what many would consider two stages of Hadrian’s Wall Path.

 

Today, we hoped it would lead us to a different experience. According to the guidebook, this next stretch would bring us more fully into the functioning frontier of Roman Britain. Milecastles, turrets, forts, the Vallum, more surviving sections of the Wall, and the long ridge of the Whin Sill all lay ahead. If yesterday had shown us how much of Hadrian’s Wall had been buried beneath modernity, today had the potential to reveal how the frontier had worked.

 

We woke around 5 AM, and were already packed and ready to leave long before breakfast was served. In our usual trekking routines, especially in Canada or on more remote routes, mornings were self-contained. We filtered water, made our own food, packed our gear, and moved on. In the UK, particularly along these National Trails, to cut down the weight we were carrying, we had slowly become more dependent on local services. That brought comfort, warmth, meals, and sometimes shelter, but it also meant our days were increasingly shaped by opening hours, staff shortages, and the rhythms of pubs, inns, cafés, and restaurants.

 

As we waited and tried to dry out our gear through the early morning, we came to understand a little more about the previous evening. The staff were dealing with the difficulty of finding people to work locally, rising costs, and were reliant on catered meals rather than having an in-house cook.  The awkwardness and expense of the night before did not disappear, but it became more understandable. 

 

By the time we finally stepped back outside, however, it felt as though a large part of the day had already slipped away.  The consolation being that we had enjoyed a good breakfast, and the fact that it was not raining. The sky was blue, the sun was out, and after the previous afternoon’s deluge, that felt like a tremendous gift. Crossing the empty parking lot at the Robin Hood Inn, we rounded a hedge, passed through our first gate of the day, and returned to the trail.

 

Almost immediately, the path resumed its pattern of hedgerows, fields, and proximity to the road. Lorries roared past while we crossed what felt like an endless series of stiles, gates, ladders, and steps. At times, the route shifted into open country, only to return again to the sound and presence of the road and its traffic. The rain of the previous days had transformed much of the ground into a damp, slippery way, but compared to yesterday’s sodden push, we were simply grateful not to be walking in full rain gear.

 

The trail crossed the undulating landscape, often beside low stone farm walls. Sheep watched us with suspicion. Horses looked on with curiosity. Our boots moved from mud to grass to track to lane and back again. It was not easy walking exactly, especially with heavy packs, but it felt manageable. More importantly, we were moving westward again.

 

Break at the Errington Arms

 

Eventually, the route brought us back toward a rural crossroads and led us through a roundabout to the Errington Coffee House near Portgate. The building stood beside the road with picnic tables out front, and to us it looked like exactly what we needed: an opportunity to sit down, dry some more gear, and have a cup of coffee.

 

Inside, there was a large display of pastries and a welcome range of coffee blends. We found a place to sit outside in the sun near two older gentlemen who looked absolutely wrecked. They asked where we intended to finish that evening, and when we said Twice Brewed – still another 30 km or so ahead - they were horrified. In their view, the terrain ahead was far too rough to cover in a single day. They insisted the next twenty-plus kilometres needed to be split into two stages.

 

When they asked whether we were sore from the first couple of stages, we politely explained that we were doing all right. Going on to detail that we had already walked Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, the Pennine Way, the West Highland Way, and the Great Glen Way over the previous fifty days or so. We were tired, certainly, but our bodies had adapted to long days with heavy packs.

 

Their reaction shifted quickly from surprise to irritation.

 

It was not the first time we had encountered this sort of response in the UK. On other trails, we had been told, with absolute confidence, that one did not simply walk multiple long-distance routes back to back. According to some, each required years of planning, careful scheduling, reservation arrangements, and a much more restrained approach. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps we had become a bit ridiculous by this point. But the anger our answer sometimes provoked remained strange to us.

 

We had not asked anyone else to walk the way we were walking. We were not claiming it was the best way. In fact, by now, we were increasingly aware that it might not be the best way at all. Yet our long treks undertaken back to back seemed to unsettle some people, as though our choices were somehow a critique of theirs.  Which, of course, they were not.

 

Westward along Hadrian’s Wall

 

Well warned, and with the café becoming increasingly busy, we finished our break, said our goodbyes, hoisted our backpacks, and continued on.

 

Leaving the Errington Arms, we crossed the parking lot and climbed a ladder stile that felt taller than it probably was. By this stage, repeatedly climbing and descending ladders with a heavy rucksack had begun to feel less like hiking and more like a strange outdoor stair-master workout in a gym.

 

Once over, we crossed a field on a well-mown path, then continued through more fields lined with stone walls, gates, and damp grass.

 

Eventually, the path led us toward signs for St. Oswald’s Way and a nearby church.

 

Heavenfield and St. Oswald’s Church

 

Before detouring to the church, we noticed a line of taxis gathered nearby. Curious, we asked whether something was happening and learned that this was a point where many walkers ended their stage or arranged for a lift forward. We were asked if we wanted a ride ourselves, but we politely declined. We had come to walk, even if the day ahead was beginning to look rather ambitious.

 

A short distance off Hadrian’s Wall Path, St. Oswald’s Church stood in a peaceful setting surrounded by a low stone wall, a graveyard, and a meadow. It was not a Roman site, but on this trail, it seemed that much of the story was never only Roman.

 

St. Oswald was a 7th-century king of Northumbria whose life belongs to the period after Roman Britain, when older imperial frontiers were giving way to the kingdoms of early medieval England. After a time in exile, during which he encountered Christianity through the Irish monastic tradition, Oswald returned to Northumbria and defeated Cadwallon ap Cadfan of Gwynedd at the Battle of Heavenfield in AD 634. That victory allowed him to reunite Bernicia and Deira under Northumbrian rule. He is remembered not only as a warrior king, but as a Christian ruler who helped restore and promote Christianity in Northumbria, most famously by inviting Aidan from Iona to establish the monastery at Lindisfarne – Holy Island.

His reign was short. He was killed in battle against Penda of Mercia in AD 642. Yet his memory endured in churches, pilgrimage routes, and local traditions across northern England.

 

Inside the church, displays told the story of Heavenfield and the battle that took place nearby. It was another reminder that the landscape we were crossing had never belonged to one era alone. Roman frontiers, early medieval kingdoms, Christian pilgrimage,  and modern cities all occupied the same ground.  As always, histories are interwoven.

Then again so too are trail systems - beyond St. Oswald’s Way, Hadrian’s Wall Path would intersect with other significant routes as it crossed northern England, including the Northumberland Coastal Path and, later, the Pennine Way, which we had only recently walked. The idea of so many intersections appealed to us. Historical eras, cultures, and trails are each often presented as separate entities, but on the ground, they overlap, diverge, borrow from each other, and briefly share the same ancient or practical means.

 

Field of Horrors

 

After the quiet of Heavenfield, the next section was less uplifting.

 

We entered a series of muddy, awkward fields where the way seemed to dissolve among livestock, wet ground, locked gates, barbed wire, and churned-up farm muck. In places, the route was indistinguishable from the movement of animals. Elsewhere, the path and access across the land was obstructed. Whether by intention or neglect, it seemed as though the region had been arranged to make life as difficult as possible for walkers.

 

Mud clung to our boots. Gates slowed our progress. Barbed wire forced awkward manoeuvres with our packs.  At one point, Sean received a nasty cut down the length of his arm from a rusty nail on a fence.   The pleasant sense throughout the morning faded, and our patience went with it.  Once again, the exhaustion of so many days spent hiking came to the forefront.

 

Not every part of a National Trail feels national. Some stretches are wonderful while others feel like a negotiated passage across working land where walkers are tolerated rather than welcomed. We understood the pressures on farmers and landowners, especially with livestock, liability, and constant foot traffic. Even so, there were moments when the path felt unnecessarily hostile.

 

Eventually, however, the mud and frustration gave way to a distinctly Roman aspect of the day.

 

Planetrees Roman Wall

 

At Planetrees, Hadrian’s Wall appeared again.   After so much absence, so much buried history, and so many stretches where the Wall existed more in imagination than in stone, it was wonderful to again stand before an extant section and know exactly what we were looking at. The surviving stretch at Planetrees is about 204 metres long, and the foundations make visible an important change in the Wall’s construction.

 

The sign at the site explained that Hadrian’s Wall at Planetrees reveals a shift in building plan. Roman legionaries initially began work on a wider foundation, but partway through the construction process, the Wall was narrowed. The change likely reflected the need to build more quickly and economically. The broad foundation continued in places, but the Wall above it was completed at a narrower width.

 

For whatever reason, I love these sorts of details.  So often, ancient monuments appear to us as fixed and finished objects, as though they emerged complete from a single plan. Planetrees revealed something practical. Decisions changed. Labour, material, time, and cost intervened to shift the process. The Wall was not only an imperial symbol. It was also a construction project, shaped by logistics, efficiency, and the need to adjust the plan.

 

In a way, Planetrees gave us a different kind of connection to the Wall than Heddon had. Heddon had allowed us to touch Roman masonry. Planetrees allowed us to see Roman decision-making and the realities of their lives.

 

Toward Chollerford

 

From Planetrees, we continued across fields and through small sections of woodland before joining a narrow roadway. The route traced a long V toward the outskirts of the village of Wall, then turned down a busier road toward Chollerford.

 

Along the way, we noticed posters created by young people promoting pollinator protection. After hours of mud, traffic, and history, it was unexpectedly cheering to see support for wildflowers, green spaces, and insects pinned into the landscape. As a birder and naturalist, I enjoy finding such things - they are modest, but they matter. They suggest that someone is paying attention not only to monuments and human stories, but to the living world that continues around them.

 

The road walk into Chollerford did less to lift our spirits. The pavement was hard underfoot, and traffic moved quickly as well as close by.  In addition to which, after a morning spent navigating wet fields and stiles, the descent into town felt longer than it needed to be.

 

We crossed the elegant bridge into Chollerford, near the site where the Roman bridge once crossed the North Tyne. Information plaques once again helped us imagine how that earlier structure would have appeared. Again, the Roman frontier asserted itself through crossings. Rivers were not empty spaces they were realities to be managed, points to be guarded, and corridors through which people, animals, goods, and armies moved.   The Romans of course, knew this, and so every bridge, fort, road, and gate along the Wall had its purpose in the larger system.

 

Chollerford and The George Hotel

 

In Chollerford, we stopped at the George Hotel, which sits in a picturesque riverside setting with attractive buildings, gardens, and outdoor tables spread across the grounds. It was immediately easy to understand why many Hadrian’s Wall walkers choose to end their stage and stay here. The setting was lovely, and a night in Chollerford would have allowed time to visit nearby Chester's Roman Fort and Museum properly.  That, of course, and unfortunately, was exactly what we did not have – time.

 

We took the opportunity to sit down and enjoy a wonderful lunch while the property was being professionally photographed (not by us). Around us, more hikers arrived, stopped, or passed through. By the time we left, another forty or more walkers heading west to east had either passed us or settled in for the night. As we had experienced on the West Highland Way, the number of trekkers in the UK could be staggering for people accustomed to hiking in relative isolation.

 

Relaxed and enjoying ourselves considered staying and jettisoning the plan for the day. Then we looked at the cost.  A room would have been around £280, which for us translated to well over $500 Canadian. That was far beyond what we could justify. So, given the number of people on the trail and the uncertainty of arriving without plans, we called ahead and reserved a room at Twice Brewed, our intended destination for the day.

 

That decision settled the matter. It also meant that our afternoon would require us to walk what many people treat as another full stage.  Put more simply, just as our first day on Hadrian’s Wall Path had pushed us to venture two typical stages of the route, so too would our second day see us cover two more stages.

 

With a room booked and no time to linger, we shouldered our packs and prepared to continue.

 

Chester’s Fort and Museum

 

Unfortunately, given the distance that we had now set ourselves for the day meant that we would miss out on the opportunity to visit the local museum – a problem of our own making that now plagued our trek along Hadrian’s Wall.   Indeed, one of the hardest parts of Hadrian’s Wall Path, at least for us, was how often we were forced to pass places we genuinely wanted to explore.

 

Chesters Roman Fort, known to the Romans as Cilurnum, is one of the major sites along the Wall. It was built around AD 124 as part of the permanent frontier system and housed a cavalry garrison of about 500 men. Like the other large forts along the Wall, it was more than a military outpost. It contained barracks, bathhouses, workshops, granaries, shrines, and the infrastructure needed to support soldiers stationed far from home. Pioneering excavations in the 19th century exposed the structures visible today. These excavations yielded one of the best collections of inscriptions and sculpture on Hadrian’s Wall.

 

Milecastles and turrets may have marked the Wall at regular intervals, but forts such as Chesters held the larger garrisons responsible for patrolling the frontier, controlling movement, and maintaining Roman authority. These, however, were not merely military installations, they were also small communities.

 

Undoubtedly, Chester would be worth visiting – but that required time and an entrance fee.  With our accommodation at Twice Brewed now booked, many kilometres still ahead, and the afternoon already advancing, we begrudgingly continued on.  It was another loss of our own making.

 

Chester’s Stables and Shifting Conditions

 

Leaving Chollerford, the national trail continued along the road past a large ivy-covered building marked as Chester’s Stables. Afterwards, the route led us to climb again, working our way around an estate, over more stiles, and into open fields.

 

The weather, however, was not prepared to make the afternoon simple. As we pushed on, the skies darkened. Rain came and went. At one point, hail swept through. Then the blazing sun would return.

 

As a result, we found ourselves repeatedly stopping to pull on rain gear, only to remove it again when the weather changed. At one point, distracted by the shifting conditions and the confusing path across a farmer’s field, we briefly got lost and found ourselves once again dealing with barbed wire along a fence line and even stiles edged in barbed wire. None of which did much to improve the situation. 

 

Still, much of the route was clear, often following a mown path across fields or beside low stone walls. The walking became more beautiful, but also more demanding.

 

Northumberland National Park

 

Passing through another gate, we found ourselves crossing a section of Northumberland National Park – a World Heritage site and protected nature area.

 

The scenery continued to be stunning with vibrant colours in the fields around us as we passed more and more sights from the wall – foundations, turrets and milecastles each became more numerous.

 

In addition to National Park signage, we noticed Shaun the Sheep stickers promoting Leave No Trace hiking, which immediately won our approval. A familiar animated sheep encouraging good trail behaviour seemed both charming and appropriate given the number of actual sheep watching us from nearby fields.

 

This stretch also gave way to spotting several birds.  In particular, we saw a curlew defending its nest, noted birds soaring overhead, and watched herons flying through.

 

Beyond the wall and natural wonders, from this point onward, we also began to notice more wild campers along the route. Some were tucked into sheltered patches of trees or discreet hollows, others positioned near the trail or along the foundations of a stone field wall. After the previous night’s struggle to find affordable accommodation, we understood the appeal, though the exposed and rolling landscape made many sites look far less comfortable than they might first appear.

 

Black Carts Turret

 

At one point in the afternoon, we found ourselves at an information sign for the Black Carts turret. 

 

The excavated turret and adjacent Wall section were larger and clearer than many of the foundations we had seen earlier, giving us a better sense of what these watch posts might have looked like. The sign explained that turrets were originally spaced along Hadrian’s Wall between milecastles, providing shelter and observation points for soldiers watching the frontier. Later excavations revealed evidence of hearths, cooking, and repairs, reminding us that these places were not abstract military symbols. They were used by men who stood, watched, ate, waited, and endured the shifting weather of the region.

 

The sign included a reconstruction of what a small tower built against the Wall might have looked like in the Roman period. After so much walking, it was helpful to see the frontier in this way.

 

Many of the surviving Wall sections and associated sites in this area owe their preservation to later efforts, including those of John Clayton in the 19th century. Clayton purchased stretches of the Wall and worked to protect them at a time when much of the structure had already been damaged, quarried, or reused for local buildings and field walls. It is strange to think that something built by thousands of Roman soldiers over the years could be left for centuries to decay, only to be saved in part by the intervention of later landowners, antiquarians, archaeologists, and preservationists.

 

Had that not happened, even these fragments might have disappeared.

 

Undulating Terrain

 

Beyond Black Carts, the landscape became more dramatic, the views increasingly opened up, and the walking became more challenging. We crossed more field walls and stiles, followed the Wall line across open ground, and looked out across the distance still ahead. Vibrant yellows, lush greens, and dense hedgerows coloured the fields. Lone trees stood in the open landscape with the kind of iconic shapes that made Sean stop repeatedly to photograph them.

 

By mid-afternoon, the trail also felt much quieter. Earlier, we had been passed by constant streams of walkers heading in the opposite direction. Now, perhaps because most people had already reached their intended stops, we seemed almost alone.

 

At some point along this stretch, we crossed what is often described as the northernmost point of the Roman Empire. Whether understood as a precise marker or a symbolic one, the idea gave way to us stopping for a few minutes as we took a break.

 

Here, the Wall was no longer buried beneath a city or hidden under later roads. It was visible, present, and increasingly inseparable from the land.

 

Brocolitia and the Temple of Mithras

 

At Brocolitia, also known as Carrawburgh Roman Fort, the trail brought us to another important site.

 

The fort itself is largely unexcavated, appearing as an open field beside a busy car park. However, a sign explained that Carrawburgh was one of the large Roman forts on Hadrian’s Wall, constructed for a garrison of around 500 soldiers around AD 130 and remaining in use until the end of the 4th century. Outside the fort, a civilian settlement developed, including shrines and a temple dedicated to the god Mithras.

 

Across the field, the Temple of Mithras was small, but fascinating.

 

Mithras was a Roman god associated with a mystery religion that became especially popular among soldiers. The temple here was erected around AD 200 and destroyed roughly 150 years later. The signs explained that Mithraic worship took place in small, secluded temples designed to resemble caves, with rituals involving hierarchy, secrecy, feasting, ordeal, and symbolic passage. Participants progressed through grades, and the highest was known as “Father.” Membership was particularly popular among soldiers and commanding officers, which made the presence of such a temple beside a frontier fort interesting.

 

At the preserved Temple of Mithras, copies of altars and sculptures stood in place. Visitors had left coins on the altars, and not wishing to disregard the tradition, we removed our packs and added a few pence of our own. It was a small gesture, perhaps not historically meaningful in any understandable sense, but it connected us to all the other modern walkers who had paused there and felt compelled to leave something behind.

 

Nearby signs indicated that Sewingshields still lay several miles ahead.

 

 Milecastles, Turrets, and the Vallum

 

Continuing across open fields, we traced the edge of dry stone walls while the Vallum varied in depth nearby. The wind continued to rise, now with a colder edge.

 

The Vallum is one of the features that helps reveal Hadrian’s Wall as an entire frontier system rather than a simple stone barrier. South of the Wall, this broad ditch and its associated mounds helped define and control the military zone. It was part of the organization of the frontier, shaping movement and access behind the Wall as surely as the stone structure did to the north.

 

Along the route, signs and gates began to refer more regularly to milecastles and turrets. Milecastles were small fortified gateways placed at intervals of one Roman mile along the Wall. Each controlled passage through the frontier and housed a small garrison. Between each pair of milecastles stood two turrets, smaller watchtowers where soldiers could observe the surrounding countryside and communicate along the line.

 

Seeing the wall not as a singular structure but as an interconnected system made each fragment feel more essential.   A foundation was not just a foundation. A ditch was not just a ditch. Each marked a place where people had worked, waited, obeyed orders, and kept watch.  

 

Sewingshields Wood and the Whin Sill

 

Eventually, we entered Sewingshields Wood through a labelled gate and followed a narrow dirt path through the trees.

 

This marked the beginning of one of the most dramatic parts of Hadrian’s Wall Path. Ahead lay the Whin Sill, the long ridge of hard volcanic rock that the Romans used to strengthen the frontier naturally. Here, the land itself became part of the Wall. Rather than impose the frontier across an indifferent landscape, Roman engineers exploited the ridges, crags, and steep drops, allowing the terrain to do some of the defensive work.

 

As we climbed, Hadrian’s Wall began to stretch in front of us in the way most people probably imagine it. Not hidden beneath roads. Not reduced to a sign beside a city path. Not a buried line requiring faith and interpretation. Here, the Wall rose and fell with the crags, running along the high ground in long, visible sections.

 

The sight was simply breathtaking.

 

To the south, the landscape rolled away in softer undulations. To the north, the Wall often stood near steep drops or sheer rock faces. The undulations of the land were matched by the movement of the Wall itself, which climbed, dipped, rose again, and carried on regardless. In places, the exposure made it astonishing to think that these stones had endured for nearly two thousand years.

 

This was also where the day began to take a physical toll.

 

We had already walked far. Each climb and descent, each stile, each muddy patch, each gust of cold wind, each shift into or out of rain gear, each historical site passed too quickly had built throughout the day.  As we crossed thirty kilometres so far for the day, the beauty of the landscape remained, but our ability to absorb it and continue on was dwindling.

 

Soon the light began to fade, and our attention shifted toward the practical question that had shaped too much of our time on Hadrian’s Wall: could we reach our accommodation before it was too late to check in? or too late to eat?

 

Knag Burn Gate and Housesteads

 

Continuing along the Wall, we eventually reached Knag Burn Gate below Housesteads Roman Fort.

 

The sign at Knag Burn explained that this was one of the few gateways through Hadrian’s Wall outside the main forts and milecastles. It allowed controlled access through the frontier after nearby settlements had been separated by the Wall. People likely used it to visit family, look after animals, trade, or move locally, while patrols may also have travelled through it. In later years, the passage was made stronger, with guardrooms and an archway creating a route that could be closed at both ends.

 

I found all of this interesting.  The Wall is often imagined as a hard division: Rome on one side, the world beyond on the other. Knag Burn Gate complicated that idea. It suggested controlled movement and managed crossings, not complete separation.

 

From there, we climbed toward Housesteads Roman Fort.

 

Housesteads is one of the most remarkable Roman sites along Hadrian’s Wall, with some of the best-preserved remains on the frontier. We were eager to see it, or at least spend a few moments among its foundations, but by the time we reached the area, we were tired, late, and worried about the remaining distance to Twice Brewed. The climb itself had been exhausting for us, and we were disappointed to realize that properly entering the fort and museum required more time and a diversion to the road to enter the site.

 

Once again, we would have to walk on without the opportunity to explore further.  We were walking through one of the richest historical landscapes in Britain and passing major sites too quickly to truly experience them. It was frustrating because there was no one else to blame. The trail had not hidden Housesteads from us. We had simply arrived too late in the day, with too many kilometres still ahead.

 

There was little to do but keep walking.

 

A Return to the Pennine Way

 

Beyond Housesteads, we crossed through a dense wooded section where we again came across several people wild camping among the trees. Compared to the exposed crags, it looked sheltered and practical. We could understand why people had chosen it – though one would have had to have planned ahead and brought water.

 

The terrain continued to undulate over the Whin Sill, and the Wall continued to be dramatic. Walking on, we continued to pass milecastles, turrets, and viewpoints over the surrounding landscape.  At one point, something about the landscape began to feel familiar. It took us a moment to understand why.

 

Hadrian’s Wall Path had joined with the Pennine Way.

 

Only weeks earlier, though it already felt much longer, we had walked this same stretch of track while heading north on the Pennine Way. At the time, Hadrian’s Wall had simply been another part of another route with another set of concerns. Now we had returned to it. 

 

It is strange how trails can overlap like that. A place you passed once as part of one story reappears later as part of another.

 

Sycamore Gap

 

As the skies darkened and the day’s light continued to fade, we entered one of the most iconic areas of Hadrian’s Wall Path.

 

The landscape around Steel Rigg and Crag Lough is dramatic, even in comparison to what we had already seen.  The wall, the ridge line, and open skies above come together in a way that explains why this part of the route has been photographed so often. We were looking, of course, at Sycamore Gap.

Sycamore Tree, online image

 

For years, the lone tree at Sycamore Gap had stood in a dip along the Wall, one of the most recognizable trees in Britain. It was made even more famous by its appearance in the movie Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Countless walkers, photographers, families, pilgrims, and visitors have all visited here. It was not merely a tree in a pretty place. It had become part of people’s memories of the Wall.

 

Depressingly, however, in 2023, the tree was deliberately cut down.

After a steep descent, we found the stump and the fencing around it. Even knowing what had happened, it was hard to stand there and see the vandalism. The landscape remained beautiful, but the loss was unmistakable. A place that had held so many stories, proposals, and private moments was lost. Seeing it was devastating in a way that surprised me. It was a reminder of how fragile nature and beloved places can be.

Sycamore Gap Tree Cut, media image

 

We didn’t take a picture – because I can’t imagine wanting to remember the site as it was now.  We only stayed for a couple of moments. In truth, it was now too late to do much more.  Soon after, signs indicated that Twice Brewed could be reached by following the nearby road, and with little energy left, we left the trail for the day.

 

Twice Brewed

 

A little after 8 PM., we straggled into Twice Brewed.  We passed the Youth Hostel where we had stayed more than a month days earlier while walking the Pennine Way, then made our way toward our accommodation for the night. We were worried we had arrived too late to check in or eat. After yesterday’s difficulties and today’s long distance, the thought of another complicated evening was almost too much.  Thankfully, the staff at Twice Brewed were kind.

 

They got us into our room and made sure we could have a large pasta meal, for which we were immensely grateful. After the wet tent, the road walking, the mud, the bypassed historical sites, and the long final miles across Whin Sill, food and a room felt like absolute luxury.

 

Not all of the evening was restful. Other Hadrian’s Wall hikers took the opportunity to comment on the size of our backpacks, explain that they had arrived hours earlier from a place we would not reach until tomorrow, and recommend that we use a luggage service to avoid our apparent problems. Some seemed unable to believe we had walked from the Robin Hood Inn in a single day, especially since that same distance formed part of their own two- or three-day plan.

 

By that point, we were too tired to defend or explain ourselves. Instead, we nodded, smiled and ordered another pint. 

 

They were not entirely wrong, in any case. We were carrying too much for the kind of walking most people were doing here. We were also walking much farther than most. But the issue was not that we needed to be told our approach was unusual. We knew that already. The deeper issue was that Hadrian’s Wall was showing us, day after day, the cost of trying to fit too much into too little time.

 

Reflecting on a day along Hadrian’s Wall Path

 

Today marked a transition into a more dramatic and continuous section of Hadrian’s Wall with longer extant stretches and more defined turret and milecastle foundations.  We passed surviving sections, unexcavated forts, the Vallum, religious sites and one of the most iconic stretches of the entire frontier.  For much of today, the wall was no longer buried beneath modern cities or found only in small fragments.  Across Northumberland, it had begun to appear with a clarity we had hoped to find, and it became easier to understand Rome’s presence as a result.

What we saw today was Hadrian’s Wall as most people imagine it: stone, planning, order, and the long line of empire drawn across the land.

 

Unfortunately, amid it all – we had set an itinerary that was possible but which pushed us to miss too much.  We were moving too quickly past too much.  Thirty-six kilometres at the end of another long day was far more than this section deserved. Our pace caused us to miss Chester's Roman Fort and Housesteads Roman Fort properly. It left us rushing past places that asked for time, reading signs quickly, taking photographs in haste, and constantly pushing further distances, focused on the day’s destination rather than the journey. Historically, this was one of the richest days of walking we had ever had. Practically, we experienced too much of it as a race between points on the map and across stages instead of as an exploration of this wonderful trail or amazing Imperial history.

 

See you on the Trail!