Medieval History and Modern Cities : Walton to Carlisle

“Time devours all things.”

Ovid

Morning on Hadrian’s Wall Path

We woke early at Sandysike to birdsong, farm routines, and the subtle noises that indicated that the other campers nearby were also beginning their day. After so many wet mornings, the simple fact that our tent had been able to air dry through the night felt like a gift. Blue sky stretched overhead, and the fields around us were full of colour.

Another group of hikers and campers had joined the pitch sometime after us last night, and one by one we all began the familiar tasks of packing up our gear, making breakfast, and preparing for the day. Sleeping bags were compressed, air mats were deflated, and tents were shaken out. In our case, our backpacks were slowly refilled while nearby gear was being strapped and balanced onto touring bikes.

Today would be our shortest stage on Hadrian’s Wall Path: only eighteen or nineteen kilometres to Carlisle. After the previous three days, that sounded almost indulgent. We had walked long, wet, uneven stages from Wallsend to the Robin Hood Inn, from there to Twice Brewed, and then onward to Walton. By comparison, today’s stage to Carlisle felt almost close.

Of course, we have long since known that distance was only one measure of a day. Weather, trail surface, and navigating through larger cities all could easily shape time on the trail. Still, there was no denying that today was different – we were not setting out into another thirty-plus-kilometre push, nor heading out with uncertainty for accommodation hanging over the evening. Today’s stage was by all accounts, manageable.

We thanked our host, pulled on our backpacks, and set off from the farm, walking between buildings and out along a rural road.

Following the Vallum

Much of this stretch of Hadrian’s Wall Path follows the line of the Vallum, meaning that although the stone Wall itself was largely gone, we were still walking within the Roman frontier rather than simply beside it. The Wall’s presence here was not evident as masonry, but as alignment — in field boundaries, roadways, and regional village names such as Old Wall and Wall Head.

Put another way, the morning once again saw us weaving across agricultural fields and open countryside, often moving through working farms, between buildings, and along the edges of hedgerows and stone walls. Compared to the drama of the central section, where the Wall rose and fell along the Whin Sill, this landscape was subtle.

At one point, we were “confronted” by a group of sheep, each of which seemed to puff itself up and muscle forward as though preparing to defend the field against intruders. Their courage lasted only until we took a step toward them. Then all semblance of toughness vanished, and the entire flock scattered away, baaing as they went.

Not long after, we were met by a small group of curious horses. Unlike the sheep, they approached with interest and curiosity, and we happily paused to give them a few rubs before continuing on.

One memorable section carried us through a beautiful tunnel of trees, where the path briefly became enclosed and shaded, almost as though the trail had slipped into a green corridor between farms.

Compared with the previous days, the walking was easy. The path was often mown, the ground less undulating, and the weather mercifully sunny and dry. After rain, hail, and cold winds on exposed ridgelines, a morning of gentler walking felt restorative.

We crossed a road near Newtown and continued across fields where ditches and the influence of Roman earthworks could still be seen across the landscape. In the distance, around Carlisle Airport, we could see small planes taking off and landing. It was a strangely modern image beside a route still shaped by a frontier nearly two thousand years old.

Then again, Hadrian’s Wall had never belonged to one time alone. This morning made that especially clear.

Bleantarn and the Practical Work of Empire

At Bleatarn Farm, a local history sign offered another reminder that the Wall was not only built along the landscape, but from it. The sign explained that Bleatarn had once been a quarry used to supply stone for Hadrian’s Wall. A visible track marked where stone was thought to have been carried from the quarry toward the Wall. It also noted that the quarry may once have flooded and been stocked with fish as a food source for the Roman army.

For whatever reason, I love these kinds of practical details. Ancient structures are often presented as symbols: of power, conquest, engineering, authority, or empire. But every wall, fort, road, bathhouse, milecastle, and turret also required materials and the labour to move them. Stone had to be quarried, cut, hauled, raised, and set into place. That required workers, roads, tools, animals, carts, food, water, organization, and time.

In that sense, Bleatarn made the Wall feel less like an abstract imperial statement and more like a massive practical undertaking. Rome did not simply draw a line across northern Britain. It systematically organized people, materials, labour, and landscape to make that line visible.

Crosby on Eden

After Bleatarn, we continued to follow rural roads for the better part of forty minutes. A bridge carried us over the roaring highway below, and then we continued toward Crosby-on-Eden and Low Crosby.

In the village, we stopped in a small community park and sat for a few minutes. Here we slipped off our shoes, let our feet breathe, drank some water, and enjoyed the luxury of not being in a hurry. After several days of feeling as though we were constantly racing the weather, daylight, or our own poor planning, even a short rest felt restorative.

From there, the route led us toward the River Eden, whose shoreline we would follow for much of the approach into Carlisle.

Along the river, we spotted mallards, oystercatchers, and even a pair of herons.

For a while, the trail passed through fields beneath hydro lines before gradually drawing us closer to the outskirts of Carlisle.

Linstock and Rickerby Park

The route carried us through Linstock and over the immense M6 motorway. We were grateful for the bridge, which meant that we did not have to navigate the busy roadway. Approaches to cities are rarely the most elegant part of a long-distance trail. They tend to involve navigating traffic, noise, and the practical task of weaving through routes stitched together from whatever spaces remain available.

Still, compared to some of the urban approaches we had walked elsewhere, this one was not unpleasant. The road walking was not much of a treat, but neither was it especially difficult.

We followed a quiet road into the community of Rickerby, located near the site of Petieanna Roman Fort. Though we saw no remains of this outpost, we were nonetheless clearly in a region shaped by the Romans.

In Rickerby Park, the trail shifted onto a cycling path and green corridor. Trekking on, we passed a folly tower in a field, dating from 1865, and continued along the edges of a patchwork of fields before returning to the River Eden.

Here, signs detailed “Life on the Frontiers,” broadening the story beyond soldiers and stone. For millennia, rivers had offered people water, food, fertile floodplains, and routes through the landscape. The Eden was no exception. The sign explained that even before the Romans, the area supported agriculture and settlement, and that after Hadrian’s Wall was built in AD 122, the region became part of the northern frontier of the Roman Empire. Archaeological investigations had revealed evidence of Roman agricultural systems, drainage ditches, flooding, and the ways water shaped life near the frontier.

The sign also referenced the Vindolanda Tablets, those remarkable handwritten documents from the Roman frontier. Written on thin sheets of wood, they preserve ordinary voices and everyday concerns from the Roman world: invitations, requests for supplies, records, orders, greetings, and complaints. One famous tablet is a birthday invitation. Others refer to the Britons in less flattering terms, revealing that life along the frontier included not only military organization but social tensions, cultural contact, and the casual language of empire.

We crossed the metal Memorial Bridge, leaving the park and moving to the south side of the River Eden. From there, the city began to assert itself more strongly. At one point, a woman we met told us that otters could sometimes be seen along this stretch of the river. We watched hopefully as we walked, but without success.

Swifts Nature Reserve and Roman Luguvalium

The trail passed through a naturalized area that signs identified as a former city golf course, now the Swifts Nature Reserve, which turned out to be one of the loveliest surprises of the day.

The area had been dedicated to pollinator plants, conservation, and natural habitat. After several days of moving through working farmland, exposed ridges, and historic sites, it was wonderful to find a place in the process of being restored, reimagined, and cared for. As a naturalist, I always find such spaces encouraging. They suggest that landscapes are not only inherited or used, but can also be repaired.

Admittedly, we were tempted to leave the official trail and walk directly into town. Carlisle was close, and we had accommodations (with a shower!) waiting for us. Given how many days we have been hiking, the efficient option had obvious appeal. Given the shorter stage, however, we decided to remain committed to the route. We had already rushed too much of Hadrian’s Wall. At the very least, on a shorter day, we could try to follow the path as intended.

Eventually, still near the river, we entered Bitts Park.

Luguvalium and the City of Carlisle

In Bitts Park, large stones along the trail denoted the Roman names of cities along the route. Carlisle appeared as Luguvalium.

In Roman Britain, Luguvalium was an important centre guarding the western approaches to Hadrian’s Wall. It developed near the frontier and the river, connected to regional forts, handled administration, and directed military movement. Like so many other places along Hadrian’s Wall and across the Roman Empire, it existed because the site sat at the confluence of geographic realities – waterways, defensible position, and proximity to where the border was built.

Later, after the Roman period had passed, Carlisle became a powerful medieval border city, shaped by its proximity to Scotland and by centuries of conflict, defence, and negotiation.

Soon, the red sandstone walls of Carlisle Castle appeared ahead. We followed the trail around them, and with that, our walking day on Hadrian’s Wall Path came to its natural conclusion.

Carlisle Castle

The red sandstone bulk of Carlisle Castle dominates the northern edge of the city. After days spent among Roman forts, milecastles, turrets and ditches, the castle felt like a shift from the Roman frontier to the medieval age.

Carlisle Castle is more than nine hundred years old. The first castle was built by William II, known as William Rufus, after he took control of the area in 1092, and it was built over part of the earlier Roman fort. Demonstrating once again, that places of authority and control have long continued to be constructed on (or over) Roman foundations.

Given Carlisle’s position near the Scottish border, the castle became one of the most important strongholds in northern England. For centuries, it guarded the western end of the Anglo-Scottish border and was involved repeatedly in the wars and politics of the two kingdoms. Figures such as Edward I and Robert the Bruce belong to the wider story of conflict in this region, as do the Border Reivers, Mary Queen of Scots, and the Jacobite rising.

Like Newcastle at the beginning of the trail, Carlisle reminded us that Hadrian’s Wall Path is not solely a Roman walk. It contains many layers and many stories.

At Wallsend and Newcastle, Roman remains had been overlaid by industrial Britain. Here, Roman Luguvalium had been overlaid by a medieval border power. The Wall may have defined the edge of Roman authority, but after Rome withdrew, the same geography remained important. Rivers, roads, crossings, borders, and defensible positions continued to matter.

Carlisle Cathedral

From the castle, we entered the city centre, grateful for the pedestrian bridge that carried us over the busy road below. Then, almost unexpectedly, we found ourselves walking past Carlisle Cathedral.

After the defensive presence of the castle, the cathedral offered a very different kind of space. Founded as a Norman priory church in 1122 and becoming a cathedral in 1133, it belongs to the same broad medieval world as the castle, but its atmosphere felt entirely different.

 While both Hadrian’s Wall and Carlisle Castle represented authority, control and border defence. The cathedral, through its almost delicate arches, stained glass windows, and wondrous architecture, reflected another force that had shaped the region – faith. It was free to visit, and so we took the opportunity to step inside.

As Canadians, we are always struck by the age of such places. To wander through buildings that were already centuries old long before Canada existed as a country, is to have one’s sense of time rearranged. In Canada, we often speak of history in relatively compressed national terms. In Britain, especially along a route like Hadrian’s Wall, centuries and ages stack on one another so densely that Roman, medieval, industrial, and modern history can appear in a single day’s walk.

Today had begun in a farm field beside the fading line of a Roman frontier. By afternoon, we had followed the Vallum, passed former quarries and old place names, crossed motorways and parkland, walked beside the River Eden, entered Roman Luguvalium, circled a medieval castle, and stepped inside a Norman cathedral.

Relaxing in Carlisle

After walking around the exterior of Carlisle Castle and visiting the cathedral, we made our way to our accommodation for the night: the Crown and Mitre Hotel.

We had reserved it as a treat for our final night before the last stage of Hadrian’s Wall Path. After days of wet campsites, muddy fields, and long stages, the promise of a proper shower felt glorious. It was also practical. We were now only about forty-eight hours away from embarking on Queen Mary 2 for our next transatlantic voyage, and it was certainly time to in some what begin the process of cleaning up, sorting gear, confirming our bus and train plans back to Southampton, and preparing for what came next.

There is no denying that there is something faintly absurd about the transition ahead of us.

One moment, we will shift from being muddy hikers following Roman ditches and medieval walls across northern England to needing to be presentable enough to board an ocean liner and navigate gala evenings. Our lives over the past six weeks had moved from trail to trail, from campsite to hostel to pub room to hotel, from moors and glens onward to Roman ruins. Yet the realities of our impending departure were already on the horizon.

With the shorter day, we had hoped to spend more time exploring Carlisle. In reality, once we had walked around the castle, visited the cathedral, found our hotel, showered, and allowed ourselves to sit down, our energy faded quickly.

The city centre offered the familiar mixture of historic square and modern commercial life. Costa Coffee, Subway, takeout wrappers, rubbish bins, traffic, shoppers, and tourists all crowded around and milled about. Thankfully, despite our trail-worn appearance, we were welcomed into cafés and pubs around the central square. We found food, had a couple of cold pints in the hotel bar, and promptly collapsed into the comfort of our room.

So much for a grand exploration of Carlisle.

But the fact was that we were tired. We had pushed too hard for too many days and the comfort of a full stomach, a cold point, and a warm shower gave way to sleep.

Reflecting on a Day Hiking Hadrian’s Wall

Today, the evidence of Hadrian’s Wall once again became harder to find. It had once more slipped into the landscape, disappeared beneath fields and roads, reappeared only through place names, medieval structures, the shape of the route itself.

After the beauty of the central section and Whin Sill, this was a more subtle day. It was less about spectacle and more about continuity. We were not walking beside long stretches of Roman masonry or climbing dramatic ridgelines. Instead, we were following the frontier as it faded into farms, villages, and the city of Carlisle.

In this way, the day became less about seeing the Wall and more about understanding how a frontier and region shift through time, whether it collapses, is buried or repurposed and absorbed by what comes next. All of this is part of the story of Hadrian's Wall as well. It was, after all, never going to remain untouched across two thousand years of human life.

The region around Carlisle made that especially clear.

Here, Roman Luguvalium gave way to a medieval castle, a Norman cathedral, modern roads, hotels, shops, cafés, traffic, and public parks. The Roman frontier had not vanished entirely, but it had been overtaken by the ongoing life of ages since. The Wall remained present, though mostly as shadow and influence.

Ovid once observed that “time devours all things.” Yet, clearly, it does not erase everything evenly.

Sometimes it leaves a stone. Sometimes a ditch. Sometimes, a name on a map. Sometimes, a castle over a Roman fort, a cathedral in a border city, or a national trail weaving from coast to coast.

See you on the Trail!