Uncertain Weather on a Tourist Trail : Twice Brewed to Walton

“The more one learns of this intricate interplay of soil, altitude, weather, and the living tissues of plant and insect…the more the mystery deepens.”

Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain

 

Dry Gear and Cautious Optimism

We greeted the morning at Twice Brewed with a small luxury – dry gear – all of which we had laid out and hung up last night in our room. After days of relentless rain, the heat in our room had done an amazing job of bringing us back to basics – not being wet or smelling mouldy. Our boots were no longer saturated, and our socks were cozy to put on - both of which raised our spirits and offered a measure of ease.

Outside, a sign seemed to capture the realities of our recent hiking experience, noting: “In memory of a sunny day on Hadrian’s Wall.” It felt painfully appropriate. We had walked through what seemed like more than a month of rain across Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, the Pennine Way, the West Highland Way, the Great Glen Way, and now Hadrian’s Wall Path. There is something selfishly comforting in realizing that you are not the only person to have encountered these routes in persistent rain. The weather may still be miserable, but at least it becomes part of a shared local joke (or endurance test) rather than a personal failing.

We had breakfast in the bar, took our time gathering ourselves, and eventually stepped back into the morning with cautious optimism. Today’s stage was shorter than the previous two. After 33 kilometres on Day 1 and 36 kilometres on Day 2, a 25-kilometre day sounded almost luxurious. Of course, Hadrian’s Wall had already taught us that distance alone was rarely the whole story.

The terrain, mud, and our own accumulated exhaustion all mattered too.

Steel Rigg and Winshields

Setting out from Twice Brewed, we climbed back toward the ridge line near Steel Rigg and the high ground of Winshields. Almost immediately, Hadrian’s Wall appeared before us, still tracing a line across the escarpment edge.

As yesterday afternoon had shown us, this region was undeniably one of the most scenic portions of the route. The Wall wove across the landscape, climbing and dipping with the hard line of the Whin Sill. Deep crags and steep slopes made the logic of the Roman frontier unmistakable. This was not a barrier thrown arbitrarily across northern Britain. The Wall here was placed with precision, using geology as reinforcement.

Signs in the area explained that Winshields marks both the halfway point of the trail and the highest position on Hadrian’s Wall. From here, the Roman army had built a formidable barrier across the high ground, part of a frontier that extended for roughly 73 miles, or 117.5 kilometres, between Wallsend and Bowness-on-Solway. The signs also noted that while only short lengths of the wall survive on Winshields today, the original structure may have stood about 4.5 metres high to the wall-walk, with a parapet adding another 1.5 metres. 

North of the Wall, a deep V-shaped ditch formed an additional obstacle where the crags did not already make one unnecessary. To the south, the Vallum defined a military zone behind the frontier.

Reading that while standing in the wind on the high ridge made the scale of Roman ambition feel less abstract. It was one thing to know that Hadrian’s Wall crossed northern England. It was another to stand on the high ground and imagine the organization, resources, and discipline required to impose such a structure on this landscape. As we thought about such things, we trekked past the remains of turret 41a and milecastle 42, which the information signs described as a “Gateway to Britannia”.

Conservation and Contradiction

Near Caw Gap, we found ourselves thinking again about preservation.

Along the trail, signs had repeatedly asked visitors not to climb on the Wall, not to walk on it, not to let dogs run across it, not to camp near it, and not to interfere with the historic remains. These warnings were entirely reasonable. Hadrian’s Wall is both ancient and vulnerable, and with so many visitors moving through the landscape, care is essential.

Yet the reality on the ground seemed a little more complicated.

We had already seen sheep and cattle grazing on or near the Wall. In some sections, the stones had clearly been repaired with modern materials. In other sections, we had noted hikers lying on the wall or wild camping alongside it. Today, we encountered a man walking along the Wall and spraying it. Perhaps he was doing necessary conservation work, but the image stayed with us because it seemed to capture the odd contradictions of protecting a monument that is also runs through a public landscape, working farmland, tourist destination, archaeological site, and National Trail all side by side.

Hadrian’s Wall survives because of care. It also survives amid use, repair, erosion, weather, livestock, visitors, management decisions, and compromises. Conservation of it and access to it therefore sit uneasily beside one another. The very things that allow people to experience the Wall can also threaten it. These realities gave us a great deal to think about today.

Break in Cawfields

At Cawfields, the trail descended toward a quarry lake. The area felt different from the high ridge – being shaped by both industry and recreation. Signs explained that Cawfields and nearby Walltown quarries had damaged sections of Hadrian’s Wall by removing the hard rock of the Whin Sill. This black, fine-grained dolerite was valued for road building because of its hardness and resistance to weathering. The same geology that the Romans had used to strengthen their frontier later made the area valuable to quarrymen who gave little thought to the ancient structure.

Again, the landscape held overlapping uses. Roman engineering, industrial extraction, modern recreation, and heritage conservation were all present in the same place.

We rounded the quarry lake and spotted a covered picnic table near the park washroom. With rain beginning again, it looked like a perfect place to drop our packs and take a break. A café truck was also parked in the lot, and soon we had cookies and strong coffee in hand. After long stages and days of wet walking, we revelled in the opportunity to slow down and take a break.

Near the lake, two signs reminded us that Hadrian’s Wall is not only a Roman landscape. We were also standing within Northumberland International Dark Sky Park, an area of protected night sky covering Northumberland National Park and much of Kielder Water & Forest Park. On clear nights, the sign explained, more than 2,000 stars in the Milky Way can be visible to the naked eye.

Nearby, another sign focused on curlews at Hadrian’s Wall and RSPB Geltsdale. It explained that after wintering on coasts and estuaries, curlews return to this landscape between March and July to nest on the ground. The moors, grasslands, and bogs around Hadrian’s Wall and RSPB Geltsdale are important habitats for breeding curlews in northern England, but the species is in crisis. Local farmers and conservation projects such as Curlew LIFE are working to protect and restore suitable habitat by maintaining wet and muddy areas, cutting rushes, and improving grazing management.

As we sat with our coffee and cookies, an older gentleman with both a large front and back pack told us he was attempting his section under full marching weight. We thought it an odd challenge, but then again, everyone brings something of themselves to a trail. Some people walk for history. Some for fitness. Some for birds, photographs, distance, or the stubborn need to keep going. Who were we to judge anyone else’s reasons?

After thirty minutes, well refreshed and with the rain reduced from deluge to drizzle, we followed the acorn signs and continued west.

A Busy Trail and Great Chesters

Beyond Cawfields, the trail rejoined the high route, and we quickly encountered another wave of walkers climbing up from the road and nearby campsites. Between Twice Brewed, the campgrounds, and the car-accessible points along this scenic stretch, the number of people on the route increased dramatically. By the end of the day, we would again have met, walked near, or been passed by several dozen hikers heading east.

For people used to quieter trails, the popularity of Hadrian’s Wall remained startling. There were moments when it felt less like a long-distance walk and more like a moving attraction, with hikers, day visitors, tour groups, campers, and buses all feeding into the same dramatic landscape. With that said, it was certainly hard to resent people for wanting to be here. This section was, after all, undoubtedly extraordinary.

At Great Chesters, also known as Aesica Roman Fort, the foundations and walled outlines offered another glimpse of garrison life along the frontier. The fort stood in a strategic location with panoramic views across the surrounding landscape. Standing on the ridge, it was easy to understand why the Romans built here. The Wall followed the spine of the hills, watching the valleys to the north and using height as a form of authority. From below, the frontier must have looked imposing. From above, it offered visibility, command, and the ability to monitor movement across the landscape.

Inspiration En Route

Throughout the day, as we had walked, we had begun to notice small pieces of wood nailed to posts, gates, and fences along the way. They carried quotes from films such as Gladiator and The Lord of the Rings. Many had the quote on them, reading - “What we do in life echoes in eternity.”

There was no explanation of who had placed them there or why. Perhaps they were meant as inspiration. Perhaps they were a playful nod to the cinematic image of Rome and epic journeys. Perhaps someone simply liked the idea of leaving words along the trail for others to find.

They were not historical interpretations in any formal sense, but we found them interesting nonetheless. There was something fitting about encountering these pop-culture fragments beside a Roman frontier. Hadrian’s Wall is an archaeological landscape, but it also lives in imagination. Visitors come with school lessons, guidebook descriptions, dramatic film scenes, and personal expectations. Some are accurate. Some are romanticized. Some are personal. All of them shape how people experience such places.

With dark clouds and showers rolling across the hills, we pushed on. The trail continued to climb and descend, alternating between exposed high points and lower dips. The Wall remained stalwart and uncompromising, but our energy began to lag. Steep stone steps and repeated descents kept us warm, but they also reminded us that even a shorter stage could still be physically demanding, given the topography.

Reptiles, Rain, and Living Habitat

Beyond movie quotes on pieces of wood, we also began seeing signs connected to citizen science and wildlife surveys. One asked visitors to help record reptiles in Northumberland National Park, including adders, slow-worms, and common lizards.

As a naturalist, I loved this and the opportunity to learn about what we could see if we paid attention and were lucky. One sign explained that adders have a distinctive dark zigzag on their backs, that slow-worms are legless lizards rather than snakes, and that common lizards can vary in colour but are often brown. It also reminded visitors not to handle reptiles, especially adders, which can deliver a venomous bite if disturbed.

Once again, the Wall became more than a Roman structure. It was now a corridor through living ecological communities: curlews nesting in wet grasslands, reptiles basking in sheltered places, frogs in ponds, skylarks, bats, and countless other species occupying the same land once organized by Roman military power and shared with the national trail. The longer we walked, the more it seemed that Hadrian’s Wall survives not only through archaeology and preservation, but through all the life that has continued around it.

Walltown

The trail slowly descended from the hillside and wove around Walltown Quarry, passing near a small lake that was once part of an active quarry. Signs explained that the quarry had operated for more than a century, with hard volcanic rock blasted, crushed, and used for roads. After it closed in the 1970s, the quarry was landscaped, planted with trees, and transformed into a country park with ponds, trails, picnic areas, and habitat for wildlife. The sign called the area “From Dynamite to Ducks,” which captured the transformation nicely.

Here, as in Cawfields, industrial extraction had damaged the Wall and altered the land, but later restoration had created a new habitat. Ducks and moorhens now paddled where rock had been blasted. Walking trails circled a place once shaped by machinery and explosives. From the crags above, Walltown offered striking views back toward the Wall and across the countryside.

At the National Park visitor area, we were shocked to encounter two tour buses disgorging large groups of visitors. Regardless of the masses of people, we stopped at the small café for a warm cup of tea and a short break out of the rain, but predictably the seating quickly filled. Wanting to give others a chance to come in from the weather, we packed up and returned to the trail.

Soon we were back in lush green and yellow fields, and were now dampened again by rainfall.

Thirwall Castle

Walking along a gravel path, we soon spotted the ruins of Thirlwall Castle, which stands as one of the clearest examples along the route of what the signs described as “medieval recycling.” Built in the 14th century during a period of Anglo-Scottish border conflict, Thirlwall was a fortified home designed to provide protection from raiders known as Border Reivers. Much of its stone came from Hadrian’s Wall, which by then had become a convenient resource for local building.

In practical terms, this made sense. The Wall was there. The stone was already cut with Roman precision. People needed homes, churches, farm buildings, roads, and defences. Yet as walkers following the remains of Hadrian’s Wall, it was hard not to feel shocked. The Roman frontier had once been built to define and defend imperial space. Centuries later, it was dismantled to fortify a much smaller, local world.

Near the castle, a sign asked, “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?”

The question felt apt. It was a familiar line, often quoted, but here it struck uncomfortably close. We were walking through one of the great historical landscapes of Britain, but – as we had become increasingly aware of – we were doing so, rushing from point to point, often wet, tired, and time-pressed to stop properly. The question seemed aimed not only at abstract life choices, but at our time, the trail itself.

What were we doing with this one stage, this one trail, this one chance to walk Hadrian’s Wall? Now three days in, with possibly only one day left, neither of us had a good answer.

Soon after we crossed a narrow pedestrian bridge, followed a stream, and continued toward the railway crossing and the fields beyond.

Somewhere in this stretch (likely in Thirwall itself), Hadrian’s Wall Path diverged again from the Pennine Way. The fact that we barely noticed when the Pennine Way signs peeled away said something about our mental state and how little attention we were paying to our surroundings. Only weeks earlier, that trail had been our entire focus. Now we were so absorbed in the distance that we had to cover each day, we were missing a great deal – which is a real shame in such a beautiful region.

Gilsland and the River Irthing

The route continued through gates, along stone walls, and into a landscape made vivid by the contrast between the dark skies above and the vibrant colours of the fields around us. The colours were extraordinary: deep greens, bright yellows, wet hedgerows, and the muted tones of stone under cloud.

Eventually, we reached Gilsland, a beautiful village where we could easily have imagined staying under different circumstances. 

The route was well signed through the community, and markers indicated that we were now entering the region of Cumbria. We passed through a narrow brick structure into the village, by the town hall, and beside a striking mural, free library, and bus stop.

Beyond town, the trail brought us back to the Wall and toward one of the most impressive engineering sites of the day: Willowford and the Roman crossing of the River Irthing.

Information signs explained that from AD 122 until the end of the 4th century, Hadrian’s Wall crossed the River Irthing on three successive bridges. The first was damaged by flood, repaired, and eventually replaced between AD 160 and 180. That second bridge carried a narrow sentry walk. In the first decade of the 3rd century, it was replaced by a wider bridge capable of supporting a broad roadway. The remains visible today are the stone abutments that once supported the eastern end of these bridges. Since Roman times, the river has slowly shifted westward, leaving the surviving remains stranded away from the current channel.

This was another reminder that the Wall was not only a line of stone. It was part of a larger a transport and engineering system. Rivers had to be crossed. Patrols had to move. Roads, bridges, milecastles, turrets, forts, and settlements all had to connect.

We crossed the modern Willowford footbridge over the rushing River Irthing, then switchbacked up toward Harrows Scar Milecastle. From above, it was easier to understand the strategic importance of the bridge and crossing.

Birdoswald Roman Fort and Museum

Soon after, we passed through Willowford and continued west toward Birdoswald Roman Fort.

By then, we had passed so many milecastles, turrets, and information plaques that they had begun to blur together. That is not a criticism of the sites. If anything, it shows the density of the frontier – as well as (unfortunately) where our focus was and was not. There were approximately eighty milecastles, around 160 turrets, and numerous forts along Hadrian’s Wall. Each one marked Roman order in measured form. Each one also marked our progress across the country.

Birdoswald, however, stood apart. It is one of the major Roman forts along Hadrian’s Wall and one of the best places to understand the later life of the frontier. The site contains remains of defensive walls, granaries, and internal structures, and it is important not only for its Roman occupation but also for evidence that life continued there after Roman authority withdrew from Britain.

Once again - we should have taken more time. Instead, rather than pay admission and explore, we took a brief break in the courtyard. We used the washrooms, bought elderflower drinks in cans, removed our wet shoes, and sat for twenty minutes in the sun, warming ourselves against the stone. The staff were kind, chatted with us, and made sure we were all right. After so much rain, the sunlight felt almost miraculous.

Naturally, we managed to add slight sunburn to the list of the day’s discomforts. Still, I was grateful for that break and the chance to sit.

Beyond Birdoswald

Leaving Birdoswald, the route followed the road for a short distance before moving back to crossing fields. In short order, we passed signs for Birdoswald West Turret 49b and other frontier remains. However, the fact was that moving west, the wall had begun to fade into the landscape again.

Occasionally, we would lay a low foundation, turret, or small section of Wall that could easily be mistaken for a farm boundary. At other times, the Roman line seemed to disappear altogether beneath agricultural life and hedgerows.

Owing to the recent rainfall, the colours in the fields were vibrant, but the trail itself was challengingly muddy and slick. It was not long before it was clearly better to trek on the road rather than slipping and slithering down the muddy track. Unfortunately, we made this realization at the same time as the national trail veered off across cattle paddocks and over mist-shrouded hills.

Walking through fields might be beautiful in dry weather, but after days of rain, it became slow, slippery, and unpleasant. The track was little more than mud. Plants along the path were drenched, soaking our legs as we brushed past. Our shoes filled with water again. Slippery field stones, installed to protect the trail, became difficult to navigate while carrying a backpack. Moss-covered wooden stiles demanded more attention. Everything smelled of sheep, muck, and mud.

At times, the rain fell heavily enough that we sheltered beneath trees along the Wall. We faced the familiar dilemma of whether to wear full rain gear in temperatures too warm for comfort, or use umbrellas and accept that water would eventually find its way through.

Ultimately, despite all of our attempts to stay dryish, the rains soon fell good and proper – in the process, the water began to pour down our sleeves or absorb upwards in our pants.
Needless to say, it was not long before ourselves, our raingear and backpacks were all once again sodden with the relentless precipitation.

At Piper Sike and Turret 51a, more information signs denoted the regularity of the frontier and the importance of each set of remains. Each turret reinforced the measured nature of Hadrian’s Wall. Yet by this stage, the practical reality of the day was overpowering the intellectual one. We knew the sites mattered. We knew the history was extraordinary. But sometimes discomfort, fatigue and challenging weather distract one’s attention until even a Roman frontier becomes something simply glimpsed at through rain while trying not to slip.

Banks and the Long Push

By mid-afternoon, the official path had become a river of mud and while the road was less scenic, it at least allowed us to make progress without sliding through muck. As a result, for the last couple of kilometres before Banks, we found ourselves favouring walking the firmer roadway whenever possible.

It was not long before we reached Banks, a small community that was little more than a collection of houses. By which time, we were exhausted enough to consider stopping. There was supposedly camping available, and the idea of ending the day had enormous appeal.

When we arrived, however, the option appeared to be a small patch of grass in someone’s backyard. On a dry day, perhaps it would have been wonderful. In the middle of another downpour, with our gear already soaked and the weather still unstable, it did not feel workable. The decision was made easier when the heavens opened again. We could not imagine setting up camp there in those conditions.

So begrudgingly, we continued.

From Banks, the trail wove again returned to crossing seemingly endless fields, along muddy tracks, hedgerows, tree lines, and open landscapes. The day became one of those stages that must simply be endured. Rain, humidity, sheep muck, wet brush, fatigue, and frustration all blended together. There is only so much one can say about such conditions. Complaining does not change them, though it can be hard not to complain anyway.

We crossed Hare Hill and continued through fields of mud and sheep manure in the ongoing deluge.

Walton and Sandysike

As we approached Walton, we tried calling a local hostel to ask about camping, a room, or dinner. The woman on the phone laughed at the lateness of the request, commenting, “No, absolutely not, sorry, you needed to call a year ago for hope of that. Things get busy, you know. Best keep walking, dearie.”.

By that point, we were beyond the point of being able to go much further despite the short stage.

Still, there was no choice but to continue through fields and down the road to Sandysike Bunkhouse. There, thankfully, the mood of the day changed. The owner met us in the beautiful courtyard and could not have been kinder or more accommodating. Two cyclists, both covered in mud, soon arrived as well, looking as though the conditions had treated them no more gently than they had treated us.

The sun came out, helping us dry out our gear somewhat, and amazingly, a dryish patch of grass beside the farmhouse was where we were able to pitch our tent.

After all the rain of the day and the previous week, the camping field was somehow not sodden. In fact, it was perfect. We set up beside the home, grateful beyond measure for a place that was welcoming and which let us stop.

By then, our shoes had become a serious problem. After more than forty days of being soaked, dried, dragged through moors, fields, mud, sheep muck, rain, and heaven knows what else, they smelled decidedly foul. In fact, I think they were rotting. We briefly considered whether the only reasonable solution was to throw them away entirely and complete this trail in our hiking sandals.

Reflecting on Day 3 of Hadrian’s Wall Path

Today was a day of continuity and transition.

Along the high ground near Steel Rigg, Winshields, Cawfields, and Walltown, Hadrian’s Wall still revealed itself in dramatic form. The Wall dominated the crags, crossed the high terrain, and made full use of the Whin Sill. In those places, it was easy to see the frontier as the Romans intended it: a defensive line of stone and authority commanding the northern hills of Britannia.

Each of the key sites from Winshields, Walltown, Willowford and Birdoswald reiterated how landscape had engineering had been used to these ends. Just as Thirlwall Castle highlighted how Roman stone had been reused for medieval purposes.

The day also showed us that Hadrian’s Wall is also a living landscape. It is part of Northumberland National Park, an International Dark Sky Park, a curlew habitat, a reptile survey area, farmland, conservation area, tourist site, and walking trail. It is visited by long-distance hikers, day walkers, tour groups, cyclists, campers, birders, historians, and people simply looking for a proper view.

West of Birdoswald, Hadrian’s Wall once again slipped away from site moving back beneath the landscape or being repurposed into villages and roads. The military frontier giving way to the agricultural landscape.

Throughout the day, the scenery had been extraordinary and the wall fascinating – and yet the very popularity of this stretch combined with challenging weather and physical exhaustion made it all hard to fully absorb. We continued to walk past opportunities to explore and learn more about the region. In fact, we were now beyond the midpoint of the trail, and it had become clear that we had already missed a great deal. Now more than ever it was clear that while we were completing Hadrian’s Wall Path, we were not giving it the time it deserved.

See you on the Trail!