After the Mickle Fell stravaig, we diverted our attentions to Garrigill, principally for the bagging of Round Hill – Mike’s final English Hewitt. And so, in temperatures just marginally above freezing and in nithering rain, we mooched off up (or is it down…?) the South Tyne Trail towards France.
A mile or so up/down the path from Garrigill is the little gorge of Ash Gill, at the top of which there is the main road from Alston to Teesdale. Emanating, or , rather, gushing from underneath this bridge is an impressive waterfall, behind which you can venture for a look at a waterfall from behind. This is an ideal spot for hiding from injuns as they gallop by. When the beck is in spate it is a truly awesome experience, with the water thundering past at arms stretch.
And so, after being slightly awed (as the beck wasn’t quite in spate), we continued up/down South Tynedale, ultimately to it’s source where there is a vaguely erotic statue with a hole in it through which to view the very spring out if which springs the reason for the most famous of Lindisfarne’s hit records. It was quite foggy up there on Monday as well.
Then, after much huffing and puffing from me, we finally mounted the soggy and only slightly tilted slopes of Round Hill with it’s little cairn. A few celebratory pictures were taken and then we evacuated the place for warmer places such as Garrigill. It went dark again.
I put my tent up behind the village hall (not a bad spot as it happens…) and after a brief but nutritious scoff, we repaired to the pub for a sweet sherry and a water biscuit and to listen to the landlord’s vynil collection. Quite an enjoyable night, all in all.
Tuesday follows (but then you know that, innit?)
A mile or so up/down the path from Garrigill is the little gorge of Ash Gill, at the top of which there is the main road from Alston to Teesdale. Emanating, or , rather, gushing from underneath this bridge is an impressive waterfall, behind which you can venture for a look at a waterfall from behind. This is an ideal spot for hiding from injuns as they gallop by. When the beck is in spate it is a truly awesome experience, with the water thundering past at arms stretch.
And so, after being slightly awed (as the beck wasn’t quite in spate), we continued up/down South Tynedale, ultimately to it’s source where there is a vaguely erotic statue with a hole in it through which to view the very spring out if which springs the reason for the most famous of Lindisfarne’s hit records. It was quite foggy up there on Monday as well.
Then, after much huffing and puffing from me, we finally mounted the soggy and only slightly tilted slopes of Round Hill with it’s little cairn. A few celebratory pictures were taken and then we evacuated the place for warmer places such as Garrigill. It went dark again.
I put my tent up behind the village hall (not a bad spot as it happens…) and after a brief but nutritious scoff, we repaired to the pub for a sweet sherry and a water biscuit and to listen to the landlord’s vynil collection. Quite an enjoyable night, all in all.
Tuesday follows (but then you know that, innit?)
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