The Hudeshope Walk – aka Ivy’s Intervention

I have two completely different, separate and otherwise unrelated events to report for this weekend. This is the first. There’ll be another along after I’ve eaten some salmon and stuff…..

Some people may recal that I did a reccy around Hudeshope the other day. This is the walk that I did the reccy for. Together with me, El Leaderoni, as I like to call myself, we had El Stewardoni’s Clare and Neville; a Top Team and As wall as this we had a bunch of walkers, and the whole group totalling 21 souls in all –22 if you include the collie. This is probably a record.

We plodged and slithered as elegantly as possible around the extreme mud of the King’s Walk. Several people pointed out how nice this walk would be in the spring…dhuhh…  Then we entered leadmineland and made dangerous stream crossings, and examined the Skears hushes whilst destroying a weak stile in the process (I must report this.)

More mud was met on the return through the Elphatory Allotment and still nobody knew what an Elphate was, except to say that it isn’t a large, grey animal with big ears and a trunk. Some small fish obliged El Leaderoni by jumping through a watery pipe just at the right time. They may not have been salmon, but to us, they were piscitarian joy – probably small brownies, I suspect.

More slithering in a muddy kind of way was done through the Northern haymeadows bit and one rambler who’s name is Ivy, indicated a better finish to the walk thatn the one I’d planned, so we all followed her. Next time we do this walk, we’ll go this way – around the back or Ivy’s Alternative as it shall henceforth be known.

It was a bit nearer seven miles than last time.

Afterwards, I went to Nenthead to meet Brian so we could go to the Lake District for a little adventure. We arrived at half nine, after a pint of something foaming on the journey. The next post is all about what happened next.

There is a little knoll in Teesdale which has a round and wooded enclosure. This is Kirkcarrion. Alf Wainwright suggested that it might be haunted. The local legend has it that it is the burial place of  Caryn, a bronze-age or, more likely, iron age Prince. This place may well appear in a pieblogpost in the next half a dozen weeks or so…….

There will now be a short interval.  Put the kettle on, let the dog out, let the cat in, ring your Aunty about the birthday present and nip to the loo……  Try to get these in the right order.