Month: March 2026

Herts Embraced: what HS2 has done

HS2 has chewed up part of the Hertfordshire Border Walk between West Hyde and Chorleywood. I walked it to see how it can be done. I took a pre-HS2 map (Explorer 172 – Chiltern Hills East) as a guide to where the paths ought to go.

HS2 have said that they will restore the footpaths when the works are completed, and there are signs of the blocked paths’ being preserved, but it could be several years yet before they are opened, and we cannot tell what alignments will be left. The county border is unmoved and immemorial, even if the paths which once defined it move.

From the A412 Uxbridge Road, the mouth of the footpath on the county border has been obliterated by the HS2 work site. However there is a way round, and HS2 have posted a diversion map on a tree. I walked south along the road into Buckinghamshire, under and then alongside the massive new viaduct. By a layby is a small path up through the woods, to a lane (Tilehouse Lane) where I turned north again. The lane used to run through, but is now cut off by the construction site: it ends where the border path resumes.

I followed the path eastwards therefore, along the edge of the wood, with the vast site to my right, along the county border, down across a new works access road, and then it is closed again, with a diversion.

This diversion is the same as the one I did some years ago – then I think I had to work it out on my own, and took a wrong turn somewhere that led me into difficulty, but this time the diversion is shown on maps attached to signposts. It took me south and round and under the M25 in a foot tunnel, and to a road at the edge of Chalfont St Peter. Walking north along the road to start of the village, there is path back eastwards, tree-lined and then out into a broad field. It is well defined now, skirting the side of a mobile home park to the left, and to an access road close by the M25. A new local road has been built since the map was printed, but this is the end of the diversions. They added perhaps two miles to the route.

I headed down Shire Lane, which runs along the county border. Very soon the road swings left, but Shire Lane, the old road, is straight on, a tree-lined path, emerging at a corner and resuming being a road, past the Dumb Bell Inn and on northwards. When the road hits a T-junction, it is stil straight ahead: Shire Lane has become a woodland footpath (with Newlands Park to the left: the Chiltern Open Air Museum is in the Newlands Park Estate).

After a dog-leg, the path heads north again through woods a house comes into view and the path becomes a road, and leads down into Chorleywood.

It is a lovely stretch of walk, that took just a few hours. It will be better when the convulsing works are finished and the paths are put back, but I will take it as it is for now.

Route map

See also

Maps

The route spreads over a wide are and a series of maps is needed to complete it.  It might be done with standard Landranger maps, though the additional detail of an Explorer map can be very helpful.

In the Explorer, 1:50 000 series:

In the Landranger, 1:25 000 series:

Wandering from Keswick

There is no need to drive out of Keswick to enjoy a beautiful walk: the town is in the midst of prettiness. It was my quiet day, and so I looked about me at the town where I have been staying.

Derwentwater glimmered in the sunshine. I found the path up through the woods to a viewpoint on a tiny hill, Castle Head. From here, the lake is laid out before you, in its verdant basin, and the fells beyond.

I then followed paths to the north and east, through woods, by farms and over the road to a long, muddy way out to the Castlerigg Stone Circle.

There are always visitors at the circle, admiring it, breathing in the ancientness, or performing invented pagan rituals within it. All three were there to be seen.

Then down the road to Keswick. I spotted a path down to a rail trail – a footpath laid down on the old Penrith-Cockermouth Railway line, so I followed that in to the town centre.

A good morning’s walk.

Helvellyn over Striding Edge

I was told this was a fearsome climb. It was in part a gentle walk, and in parts gritted teeth, four-limb scrambling and prayer – which was answered.

From the car park in Glenridding, I followed the path another walker was going, befor finding there are several routes – you have to stick by the Mires Beck for the first stretch – but I looped over back to the beck, with cheery assistance from local folk who enjoy the views or the bowl of Lanty’s Tarn from the lower slopes. Back on track, I took the long, upward climb, along a path which is in parts steep or shallow – on average easier than those I have met earlier in the week. Past the forbidding crags, I followed up over Birkhouse Moor (the usual walk) from which the path levels out to follow a ridge beside a long, drystone wall. This leads to a prominent style known as Hole-in-the-Wall. Here the challenge begins.

On the walk I fell into brief conversation with a few other walkers – two young lads who powered ahead, occasionally caught up with, and three cheery young ladies who dropped further behind as I pressed on to the climb, and two experiences cragsmen (“Been doing this for 50 years!”) enjoying the familiar, breathtaking view.

At Hole-in-the-Wall, lying below you is a gorgeous tarn, Red Tarn, at the bottom of a huge corrie formed by Helvellyn; the back wall formed by the mountain’s long, cliff-edged summit ridge, fringed with snow; on one side Bleabury Crag and Striding Edge, and opposite the triangular shape of Catstye Cam. Up over rougher climbing (Bleabury Crag), to a jagged eyrie which is the beginning of Striding Edge. This forbidding eyrie is (I learn) called Low Spying How. Low it is not.

There is no path over Low Spying How: I packed my map away and with hands and feet I picked my way over the rocks between seemingly impossible gaps, with vertical drops to the valley awaiting any mistake. Then the Edge itself came into view. It appears like a set of dragon’s teeth, in a long ridge with nowhere for the feet. Had a wind blown up, there would be nowhere to protect you from being ripped from you feet and hurled into the void. It was though dry and largely still. I climbed down to the edge and round some way along it – occasionally stretches of path appear, and in others it has crumbled away and the tops are the only way along. It is thrilling, and deadly. Good boots that allow me to step on points of rock were vital.

I slid undignified on my bottom and reached hand over hand, creeping along in this unfamiliar landscape. Then I spotted the trio of young ladies from earlier – slower on the path, they were bounding along here, with all the confidence and suppleness of youth. And here was I creeping along: what years of responsibility can do to a man. Then halfway along, as I was poised not knowing how to move further, the cragsmen appeared. The guided me and the ladies (who had caught up by now) along the impossible tops and the final climb to the summit. I will be eternally grateful.

The summit is gentle, and in the sun shone as I ate my lunch there, unfurled the county flag (this is Westmorland’s county top) and wondered at the views.

The usual way down is another scramble, down Swirral Edge, to a gentle path. I could see hesitation amongst those going that way, and in any case I was enjoying the hills too much to go straight back.

So I headed north over Glenridding Common (a route with no scrambles and no edges). There is a gentle saddle from Helvellyn down and up to Lower man, and on to White Side, and on to Raise to the north. Over this and the path tracks along the slope of Raise before zigzagging down towards the Glenridding Beck, which I followed down to the village.

Route map

Maps

Scafell Pike from Wasdale

Three peaks stand in line above Wasdale, and in the middle stands Scafell Pike – Cumberland’s county top and the highest in the Lake District and in England.

It is a long haul up, but yesterday was the ideal day for it – dry, clear and still. It was a contrast to the first day I appeared in Wasdale, when I was told bluntly by the National Trust staff not to attempt it – and they were right. Yesterday I passed by the glass-like, beautiful lake beneath the Screes, where canoes were being carried to the water – the previous time (Sunday) a lone paddleboarder was looking uncertain, while wild winds washed Wastwater with white-water waves.

The path from the National Trust car park is a clearly laid track, frequented by many feet, so on a clear day even out of season you will never be alone, and the nervous, inexperienced walkers may appreciate cheery encouragement. It is an unrelenting, steeply climbing path all the way and you can think that the pain and exhaustion will not let you go any further – but it will. Once you achieve the top, all that exhaustion goes away.

I watched a few pairs and couples pausing in panic where you wade through the Gill at one point, but they soon find it is nothing – if you have the right boots or at least the right attitude. And so it climbs, apparently endlessly.

Actually, you cannot see the top until you approach the looming crag – then it is a haul up (hands and knees if you must for that bit, though you should just be able to walk, as if up randomly placed steep stairs.. Then round the crag, the top is in sight.

I did not want to leave. I was bathed in sunshine, and surrounded by good company (I was climbing alone but, as I said, you are never alone) and the views were awe-inspiring. From there the mountains of the massif and others of the Lake District rise in an endless parade. Below is Wastwater, glimmering. Further off the Duddon Estuary appears.

I showed the Cumberland flag – this is the county top, after all – then descended, far faster than the climb, and meeting many groups then coming up, giving encouragement and occasionally showing then were they were on the map.

Another fell done, and happily done.

Route map

Maps

Around the Eamont

The pretty River Eamont flows out of Ullswater and amongst the meadows of Edendale until it reaches the River Eden itself. It took a walk around Eamont Bridge village and Brougham: a walk to which I gave a page earlier: the Eamont Bridge and Brougham Walk. Then I added on a loop to Yanwath.

It is a pleasant walk, on a level, around thousands of years of history: the Stone Age at one end, Roman and mediaeval at the other, and Brougham Hall, of many ages, in the middle. Mainly though, it is the fields and the playful river.

The route: map

Maps

Books

See also:

Grey Mare’s Tail and Loch Skeen

At the top of Moffatdale, a beautiful cataract cascades down a fearsome gorge. An isolated spot, at the end of many miles of narrow road, with a National Trust car park beneath a precipitous hill, and a bridge across the burn. The recent rain had swollen the waters and the waterfall – the Grey Mare’s Tail.

I came to explore and admire. Looking up, on the left is a slope which rises to White Combe (Dumfriesshire’s highest point)l on the right its twin; and between them. a plunging gorge. I first followed a path up the White Combe side, to a vantage point for the Grey Mare’s Tail. It is magnificent, and no photograph does it justice. From that point there is a barrier – the path beyond has collapsed and access is barred. So I returned and climbed the other side, wondering is there is a way across above the fall.

It is a steep path, clinging to the side of the hill – barely less than a cliff. It is a well-made path, and ful kudos to the National Trust for Scotland for creating and maintaining it in a challenging landscape – spanning many cuts in the slope where lesser burns course down the gorge. A steep climb higher to the level of the waterfall, and then it becomes easier, almost level, and leads on.

The moorland here is bleak and soaked. The rain began. Very soon I was bleak and soaked. Two walkers were on the other side of the river – I called over and they said that they had crossed at the loch – my destination – and they were unable to find a way back.

Suddenly the loch appeared: Loch Skeen. It is the largest loch in the Moffat Hills – possibly in the county, and here, isolated away from the sight of any other than those who have made the effort of the climb to admire it.

It might at a stretch have been possible to cross here the river that spilled out of the loch, which went on to thunder over the Grey Mare’s Tail. (Had I done so, I could hardly have got wetter than I was.) There ahead, over the stream and far over the moor, rose a great, forbidding white dome: White Combe. It was entirely covered in snow; trackless, sleep, icy and with the top hidden in cloud. If I had arrived earlier in the day when it was dry and there were more hours of daylight left, it could have been worth a try. There in the cloud and snow it looked defiant. (Aye; but I know where you are now, and how to reach you when the snow has gone.)

Beyond were other hills clad in snow. The Southern Uplands are not mild country-cousins of the Highlands: these can be serious mountains and, unlike the Lake District, are isolated and empty. One summer, I will see what the tops offer when the snow has gone and the heather is in bloom.

Down I came on the stone path, with a respect for these hills.

I followed the climb with a drive, up the dale and to St Mary’s Loch – a sheet of water equal to any but unfrequented. I followed up round to the Megget Reservoir, a huge loch in itself, if dammed by man, and past Broad Law (Peeblesshire’s highest point). Apart from there being nowhere to park, the ground up to it looks ankle-turning. That would need more research. I know one person who has climbed it. I was just passing by though, as the sun began to sink.

The landscape here is breathtaking. The hills are bun-shaped: rounded and steep-sided. Local people must understand them – except that there are no local people in these deserted hills – another contrast to the Lake District, to which I then returned, after a fascinating, soaking day.

See also

The Old Man of Coniston

Bright sunshine, clear sky and barely a breath of wind – yesterday. Today the storm broke over the fells. Scafell was out of the question (and I did drop in at Wasdale – the National Trust staff were insistent). So could a gentler peak be found? Gentler….? Not really.

I headed for Coniston, in the heart of the Furness Fells – where Lancashire takes its part of the Lake District. The village is small, close to the beautiful ribbon of Coniston Water, and climbing the slope behind.

The fell itself, the Old Man of Coniston, is the highest of the Furness Fells, and Lancashire’s county top. I set off with a Lancashire flag in my backpack to place at the summit (briefly, before packing it away – no littering from me).

A road climbs from the village, leading it its top to a clear path; as long as you do not turn off in the wrong place. I did, and I wandered over the slopes of The Bell, a prodigious knoll above the village, before climbing to a well-used track (which I should have been on all along) heading up the hill. Here I met three young friends heading uphill, led by a local man who knew the way up. I tagged along, and they did not mind, which was very good of them.

The path winds around the slope of the fell, until it comes to abandoned slate workings: this is an extensive, unexpected industrial landscape merging back into the landscape – just take care to step over or duck the broad pipes and massive cables, and what the man-wrought leats carrying water off the mountain.

The views down to Coniston Water are glorious – in the sunshine – and forbidding without it.

After the long climb, you come to Low Water (an odd name for one as high as it lies), a large tarn reminiscent of the secret places the children discover in the Swallows and Amazons books which the lake and the landscape inspired. Burn cascade down high cliffs to the water – cliffs whose high are yet to be climbed.

At Low Water, the path disappears; or seems to. it turns and blends into the hillside, and climbs hard. The path zigzags higher, up rocks and steps, steeper as it goes – until suddenly. the top appears, where a massive cairn-monument stands (and a trig point to one side rather overshadowed).

The wind was scouring the top; I ducked for relief behind the cairn. I did not feel sheltered enough to open my pack lunch. Neither did any of my sudden jolly companions.

The views from the top must be spectacular. As we descended, it opened up, with the lake ahead.

The geology is fascinating up here. The slate at the top, and lower the rocks change colour, with blue copper-bearing stones appearing in places – lower down are copper mines – also the inspiration for an episode in Pigeon Post, one of the S&A books. There’s quartz in some. That is the extent of my geological knowledge.

Back to the village, I said farewell to my erstwhile companions, and reflected on a county top bagged well despite the weather.

Maps