St Cuthbert’s Walk – Melrose to Harestanes – Day Two.

We woke ridiculously early, beating our alarm clock by some distance. We had a lay in, a cup of tea in bed and a packet of biscuits and eventually began to prepare for our first day of walking – the first challenge getting over the Eildon Hills (the steepest part of the walk) and then onto Jedburgh!

We went downstairs to the dining room, feeling nervous, excited with a hint of trepidation. What had we signed up for? We ordered a full Scottish breakfast – we needed all the calories we could get! – and the waitress brought us our packed lunches we had ordered the night before. We got a cheese sandwich in white bread, crisps, bottle of water and an orange – we handed back the oranges and the cardboard box the sandwiches were in as we had limited space in our rucksacks. We later snuffled the biscuits from our room, packed some Naked bars from a supply we had bought with us and stuffed in a giant bag of emergency Jelly Babies. We wouldn’t die of hunger on this walk. Finally packed and ready, we bounced our luggage down to the foyer ready for the transfer people, paid for the sarnies, hoisted our rucksacks on our backs and stepped outside.

The day was cool and overcast, but had signs of brightening up. We waddled back down to the Abbey again to start the walk at its “official” start, where we took a selfie under the St Cuthbert sign and with a whoop of encouragement, we set off. We were on our way. It was 08.45am.

Cuthbert was born near Melrose and felt a strong call to become a monk. He was accepted into Melrose Abbey where his leadership skills became apparent. He travelled to Ripon to assist in establishing a new monastery and on his return to Melrose, found the Abbey in the throes of the yellow plague. It took the life of Boisil, his friend and mentor and Cuthbert became prior. Cuthbert travelled widely. Eventually he travelled south, following the footsteps of St Aidan to the holy island of Lindisfarne to be prior.

The road back up to the High Street was on an incline and the street beyond that, got steeper. The climbing had already begun. A St Cuthbert’s signpost pointed down a gap between a row of terraced houses and dismayingly, dropped back down to a stream via some stone steps. At the bottom, a sign sternly told walkers walking into town, to wipe their muddy boots before climbing the stone steps to the street, but as we were going the other way, it didn’t matter. We crossed a bridge and came to the bottom of an extremely long flight of wooden stairs climbing up a tall embankment. We were convinced it had a vanishing point. So with a big deep breath, we took our first steps and plodded upwards, stopping at little landings to check our progress, admire the limited view through the trees and to be honest, to catch our breaths.

The stairway popped us out into a field with a well marked path and we steadily followed it, climbing all the time. The St Cuthbert path actually went between the two peaks of the hills rather than summiting them, so was in fact, considerably lower but still got the blood pumping and the legs aching. The landscape behind us opened up and we could see other little towns and villages. It was very pretty. We spotted the Abbey way down below us and our hotel – we could almost touch them. We carried on, past pastures and fields of sheep with their lambs before the land gave way to rugged moorland heath and heather. We just took it steady, stopping to give our legs and lungs a brief respite at regular intervals and to look at the expanding views. A couple of drizzly showers scudded through and we wondered whether the waterproofs should come out, but we were too warm to add layers so we just hoped it didn’t get worse.

Finally, finally, in between the two hills of Eildon, we reached the top of the path. Behind us was Melrose and border country to the north and in front of us was rolling countryside and somewhere in the hazy distance, Jedburgh. We high fived each other, jubilant that we had cracked the first of the “hard bits” of the walk and the rest of the day would be a breeze. We also agreed that it wasn’t that bad a climb and wasn’t as steep as we had envisioned (think we had visions of a bit of scrabbling up on our hands and knees). It had been a steady plod. A dog walker appeared with his hound and bounded up the easier peak – we were so pumped up that we nearly followed him to the top, but reminded ourselves that we had another 14 odd miles to do and a deadline for dinner tonight.

After patting yet another dog that had bounded through the heather and chatting to its owners, we took the chance to swap coats. The drizzly showers were getting a bit too frequent for our liking and we were extremely hot from our exertions. We stuffed our fleeces into the rucksacks and donned the waterproofs. It ticked two boxes – kept us dry and cooler too. Sorted, we began our descent through a beautiful woodland of mixed coniferous and deciduous trees, the first signs of spring sprouting in the undergrowth. It was magical. We kept an eye out for deer and other animals as we wheedled our way through the woods. The scent of wild garlic drifted to our noses, primroses, anemones and celandine blooming with yellow flowers and the birdsong of many birds singing high in the trees. It was a beautiful walk. We finally dropped down onto a track and followed that a little distance before crossing fields where local villagers exercised their four legged friends. We dropped in to the village of Bowden, all quiet and sleepy, peering at the boxes of books left in the bus stop for everyone to take, leave or swap. Just love that. We did a little road walking before picking up a footpath and following a little river. The footpath meandered up and down, across the river and back again. The sun started to pop its nose out of the cloud and the temperature rose. The waterproofs went back into the rucksacks and we walked together in just our jumpers. The footpath went into field that on one side dropped steeply down to a water meadow where black ewes and their lambs grazed. The mothers baa-ed loudly and in unison as we entered, as if in warning. We looked down towards the cacophony when we noticed a couple of the sheep coming up to meet us. One ewe in particular, with two very young lambs in tow, began to follow us and we turned to face her. We half expected her to stomp her feet or even charge towards us, protecting her lambs but she just trotted right up to us. We put our hands out and she allowed us to pat her briefly while her lambs skittered around, very wary of us. We carried on walking, the ewe joining us as we approached a gate. We were amazed at this ewe’s audacity and fearlessness. She then trotted ahead reaching the gate, looking at us as if to say “open it then” and stood in front of a kissing gate at the side, blocking it. We hesitated, watching this brazen sheep blocking our way, while her lambs baa-ed as if to say “Mum, what are you up to? We don’t like this!” We shooed her gently away, giving her a final scratch on the head and squeezed through. We looked back – she wasn’t impressed about being thwarted in her escape attempt, gathering her brood and trotting back down the path in disdain…………

We had some road walking to do, but the sun was warm as we dropped into Newton St Boswell. We crossed a main road, wondering if there was a cafe nearby for a drink. A young couple with a baby were preparing for a walk and asked if we were lost. No, no, just checking it out. We dropped down behind some houses and decided that another layer needed to be shed. We snacked on the Naked bars and took a drink. The young mum we had just passed strolled past us with baby slung on her back – she briefly told us that she was walking St Cuthbert’s in sections, meeting husband further up in the car. We were now back into woodland, running beside the river, following a narrow path. It was gorgeous. We kept meeting the young mum for a while until we dropped down on a tarmac track where cars were parked and people were starting to have afternoon strolls. A splendid suspension bridge spanned the river here to Dryburgh, a pretty hamlet opposite. We were following the River Tweed now, past fly fishermen standing deep in the waters, the path snaking through wide water meadows, the wild flowers just starting to bloom. This was a lovely walk.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Boswells

We walked into St Boswells, the next village and onto the High Street, where we came across a bookshop and cafe which was open. Delighted with our find, we were equally frustrated with the fact we had been told there was nowhere to get food on this leg, hence the hotel sarnies. We went in – it was busy. Two tables had been reserved, but as we only wanted coffee and cake, we were allowed to sit there. We were very happy to unload our gear and sit for a while. This was perfect. We had a quick look at the bookshop and the adjoining deli and gift shop next door before continuing up the High Street and dropping down side lane. We came to a T junction where several cars were being manoeuvred around, causing chaos – we skirted round them and dropped down right into a long lane where cars were parked haphazardly on the verge, while others squeezed past them and at the bottom executing terrible 3 point turns. This vehicular chaos was jarring after our lovely morning, an irritating intrusion of our serenity. It turned out to be the entrance of the local Golf Club and it seemed to be a Ladies Tournament – various women were manhandling golfing bags out of the boots of their cars, dressed in that unique uniform that golfing ladies seem to adhere too. The path took us along the side of the fairway, we listened out for any stray balls heading our way, watching the groups of golfers working their way round the course. We eventually left the golf course behind, following the course of the river, through woodland, the path rising up and down – it was so varied and we savoured every single minute. The birds sang. We came across a group of five older women, letting them come down some wooden steps from the road above and fell into brief conversation with them and decided they weren’t a good advert for the St Cuthbert’s Way. They listed their aches and pains, apologised for being slow and old, making us feel a lot better about ourselves on one level, but on another, would this be us tomorrow, regaling hapless walkers with our maladies? We hoped not. We hastily bade them good luck and goodbye and carried on. We followed some more dog walkers, but commented that we hadn’t seen any other St Cuthbert walkers as yet. Maybe we had the path all to ourselves.

We came up to a sort of a well, under an arch with another building above and a large metal sign. On further inspection, it transpired it was indeed a well and that donkeys were used to pump the water up the hill to the main house high on the hill. The donkeys would be tied to a contraption, presumably with a dangling carrot so that they walked in endless circles to enable the pump to work. What a life. I really felt for those poor creatures, working so hard so that wealthy people could have instant water and wondered how well they were looked after and treated. I feared probably not very well.

The path pulled up the side of the river until we stopped just behind a beautiful church on the edge of Maxton village. A convenient bench allowed us to eat one half of our cheese sandwiches, now squashed flat and looking worse for wear – they looked anaemic and positively beyond redemption. They had been a waste of money in the end, but we felt compelled, at least, to consume a part of them rather than chucking them in a bin. They would be sustenance for the last few miles.

We bobbed out on a main road through Maxton which we briefly walked along, before diving down a side lane. A lengthy bit of road walking, brought us near the busy A68 road, vehicles hurtling along and the first substantial noise we had heard all day. It was frankly annoying. Just before the road was another Cuthbert sign, pointing through trees. This was Dere Street, an ancient Roman road and the last leg of our walk. We checked our watches and phones for how many miles we had covered and dismayingly discovered that we had already covered the 15 miles as mentioned in the guide book, with probably another two to go. Our hearts sank – we just wanted a long cold beer and a comfy seat. We could only shrug our shoulders as there wasn’t much else we could do and launched onto the path, feeling rather deflated and hoping the path steered away from the awful traffic noise.

I think we just got our heads down and marched that last bit. The path parted company with the road as we weaved through straggly woodland and bright yellow gorse bushes. We stopped briefly to read an information board about some battle fought in the nearby field, but had no inclination to check it out further. We just wanted to reach the end of the walk. In the distance we saw Baron’s Folly and high on a hill, the Waterloo Monument. Finally, we dropped into woodland and the edges of Harestanes Country Park, finally we could see light at the end of the tunnel, though it took a while coming. We came to a back road, but decided to carry onto the Visitor Centre, passing a bridge that would be the start of tomorrow’s route. We staggered to some benches and finally dropped our bags. It was 5.15pm and we had walked 17 miles. We were tired but very happy! We had done Day One – we were relieved, but felt accomplished and proud of ourselves in equal measure. It was a great feeling actually and our spirits rose. We called our pre-planned taxi who would take us into Jedburgh a few miles down the road and we cancelled our dinner reservation. There was no way we were going to make it. At the time of booking, they could only offer us 6:30pm which at the time I thought would be tight. They were very nice about it and thanked us for letting them know. Our White Knight in the shape of dark coloured taxi rocked up, threw our bags in the back and gave us a running guide of what there was to do in Jedburgh as well as a brief history while he drove. He was fab – we asked him if he was a tour guide and he no replied that he just loved telling everyone about Jedburgh. He was a great ambassador for his town.

https://www.dayoutwiththekids.co.uk/attractions/harestanes-countryside-visitor-centre-14e4f775

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedburgh

He dropped us outside the Royal Hotel in the centre and we staggered in. A lone woman welcomed us and was very informative. Our luggage had been delivered and we dragged it upstairs to our rooms. There was a smell of fresh paint and the decor of white walls and grey carpet was soothing and very new. We crashed onto our beds, easing our feet out of our boots. The feet seemed to have done remarkably well with no sore spots or blisters. We dived into showers, sorted out our bags ready for tomorrow, topping up with more snuffled biscuits from the tea tray. Refreshed, we regrouped and hit the town in search for food – the receptionist had listed all the eating establishments in town, one of them being an Indian which we rather fancied now. So we tracked it down and took a table. There were a couple of tables already occupied, so we weren’t the only ones as we settled down to read the menu and choose drinks, as a rather bubbly and chatty waitress hovered near, tending to our every need. She wasn’t British, possibly American or Canadian, (we were too tired to ask) and was a bit too keen and eager to please, telling us allsorts. She was lovely really, but we just wasn’t in the right mood for any bounciness. We just wanted to eat and go to bed.

The food was delicious and just perfect for our needs. We began a Top Trump game of how many steps walked, how many miles (our devices all showed slight variations, but it was definitely 17 miles) and the state of our feet, legs , backs and other body parts, but overall Day One had been a success. We took our bloated bellies back to the hotel and flopped onto our beds. Day Two tomorrow and the highest point of the walk – bring it on!