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Since I was heading south, I had planned a bonus English Marilyn to add to my Scottish haul. I've been more often on the other side of the road - or the river - at Yeavering Bell and Hethpool, but I'd had my eye on this, and it looked like a nice gentle walk with good Cheviot views.
The weather had other ideas. The forecast had been for grey but dry - dry all day - which seemed fine, and although it was raining gently in Berwick it was still early, and it had dried up quite a bit by the time I reached Milfield.
Milfield is generally a place for flying through - I have been in the pub there, but never away from the main road, where there turned out to be some nice old houses, and a tiny church which looked Georgian but had been built by (presumably old-fashioned) Victorian Methodists.
- Milfield church
My plan was to take the long way round, following the road as it curved along the edge of the hills towards the river - it was soon a very minor road, and completely lacking in views of even its own little hills.
- Minor road
It really was doing its best to be spring, in spite of the weather - blossom on the trees, and blackthorn flowering in the hedges.
- Blackthorn
I came down to a junction at Lanton - one of those places halfway between a large farm and a tiny village - and followed the road on just above the river, past Kirknewton on the other side of the valley - there was a bit more of a view now than there had been at first, .enough to be both hopeful and tantalising.
- Kirknewton
At Lanton Mill the road runs out and gives a choice of two tracks - mine led uphill, then across a second field where a tiny dark mound by the far gate unexpectedly turned out to be two very young calves - I took a wide swing round and the hungry mums didn't seem to object, although the calves got up to join them as soon as I was past.
- Cows and calves
I was right round the corner now, and the view was up the valley of the Bowmont Water, although there wasn't always much river to be seen. It's an odd undecided river, anyway, coming from the Scottish sides of the Cheviot and Windy Gyle, but turning east after Yetholm to flow into England - and then joining the Till, which turns north again to join the Tweed.
- Along the valley
The track towards Crookhouse here was really better than parts of the road had been - it looked close from here, but took a wide swing round before finally reaching it.
- Good track to Crookhouse
When my hill finally came into view it wasn't really in view at all, head surprisingly far in the clouds for something so low.
- Hill in the mist
Crookhouse turned out to be holiday accommodation of some kind - a few paths join here, and the one I wanted wasn't the one that was properly signposted, so that I ended up going the right way but on the wrong side of a fence. I got back on the right path as a muddy track swings down to cross a burn, and from here the hill stretched up clear, but I had a feeling that I had to be further on before I was really allowed to go up.
- Looking up the hillside
I thought that the path ran higher across the hillside than it did, and ended up thoroughly entangled in gorse bushes - almost literally at one point, where I'd pushed through to get into what seemed to be an open space running on, but ended up having to retreat. Further on I did find a path, but not really a people path - too low in places.
- Path in the gorse
By the time I came to more open ground again I'd really lost track of where I should or shouldn't be, and just headed up thankfully.
- Escape
A bit further up I did meet a fence, and realised I should probably be on the other side, but it was barbed wire, and the very faint trace of path was on this side and not the other, so I stayed where I was for the moment, glad to have something to follow.
- Up by the fence
When I came to a gate a definite path led on through it, up onto what was beginning to look a bit like the summit.
- Through the gate
The first little rise was nothing in particular, but as I went on I could vaguely see higher ground ahead, and this time there was a tiny cairn, although no particular highest point.
- Housedon Hill summit
I carried on towards the second patch of higher ground by the trees, which stayed invisible for a surprisingly long time and then suddenly came looming from the mist.
- Looming trees
The faint path ran on along the top, and I was reluctant to face the empty slopes and the gorse again so followed it on - I knew from reading the summit survey that there was unofficial access to the hill from the right of way which runs alongside it, and my theory was that if I stuck to the edge of the trees I couldn't possibly get lost on the way down.
- Alternative summit
The way round the trees did look an awful lot like a local route - walkers' gates rather than wide farm ones, and in better condition than most of the ones along the right of way - but I didn't meet anyone, so didn't have to plead cowardice.
- Along the edge of the wood
A long slope brought me down to a stile onto the official footpath, and I sat on the stile for a while to eat my lunch as I certainly wasn't going to find anywhere drier.
The path ran on straight for a while before dodging off to the left round a little patch of woodland - an assortment of gates here which opened in various ways, and one of them not at all.
- Onto the path
The next section of path was along the edge of a field filled with the remains of what seemed to be some kind of brassica - lots of sheep here doing the usual trick of trying to get out of the way and running into it instead.
- Overgrown field
The next field, and the one beside it, had quite a lot of lambs - one had managed to get onto my side of the fence while its mother was still on the other, but rather than getting upset it stood looking at me as if demanding that I do something about it. I decided that if it had got through, it could get back!
The last field had no path at all, just a lot of long wet grass when I'd started to dry off, and then I was back out onto the road, near the little crossroads at West Flodden.
- West Flodden crossroads
It was still more than a mile back to Milfield, although definitely not two, and I was running a bit late if I was going to have time to eat cake - I didn't make as good time as I hoped up the road, but did just have time to drink some tea and eat a scone before the bus came along.
So parts of the walk were pleasant enough, but it was the kind of day when I would probably never have gone out if it wasn't that I had the train tickets booked, and by the time I was back in Berwick I was kind of wishing that I never had - I was cold and wet, and the day was damp and bitterly cold as if we'd wandered back into November.
I'd meant to go to the barracks, but when I got there you literally couldn't see from one side of the courtyard to the other, and I decided to save it for a day when I could see the buildings. So I pottered slowly round the shops, and then got up to the station to find that my train to Newcastle had been cancelled and I had to wait another half hour, although at least the heating was on in the waiting room.