Hadrian’s Wall stretches for 84 miles across the North of England, from Bowness-on-Solway to Wallsend, Newcastle, signalling one of the last frontiers of the Roman Empire. Nowadays, the wall remains intact only in certain sections, with the best views to be found in the isolated middle sections far from the cities and towns.
Walking Hadrian’s Wall
Walkers can make their way from east to west, or west to east, staying at different locations along the journey, according to their chosen style of trip, following in the footsteps of Roman soldiers. I chose west to east for transport practicalities, meaning that I finished in the transport hub of Newcastle, rather than an area with sparse public transport near the Solway Firth.
For some, walking a distance of 84 miles might not seem overwhelming – viewed perhaps the same as running a marathon. For others, walking this long distance, alone and with no support, may appear too daunting. The first rule I discovered is that you walk Hadrian’s Wall in your own time, at your own pace, and avoid comparing your experience to that of others. Your journey is your journey.
I chose to ‘walk the wall’ as a personal promise to someone who is no longer able to do so, but the reality of what this meant was beginning to set in quickly.
Preparing for walking Hadrian’s Wall
To begin with, I sought the advice of military friends – people for whom long marches are common. Their view of preparing for the worst, while hoping for the best, played out in many pieces of advice. From downloading location apps such as what3words – vital for peace of mind – the best foods to snack on and the benefits of dry socks, this was an early indication that if treated lightly, this walk could be dangerous. Accidents can happen to the most well-prepared person, but the questions posed to me of, ‘What do you do if you break your ankle, or have a bad fall? How do you get to safety?’ echoed in the logistical emergency planning stage.
The physical preparation was significantly hampered by one of the wettest winters recorded in the UK, meaning that long walks across fields and fells couldn’t be completed. I talked to runners and running groups, to try to map out distances on dry ground, aiming to ensure that at least distance could be practised for, if not terrain. The cumulative impact of walking 16 to 20 miles every day, for several consecutive days was not something that could be known in advance.
Baggage transport was next on the list. I did not relish the idea of carrying a full bag for 84 miles, so I opted for a daily transfer of my bag from one accommodation spot to the next, while I carried a much lighter day bag. This made my journey slightly more comfortable and enjoyable. I chose to walk in late April, but the trail was still saturated throughout from the incessant rain, so the option to camp was quickly discarded.
The most important part of preparation was ensuring I had the right boots. This was the part where I opted to pay more, mindful that getting this wrong could bring an early end to the walk.
Highs and lows
One of the early positive discoveries was the realisation of the not-so-secret public footpaths which connected towns and villages. Footpaths which reminded me of bygone days where journeys were about the journey and not just about the rush to get to the destination.
The next ‘high’ was also in itself an absence of sorts. When our jobs demand that we make multiple decisions big and small and are constantly ‘engaged’, the mindfulness that came from having to make very few decisions was the recharge that I needed. It seems odd to say that walking 84 miles was a method of recharging, but when all you have to do during a day is ensure your footing is sound and that you get to the next stop, there does come an emptying of the mind which is welcome.
Another welcome discovery was that I was physically capable of walking several 16-mile-days with no real discomfort and the physical challenge was met head on.
Finally, when the half point was hit and the counter flipped to a countdown rather than a count up, that was a significant point, as focusing on how much I had done, rather than what was left for me to do, became a strong motivator. As a life lesson, this was an important one.
Finishing the entire walk and reaching the fort of Segedunum actually became an odd low point, rather than the expected high point. The sense that the journey was over and the task had been completed and that there was no more walking to do the next day was a surprisingly powerful emotion.
I was glad to leave the muddy, saturated fields and path behind me of course, no longer worrying whether I was going to go ankle deep or knee deep in mud. I was glad to leave behind the ‘Day of Rain’, which I affectionately named it, where it rained all day, unrelenting, giving the Hard Hills section of the wall its name perhaps.
The lowest point of the walk was the emotional impact of seeing the empty space where the tree at Sycamore Gap used to stand, now with its stem fenced off, in the hope of regrowth. The senseless vandalism of nature left me cold on an already cold day.
Lessons learned from Hadrian’s Wall
The lessons I learned walking Hadrian’s Wall then were not the expected facts of the Roman fort constructions, communication systems, or how the wall itself was constructed.
Instead, what I took from the trail was the kindness and support of strangers and the other walkers whom I met. The understanding that physical limits can often be mental ones and that we are all capable of more than we credit ourselves capable.
Have I caught the ‘walking bug’? Undoubtedly.
What I have learned though are simple truths – look after your feet and they’ll look after you and a hot cup of tea at the right time can be all the difference.
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