Climb Every Mountain: This is what my heart came to England to do! I had to actually forge my way up the slopes, over stones, across streams, around gorse, through a sea of waist-high brambles, and passed the big-horned rams. One day here was more to me than Oxford, Cambridge, and London put together.
The bus only ran to the village of Kirknewton on Wednesdays, so I had to "cab" into it. Once there, the only way back was to walk all the way to Wooler, where the buses could take me to Newcastle. The locals said I only had to cross one ridge or so, but in the end, I think I climbed about three or four ridges, along mostly land without footpaths. For the most part, I was on my own.
Brief Note: I once wrote some children's stories about the village of Kirknewton, little knowing that I would visit it.
Church of St Gregory the Great
The southern slopes above Kirknewton
That's the first ridge I had to clime. Does not look like much... until you start climbing.
Overlooking the three northern ridges...
The three northern ridges from the top of the first ridge (south side)
The cairn at the top of the first ridge... This was my highest point. Panoramic shots around...
Looking south to south-west, I think.
The south eastern slopes...
Farmlands to the north-east...
Western slopes of Kirknewton...
Running down the eastern face of the first ridge and up again to a smaller second ridge (south end of Kirknewton)...
Stone ring fort in the dale below the first and second ridges.
Looking back up to eastern face of the southern ridges...
Facing the north-eastern farmland.
Looking back on the farther southern slopes of Kirknewton.
A heroic flower in the wind-blasted undergrowth...
Up and down some more smaller ridges, going east.
Looking back towards Kirknewton from atop a stone wall...
I had a pleasant rest on these slopes, looking at the sheep grazing in the distance and thinking of my story with the shepherd. The the sound of the Northumbrian pipes came into my mind. I now understand them. The sound is just like the wild and unkempt wind on these gentle hills. Not as piercing as the Scottish, nor as overtly lyrical as the Irish Uilleann pipes. They are derivative of the stern northern English character.
A farmstead.
Found a footpath...
"...Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way..."
Some wayside cottages...
Houses into Wooler...
St Nicholas Catholic Church, Wooler
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