Geoff Holland finds sunshine after the rain
TO MANY, Hedgehope Hill is the finest in the range, conical and offering great all-round views. At 714m (2343ft) it is the second highest of the Cheviot Hills, and is usually climbed from one of two nearby valleys, the Harthope or the Breamish. I chose the latter, and with overnight rain forecast to have cleared by early doors I left home well before sunrise.
But weather forecasting is not an exact science, and I was greeted by a fine drizzle and dense low cloud at the end of the public road through the Breamish Valley. The surrounding hills were nowhere to be seen.
So, on went the waterproofs, and away I went past the farm of Hartside, and then through the tree-sheltered
hamlet of Linhope. Here began a steady climb towards open fell, magnificent mature conifers on one side, the steep flanks of Ritto Hill on the other as a beautiful red squirrel flashed across the rough track and disappeared beneath an umbrella of undergrowth.
Once past the trees you can, on a good day, see Hedgehope Hill climbing steadily ahead, the guiding track weaving its way uphill. All I had was a view of the route immediately in front of me, so with my eyes fixed to the ground I pressed on. The rising track was, after recent rain, wet in the extreme, the soft earth broken open by the fat tyres of estate workers’ quad bikes, liquorice-black pools formed in the exposed peat, a veritable quagmire to be endured for the next two miles.
And so it was, the wind springing up out of nowhere, a constant sideways buffeting as I negotiated endless slippery ground, the one bright spark on this dull day being my first ever sighting of a mole, snuffling between small rocks, obvious by its pink nose and powerful front claws, its grey velvety fur matching perfectly the mood of the day. I was enchanted. Then came a slope of tumbled rocks, easy enough to cross in good conditions but tricky in the wet and wind. I proceeded with care.
Finally I reached the huge, trig-point-topped summit of Hedgehope Hill, satisfied to have made it but disappointed to be faced with a wall of thick grey swirling cloud. I could only imagine the views from past visits and soon turned back along the way I came, deciding as I made the first few hundred metres of descent that there was little to be gained by following my original plan to visit the granite tors of Little and Great Standrop.
Then suddenly the cloud was swept away, revealing in all its glory a sunstruck landscape of row after row of glorious hills. I couldn’t believe my luck. I quickly reverted to Plan A, turned to the south and, with a spring in my step, made rapid tracks for the siblings of Little and Great Standrop. The earlier bad weather was soon forgotten.