Annan to Carlisle Day 1.
Distance today: 15.4 miles.
Total distance: 515.2 miles.
Accommodation: campsite.
Today was the first time my route took me almost exclusively along normal roads. With traffic. The Channel of River Esk has a lot to answer for. It was the annoyingly big obstacle blocking my way south. There didn’t seem to be too many alternative options unless I was prepared to walk a lot further. Anyway, first stop: the big Tesco superstore on the edge of town to stock up on snacks.
Walking beside main roads is obviously boring but fine so long as any surrounding houses are treated as part of a bigger whole that needs to be linked by pavements. As soon as the houses end, the pavement ends and it’s back to the ol’ favourite of hopping off and on the verge. Occasionally I’d see a blue sign indicating that a route was part of the National Cycle Network and generally, if the map confirmed it was heading in roughly the right direction, it was worth following as it was likely to be a quieter road.
When I reached the village of Eastriggs, I stopped at the Green Café to treat myself to a mid morning coffee but couldn’t resist getting a bacon bap as well. As the only customer, I chatted with the 2 women working there and when it came time to pay, they wouldn’t let me. It was their contribution, they said. Aww. It is really nice when something like that happens.
Also in Eastriggs was the intriguingly named The Devil’s Porridge Museum. The eponymous porridge refers to the highly explosive combination of gun cotton and nitroglycerine that workers in the local munitions factory had to mix by hand during World War 1. I think that was all I wanted to know so I didn’t actually bother going to the museum. Although, pop fact: it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who came up with the name.
Next stop Gretna Green. Historically known for the blacksmiths which served as a cross-border venue for runaway marriages, I couldn’t swear that I’d ever been there before but for some reason, as with the Glenmorangie Distillery, it felt like a necessary pilgrimage. Something about the name resonated with my childhood. It could be the souvenir brass anvil that had been a fixture in the family collection of ornaments for as long as I could remember. It could even be that when I was very young we used to live in Grafty Green and I was simply mixing up the two places. Whatever the reason, I felt obliged to pay a visit. As is the way these days, what starts off life as a quirky tradition eventually ends up becoming a soulless tourist trap. They had a café, a shop with staff in twee tartan outfits, and even a lone piper playing near the outside seating area. Alas, no souvenir anvils. Judging by the quizzical expressions on their faces, I got the impression the staff couldn’t remember a time when they did sell them. Taste moves on. If you’re desperate, you can pick one up on eBay for less than a fiver.
About a mile and half away from Gretna Green was a small but significant sign. “Welcome to England”. That is a proper milestone. A bona fide moment. Somehow, I had managed to walk through Scotland in 27 days. I can understand how that might sound like I am boasting but in truth, I am just genuinely amazed – and grateful – that I have been able to do it. Similar to the feeling when I reached Inverness, it was something tangible to bank. As if to say, if it all went wrong now, at least I’d got this far. So yes, I was chuffed.
The next big landmark on route was Carlisle but it was still a fair hike away and it didn’t seem to offer much in the way of camping. A little bit closer was the ‘small settlement’ (thank you, Wikipedia) of Metal Bridge which pretty much consisted of a pub and the Metal Bridge House Camper Stop/Aire. Both owned by the same people. Strictly speaking, the camper stop did not allow tent pitches but when I phoned the woman in charge, I pleaded my best I’m-doing-this-epic-walk-for-charity case until she finally relented and said I could I pitch in the garden of the nearby house which they also owned. Having free accommodation was always appreciated but not having to think about where I was going to sleep was just as valuable.
I arrived at Metal Bridge at around 4 o’ clock and one of the first things you notice is the background noise. With a motorway on one side and a train line on the other, this was not going to be a quiet night. It would do. Once I’d pitched my tent I thought I’d have a celebratory pint in the pub but the doors were locked and, more worryingly, there was little sign of life. Maybe it was too early. I had a wander around the area and confirmed there wasn’t much to do or see there. Even the nearby stretch of the Channel of River Esk looked a bit ordinary, bookended as it was by two characterless bridges.
Happily, the pub did open in the evening. It might call itself an Inn but it struck me as being more of a restaurant. There was a small waiting area if you were just there for a beer whereas if you were eating then they allocated you a table. The time had come. I was going to have a lamb roast. And after all the anticipation, it was very disappointing. The apple crumble and custard was better. Given the generosity of letting me pitch for free, there was something strangely detached and dare I say unwelcoming about the staff. Efficiency seemed to be the main thing they were striving for. Judging by various reviews I have read since, they are known to be hospitable, so perhaps I had just caught them on an off day.
