The Long Mynd - A DIY Macmillan Mighty Hike

Making Some Effort in a Good Cause

Preparations for a Peak District Mighty Hike that Never Was

In late January or early February Mike suggested that he, Francis and I should form a team to take part in the Peak District Macmillan Mighty Hike - a 13-mile sponsored walk (there was a 26-mile variant for masochists) in aid of Macmillan Cancer Support in the Peak District National Park on the 24th of July.

Feeling we might have a fitness problem Team MDF, as we dubbed ourselves, embarked on a series of training walks on Cannock Chase and around Haughton and Swynnerton. Most were on dry days, some even in sunshine. It was not always warm sunshine, though our late April outing in Haughton shortly after pubs had re-opened for outdoor drinking….

The end of a long drought - a glass of lunch outside the Red Lion in Bradley

… was as warm as walkers could want or tolerate.

Spring has definitely reached Staffordshire, Haughton in April

Donations started to roll in, but in early June the Peak District Park Authorities cancelled mass participation events as ‘the elongated and ongoing restrictions over foreign travel, [have caused] an unprecedented number of visitors, putting the land we cover under strain.’

Shropshire

Macmillan gave us a list of alternatives and we decided on a Macmillan sanctioned DIY Mighty Hike. Emails went back and forth and the venue, the Long Mynd in Shropshire, and date, the 2nd of July, seemed to emerge organically. Francis was charged with plotting a route, Mike offered to provide breakfast and I volunteered to drive us there.

Onto the Long Mynd

The Avengers Assemble

So bright and early (before 9.30, anyway) we were in the Carding Mill Valley car park ready to haul on our boots - once we had eaten breakfast.

Mike, Francis and Alison. In this picture I am represented by my boots

I have so far failed to mention two important people. This was now a DIY walk so we were no longer limited to the original three. We had collected Alison C in All Stretton where she and non-walking partner Morgan were staying in an air-bnb. Anne arrived a few minutes after the photo above accompanied by a large punnet of ‘surplus’ strawberries.

So, full of oatcakes, bacon and strawberries, and after a Team MDC photo in Macmillan shirts…

Team MDF. Photo Alison using Francis' camera

…our enhanced and improved team of 5 set off towards the long, steep path onto the Long Mynd. Francis and Anne led the way – I was in front of them to take the photo but never found myself in that position again.

Anne and Francis lead the climb

The Long Mynd – A Little Scene Setting

Part of the Shropshire Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, the Long Mynd is an upland plateau around 500m in elevation some 11km long and 5km wide. It sits on what Geologists call the ‘Longmyndian Supergroup’ – two guitars, bass, drums and a 6,000m thick slab of late Precambrian rock. Whether the Long Mynd is truly long depends on what you chose to compare it with, the ‘Mynd’ is derived from a Brythonic word for mountain (c.f. Welsh ‘mynydd’).

We walked from the Carding Mill Valley, across the Long Mynd, then back to All Stretton

We started on the eastern edge where the Carding Mill Valley is one of a number of steep, narrow valleys incised into the escarpment. Once you are on the plateau the land descends rather more gently in the general direction of Wales. You know what to expect from a walk on the Long Mynd, though the extended vertical axis on the profile produced by Anne’s app (right) does make it look more alarming than it actually is.

The Ascent

I do not mind a stiff climb at the start of the day, but I am never going to be the first to the top. Engage bottom gear and plod works for me and I am grateful for the patience of faster walkers. On this occasion, extra patience was required. While trying to cope with walking poles and camera I contrived to engage a hitherto unknown setting where the camera insisted on taking one-second videos rather than photographs. I spent some time trying to remove this unwanted function instead of walking. Mike kindly waited while I faffed around.

Mike waits patiently - a still from a one-second video

When I finally got on with it, I realised that the weather forecast had been unduly pessimistic; it was going to be a very fine day, but at least this climb would be over before it became too warm.

Near the top we encountered two groups from a school in Ludlow on their Duke of Edinburgh Bronze Award expeditions. They were full of energy but unsure about their navigation as such groups so often are. I must have passed through an age when I had both energy and navigation skills, but it was fleeting, at best.

On the Top

The top is a plateau, but not a flateau. The path called Mott’s Road on the map continues to rise, albeit more gently, for a distance yet.

Energetic youth on Mott's Road

At the end we turned left onto a track heading for Pole Bank, at 516m the Long Mynd’s highest point. We passed a watering hole favoured by the resident ponies owned by the Long Mynd Commoners…

Wild ponies, Long Mynd

…and enjoyed the view westwards across the plateau. Pollen evidence suggests that trees here began to be replaced by grassland in the Bronze Age though the earliest written evidence of the management of common grazing is from the 13th Century.

Looking west on the Long Mynd

We reached the shooting butts where the path meets The Burway, one of two ancient tracks across the Long Mynd, now tarmac-ed but narrow. The leaders of the D of E Award groups were parked there checking off their charges as they came through.

Crossing the Burway, we turned half right onto a section of the Cross Britain Way, a description if the route, not the state of the nation. Not particularly well known (not yet, anyway), the walk was created (appropriately under the circumstances) to raise money for Macmillan Cancer Support. Stretching 550km from Boston on the North Sea to Barmouth on the Welsh coast it includes a remarkable variety of countryside.

Once out of sight of the car park we paused for coffee.

Coffee break - in this picture I am represented by my glasses case

A Gentle Descent to Bridges

Refreshed we continued along the Cross Britain Way as it began to slowly descend…

The Cross Britain Way starts to descend

…giving views into the gentler valleys on the western side.

Valley on the western side of the Long Mynd

The descent took a while to become persistent, …

On the Cross Britain Way

… but as we dropped off the plateau, we began to encounter more trees and sheep.

Leaving the Long Mynd plateau

And, at the hamlet of Coates, a minor road. Here we re-encountered a D of E Award group still mithering about navigation and seeking advice from a local.

The last kilometre of the descent to Bridges and its eponymous pub was on tarmac, along a shady, and occasionally quite steep lane.

A shady lane down to Bridges

The Bridges, Bridges

The Bridges has recently re-opened under new management. There are plans afoot but for the moment they have a limited menu at highish prices. They are already growing their own salad vegetables and Alison, Anne and I ate fresh crisp leaves, baby broad beans and courgettes, crumbed (real) Lancashire cheese with a well-made vinaigrette. It stood out among pub salads. Francis having harumphed at the prices on line, brought a packed lunch but was too polite to eat it sitting in the pub garden, a pleasant shady spot beside a stream.

Alison, me and Anne waiting for lunch in the Bridges Garden
Photo by Francis, so for once I am representing myself

Beside the Darnford Brook and up the Betchcott Hills

Bridges lives up to its name sitting on the confluence of the Darnford Brook and an apparently unnamed stream which join to form the River East Onny. It is all very small scale, and at the first of a cluster of minor road junctions we left the Cross Britain Way and joined the Shropshire Way.

Onto the Shropshire Way

The route soon leaves the tarmac to follow the line of the Darnford Brook…

Shropshire Way above the Darnford Brook

…a minor stream crossed by a few bridges of unknown antiquity.

The Darnford Brook and old bridge: photo Alison

The path varies in size, but sticks to the brook, passing the hamlet of Ratlinghope – which the Shropshire Star assures me is pronounced ‘Rachup.’ – on the far side of the stream.

Continuing beside the Darnford Brook

A kilometre or so later the path continued to follow the line of the stream while rising gently along the flank of Ratlinghope Hill. At first we had ignored the rising path but realised our error when the streamside path petered out. Others had clearly made the same mistake as many boots had climbed the bank to the correct path. As he ascended, I noticed that Francis was not looking his usual sure-footed self.

The gently rising path up Ratlinghope Hill

We continued to climb gently but steadily with Francis, normally in the lead, taking up the unaccustomed position of back-marker. When he started to tail off, we called a halt. Francis had missed his lunch and was running on empty, so we sat beside the path in pleasant sunshine while he filled himself with water and sandwiches.

Francis works on his recovery plan. In this photo I am represented by my pack and poles

With Francis sufficiently revived, we continued the climb to the end of Ratlinghope Hill.

Approaching the end of Ratlinghope Hill

And found our way into a fold known as Golden Valley. Climbing the valley brought us to the Portway – the other ancient track across the Long Mynd, and the main ridge of the Betchcott Hills. It had been a long, gentle and almost effortless climb from Bridges at 240m up to 400m.

Looking down Golden Valley from the top

Golden Valley is obviously green, not gold, but on a warm sunny day it is easy to forget why it is so green. Alison’s picture of a lychen encrusted finger post reminded us we were lucky to have picked such a fine, dry day.

Lichen encrusted Finger post pointing up Golden Valley. Photo; Alison

Over Betchcott Hill and Other Nameless but Higher Summits

We took a brief break before passing through the gate onto the Portway and turning right toward the summit of Betchcott Hill only 14m above us and 450m distant.

A brief rest before going through the gate onto the Portway

Maybe I was a little naïve, but I believed that as the only named hill, and with a trig point to boot, this would be the highest point of the afternoon. Foolish fellow, had I been carrying a map I could have seen that following the Portway we would descend and then climb to 440m+ twice in the next two kilometres to reach a high point near a small wood called High Park.

Up and down on the Portway

I found the up and down on a wide straight path a little dull and hence arduous, though it was redeemed by views to the north across flat agricultural land to where The Wrekin lurked in the mist.

Looking across the plain to The Wrekin

Descent to All Stretton, Tea and Cakes

We started to descend….

Starting the descent

….soon reaching a broad green sward; a delight to walk over. In front of us was a sharp drop into the Stretton Valley and beyond that Caer Caradoc (one of several alleged locations of Caradoc’s last stand against the invading Romans) and to the left the lower ridge of The Lawley.

Across a sward towards Caer Caradoc

At one point Alison and Francis seemed to be engaged on a socially distanced march towards a precipice.

A socially distanced march towards a precipice? Photo Anne

There was, of course, no precipice - a minor road makes a relatively gentle descent into All Stretton - but Alison had suggested that for us there was a better route down a narrow valley to our right which would deliver us to exactly the right spot in All Stretton.

Turning right we crossed the sward and reached what was little more than a crack in the grassland. I looked into it. ‘That’s a vertical rockface,’ I said to myself ‘We can’t go down there.’

Francis, now fully recovered, stepped forward and started the descent like he was going down his stairs at home. Apparently, it was not vertical! We all had to follow, some with alacrity, others (me and I think Anne who had been notably unfazed by anything else the day had thrown at her) with more trepidation. Walking poles are, of course, sports equipment and thus entirely different from a walking stick. I find them invaluable in hilly terrain, providing extra power uphill, and downhill braking (my knees announced their retirement from that job two decades ago). Here, though, I used them primarily to maintain my balance - just like two old man’s walking sticks.

For reasons of self-preservation, I took no photos until past the difficult bit and the path, though still rough and narrow, was no longer precipitous.

After the difficult part of the descent

Once we had reached the bottom it was a simple stroll into All Stretton arriving almost immediately at Alison’s B&B where partner Morgan had laid on cakes, strawberries and tea, God bless her.

An easy walk into All Stretton to finish

She also took the team photo, Mike, Francis and me in our Macmillan shirts, Alison in her Kilimanjaro shirt (a slightly larger hill she climbed a few years back) and Anne in a University of Sheffield Swimming Club shirt. While we had been walking her son, Ed, had been participating in a cross-channel relay swim as a member of that club. They started early and finished as we did – congratulations to Ed and the rest of the team.

Team Photo

The training walks had paid off and it had been a wonderful day: good company, fine weather, the beauty of the Long Mynd and over £800 raised for Macmillan Cancer Relief. A big thank you to all those who made donations.

Aqualate Mere and Norbury Junction

The A519 from Eccleshall to Newport runs along a low ridge as it approaches Shropshire. I had arranged to meet Mike in Sutton, one of the villages on that ridge but finding nowhere to stop on the main road, I was forced to wander a little. I eventually found him parked on the verge where the minor road to Gnosall flattens out at the bottom of the ridge.

After two very cold days, Wednesday was considerably milder and we set off along the base of the ridge optimistic that the rain would hold off.



Across fields towards Forton

A kilometre across rough fields brought us to Forton, the next village along the ridge, the path coming out on the minor road beside All Saints church. First built in the 12th century, much of the present church is the result of an 18th century remodelling. It remains a handsome building of dressed sandstone.



All Saints, Forton

Forton Hall next door is also a handsome building. It was constructed in 1655 by Edwin Skrymsher (and more of the Skrymsher family later) for the cost of £100 – less than I paid for my walking boots.



Forton Hall - cheaper than a pair of boots

We strolled down the lane from Forton to Meretown, crossing a bridge that spans the defunct Newport arm of the Shropshire Union Canal and the River Meese at the same point. We paused on the bridge trying to understand how it all worked. The aqueduct built in 1833 to carry the canal over the river has gone, and the site is further complicated by an extra stream which we decided must be a mill race. According to Staffordshire Past Track, the dilapidated building by the stream was Meretown Mill, a 16th or 17th century construction, though there is documentary evidence of a mill being here since before the Norman invasion.



The remains of Meretown Mill hidden among the trees

Meretown is a hamlet today, but was an important centre in medieval times. The Domesday book describes Forton as being part of the manor of Mere, which had a fishery worth 4000 eels.

We left the road and crossed the boggy land towards the western end of Aqualate Mere, the source of those eels. The path was mainly dry, though in places we were glad the wet grass and mud were still frozen, allowing us to walk on the top of the ground rather than slog through the mire.



Mike and a tree, near Aqualate Mere

Aqualate Mere is the largest natural lake in the West Midlands (admittedly hardly a region famed for its lakes). A kettle lake formed by glacial melt water some 50,000 years ago, it is 1.5 km long, 0.5 km wide but nowhere more than a metre deep. The same glaciation formed the esker along the northern bank. The area is part of the private Aqualate Estate, but the lake itself and the wetlands to its west and north are a National Nature Reserve.

We made our way between two drains, past a wood and then back across the River Meese on a footbridge just to the east of the lake; the slow moving waters still carrying a film of ice. Here reed beds obscured our view of the lake, while from the north it is hidden by the gravel bank of the esker.



Reed beds on the River Meese

 We failed to spot any of what Natural England calls Aqualate’s ‘star species’; bitterns, ospreys or reed warblers (not that either of us would have recognised a reed warbler if we had trodden on it), but we did watch two geese launching themselves into the air some fifty metres ahead of us. Smaller than the common Canada geese with well-defined black and white markings, I am confident(ish) that they were barnacle geese, winter residents in British coastal regions, but occasionally seen this far inland.

As we paused for a standing coffee (it was too wet to sit) a group of roe deer came bounding round the edge of the wood and ran towards us. At first they seemed heedless of our presence, but as I stooped to pick up my camera they paused and sniffed the air. They disappeared, unphotographed, as quickly as they had arrived.

At other times of the year the wood at the southern end of the mere has a magnificent display of bluebells. It was only from here that we caught sight of the lake at all, a slate grey expanse beyond the trees, an optical illusion making it appear to be slightly above us.



There will be bluebells here - in a few months time.
The lake is somewhere off to the right

The lake is clearly visible only from Aqualate Hall and the private parkland to the south. The first hall was built in the 16th century by Thomas Skrymsher and rebuilt by Edwin Skrymsher (of Forton Hall) in the 17th.  It passed to the Boughey family in the late 18th century, was rebuilt again and then, in 1910, burnt down. The current hall, constructed in 1930, is hidden from the curious passing walker.

 Beyond the lake we studied the map and our watches and decided a direct route towards lunch would be appropriate. We turned north, through the woods and then over fields to the interestingly named Guild of Monks Farm, once the property of the Benedictine Abbey of Shrewsbury. From there we followed the Humesford Brook and then crossed more fields to the lane below the Shropshire Union canal.



The little valley of the Humesford Brook

The canal here runs along a high embankment. We could have walked along the tow path, but did not fancy the upward scramble. Eventually the road ducks under the canal before rising to canal level at Norbury Junction.

Narrow boats moored at Norbury Junction

Norbury Junction no longer lives up to its name, the ‘Newport arm’ used to head off eastwards from here, but is now the dry canal we had crossed at Meretown. It remains busy though, dozens of narrow boat, some of them permanent homes, are moored along the canal, while the junction itself is a crowded marina. Few narrow boats are hired out in January, but there is cleaning and painting to do, so there are enough people about to justify the continued existence of the Junction Arms, which fed us an excellent sausage baguette and a couple of pints of Soggy Bottom (a Jennings Brewery offering from the soggy bottomless pit of ridiculous beer names)



Norbury Junction

It felt colder when we left the pub, but maybe it was just the effect of going outside. We considered taking the direct route to Sutton, but decided that would be lazy so, despite the threatening clouds, we re-crossed the canal and took the path towards Norbury manor. The right-of-way runs along a private road as far as the current Norbury manor with its neat outhouses and barn conversions. A little further on we passed the moated base of the original manor.



The moated base of the old Norbury Manor

Built around 1300 the manor was acquired by Thomas Skrymsher – yes, them again - in 1521. To see an engraving of how this spot looked in 1686, click here. Later acquired by the Anson family of Shugborough, the manor gradually became a ruin and was demolished in 1838. Its stones were used in the construction of the present manor, visible in the background in this picture.



The old and the current Norbury Manor

The path, now a farm track, rose steeply to join the A519. The threatening clouds had dispersed and it was even possible for an optimist to discern a little blue in the sky. We again crossed the canal, here in a deep cutting, and after a couple of hundred metres of traffic fumes, we thankfully turned down the lane to Norbury.

The poet Richard Barnfield was born here. He was an associate of and occasional collaborator with Shakespeare, though Barnfield’s poetry is more notable for its openly homosexual content than its quality.
 

Looking south from Oulton

From Norbury we crossed the fields to the hamlet of Oulton on the edge of the ridge. We descended and turned west heading towards the distant Wrekin. More field paths brought us back to the lane below Sutton, joining it where it meets the Via Devana, the Roman road from Colchester to Chester. The lane is remarkably straight where it coincides with the Roman road, but where it turns to gently ascend the ridge, the Roman road marches straight up it. There is nothing currently above ground to show the presence of Roman engineering.

Two hundred metres along the lane brought us back to our cars with an hour or so daylight left, a temperature still above zero and the rain still holding off. All in all, a good day out.

Approximate Distance: 15 km