Ambitions

Back in March, I reported on a trip to Melrose in Scotland. The intention then was to let himself see where I’d been with my OU writers’ group, and to finish a long-held ambition to climb the Eildon hill where Thomas the Rhymer was said to have followed the Queen of Elfland before being taken into the land of Faerie for seven years. I’d stood at the foot of the hills and looked up to the summits in the early 90’s, but hadn’t had the time to climb it. Back in March, the weather closed in almost as soon as we reached the halfway point and we retreated out of caution.

The plan was to get fitter and return in September for more than a couple of days, get up the hill and back before the weather had time to spoil the party. Two out of three ain’t bad. We arrived in Melrose on Monday, slogging through a stripe of rain to get there in bright sunshine, and made an attempt on the hill on Tuesday.

It’s sensible to plan for any serious hillwalking expedition. We had a map, a compass, food and drink, strong walking boots, waterproofs, gloves and a fleece over a lightweight T-shirt. By the time we got to the gate up to the start of the hills, fleece and waterproofs were weighing down the rucksack and didn’t go back on until long after we arrived back at the accommodation.

We took the route up through the Melrose Golf Course (yes, it’s allowed – stick to the road and watch out for golf balls for the first 440 yards), past the log cabins for hire and up St Cuthbert’s Way to the saddle between the two hills. This involves a long hike up, a section going down and then a climb up to either North Hill or Mid Hill. North Hill boasts the attraction of being the site of a Roman signal station and fort; Mid Hill was, I think, the hill that True Thomas climbed. The difference in height is minor – 404 metres to the cairn at the top of North Hill, 422 metres to the top of Mid Hill – but the route is very different. The official path to the top of North Hill is long, slow and alternates between mildly steep and fairly gentle slope, while the only route up Mid Hill from the saddle is… vertical.

We did it on our first day in Melrose – got to the top of Eildon North Hill and sat enjoying the views. I should have brought suncream and midge repellent, but hey. We chose North Hill as there were enough people on Mid Hill that day to stage a rugby match with substitutes, while just a few people were heading for North Hill. We don’t like crowds at all.

There were three people at the top when we arrived, all sitting quietly and admiring the view, so we patted the cairn to say we’d arrived and went to sit apart from them. Unpacked the food and drink and talked quietly.

We set off down the eastern slope of North Hill. Steep, but stone slabs have been laid in steps all the way down to about 200 metres from the base of the hill. We were both finding our knees creaking from the strain of going downhill, and by the time we reached the road we were both wobbly. Logical thing then is to go for a pint…

The next day was a day of holiday rest. Meaning, no strenuous hill climbing, but there’s sights to be seen and the town’s just a mile from where we’re staying. We got the chance to see the grounds of Melrose Abbey, and the chainbridge over the Tweed close up, and we walked back to the accommodation from there. So, not really a rest, but no considerable uphill walking.

The acid test was Thursday. Having left the most fearsome of the hills till now, we were hoping the weather (and our fitness) would hold up. We set off from Bowden Reservoir this time, for variety, and got as far as the path around the flank of the Mid Hill before I realised that my worst enemy was my mind.

I’m afraid of heights. Afraid to screaming at times. I love the new perspective I get from the top of a church tower or the ridge of my own house roof, but the sheer terror of getting there and getting back down means it takes me a while to appreciate it. I was fine climbing to the path and looking back down the slope to the reservoir. Fine walking around the flank through the stunted pines. It was when his feet began to slip sideways on the narrow path ahead of me – and the path is barely wide enough to put two feet side by side – that I thought of how easy it would be to slip on the gravel. When the crow flying past the hill fifty feet below us let out a ‘Yahhh! Yahh!’ I realised there was a steep slope a few inches to my left with nothing to stop me bouncing fifty metres or more to the level of the water. After that, it was all I could imagine. Falling.

Bless him, we turned back straight away. He knows that I can stand spiders, mice, wasps flying around the inside of my crash helmet while I’m driving and riding a motorcycle through fast urban traffic, but heights defeat me. We went back to the crossroads where the path headed back down and discussed.

Instead of going back down – we went east, between the Little Hill and Mid Hill. The path went down, through the woods, with Mid Hill rising up bare and high above us. It was very like the scene in ‘The Lord of the Rings’ where Frodo tells the other hobbits to ‘Get off the road!’ just before the Black Riders clop past. But sunlit. The path went up and met St Cuthbert’s Way and from there we turned uphill to the summit of the saddle between North and Mid Hills.

Here we met another walker, a lady who advised us to be very careful; that the North Hill was lovely to walk on, while the Mid Hill was scary and difficult. The scree path was steep and loose underfoot, she warned. We parted ways, and I got an entire fifty yards before realising that the slope and the potential fall were just not going to let me get up the hill. Legs and lungs were willing, but the mind was cowering under a blanket and whimpering.

There is only one official route up. The topmost 150 metres of North Hill is a bare, scrubby, steep cap with a small summit. Going up is face to the gravel; coming down, I’d have to face the gravel, edge down on all fours and hope not to skid and tumble. Better to acknowledge that I am just not able to enjoy any experience that involves heights, sheer drops and steep slopes.

On the way back, it was a good walk. We were tempted to climb Little Hill, the only truly volcanic outburst in the set, and ate lunch looking south along the flank of Wester Hill and over the plains and towns stretching back to Carter Bar and Northumberland.

I don’t think I will ever defeat my fear of heights enough to climb steep and gravelly hills or exposed castle battlements just for enjoyment. The only other reason would be to see the view, or to tick off an experience alongside all the others that day.

I’m content. I would love to climb Wester Hill one day, and walk more of St Cuthbert’s Way, but it was a successful visit.