Showing posts with label Shropshire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shropshire. Show all posts

Friday, 10 November 2017

Shropshire Hills: Caer Caradoc

There must be something in the beer in Shropshire. Normally, two walks in the same weekend would be a "hard sell" but by the time we were finishing our shandies, I'd clinched an unprecedented second walk in the same day and achieved it without bringing the next day's hiking plans to the negotiating table.

To be honest, our exploration of the Long Mynd hadn't been particularly strenuous - and we were spurred on partly by the increasingly fine weather and by Caer Caradoc itself. In terms of size it's a fairly modest hill but its prominence and the outcrops of ancient, Precambrian rock along its ridge make it alluring aesthetically. It had caught the attention of both of us as we approached Church Stretton that morning. In addition, the historical interest of the hill is more than geological, as an extensive set of earthworks lie around the summit, the remains of an substantial Iron Age hill fort.

We set off out from the town over the railway line and then across the thunderously busy A49. It was a relief to leave this behind and turn onto a quiet residential road, Watling Street North. This was named after an ancient track that had once passed through the valley, which had subsequently been paved by the Romans when they occupied the region. Eventually we came to a narrow thoroughfare that led to New House Farm and this we took, wondering where we'd squeeze ourselves in its neatly cropped hedges should a tractor come rolling along.
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Thursday, 26 October 2017

Shropshire Hills: Long Mynd

I've only been to Shropshire a few times and none of those trips involved any serious walking, having been mostly devoted to sight-seeing in Much Wenlock and Ironbridge. We live not far from Shining Tor, which was one of our regular spots for short evening walks over the summer, and The Wrekin became something to look out for as the sun began to set.

The Wrekin from Shining Tor.
It was usually rather indistinct so far south-west across the Cheshire and North Shropshire Plains but it was still a singular presence on the horizon, enough to pique my interest in exploring the Shropshire Hills.

An unusually cheap hotel deal in Telford allowed us to extend the proposed day trip into an overnight stay and thus one walk became two - which in turn meant two new OS maps to add to the collection and what's not to like about that? After an early and turbulent start (the latter mainly due to me "losing" my phone twice in quick succession as we were about to leave the house), we set off into the weekend. The remnants of Hurricane Ophelia were heading across the Atlantic but we'd been promised a brief oasis of mostly fine conditions in Shropshire before the weather system made landfall.
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Wednesday, 27 July 2016

Ironbridge and Coalport

This post is not a trip report on hiking as such but a tribute to my late Grandma, who sadly passed away a couple of weeks ago and whose funeral was earlier this week. She was aged 92 when we lost her and she will leave a huge gap in the hearts of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, not to mention in the hearts of her own friends and in those of the family friends, whose lives she touched.

Grandma in her youth.
I picked Ironbridge because it's somewhere that I'll always associate with my Grandma and because she was very fond of the place. It is in itself a lovely village, with lots of history, and well worth visiting. We'd been there before but in light of Grandma's passing and for the purpose of writing this tribute we re-visited again this weekend and took a ramble around part of the gorge - which is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site - to explore some of the places she would have known as a youngster keen on walking.

My Grandma was born in 1924 and was to remain an only child. Much to her mother's dismay, her father went off to the Registry Office without consultation and registered her forenames as Lilian Barbara. The result for him, according to my Grandma, was not pretty - my great-grandmother strictly forbade use of the name Lilian by anyone, including Grandma herself, and for the next 92 years, she was known as Barbara or Babs.
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