He Said:
We had perfect weather for hiking today, especially for hiking uphill. The sun was shining, the birds were out, a breeze was blowing, strong on the ridges and slight in the valleys. A bright day is great when it’s not hot, we had views for miles and it does not seem like the same country as it did a few days ago. Ah, but that can change.
There were two significant uphill sections today, the first was on ‘The Lawley’, and the second and most significant climb was to the top of Caer Caradoc Hill; about 500 meters in elevation. I loved the spring in the air and in the birds soaring both above and below.
As we neared the top, we were both thinking about the Briton chieftain, Caractacus, making his last stand against the Romans on the top hill fort that bears his name, but in the end, the Romans prevailed. The top of this hill is very isolated from the warmth and comfort of the valleys below. I suppose the Romans had more men and more time as they closed in on the windy top.
She Said:
A few words about our hotel, The Castle Hotel -
The Hotel stands on land, that in Saxon times, was owned by Edmund Shakeshead - who got his name from the violent tremors induced by the palsy(!). He was miraculously cured of the disease at the tomb of St. Ethelbert (hey, Sibs, remember Sister Ethelbert at St. Francis School?) in Hereford Cathedral. Edmund expressed his gratitude by giving a huge chunk of land in Bishop's Castle to the bishops of Hereford, in perpetuity.
Twenty years after the Norman Conquest, the Bishop of Hereford built a Castle here to defend the Church and town from, you guessed it, the marauding Welsh.
When peace finally came to the Welsh Marches (bordering land between England and Wales), Bishop's Castle became one of the notoriously electorally corrupt "rotten boroughs" (satirized in the old BBC show Blackadder).
Note: Later, a future owner of the Castle Hotel, Robert Clive (1725-1774) was one of several local landowners that spent buckets of $ buying votes.
In 1618, the Castle started to fall apart and in the early 18th c. the Keep and surroundings were flattened to make a Bowling Green (still here today - right out the back door of the Hotel.)
In 1719, The Castle Hotel was constructed over the site of the old Castle.
In 1744, the son (Henry, 2nd Duke of Chandos) of the owner was drawn away from his dinner one night by a commotion in the courtyard below (still here today - just outside the front door of the Hotel) where a coarse and brutish servant named Jeffries was auctioning off his wife (!) Henry went down to watch the fun, was so impressed by the wife's beauty and dignity in contrast to her husband's meanness and brutality, that he bought her, married her, and they were happy ever after until she died 15 years later.
Henry's father sold the Castle Hotel to John Walcot who sold the Hotel to Robert Clive (above mentioned corrupt and fabulously wealthy vote-buyer) who died so his son, Edward, inherited the Hotel. In 1848, he died when his accident prone son (known as Edward the Unfortunate - Ha!) missed a pheasant and shot his father. He became the 3rd Earl of Powis, owned estates totally 60,000 acres, and was worth about £3 million in today's money.
So, since 1719, The Castle Hotel has been welcoming guests, in one way or another.
In 2013, it was awarded the UK Small Hotel of the Year by the UK Tourism and Leisure Awards.
This next bit is kind of long, but so outrageous I have to include it:
Jack Mytton (1796-1834), the Hotel's most eccentric guest, was the Squire of Halston. He lived "a short life but a merry one." He hunted naked, and often set his horse to impossibly high fences and threw banknotes to the populace as he passed. He drove his gig (carriage) at high speeds ito rabbit warrens to see if it would overturn, ran races with the clouds and once tried to jump a tollbooth in his phaeton. He wagered a friend he could beat him home, gave the guy a 15 min. head start and still beat him by 3 min. by taking a shortcut through a deep lake. He never learned to swim, but his horse knew how, so they both survived. The Castle Hotel loved him because he spent $ with reckless abandon. He would often drink, in an evening, 8 bottles of port and as many of brandy. He once entered his dinner party riding a bear. In the space of 15 years he blew through his sizable inheritance and mortgaged his income beyond repair. Returning from a race one night, he fell asleep while counting his winnings and woke up to find that it had all blown out the window of his coach. He found himself a debtor in the King's Bench Prison, where in 1834, at the age of 38, he died after setting fire to his nightshirt in an attempt to cure himself of the hiccups. His last words were: "Well, the hiccups is gone, by God!"
More taxi driver news:
He drives motorcycles at high speeds with a couple of guys from Bishop's Castle that compete in the Ironman motorcycle event. He wears some serious gold chain jewelry and his watch could probably launch the Shuttle. He is pumped to the max with biceps the size of melons. At the same time, he is a sweet guy with deep thoughts. Go figure.
Today's walk started at The Lawley, so named for the place, Lawley. We immediately climbed up "the spine of the humpbacked whale" for fantastic views. Lots of sun today, warmer temps and less wind. A glorious day for hiking.
Yesterday I felt the beginnings of what might be my annual UK walking trip cold. A scratchy throat. Some nose issues. Hope not, but, knowing this symptom and knowing my body, this is usually a progression rather than a regression.
We shall see.
R has accurately diagnosed another ailment of mine - Hill Whining. (Hiker Ladies - L, S, H and H - you already know I have this). R feels I have Chronic Hill Whining that can advance to Acute Hill Whining, depending on the incline of the hill and the time during the hike that the hill shows up. A hill at near the end of the hike usually brings on Acute Hill Whining. There is no cure. However, we have learned that a Buttery Chardonnay ingested as soon as possible after the end of the hike is an effective treatment.
We made it up to the "hump" of the whale, and I have to say, I was knackered.
The was a young guy at the top who had ridden his mountain bike up the other side. Yikes. R had a brief chat with him about Danny McCaskle, an extreme mountain bike rider, and even the kid called Danny "a right crazy one."
There was some wind today, but nothing like previous days. The wind on the winter wheat in the fields below the hills made the wheat look like rippling water - so beautiful.
We came upon a farm and walked by a pasture where 11 curious cows came down from the other side and lined up perfectly, side by side, to check us out (as we were checking them out.) Too funny. R took pictures.
Next up (literally) was Caer Caradoc, 560 million year old hills with prehistoric field systems and an Iron Age hill fort at the top. Caradoc made his last stand here against the Roman Legions. Unfortunately, he lost and was sentenced to death and brought to Rome to be executed. He gave such a moving speech that he was pardoned and was made a citizen of Rome.
We ate 1st lunch on another pile of rocks just below the Hill Fort and watched flying saucer-shaped clouds float by.
At Caradoc's Hill Fort, the ramparts were very pronounced, even now. It was not hard to imagine a wild defense mounted against a wild attack (though R thinks the Romans probably just waited and starved Caradoc out.) We have seen and climbed around many Hill Forts in our UK travels and Caradoc seems to command the best positions. You can see for, literally, miles and miles and miles and miles.
What goes up, must come down. A very steep and tough descent. Had to do a lot of traversing and still my knees were screaming. We opted for an alternative final route into Church Stretton to give our knees a break. This is where Ordinance Survey maps come in handy (and a husband who can read them.)
Once we came down off the hills and headed into Church Stretton, the cars on the roads (little roads and little cars) sounded so loud after the quiet of the hills and the peace of the countryside.
Church Stretton is a great little town with a bustling High Street. Good shops and even a hardware store (R is repairing a handle on his suitcase and found the exact right bolts.)
St. Laurence Church is the parish church for Church Stretton. It is a Norman Church, from 1110. There is a sheela-na-gig (a female pagan fertility figure, carved in stone), above one of the doors. Probably inserted into the original Norman walls by the local Anglo-Saxon building workers who still retained some belief in pagan practices.
We sometimes see the Green Man, another pagan symbol for the earth and the woods, hidden in wood carvings in Churches, too.
Our taxi driver, Rus, picked us up at a National Trust Visitors Center and drove us up to a hang gliding/paragliding spot with long views out over the countryside. Pretty spectacular.
We ate dinner downstairs in the pub. Wow, what a meal. English Pub food has come a long way since our early days of visiting the UK. It used to be all Shepherds Pie and mushy peas. Tonight we had a good local, dark beer (R) from the Three Tuns Brewery, est. 1642 and the oldest brewery in England, and I had a very good Chardonnay from Argentina, followed by an olive and bread starter followed by a hake, feta and tomato main. Dessert was over the top, just how dessert should be. R had a vanilla cheesecake with lemon crunch ice cream for dessert and I dove into a warm chocolate brownie with vanilla bean ice cream.
We are now in our room, sitting on the bed in our underwear, happily burping and farting.
God, I love vacations.
Walking up and over the The Lawley
Near the top
Looking over to the next climb: Caer Caradoc Hill
the curious cows in line along an electric fence in the valley
E gives a sign of her approval of the route up Caer Caradoc Hill
At the top of the ancient hill fort
The descent down to the valley
Then into Church Stretton
Back at our hotel have a beer brewed by the oldest brewer in the UK
and a dinner
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