“Why do I go hiking in England in December anyway”, I’m thinking to myself as we try to make our way through a field into the Shropshire Hills, on a path that has in its entirety turned into mud. I have just ripped my hiking trousers while trying to climb over a wired fence in an attempt to get back onto the path. Just a little further and we’re on the Pole Bank Walk, taking us to the top of the Long Mynd.
The Shropshire Hills are classified an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in England, and rightly so. With rolling hills, farmland, forests and river valleys extending to the Welsh border, it’s about as charming as it gets – even on a mostly misty and rainy, early-December weekend.
We’re staying in the All Stretton Bunkhouse in Church Stretton, also referred to as ‘Little Switzerland’ according to Wikipedia. The bunkhouse has just about enough space for the twelve Rockhoppers from the namesake mountaineering club paying a visit. Since Lisa, Amy and myself are the only other female Rockhoppers this weekend, the chivalrous guys let us choose where we want to sleep and consequently, the smallest yet cosiest room is being declared the female dorm for the weekend.
The comfortable little bunkhouse has everything a hiker needs – from a small kitchen with table and chairs to socialise (including floor heating!) as well as a drying room. When we get to the bunkhouse from London, fed from a snack at the service station, most of the other Rockhoppers are already in the kitchen, enjoying some beers and a live music session featuring ukulele and guitars, which we happily join.
The next morning, after a short bus journey from Church Stretton and a muddy ascent to the Pole Bank Walk, we are walking into a thick mist, which completely disguises the famous views from the Shropshire Hills. As much as I love hiking, I’m finding it hard to stay cheerful. Our muffled steps take us through a cloud of mist, with only a little bit of view around us, and a constant albeit light drizzle upon us. I regret not having taken a dry bag for my camera but thankfully, Craig offers to put it into his backpack. The path ahead is relatively straight and surrounded by bush land, most of it bracken, as far as the eye can see in the mist. But a few hours into the hike, the sky finally clears and we’re rewarded with some of the most stunning scenery I have seen thus far in the UK: The rolling hills in front of us are covered in bracken, its redness being intensified by the setting sun. Sheep are flocking the hills as we are descending back to the bunkhouse.
We’re all dying for a nice pint of beer and some pub food in the village. The Kings Arms, dating back to 1593, is the perfect location for a night cab, as we discover. As usual, I like to try a local brew when in a different location and the Shropshire craft lager “Green Monkey” from Joule’s Brewery is right up my alley with its fresh and crispy taste.
The next day, it’s already time to leave the lovely Shropshire Hills but not without a last little hike, this time into the opposite direction. As we walk towards Comley, we encounter a lot of people doing a “fell run”. A fell is another name for a hill, and the so-called fell runners are shooting down the steep slope in what looks like a bone-breaking speed.
On top of the hills, it’s the perfect spot for a scenic lunch before we make our way back to the bunkhouse to return to London.
