Aching in the Eildon Hills
By: Richard J. Goodrich
Tags: Christianity, Outdoors, Religion And Spirituality, Travel, History

I may have given the trail designers too much credit: a later examination of the map reveals that we could have detoured around the base of the Eildon Hills and arrived at the same spot on the other side — a grove of beech trees — without little effort. I can’t help but believe that Cuthbert would have opted for the more sensible (flat) course.

On the other hand, Bede suggests that Cuthbert was a creature of these mountains, roaming the slopes, preaching, teaching, and spreading the Gospel among the Anglo-Saxons who had settled here. His fame spread to such an extent that an Abbess named Ebbe begged Cuthbert to visit her monastery in Coldingham in order to offer instruction to the monks and nuns who lived under her guidance. Cuthbert did not want to reject the entreaties of such a distinguished lady (she was the daughter of Aethelfrith, first king of Northumbria), and so he traveled to Coldingham.

Cuthbert’s ascetic practices, like the trail named after him, were rigorous; the sisters and brothers living at Coldingham were reputed to be a bit soft. Although they had withdrawn from the world, they still enjoyed a luxurious lifestyle. Cuthbert spent a few days at Coldingham, watching and taking note. Their ascetic practices did not rise to his lofty standards, so he began to slip away at night to exercise his spirit in private.

His absences were noted by the monks and nuns at Coldingham. One evening, a monk spotted Cuthbert slipping into the night. He assumed the worst: Cuthbert must be on his way to a romantic tryst. The monk decided to follow the visitor and expose him as a pious fraud. Much to his surprise, Cuthbert marched straight to the beach, waded into the frigid waters of the North Sea, and did not stop walking until he had immersed himself to his neck. Then, following the Irish custom, he spent the night in prayer, arms raised above the waterline.

When dawn touched the eastern sky, Cuthbert waded back to the shore. A pair of otters followed, frolicking in his wake. The two animals took turns rubbing Cuthbert, drying him with their soft fir. After they had completed their task, the saint blessed them, and then returned to the monastery in time to share the morning office with the brothers.

I suppose the moral of the story is that Cuthbert never avoided hardship: maybe he would have chosen the steep and taxing way.

The Eildon Hills, now (thankfully) behind us. Author photo.

Having descended like Moses from the mountains, we pass through a wood and decide to have our lunch at a picnic table on the outskirts of Bowden, the first village on our trek. This land once belonged to the Kelso Abbey, and later was the ancestral home of Scotland’s Ker family. There’s not much here today. We don’t linger.

From Bowden the trail follows a ridge through a rural landscape. We hike along a watercourse, the Bowden Burn, which leads us into our first major town, Newtown St Boswells. As its name suggests, Newtown St Boswells is a “new town,” only dating back to the sixteenth century. I don’t know if we are simply caught up in the moment, or if Newtown has little to recommend it, but we do not stop. Up over another hill, through a dilapidated residential district, and then, with a sigh of relief, back into open country.

Pastoral Landscapes, Saint Cuthbert’s Way, Scotland. Author photo.

Eventually we reach the Tweed River, which will be our companion for several hours this afternoon. I find the path along the river a bit trying: the trail attempts to stay close to the water, but in doing so, continually gains and loses elevation. It is like walking a roller coaster track, up and down, dodge left, shunt right. Moreover, it is a narrow path — more deer run than trail — and finding a flat place upon which to set my feet requires an annoying degree of alertness.

In places the river grows shallow and accelerates, water scraping across spreading files of rapids and pebble bars.

Then one last big push and we are back in civilization again. St Boswells, a tiny town that shares its High Street with St Cuthbert’s Way. It feels like it should be enough, but our day is not over yet.