by Eli Karplus

At Bowness-on-Solway, before taking our first proper steps along Hadrian’s Wall Path, my wife Andrea, our thirteen-year-old son Finn and I each picked up a pebble from the shore.

Finn would like me to clarify that these were pebbles, not enormous rocks that we heroically hauled across England. We were carrying perhaps thirty grams of geology apiece.

This was exactly the sort of ceremonial quest I had come for.

I studied classics and Latin when I was young, so Hadrian’s Wall had lived in my imagination for decades. Walking beside it felt partly like travelling back nearly two thousand years – and partly like travelling back to being fourteen, reading about Roman Britain in my schoolbooks.

Andrea and Finn did not necessarily share my desire to examine every ancient stone. Finn’s considered archaeological opinion was often: “It’s a brick.”

“You’re a nerd,” he explained.

Fair enough.

We had chosen Hillwalk’s 8-day Challenging tour, with six substantial walking days from Bowness to Wallsend. I wanted to cover the whole route on foot. Andrea and Finn preferred a more humane interpretation of “holiday”, so we developed a flexible system: walk together, separate when appropriate, use a bus or taxi, and reunite farther along.

If I was the legionary stubbornly marching east, Andrea was the sensible quartermaster keeping the family campaign operational.

The first day followed the flat, windy Solway coast towards Carlisle. It was not the dramatic Wall country of the postcards. There were fields, livestock, roads and a great deal of open sky. But we had the excitement of beginning, our pebbles in our pockets and the acorn waymarkers pointing us east.

The acorns became reassuring little friends. Navigation was generally so simple that we could devote our attention to more pressing questions: Why did Finn hate both the taste of the water and the electrolyte tablet intended to improve it? How much cow manure can one path contain? And does an “honesty stall” equipped with CCTV still count as an honesty stall? (Honesty Stalls refer to shops along the trail where you can serve yourself. There will not generally be any staff present, they are often associated with farms and can also be called Honesty Shops.)

At the Greyhound Inn, we stopped for chips. Andrea thought they were too thick – too much inner potato. Finn strongly disputed this analysis. I had a pint and some English mustard, so I considered the lunch an unqualified success.

While waiting for the bus to Carlisle, Finn performed Michael Jackson songs and dance moves. Then Andrea and Finn rode ahead while I continued walking. This became our pattern: the trip was shared, even when the mileage was not identical.

The following day brought serious rain. My waterproof jacket worked beautifully. My completely non-waterproof shoes did not. For several days my upper body remained impressively dry while my feet became a mobile wetland of international significance.

This was my one major equipment mistake. By the time we reached Layside, my shoes, socks and feet had developed an atmosphere of their own.

But the rain also accompanied the moment when the history began to appear physically in the landscape. At first we kept asking, “Is that the Wall?” Then the fragments grew into recognisable turrets, milecastles and substantial stretches of stone. At Hare Hill and Banks, there was no longer any doubt.

To me, this was thrilling: Roman engineering emerging from the grass after nearly two millennia.

To Finn, it remained – at least occasionally – some bricks in a field.

Andrea and Finn rejoined me at Hayton Gate, hiding near an honesty hut and jumping out as I arrived. The hut sold shirts reading “Had Rain” and “I Came, I Saw, I Blistered”. We ate, shared a little whisky from my flask and practised the useful pseudo-Latin phrase semper ubi sub ubi – always wear underwear.

The educational value of the trip was becoming undeniable.

That was also our longest day. My tracker recorded more than 34 kilometres once we included wrong turns, accommodation links and the supposedly short walk “just down the road” to dinner. After reaching Brookside Villa exhausted, we still had to walk to the Samson Inn.

Our hosts assured us the pub was “just down the road”. To Finn, the road appeared to be Route 66.

Fortunately, the dinner was worth it. The chef greeted the challenge of feeding three vegans with enthusiasm and produced a substantial meal when we most needed one. Rural walking taught us not to assume that suitable food would materialise at precisely the right moment. Packed lunches, snacks and advance arrangements were essential. The gods help those who help themselves to hummus.

The heart of the journey came during the next two days, between Gilsland, Housesteads and Corbridge.

Here the Wall climbed over the crags in long, beautiful lines, dropping sharply into gaps and rising again. The weather moved rapidly across the open country. There were dark clouds, high winds, lakes below us and sheep scattered over hills that seemed almost designed to display Roman masonry.

The walking was demanding, but magnificent.

Andrea and Finn visited Vindolanda while I continued along the trail. Andrea was especially fascinated by the sandals and writing tablets; Finn’s review was less expansive. They later joined me for the final stretch towards Housesteads, where our encounter with Roman civilisation included trying on helmets, eating vegan ice cream and discussing the mechanics of ancient communal latrines.

History comes alive in different ways.

That evening we stayed at Layside, in private rooms with huge windows looking across the countryside. Finn could see sheep from his bed. Sophie and Kevin delivered a specially prepared vegan cottage pie, salad, dessert and beer directly to our rooms.

After rain, wind, hills and Roman toilets, it felt astonishingly luxurious. Even my shoes could not entirely defeat the atmosphere.

The following morning, our packed lunches were so generous they nearly required their own luggage transfer. We returned to Housesteads and walked east through what I consider the finest section of the route. After lunch together beside the trail, Andrea and Finn travelled ahead while I continued towards Corbridge.

That flexibility was what made the holiday work. Hillwalk had arranged the accommodation and moved our luggage, the route was well marked, and we could adjust individual days without turning every decision into a logistical crisis. Nobody had to prove anything by walking exactly the same number of kilometres.

East of the central crags, the visible Wall gradually receded. There were horses, fields of grain, reservoirs, roads and eventually the River Tyne. These were not always the most photogenic kilometres, but they mattered. Crossing a country on foot means seeing its ordinary, working and urban landscapes, not teleporting between highlights.

By the final morning, I had run out of clean shirts and put my SPQR T-shirt back on – the same one I had worn at the beginning. We walked together beside the Tyne towards Wallsend, passing bridges, football grounds, public art and increasingly urban scenery.

Finn walked the entire final stage.

At Segedunum, we reached the completion marker and took the photograph we had been approaching for six days. We were proud, tired and affectionate. Finn found the gift shop disappointing, although he did manage to acquire a small catapult.

Great quests still end in retail.

Then we took the Metro to Whitley Bay. Later that evening, we finally carried our three pebbles down to the North Sea.

Finn did not deliver a speech. He simply tossed his over the edge. Andrea threw hers, then I threw mine. Three small stones had crossed England, sometimes on foot and sometimes – like sensible family members – by bus or taxi.

The next morning I woke absurdly early and walked along the coast at sunrise. The week settled in my mind: the Roman stones, wet feet, acorn signs, packed lunches, donkeys, sheep, whisky, taxis, jokes, steep climbs and repeated family reunions.

When I later asked Finn for his favourite part, he initially said “flying home”. Under questioning, he also praised Kevin’s dinner, the sheep outside his room and the Spider-Man film we watched while waiting for our flight.

Children are useful travel companions. They prevent you from mistaking your grand personal narrative for the only version of events.

We did not walk the same distances or love the same things. But we travelled from one sea to another, carried our pebbles across England and made the journey into a family story.

That was the real quest.

Eli Karplus and his family booked an 8 Day Challenging Hadrian’s Wall West to East hiking holiday with Hillwalk Tours. The writer received a gift voucher as a thank-you for sharing their story.