Wylam to Scotswood We leave the Boathouse at about 9am. Early for us. There are fish leaping beneath the weir. A man tells us he saw a seal eating a salmon the previous night. I’m unsure whose side I am on.  There are arctic terns patrolling this section of the river. There is a sense of a change here where the tide reaches. The river has a new power, there is something immense about it. We remember the trickle of water at its source amongst the abandoned lead mines on the barren moor beneath Cross Fell. Light reflects from the

Corbridge to Wylam Setting off from Corbridge car park at 1.15 in the hot sun, it is busy. We are relieved by the cool of the wooded river path; there are very few people here.  We decide on pausing regularly, to be still and notice what is here. We do it for the first time today… Sycamore leaves bob gently, willow kisses the water, mallards looking like rocks, mirrored reflections of colour – intense blues and greens, tiny fish coming to the surface, creating ripples  Screams from a distance. Is someone in trouble? Over the hump, we see the men

Fourstones to Corbridge A hot day’s walking, needing only a T-shirt and shorts. We swim in the river at Fourstones to be baptised for the day ahead, tiny fish nibbling at our feet. A couple of white egrets flying off upstream remind me of the South African story of the Great White Bird of Truth. The mallards are already in their eclipse plumage, drakes and ducks becoming similar. A time of transience – the energy of spring/summer beginning to hint at something else. The exploding bubbles over the rocks, the light feathered seed drifting over and eventually being trapped by