Old Bewick

Incredibly bleak (and wet!) when I visited last month. You can’t miss the big old mother hill looming above you though, it draws you in like a magnet. A pair of wellies is essential at this time of year as we waded through muddy farmtracks knee-deep in cow-cacca and barely avoided falling into a few bog holes.
An eerie place once you get up to the top plateau, massive iron age ramparts and rather bizarely, two WW11 style pill boxes (were the Nazis planning to invade Northumberland?). We got a good view of the (slightly worn) carvings lit up by mellow winter sunset over the Cheviots.