https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/a-good-walk-campfield-marsh-solway-plain-cumbria-rq7zkwmdhrq7zkwmdh
A good walk: Campfield Marsh, Solway Plain, Cumbria
The lonely and windswept landscape around the Solway Firth will satisfy any lover of wild places
Christopher Somerville
August 5 2017, 12:01am, The Times
Views towards Scotland over the Solway Firth ALAMY
The Solway Plain, leading north to the vast tideway of the Solway Firth that separates England and Scotland, is a most extraordinary landscape. Squelching with juicy peat and water, teeming with wildlife, dotted with remote farmsteads and rimmed with giant salt marshes, sands and mudflats, it is as lonely and windswept as any lover of wild places and enormous skies could want.
We set out from the Solway Wetlands Centre to follow the RSPB’s red trail around Campfield Marsh on the northern edge of the plain. Cumulus clouds blew around the blue sky like ships in a gale and a beautiful rich smell of sun-warmed heather and spicy bog myrtle wafted from the moss, as Cumbrians call their bogs.
The trail led past a field of fodder radish specially planted to attract butterflies and birds, the pink and white flowers fluttering with peacocks, painted ladies, large whites and red admirals. Beyond the crop we traversed a piece of wet birchwood, the tree trunks rising from bog pools as still and black as a looking glass.
Out on the wild expanse of Bowness Common a duckboard trail led across the wet moss, aiming for the dramatic silhouettes of the Lake District’s northern fells outlined in pale grey on the southern horizon, Skiddaw rising like a king over all. Tiny green and gold lizards basked on the edge of the duckboards, flicking out of sight in the blink of an eye. We stopped to watch a wheatear on a post, laterally striped in brown and pale olive, its white tail flashing as it darted away across the bog.
Turning off the trail we made for the isolated farm buildings of Rogersceugh, perched conspicuously on a low drumlin mound. The view from here was sensational, out across a dozen miles of green and purple moss to the Lakeland fells, the southern Scottish hills across the Solway and, away in the east, the big mountain hummock of Criffel.
Back at the wetlands centre we strolled west along the coast road. A thousand oystercatchers stood head to wind on the strand, the fleets and sandbanks of the Solway lay in glinting lines, and Criffel rose across the firth in a stately curve, evening light pouring from behind it.