There’s a carpenter’s-workshop fragrance of freshly splintered timber in the air. Last night the first high winds of autumn brought down an ash tree, now lying across the footpath. The Weardale Way is narrow here, between woodland and river, so we are forced to skirt around the obstacle by climbing the steep escarpment. The ground underfoot is soft, cushioned by decades of ankle-deep leaf mould releasing its rich aroma of fungal decay.
