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Report: Climb every mountain, walk every path

25/8/2015

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The Ramblers has launched a campaign to walk every footpath, bridleway and byway in England and Wales by the end of 2015. The Big Pathwatch makes it easy for members of the public to “adopt” an area, log their walks and report any problems or positive features they find.
Footpath and stone marker
A recently cleared footpath with waymarking stone in East Sussex.
The Big Pathwatch is the biggest ever on-the-ground survey of English and Welsh rights of way. This ambitious campaign aims to build a national overview of the state of our path network. The Ramblers wants to gather reliable, consistent data about frequently encountered path problems and the severity of these problems.

While rapid undergrowth in summer and mud in winter can be addressed relatively easily with a pair of secateurs and sturdy boots, other issues are not so simple to overcome. Lionel Pringle, Treasurer of the Rother Ramblers, said, “Broken and difficult to negotiate stiles and footbridges, excessive use of barbed wire and blocking of paths with farm machinery and various forms of detritus can deter the average walker. The Big Pathwatch should help pinpoint any of these problems in our area and bring them to the attention of East Sussex County Council, who have a legal responsibility to ensure that our public rights of way are accessible.”

The Ramblers hopes the survey data will highlight patterns of footpath problems within and across different highway authorities. This is particularly important as continued central government cuts to county council funding have seen many areas direct resources away from rights of way maintenance.
Mid-Wales landscape and hiker
Walking in mid-Wales, note the waymarking post to the left and in front of the hiker.
But it’s not all doom and gloom! The Big Pathwatch app is also designed to celebrate the beauty and wonder of our countryside and rights of way, so data on positive features is also being collected. Participants are encouraged to upload photos and notes about great views, well-maintained paths, sites of interest, flowers and wildlife.

The survey is open to everyone, and the Ramblers hopes that many of the UK’s six million walkers will take part. “The larger the number of people who participate in this initiative, the more clout the Ramblers will have in seeing the project through to a satisfactory conclusion for all,” said Mr Pringle.

After registering for the Big Pathwatch, walkers choose a 1km by 1km square (based on Ordnance Survey data) and walk all the rights of way within that square. People can adopt up to 10 squares at a time in England and Wales - whether in their home parish or near their summer holiday destination. Walkers then record any features, as well as the general state of the path/s within the square, using the Big Pathwatch smartphone app or the online form.



(There is also an option to report features without adopting a whole square, for example, if someone is out on a walk and encounters a broken stile or overgrown path. This data won’t be included in the Big Pathwatch report, but any problems will be forwarded to the relevant highway authority to look into.)

The Big Pathwatch runs until 31 December 2015 and the Ramblers will be publishing their findings in spring 2016. Register here, or find updates on social media using the hashtag #BigPathwatch.

This article was first published in the Hastings Independent, Issue 36, 7 August 2015, p5.

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Sleep in a ruin in Suffolk

7/8/2015

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Last month, we went to Norwich for a family wedding. After staying the weekend in a swish hotel (many thanks to my partner's parents!) we extended our holiday with a night of wild camping - from one extreme to the other! We set off towards Suffolk with our sleeping gear and new tarp in our backpacks . . .

Guide

Outside the church, we met the sort of man I didn’t think existed outside books.

He was dressed in his Sunday tweed and carried a wooden stick. His eyes, rheumy and aged to a pale blue, peered out from behind old-fashioned glasses. When he greeted us, it was in a local accent I’d only ever heard as satire or fond mimicry. The church was burnt in a great fire, he said, back in 1688. The fire had taken much of the old town with it - the rooves were thatch then, which is hard to dowse, since the whole idea of thatch is to shed rain, “And there were no fire engines; not much you can do with a pail of water.” He pointed his stick to the houses behind us. “They rebuilt the fronts in the Georgian style, but if you were to look at the backs, you’d find them older.” Through the whole town, these symmetrical Georgian facades feature blank, brick-filled windows, where the newer fronts don’t quite match up with the older buildings.

He lead us back and forth through the history of Bungay like a page of exposition, pronouncing it Bun-gee, with a hard g as in go. The church used to come out to there (he prodded at the stone with his stick) and if we looked up we could see the change in decoration where it was rebuilt after the fire - it took them ten years or more to re-roof it. But these ruins here (he traced the shape of the arches in the air) are older still. This was once a Benedictine priory, then came the dissolution of the monasteries, "And the nuns were turned out to wander the countryside." Did we see the crumbling wall on the street behind us? We’d see it again outside the Catholic church next door. It marked the limits of the old town. And up behind the shop with the pink sign (he gestured with his stick) we could find the way to the castle. This was a good defensive spot on a huge loop of the River Waveney. There’s only a quarter mile from bank to bank on each side of town, but the river travels three miles or more between them.

Impermanence

We’d come down to the border between Norfolk and Suffolk with the idea of walking all afternoon then setting up camp in a field beside the river. But we were tired and dreamy after staying late at a wedding reception near Norwich the night before, so already we were letting that plan go. We’d spent the morning breakfasting in a fancy hotel and napping in our room before checking out. Part of me was still in the enormous bed, sunk in a nest of soft pillows, listening to the rustle of oak leaves and the tok . . . tok . . . tok of golfers teeing off outside our window.

We put 50p each into the green box in the tea room and thus gained admission to the castle. Townsfolk made homeless by the great fire had once built ramshackle cottages around the base of the castle. These are long since gone, but in an echo of those temporary houses someone had pitched a tent at the edge of the moat. A marquee had been set up in the field beside the castle and snatches of someone’s soundcheck drifted over to us as we explored the small keep. Moon river, wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style some day. “I wonder how they got permission to camp here,” I said, as we sat in the sun. “Perhaps we could jump over the fence and sleep up here tonight.” But Dan sensibly predicted that the marquee was gearing up for a noisy evening, so we went on our way. Two drifters off to see the world - there’s such a lot of world to see.

Signs

“Well, according to the key, this leaf symbol is a woodland walk.” I was trying to find a place to eat lunch, using a small-scale road atlas as a guide. “There’s one around here somewhere.” We pootled through acres of pale gold wheat, along narrow lanes, over little bridges, turning this way and that until we arrived at a scrappy parking area featuring one picnic bench, some old farm machinery and a heap of white, chalky clay. We munched on our sandwiches as we walked. A few minutes down the bridleway a sign pointed us To The Minster. We followed the path between fields of cows and crops to a small plantation where we picked a few juicy, low-hanging cherries to finish our lunch. We caught glimpses of South Elmham Hall only two fields away, but it felt almost private here - dozy, secluded, warm. The soft clouds reminded me of pillows.

Entering an older wood, we discovered a lush green clearing and, in the centre, the walls of a ruin. A sign indicated this was the Minster. “A minster was an important early church,” it informed us. But it seems people aren’t entirely sure when this church was built. “In the past it was thought that this ruin was the Saxon cathedral,” read the sign, but now it’s considered that “Herbert de Losinga, Bishop of Norwich 1091-1119, was the likely builder of the minster.” Around us, the trees, weeds and grasses hummed with insects, making it difficult to concentrate. My eyes kept flitting up from the board to follow bees and butterflies. We’d found a place to sleep.

Distance

After driving through village after village after village on an unsuccessful quest to find a cafe or tearoom, I declared that Sunday in this quiet patch of Suffolk must still be a day of rest. Halesworth, too, was deserted, the shops along the pedestrianised Thoroughfare shut tight against the wind. But The Angel was doing business, so we ordered a large pot of tea. A few locals propped up the bar. Bits of their conversation hooked and snagged around me as I sank into the world of my novel - a ragtag community of people living on the Thames barges in the early 1960s. In my book, Nenna was going to visit her husband.

Better take a cheap all-day ticket, the bus conductor advised, if Nenna really wanted to get from Chelsea to Stoke Newington. “Or move house,” he advised.

A young woman stooping under a huge backpack came into The Angel for a bite to eat before catching a train to Bristol. “Bristol!” exclaimed one of the locals. “That’s a long way.”

Wild

I beat a hasty retreat. “Snake-it’s-a-snake!” The snake, a skinny dark-coloured thing about two feet long, made its own slithery exit into the hollow base of a nearby tree. We’d returned to the ruins of the Minster to try pitching our new tarp and I’d been about to tie it to that very tree. I felt rather less inclined to do so under the beady gaze of a snake - even if my tweeted plea for identification (thanks for your responses, Dru and Suffolk Naturalist) and a bit of subsequent Googling clarified that it was a non-venomous juvenile grass snake. While the other trees might also have had snakes in them, my ignorance to that fact made them much more approachable.

It was our tarp’s first outing and time for us to put our knowledge to the test. We’d been practicing our knots in front of the tarp DVD for the last week, trying to memorise forms and names - bowline, slippery clove hitch, guy-line knot, that knot with the loops, the one where you go around the tree twice and do the twists. We started with a flying-V (that’s a tarp pitch, not a guitar), hitching one corner high up on a tree trunk and using a walking pole to add a bit of extra room inside. The knots held. Not bad. This was the quickest, easiest, most spacious pitch we tried. Next, we attempted a basic A-frame pitch, slinging the ridgeline between two trees. We were much less successful with this one, fumbling with the angles and tension until we gave up. We then experimented with a much more enclosed pitch, with the back of the tarp pegged down and the front rising in the middle on a single walking pole. This pitch may have a name, but I don’t know it. It gave a lot of privacy and would probably work quite well in a campsite. In the end, we decided to sleep within the ruined walls, in the grassy enclosure. We used a kind of lean-to pitch, with half the tarp acting as a groundsheet.

The sun set as we ate our tea, filling the sky with pink clouds, underlighting trees in glowing orange and washing the Minster in purple shadow. We crawled into our bivi bags, snuggling down into the soft grass. The whine of mosquitoes proved rather distracting - that’s something we didn’t have to worry about when we were sleeping out in winter. Moths fluttered against the tarp, tawny owls called and dozens of little bats emerged from the trees. “Come on, bats,” I whispered. “Lots of mozzies down here for you!” We fell asleep watching the bats scoot above us, crisscrossing the darkening sky.

Direction

Breaking the stillness of early morning, a herd of cows bellowed greetings to us. They stalked us noisily along the opposite side of a hedgerow until we left their field behind. As we slung our packs into the car, a hare stood up to watch then loped away. Near the river, greylag geese had moved into a stubble field, which only the day before had still been dotted with large straw bales. More geese were coming, strung out across the low sky in vees and skeins. A tiny muntjac deer tottered across the road in front of the car, then disappeared into the trees. It began to rain. We turned south, towards home.
Ruined wall arch, Celtic cross
The ruins of a priory extend from the back of St Mary's.
Bee in white lavender
A bee in the gorgeous white lavender outside St Mary's.
Red brick church entrance
St Edmund's, Bungay's Catholic church.
Signs
How will anyone know the notice is polite if it doesn't specify?
White and grey clouds
Cumulus, almost forming cloud streets over Suffolk wheat fields.
Car park, foregrounding machinery
Setting off to explore . . .
Cherries in hand
Ripe cherries! Who could resist?
Path beside wheat crop
The path to the Minster.
Pink poppy
A pink poppy - surprising!
Shop front
An interesting old shop front in Halesworth.
Snake
The shy grass snake, rather hoping we would leave it alone.
Tarp in woods
First go at pitching our tarp - the flying-V.
Woods and walls
The minster walls, deep in a shady wood.
Orange leaves
Trees glowing in the sunset.
Wild camp
Long grass = comfortable bed. (Not quite as comfy as the fancy hotel!)

This outing was part of Alastair Humphreys' Year of Microadventure challenge. You can read about our previous wild camping microadventures here:  January, February, March, April, May and June. It's hard to say how much it cost us this time. We only spent a few pounds on food and petrol (though we were in the area anyway). Our new tarp cost £70, but now we have a tarp - great for keeping dry in the rain.

We'll also take the tarp on our Walk Across Wales this month. I'm having a few weeks off from blogging to go on this adventure from Aberystwyth to Hay-on-Wye via the Cambrian Mountains and the Wye Valley Walk. We'll probably tweet occasionally so check Twitter for updates!

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Do the July microadventure round-up foxtrot

3/8/2015

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July’s microadventure challenge was to spend time with trees. Here’s what people got up to!

Mags

It seems that this challenge induced a small epidemic of tree hugging in our ranks.  Mags managed quite a few tree-y expeditions this month, including a visit to Bedgebury Pinetum.

Some of us are lucky to be surrounded by them on a daily basis. For others in urban settings their presence may be more sporadic and structured. Whichever of these statements apply, you cannot fail to be amazed by the variety of trees that we see around us - size, colour, seasonal changes, leaf shape, species, native, and non native.

Mags took some lovely photos of trees, both at Bedgebury and around her workplace and home. Find them in her post "Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky".
Woman hugging tree
Mags is a tree hugger, it's official.
Fir cone
Is it a fir cone? Is it a pine cone? I don't know!

Nikki

Continuing the tree hugging theme on the other side of the world, Nikki says, “I took myself out for a run on a route that's probably one of my favourites, lots of shady pathways and my favourite tree for stretching (pictured in the photo where I look like I'm going to pass out!  I'm actually hugging it and trying to express my gratefulness for it about 7.5km into an 8.8km run!).”
Nikki before
Nikki at 0.0km.
Path through trees
The path.
Nikki
Nikki at 7.5km.

Kieran

Kieran spent an evening in the woods watching Two Gentlemen of Verona by the Southend Shakespeare Company at Willow Cottage Garden Theatre in Essex. “People brought picnics (and wine), the show was entertaining, and it was dark before the end,” says Kieran. “Afterwards I lit torches for the path, and visitors looked around the cottage.”
People backlit in trees
Willow Cottage Garden Theatre.
Willow Cottage with lights
Willow Cottage at night.

Muddy Mum and the Mudlings

Clare from Mud and Nettles went out tree hugging with her mudlings (children). I like to imagine there was a tree hugging extravaganza. The muddy crew also went on a rather adventurous nighttime geocaching trek.

All was going well. The children giddy at being allowed up late and full of excitement for the adventure ahead. The footpath lead us on a track beside farm buildings. As a regular geocacher and walker, this is something I’m used to, it always make me a bit edgy but I trust the maps for my rights of way . . .

And there goes an alarm . . .

One of the children yells, "Ruuuuuun!” in the fashion of a true rascal.


Did they all survive the evening? Find out in “Night Time Adventures in Spooky Wood”!
Child hugging a tree
Mudling hugging a tree.

Gillian

I love the photos Gillian has submitted of this gorgeous tree in winter and summer. Gillian says, “He's a gnarled old fellow with many a tale to tell. Whenever I meet him, I feel compelled to shake his politely proffered knob-knuckled hand. Now he is clothed in leafy raiment, under a green canopy of horse chestnut leaves. His limbs spiral round like huge barley sugar sticks. All in all he's one pretty cool tree. I don’t have any tree hugging pics, but I love this tree; he's like an old friend.”
Winter tree
The tree in winter.
Tree in summer
The tree in summer.
Hand on branch
An old friend.

Jane and Mimo

After returning to the Australian winter from a holiday in Europe, Jane and Mimo made a gingerbread house with gingerbread trees alongside. Jane says, “It was the first time we had ever done this, and I was quite keen that it be lovely, so took creative control of the house. Mimo decorated some gingerbread cookies and did really well at praising his mama's efforts when it was all done. The tableaux includes trees, so unless anything more adventurous and tree related comes up, then this may be it for me! It was very delicious. I was very happy that the family of Mimo's friend from daycare helped us to demolish and eat it all in one go.”
Assembling gingerbread house
Gingerbread house in progress.
Completed gingerbread house
Gingerbread house with gingerbread people and gingerbread trees.

Dan and Jonathan

Dan and I did lots of tree-related things in July. In fact, each time we got near a wood, it was, “Is this our tree microadventure?”

My personal favourite tree was an enormous yew tree we discovered in the church yard in Crowhurst. The trunk was hollow and split in three. Huge, gnarled, yet somehow smooth-looking branches twisted out over the spindly black metal fence, propped up by planks and headstones. We also got the opportunity to go cherry picking, which was fun. The family of a friend of a friend rents a cherry tree in an orchard not far from us, but they weren’t able to get down to pick the cherries before the season closed. So, at the last minute, we were able to drive over and pick three boxes of delicious fresh cherries!

In the end, the tree-y microadventure I wrote up was our rainy afternoon in the woods, reading our books and drinking tea under our tarp. Watch the video here.
Trunk of huge yew tree
This yew tree is estimated to be over 850 years old.

August’s microadventure theme: explore a border

August’s challenge, set by Dan, is to explore a border. He says, “As ever, make of this what you will. It could be the border or boundary of a country (we’ll be spending time on the Anglo-Welsh dividing line), a state or a county (we always make a ba-dump noise when we drive across a county border), properties, easements, suburbs, cities or the coast. You could beat the bounds. Enjoy!”
Bridge and sign
"You are now entering Zimbabwe" by Ryan Kilpatrick, used under a Creative Commons license.
This challenge really appeals to me. I like the idea of exploring different kinds of borders - geographical, political, metaphorical - or even of simply trying to find them. Several years ago we spent a day here and there walking out of the city. Over the course of the walk, as we meandered through the sprawling eastern suburbs of Melbourne, I constantly reevaluated my thoughts about what the end of the city might look like. Was it the last point of access by city public transport services? The last place to get a decent coffee? The border between MFB and CFA territory? A particular road? The edge of this or that map? I enjoyed the slipperiness of that border. I wonder what you will discover this month.

(Other borders are obviously much easier to find and much more difficult to explore or cross. National borders are intertwined with bureaucracy, nationalism, economics, imprisonment, the policing of human movement and the restriction of certain human bodies and lives. I hope you don't find yourself turned away from or detained within a country you're trying to enter or leave - this month or ever.)

If you'd like to join in this month's microadventure, then sally forth to the borderlands. Leave a comment here, write a blog post, ping me on Twitter with a photo and a few words or email me and I'll collate the adventures at the end of the month.

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