IN WHICH I
  • ... Write
  • ... Explain

Turning

27/8/2019

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It feels as though autumn has arrived early this year, interspersed with bouts of summer that the grouches will say was “better late than never”.
Person in calm sea with gulls lining the shore
I entertain my fans.
As I write, I have been in the water every day for the last four days: sea swimming three of those days, in a smooth blue expanse that glints out to the hazy horizon; river paddling once with a friend, in a clear, young river surrounded by fish and laughing children.
Two people stand knee deep in a river, waving to the photographer who is sitting near picnic tables
We decided it was too hot to climb a hill, so we jumped in here instead.
Last week, I spent five days walking with Allysse through Wiltshire, experiencing everything from epic downpours to hot, lazy afternoons, camping in fields and woods and skinny dipping along the way.
River bordered by green reflecting blue and white sky
Another river that needed getting into, this one in Wiltshire.
For the two weeks before that, we were hosting my sister from Australia, taking her walking in East Sussex, dropping in on National Trust places for a history fix, visiting London and blissing out with gorgeous hill walks, whimberry picking and a river dip under darkening skies (for me) in Wales. It’s been a good summer holiday, the biggest gift of which has been slowing down, doing one thing at a time, not trying to fit things in around other commitments.
Stepping stones lead through heather and shallow pools, a pony grazes in the background
More water, this time at the top of a Welsh mountain. I didn't go for a swim here!
Looking out the window, I can see the rowan berries are hanging scarlet and the beech trees have set a golden fire in their topmost leaves. Along the roadsides, elders are drooping with berries and apples cast their fruit to the yellow grasses. The latest generation of robins is singing and families of other small birds are feasting at our neighbours’ feeders. Local friends are foisting excess produce from gardens and allotments onto whoever will take it - beans, zucchinis, a handful of potatoes. Early autumn is as beautiful as late summer - perhaps even more so, in its bounty and colour.
Person swings from a rope that hangs from a tree
The swings aren't going to swing themselves.
Pink flowers close up
Can anyone ID this pretty flower?
I have not blogged often over the last year or so, and it has felt like an obligation or a chore rather than a fun hobby. I recognise that I have unconsciously developed some entirely self-imposed rules about what a blog post should be, how many words, how many photos, how much structure, and - most stiflingly - how “important” an event needs to be to blog about it.
A jumble of small red berries
Hawthorn, looking brilliant.
hazy blue calm sea with a swimmer's head poking out
Me and the sea (and some kayakers?)
I hope that as the seasons quicken, as trees bear fruit and let go, colour their leaves and let go, that I will be able to emulate this. To let go of unhelpful patterns and reflect on some smaller delights of life.
Pastel sunrise colours in a valley
Money can't buy a campsite like this. After rain, a deer lead us to this field. We heard them barking in the night.

P.S. This is still a good time to make hedgerow jam. Get on it!

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River Rother: Source to Sea

3/8/2018

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You know I love following rivers, so it probably won’t surprise you to learn I’ve been meaning to follow my local River Rother from source to sea for a long time.
River with some boats
I've decided to do a multi-day walk every week these summer holidays, and I realised it would be a good chance to finally go exploring along the Rother. I recorded the river as I went along, from the first time I encountered it as a small trickle across a bridleway to the windy harbour arm where it meets the English Channel. Have a listen as you read on (notes at the end of the post).
The East Sussex/Kent Rother (there’s another one in West Sussex) rises near the village of Rotherfield and flows east and south about 55km (35mi) to the sea near Rye. There are long sections of the river that don’t have public rights of way alongside them, so the best you can do as a moderately law-abiding walker is follow the valley, sometimes by the water, sometimes in the fields or on the hills and ridges above. The route I planned out was about 70km (44mi).
Map of route
I’ve never been quite sure how to go about this walk. Should I do it all in one go, wild camping on the way? Should I use public transport as much as possible to come home each night? How many days would I be walking - three or four, maybe?
water in culvert
Water reflecting sun and clouds
As it happens, Dan didn’t feel like coming on the walk, so he kindly ferried me back and forth when needed. I had some pretty extreme weather, too, which meant I was glad to not be camping out. Due to the heat on the first day and the wild wind and rain on the third day, I ended up walking for four days rather than the three I initially planned.
Path through dry field
I tweeted about the walk, and you can find the threads and lots more photos here:
  • Day 1 (Rotherfield to Stonegate, ~18km)
  • Day 2 (Stonegate to Robertsbridge, ~13km)
  • Day 3 (Robertsbridge to Newenden ~15km)
  • Day 4 (Newenden to Camber ~24km)
Picture
River with green weed and lily pads
Overall, I had a great time. I enjoyed getting a sense of progression as the scenery changed from the steepish hills and small streams at the beginning to the widening floodplain and braided watercourses in the middle to the levels and tidal stretches of river at the end. There are sections I would definitely walk again. I had fun exploring somewhere quite local to me and getting a bit of an insight into land use along the valley, smelling the hay bales and hearing the hoots of the steam train around Bodiam and Newenden. For the most part, the weather was pretty good.
Hay bales in field
I saw loads of birds: buzzards and kestrels, magpies and jays, LBJs (little brown jobbies), goldfinches, herons and egrets, crows and jackdaws, wagtails, swallows, swans and ducks and geese, a few varieties of gull, oystercatchers and something that I thought was a mudlark/magpie lark, except that they’re Australian. I spotted some interesting beetles, lots of butterflies (gatekeepers, peacocks, common blues and red admirals among others), and dragon- and damselflies in bright colours. And of course, many sheep and cows, along with several horses, a few donkeys, some chooks, domestic ducks and a goat.
Wheat field from under purple umbrella
Kayaks beside river
That’s not to say there weren’t challenges. I had to go doorknocking for water on the first and last days, and the heat and humidity made me a bit ill. The blasting wind and rain on the third day made for an unpleasant last hour or so, as my boots filled with water (running off the long grass onto my legs and down through my socks). I had to cross a few fields with nervous cows, but it was actually the frisky horses in the rain that made me most wary. Probably most annoyingly, though, I encountered a lot of difficult or impassable paths - mainly due to undergrowth of long grasses and nettles, but also a few poorly waymarked paths, locked gates and broken stiles. I got a few scratches from barbed wire and brambles and some small holes in my new shorts from an overgrown stile which could have been avoided with proper maintenance from the landholders.
Old brick bridge
Still, every day I felt so grateful to be able to do this - that I have the time off for walking, the access to the countryside, the physical capacity to do it and a wonderful partner who is happy to act as a taxi service! First walk of summer: done.
River in grassy plain
River meeting sea
The recordings in the piece above, in order, with about 10 seconds of each:
  1. The first crossing of the Rother, down an unwaymarked bridleway near Rotherfield
  2. The river running through a culvert under a road after passing through someone's garden
  3. An almost silent Rother in the heat of the day under St Dunstan's Bridge
  4. Water under a concrete farm bridge, almost tempting me to jump in, near Moat Mill Farm
  5. On the second day, at Wreckery Bridge down through the wheat fields from the railway line
  6. Very faint sounds of water and midday insects just outside Etchingham
  7. Upstream of Robertsbridge, one thread of the Rother collects in an old mill pond before continuing
  8. Under my umbrella in the rain of the third day on the river bank near Robertsbridge Abbey
  9. Watery white noise at the small weir at Udiam, as rain still falls
  10. The hum of traffic and wind around the boats near Newenden Bridge
  11. Geese fly overhead and swallows dart above the Rother while I eat lunch near Blackwall Bridge
  12. Hunkering down behind the harbour arm, trying to collect some non-wind-distorted audio

For more river-length adventures: Snowy River, Cuckmere and River Otter. For more Rother walks: Royal Military Canal, Bodiam Castle and Northiam.

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North Downs Way: Day 3 of 3

12/1/2018

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Day 3, Challenge 3: Moods
Gate across path
A random bit of this rail trail was blocked off for battle or something.
After such a beautiful afternoon yesterday, today is bleary with mizzle. Clouds are low on the hills. I head out into the smudged middle distance and pay attention to the details, trying to get into a good mood. Water drops on spider webs and fence wire, the shining colours of wet leaves on the path, the trickling sound of a hidden stream, sheep emerging from the fog like woolly boats . . . There is something very beautiful about this quiet, close world. I walk softly and hear the scuffling of little animals and birds in the hedgerows. I surprise several pheasants, which take off in noisy bursts, their chok-chok-chok alarm call trailing them into invisibility.
Spiderweb covered in water droplets
Enjoying details in the dampness.

That’s how it’s going to be, is it? I see! pic.twitter.com/ovKibBnV4Q

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 26, 2017
Dampness clings to every surface, just enough to feel unpleasant. Damp shirt, damp spirits. After a small, unintentional detour, I climb what I presume is the North Downs. There’s no view to speak of, so it could really be any old hill. My feet are wet from the grass. Not worth the effort, I think. 
Fields in mist
Such a spectacular view . . . !
Still, I take enjoyment from the otherworldly appearance of an overgrown brassica patch, the pearly drops of water decorating crinkled leaves. I see just how close I can get to the pheasants on one bare field - they don’t seem to be able to comprehend that I’m a human, or they can’t see me in the dense fog, so they go about their business within a few metres of the path.
greenery and streamlet
A pretty little stream and (I think) private woodland.
I come to a field filled with looming cattle and decide to bail off the path. It looks like steers, not cows with calves, but I can’t see more than 10 metres ahead, so I don’t know how far the exit to the field will be, or if there’s any other way out. Usually I’m not too bothered by cattle, but I worry that in the fog they’ll get surprised or spooked when I appear in their midst. I take my chances with the road running parallel to the field. It’s not fun - high hedge, fast cars, no shoulder, very poor visibility. I’m thankful that I packed my little LED torch, which I shine into the oncoming traffic. It seems to work, but I’m pleased to get back on the footpath, wet grass and all.

Glad I had the torch for road walking in this fog! pic.twitter.com/SzKEOMmmHb

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 26, 2017
leafy greens
Space veg.
One point in the day really stands out. The path tips into a secret dip between some hills, the Postling Downs, and the low rumble of traffic suddenly disappears. The noise of the M20 and A20 has been almost constant for the last couple of days, so it’s sudden absence is slightly eerie. I think of Allysse and how she describes her enjoyment of Richmond Park in London being mitigated by the flight path overhead and the busy roads cutting through (in Issue 00 of Queer Out Here). This traffic noise hasn’t ruined the walk for me, but it’s made me appreciate how motorways can affect an environment not just from visual or physical perspectives (e.g. by cutting off animals from their territories or blocking migration paths), but can be really disturbing from an aural perspective, too. The sonic environment of this part of Kent has really been screwed over, I think.
landscape
Postling Downs - I'd just come through that green field in the centre and had just (unbeknownst to me) veered off track!
I’m too busy with my own thoughts and I somehow miss a turning and veer off track. My feet are cold and wet, I can feel the plaster on my blister coming unstuck, the traffic noise is irritating and now I’ve gone the wrong way. I’m altogether in a good state for a bit of a strop. And yet . . . I’m not grumpy. I’m the only person here, I’m the only person my mood is going to affect in any way, so what’s the point? And after all, there’s no wrong way when you’re not heading anywhere in particular. I pick and eat a mushroom and make tracks for a nearby village.
Tower
Could climb up for a better view of the fog?

Popped into Postling church. I know JC was all about the foot washing, but I’m wishing for a towel... pic.twitter.com/Pztb89UFr4

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 26, 2017
My plan is to sit in the church for a bit to dry off. The church is locked, but the porch is open, so I wring out my socks, tend to my blister, have a bite to eat and ponder my options for the rest of the day. There’s a village with a pub on the other side of the next hill - or at least, so the OS map says. I check online and see that the pub is (a) still there and (b) open, and decide to head over for a loo break and a bit of warmth. I’ll make my next decision then.
sign and fields
About to head down to the pub.
The pub is the carrot I dangle in front of myself as I climb to the top of what feels like a big hill and toddle down the other side. I’m not really enjoying myself, and the thought of climbing up an even bigger hill into even more cloud after the pub doesn’t sound great. As I sit with my half pint of cider and bowl of chips, I realise I’ve already made my decision. Instead of following the North Downs Way, I’m going to take the easy path along an old railway line to Peene (Peene!). There might even be a bit of shelter. I call Dan to arrange a new pick up point.

No rain for an hour > Put coat away > Rain pic.twitter.com/m2LPZcfOCD

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 26, 2017
Ram with curly horns
Hello, friend!
It turns out to be a good decision. It's raining, but I meet a friendly ram, pass a few happy dogs (they don’t care if it rains, they’re just full of joy to be outside) and enjoy the last bit of my walk along a flat, pretty trail. Dan’s waiting at the end next to Peene Railway Museum (unfortunately it’s shut) with a choc orange flavoured cupcake. We drive up to the place I was planning to finish and spend a few minutes looking out over Folkestone to the (barely visible) sea. It's a bit of an anticlimax, but that's OK - it's not the destination that counts. I'm feeling pretty Zen.
rail terminus and houses in mist
View from the North Downs Way over Folkestone towards the sea (can you spot it at all?).
Then it’s home time. All in all, I’ve had a great few days. Dan’s enjoyed doing his own thing, too. Hopefully we’ll do it again one day.

This was the third day of a three day walk in October 2017 from (approximately) Maidstone to (pretty much) Folkestone along (mostly) the North Downs Way. 
[Day 1 - Day 2 - Day 3]

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North Downs Way: Day 2 of 3

28/12/2017

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Day 2, Challenge 2: Stamina
Acorn sign on post in front of field
National Trails way marker on the North Downs Way.
I cheerily wave goodbye to Dan and set off with anticipation and curiosity. What will the day bring? How far will I walk? This was always meant to be the longest day, but I haven’t planned a precise destination. This is deliberate, because I don’t want to get caught up in reaching or exceeding a certain mileage. As I follow the track, leaves of rust, yellow and chocolate beneath my feet, I try to find some markers on the horizon to gauge my process. I think there are some wind turbines out there, but the rain in the distance makes it hard to tell. Where would they be, anyway?

Another day! pic.twitter.com/Y10lgbJOVO

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 25, 2017

Uh, @thebooklender, this is what you’re missing in Charing! pic.twitter.com/bSahNQkyil

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 25, 2017
I play chicken with the rain as it comes closer and I detour down into Charing. I’m envious of Dan’s cake exploits yesterday, so I’m pleased to find Mulberry’s Tearoom open early. Over a delicious and enormous slice of coffee cake, I watch the drizzle and chat to my friendly tearoom host. I mightn’t have seen many people on the path, but both the North Downs Way and the Pilgrim’s Way are very popular - especially with Dutch cycle tourists, apparently. The rain pauses and I head off, but not before Ms Mulberry (not her real name, probably) apologises that the scones aren’t quite ready for me to take away and admonishes me not to talk to strangers!
snail shell on leaves
These Roman Snails are famous, I think?
NDW way marker - red arrow
A red arrow, indicating a byway rather than a footpath or bridleway.
Of course, just as soon as I leave the shelter of the tea room, it starts tipping down. Oh well. It’s only water - and it’s not cold, either. I flip the my hood of my coat over my head and wear it as a cape. It works fine. I stick to the country roads around a ploughed field and secretly race a couple of walkers who are on the diagonal footpath through it. (I win - the field looks like hard, muddy going.) My shoes splat against the asphalt and I enjoy the feeling of water splashing up onto my legs.
Path and autumn leaves
An autumnal stretch of path.
path, trees, fields
Drawing me on along the foot of the North Downs.
I’m really appreciating the freedom of walking at my own pace. It’s not that Dan and I usually have an issue with that; we’re pretty well matched. But even so, without any other body’s input, I pay more attention to my own. I am probably walking faster than I would with Dan, but I can’t be sure. I’m also stopping to take photos without having to think about catching up, or being in someone’s way. I might be stopping more, but without having to negotiate with anyone, I feel more in the flow.
Concrete sign saying North Downs Way
An old-school concrete footpath marker - they're almost always overgrown because they're so low to the ground!
Soon, the way leaves the road and pops over a stile onto a farm track footpath. I greet two men, one with a radio, one with a gun crooked over his arm, and ask if it’s OK to walk through. “Go ahead,” jokes one, “but duck if someone starts shooting.” I send my best wishes to the pheasants for a safe and speedy escape as I trundle through the estate.
hawthorn berries
Haws (hawthorn berries) make a bright splash on a grey morning.

It got sunny!!! pic.twitter.com/q9ltWR2N9E

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 25, 2017
And there’s blue sky! I’m pretty excited about this, even as I realise I’ve left my sunscreen at home. As much as I’ve enjoyed the walk so far, everything’s a bit better when the sun comes out! I pass through a village that I barely remember (it has a huge green in the centre, and gardens bright with fuschia flowers) and then I find myself at the point where the North Downs Way splits in two - or into one big loop. One sign points towards Dover - via Canterbury, the other to Dover - via Folkestone. I stand at the post, suspended for a few moments within possibility, and misquote Robert Frost before I take the path to Folkestone.
Two donkeys
Hello, friends!
The path to Folkestone goes to Wye first. Wye? Wye not. Wye sits on the same plain as Ashford, beside the River Stour, in an elbow-crook of the North Downs. In that analogy, this branch of the North Downs Way runs straight from wrist to armpit - along the bottom of the triangle. Down in the valley, I cross a busy road, cut behind an apple orchard, say hello to some donkeys, chooks and geese, then pass through a market garden field before heading into town. I stop in the churchyard for a much-needed lunch break and take a look at the blister I’ve been developing. I can’t really feel it, but it’s definitely there. I knew this last night and I really should have put a plaster on this morning, or when I stopped at Charing. “Oh well,” I think as I cover it up, “better late than never.”

Friends! pic.twitter.com/EroXJfEWgr

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 25, 2017

More photos from Wye today. pic.twitter.com/zzSQ5l1j3e

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 25, 2017
It’s a struggle to get going again after lunch, but it’s such a nice day it would be a shame to stop. My motivation isn’t improved as the path heads straight uphill to the top of the Downs. I need the loo. I feel sluggish and slow. “It doesn’t matter,” I have to tell myself. “You don’t have to walk fast, you just have to walk.” This has been developing as a bit of a mantra today. As the Americans say, hike your own hike.
round lookout info point and view
Lookout point above the Wye Crown, with directions to various towns.
After a steep woodland path and a short road walk, I’m standing on top of the Wye Crown, a shape carved into the chalk hillside. I can’t make out the crown, but the view more than rewards the climb. Oh, it’s amazing! I can see Wye, and the hills I was on this morning, and the outline of Ashford and those wind turbines . . . They must be the ones near Rye, I suddenly realise, and yes, there’s the Fire Hills and, perhaps, beyond, the South Downs at Eastbourne! It’s all so much closer than I imagined. The sun is out and everything is shimmering. I wander along the top of the escarpment, peering down into tiny fields and woods below.

And some pics from the rest of the afternoon. Gorgeous! (Total walked today approx 27km/16mi.) pic.twitter.com/PoV98yo4Fa

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 25, 2017
steep, narrow valley and view
The Devil's Kneading Trough.
If I wanted, I could stop and call Dan to pick me up. I don’t want, though. I’ve still got a couple of miles in me, and there’s no rush. I don’t have to walk fast, so long as I keep walking. The view is a great distraction, while it lasts. Soon, though, the path turns away from the edge and trails along country roads through plateau-like farmlands. I am now busting for the loo and eventually find a quiet lane with a notch in the hedge. Thankfully, nobody comes along!
My legs are getting stiff, now. I look at the map and weigh up my options - there are two villages, a mile or two apart. I decide to aim for the closer one. There are no worries, though, no anxiety. I’ll get there. “You don’t have to go fast,” I say as I hobble along, “you just have to keep going.” There’s a trig point to aim for, too. When I get there, a grey-haired man is leaning on his van, looking at birds. I tell him about the wildlife I’ve seen, he says he walked the Pennine Way years ago. Now he has plans to kayak around the UK. “Some people say I’m too old. But the people who really know me just offer to bring me supplies!” We chat for a while, before I go down the hill into the village and wait for Dan to pick me up.
shadow of person waving
Shadows lengthening as the afternoon draws on.
shed
I always like a bit of corrugated iron cladding. Reminds me of Australia!
“So, how far did you walk today?” Dan asks.

“I really don’t know. It felt quite a bit further than yesterday. Twenty kilometres? Hopefully at least twenty, or I’m less fit than I thought.” I calculate it when we get back. Twenty seven kilometres. Sixteen miles. That counts as a long day for me. And I could have stumbled out another couple of miles if I’d needed to. It would have been slow, but, hey, you don’t have to walk fast, you just have to walk.
Concrete pillar and view
The trig point on Brabourne Downs.

This was the second day of a three day walk in October 2017 from (approximately) Maidstone to (pretty much) Folkestone along (mostly) the North Downs Way. 
[Read Day 1 - Day 2 - Day 3]

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North Downs Way: Day 1 of 3

15/12/2017

8 Comments

 
Day 1, Challenge 1: Anxiety.
Wood post with circular yellow waymarker
North Downs Way waymark, featuring the National Trails acorn.
I start the walk angry. I am angry because . . . I don’t know why. There are a series of niggles, but nothing to upset me this much: we had to drive miles past our destination and use a roundabout to turn back on the highway just to get into the carpark; there are no toilets at the reserve and I’m busting; the weather was fine this morning and now it’s overcast; the velcro on my camera case is coming unstitched so I can’t keep it on the hip belt of my bag (I leave it behind and rely on the phone). I’ve been looking forward to this walk for a couple of weeks, but now it’s about to start, I’m unhappy.

Guess who’s going hiking?! (Going to spend a few days on the North Downs.) pic.twitter.com/NBwg2KmSvH

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 23, 2017
Leaves on the path
Autumnal carpet.
I’m going to be walking by myself. This should be exciting, because it will be my first multi-day solo walk. Well, “solo” to a certain extent. Dan’s dropping me off and picking me up each day, but he’s doing his own thing while I’m hiking. If this goes well, it might be the start of a new era of holidaying, where I walk (which is fun and relaxing for me) and Dan relaxes/mooches around/doesn’t do much (which isn’t usually my bag) and we meet up in the evening for dinner and sleeping (which we both agree are excellent). Dan thinks he wins because he gets to do whatever he wants; I think I win because I get to walk - and I get a personal taxi service.
Autumn colours and rooftops
Autumn colours glimpsed from between the trees on the North Downs Way.
It’s great in theory, but now we’re about to wave goodbye to each other I’m both angry and sad. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I try to coax Dan. He doesn’t - he wants to eat cake and read, which is exactly what he’ll end up doing. “You’re always a bit like this at the start of a walk,” says Dan. “You’ll feel better in a little while.” We part ways and I turn around every few steps to wave, as if I’m heading into some vast wilderness rather than taking a stroll on the North Downs near Maidstone.
Hillside with small figure
Can you spot me? Dan took this as we headed our separate ways . . .
Five minutes later, Dan’s out of sight. So, this is it for the afternoon. Not much I can do now except walk. I put down one foot and then the other foot. I look out at the view on my right, keep an eye out for the National Trail markers. It’s just walking. I can do that.
Steps
Ugh! Who ordered steps?!
View over fields
But the views are a good reason to climb hills.
​Soon, I’m at the bottom of the first flight of steps. Ugh. Who ordered this? I’m annoyed all over again. I mean, sure, the North Downs are a range of hills, but who would have thought the North Downs Way would go up and down them? I give myself a talking to. “There’s no one else here. You can go up this hill as slowly as you want. It really doesn’t matter.” So that’s what I do, And, of course, it isn’t so bad. The hills aren’t big. At the next flight of stairs I think, “OK, this is how it’s going to be,” and adjust to the reality of the path. The view is good from up here - the slope sweeps down to a wide, low plain with fields and villages and roads - and when there’s no view it’s because the path is a half-magical tunnel through shrubs and trees in autumn yellow, orange and brown.
Rosehips and hills beyond
The skirts of the North Downs, viewed through a hedgerow lace beaded with rose hips.
After 20 minutes or so, I still don’t feel great. I ask myself, “What’s wrong?” and then, “OK, but what’s really wrong?” until I hit the core of it. Anxiety. I’m unreasonably anxious. Last time I went on a real adventure, on the Snowy River, I developed a lot of anxiety. I became scared of everything. I worried constantly about our safety. And I didn’t deal with it then, so now, on my first multi-day walk since, it’s reemerging. I’m trying something new, I’m by myself, I don’t know what’s going to happen . . .
​
“What am I worried about?” I mutter. I list a few things, but it boils down to: “Something might go wrong.”

And what if it does? If I hurt myself, mobile reception is fine, so I can call someone. If a dog chases me, well, I’ve had dogs growl and snarl and bark at me before - generally they stop once you’re off their territory, plus they should be used to walkers on this well-trodden path. If the phone dies and I can’t check the map, the North Downs Way is very well waymarked - and I know there are villages nestled at the foot of these hills, so I can go to one of those and phone Dan from a pub or a random person’s house. If someone attacks me . . . OK, the chances of that are very slim. And there’s nothing I can do about that, really - the decision to assault someone is the aggressor's decision, not the victim’s. Really, the two things most likely to go wrong are: 1, it rains; and/or 2, I don’t enjoy myself. Those are some pretty low-stakes problems to have.
Small fallen tree across a path bordered by maize and hedge
An obstruction! Uh oh, I'll have to turn around and go all the way back.
As I’m climbing another hill, it dawns on me that some of the physical symptoms of this anxiety are similar to the markers of physical exertion. My heart is pumping overtime, I’m a bit out of breath, my chest is a bit tight, my limbs a bit wonky, adrenaline is working its way around my body - it’s fight or flight-y. I wonder if I’ll feel less anxious when path is flatter. I reach the top of the hill and, sure enough, this turns out to be the case. Huh. So, where usually I feel anxious and as a result I get these symptoms, today I’ve got the symptoms and my brain has converted them into “I’m anxious”. Perhaps . . . actually, yes, I think this is true: I’m not really that anxious after all! This realisation amuses me so much that I laugh out loud and disturb some pheasants.
Person and NDW fingerpost
The Woodland Trust lured me off the main path for a bit of exploring.
One hour in and I take a moment to appreciate that everything is now great. I’m relaxed and happy (ahh, endorphins!). I feel like I could keep going for hours. I’ve found my stride. The well-marked path dips in and out of the trees, and I can see the flowing skirt of the escarpment slowly receding behind me. I love walks like this, where you can look back and trace your progress, look forward and wonder where you’ll get to today. It’s very satisfying. The only people I’ve seen so far were two riders racing their horses along a gallop below the hill. This is what I was hoping for. This is the life!

First hour and a bit has been nice. Only this one other person. @NorthDownsWay pic.twitter.com/9y9BK8B2ij

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 24, 2017
Person and sculpture with downturned mouths
IDK, the view looked OK to me.
I get lured into Hucking Estate by the Woodland Trust’s signs. They seem very clear, directing me to a viewpoint, but I somehow manage to go the wrong way. Ah, but no way is really the wrong way, is it, if you’re just out for a wander? I meet a shepherd carved out of wood and climb over a locked gate to get back onto the North Downs Way. I pass through a beautiful section of grassy glades and hawthorn thickets, where white cows seem to glow in the muted afternoon light. I watch a kestrel - suspended, a silent focal point in the midst of a frantic wind that gusts up the slope at Eden’s Hole.
Post with lots of signs
National Cycle Network, Route 17.

It’s afternoon tea time! The Scenery, if not my face, continues to be lovely. pic.twitter.com/nBksPBghew

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 24, 2017
The path tips me off the hills and I’m almost disappointed. But now I’m walking along the Pilgrim’s Way, an ancient trackway and road system that stretches from Winchester to Canterbury. Two cyclists pass me and, as they pass, one exclaims how amazing it is to be following the route that people have been following for a thousand years. I stop for a Snickers and a loo break. Later, I sit with a pilgrim (once again, carved from wood). But mostly I breathe deeply, open my stride and put the miles behind me. Chalk cross, chalk path, chalk cliffs. Any anxiety I had is a distant memory. Here I am, walking. I love walking.

Much flatter as the North Downs Way joins the Pilgrim’s Way this afternoon. pic.twitter.com/o1WOrX8L1e

— Jonathan (@jonathanworking) October 24, 2017
A large cross in the hillside
The white cross on the hill (near Lenham).
Fields and some exposed chalk
The old Lenham Quarry (if I recall correctly) - SSSI.

This was the first day of a three day walk in October 2017 from (approximately) Maidstone to (pretty much) Folkestone along (mostly) the North Downs Way.
[Read Day 1 - Day 2 - Day 3]

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The Sounds of Sissinghurst

6/3/2017

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Last weekend we headed up to Sissinghurst in Kent. I took a few photos and made an audio blog of our walk.
Farm track
Along the High Weald Landscape Trail near Sissinghurst in Kent.
There's no transcript of the piece, but it includes:
  • Notes about a few places we pass (see photos below for some of them)
  • A couple of speculative discussions of our Snowy River adventure
  • Dan losing the rain cover for his bag (does he find it again? oh, the tension!)
  • Some annoying kissing gates
  • A short interlude of pigeons and bagpipes
  • The sound of birds, wind in the trees and rain
This was a bit of an experiment to see how well the digital recorder worked and if the recordings might be edited into a single piece, so it's not the most polished thing ever. It's probably best to use headphones to listen. But hopefully it gives you an insight into what it's like to go on a walk with us!
person in field in gaiters and raincoat
Testing out my new gaiters. Looking pretty happy about them!
fancy red brick building
Fancy! Benenden (not Biddenden!) School. I like the way the additions change style over the years.
sign on tree
Danger Adders. The worst kind of adder.
sign beside road
Caution Humps. The worst kind of hump.
muddy boots and legs and tea stuff
Ahh, time for tea! We found a dryish spot in the woods, complete with a few items of handy tree stump furniture.
green shoots and dead leaves
Wild garlic. Spring is coming . . . As Dan says in the audio piece, "Tasty, tasty spring."
new growth
New growth.
oast houses through an archway
Oast houses at Sissinghurst.
walled garden and tower
Sissinghurst Castle. We haven't been for a while and it was nice to see it again (we didn't go in).
tree with growth that looks like a skull
A slightly creepy tree - doesn't that look like a skull?!

Please do let me know if you enjoyed the audio! I'll post a Snowy River adventure update later this week and then the blog will be taking a break until after we return from Australia in late April.

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2016 revisited: August

14/1/2017

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Wales, Malvern, Birmingham, London, Sussex, Kent . . . August was jam-packed with activities as we made the most of our summer holidays. This is a bit of an epic post - though, to be fair, it's mainly photos.
After walking from channel to channel, our holiday continued with a short stay in Monmouthshire. Our Airbnb wasn't far from Rockfield Studios, actually, and the museum in Monmouth had an interesting exhibition about the studio. We were also delighted to discover Monteas, a looseleaf tea shop with a friendly owner. We bought some delicious tea.
landscape
This was the view just across the lane from our accommodation. Dream house up on the hill opposite...
shop front with colourful produce
Fruit and veg shop in Monmouth.
From Monmouth, we went canoeing down the River Wye, which was great fun. I'd only kayaked before, so it was interesting to get a feel for canoeing - it feels much more sedate and, if you're in a canoe with others, there's more team work and communication.

​After a few days on the river, it was off to Malvern to finally visit the Malvern Hills. The short chain of hills is an eye-catching feature in the landscape, rising abruptly from the low-lying surrounds. We've seen them in passing and have always meant to visit, but it took us several years to get around to it! We just had one morning to climb to the top of one of the hills and enjoy a cup of tea sheltering from the stiff breeze. But what a morning! I loved being able to pick out other places we've been (the line of Hay Bluff was just visible in the hazy distance) and other hills we might want to climb.
Hill and distant views
Looking north along the Malvern Hills. Doesn't that path just make you want to walk (or cycle, or run, if they're your things)?
Sheep on hillside, landscape behind
Lucky sheep, to have this view. Also, the grass is probably quite nice.
line of hills
Looking south towards British Camp. Next time...
crows
Beautiful plumage, innit.
person standing on low bluff
Look! I have finally taken one of these photos! I made Dan strike several ridiculous poses.
person walking with large pack
I was gobsmacked at the size of this backpack - then I realised it was a paraglider. I think I overheard them say they'd glided to Cambridge from here before.
Malvern was an overnight stop on our way to Birmingham, where we stayed with a friend and spent a couple of days exploring the city (and washing our clothes, because after two weeks of walking, canoeing and sightseeing, we were a bit smelly). She took us around the city and we got to spend a few hours in the fabulous Library of Birmingham, another place we've been meaning to check out for years. We browsed books (and borrowed some, thanks to our friend!), admired the old Shakespeare Memorial Room which has been incorporated in the top floor of the contemporary building and wandered around the roof gardens checking out the view.
cladding composed of circles
The iconic exterior of the library. Unmistakable.
round walls with bookshelves
Inside the library, blue neon lights on the escalators.
wood panels and leadlights
Inside the Shakespeare Memorial Room.
two people on roof garden
Up on the roof terrace. The garden is a lovely place to sit (though if I recall correctly, it was quite hot).
On the way back to London, we detoured to visit the Alpkit warehouse and showroom, to look for kit in advance of our Snowy River adventure. That was fun, especially because they let me climb inside the fluffiest sleeping bag I have ever seen. I've always wanted to try one of those out, though I have absolutely no reason to use one in earnest!
old brick building with ghost sign
I love a good ghost sign, though I think this one has been touched up.
canal and city
The canal at Kings Cross with astroturf steps.
yellow lock, red chain
This lock was guarding an inner city garden/allotment of some kind.
stickers
Bikes at the bike cafe, Look Mum No Hands.
In London, we met up with a friend for breakfast and did a bit of city exploring to find some wooden streets. Yep. Did you know that the streets of London (and Melbourne, and many other cities) were once paved with wood? You can read about it in this great article by Ian Visits. I came across this when doing some research for our Snowy River adventure (a proper research rabbit hole) and decided I wanted to see it for myself. Our walk took us down some interesting back streets as well as along main roads, making for a fun afternoon wandering around the city.
Woodblock paving
This is some more recently laid wooden paving near Old Street station.
manhole cover with woodblocks
And here's an old remnant, preserved on a manhole cover.
wood
A closeup of the wood on the manhole cover on Farringdon Road. What a great piece of history!
Home again, home again. But being home didn't stop us getting out and about. We were making the most of our time before heading back to work.
Orange flowers
Pretty flowers in the garden near our house, looked after by the Beautiful Battle volunteers.
riverside - swimmer and a canoe
Wild swimming in the River Rother near Newenden. (Most people venture out in boats hired from the campsite.)
Church
We visited Rye with a friend one beautifully sunny day.
sea
The view from Rye out over the sea. Summer haze blended water and sky at the horizon.
flowers
A few delicate flowers in bloom at a friend's caravan in Hastings.
On the last day of August we walked all the way around Bewl Water. We'd been meaning to do the 20km/12.5mi circuit for a while and the weather forecast was fine, so off we set! Our circuit took us anti-clockwise from the main carpark/cafe area, along dirt and paved paths, down country lanes, around a few small hills, through woods and fields and along the Sussex Border Path for a while. It's a great walk if you're up for doing something of that length.
water, woods, sky
Beautiful still water in the morning. The signs warning of blue-green algae put me off going for a paddle, though!
birds, water
It's always lovely to see the birds and wildlife drawn to the water. These gulls were up and down, up and down, maybe fishing?
lake and landscape
I always try to imagine what places would have looked like before they were flooded by reservoirs - the little valleys and nooks, now gone.
plants
An exciting find: hops in the hedgerow!
boat
Another way to see the sights.
boats
Boats on Bewl Water.
sign in trees
A very helpful sign, not particularly close to the water and totally obscured by trees.
dam wall and clouds
The home stretch: heading back along the reservoir wall under a sky striped with mares' tail clouds.
And on that note, let's call it a day (or a month)!

Previous 2016 revisit posts: January, February, March, April, May, June and July.

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2016 revisited: March

22/12/2016

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Seaside, countryside, bush.
The month started with a visit to Margate with our friend. It was a gorgeous day - bright and windy - and we enjoyed our walk around the town and along the coast. One day I'd like to go back and hire bikes to cycle around to Broadstairs on the Viking Coastal Trail.
tide out view over harbour
lido sign
the botany bay pub sign
Notes from Lake Field. After the daffodils beginning to bud in February, the crocuses burst through, letting us know that spring really was on the way.
purple crocuses
Then it was off to Australia for a week in the bush (end of March) and a week in town (start of April). I wrote about our time in the country in what I think is my favourite post of 2016: Australia (Part 1: Country). I took so many photos in Australia, and shared a lot of them in my posts at the time. But here are a couple of new ones for you - an eastern spinebill and a red-browed finch.
Eastern spine bill
Red browed finch
I'll post some more city pictures from our visit to Melbourne next time.

P.S. I really like reading "year in review" posts, so please hit me up with your links in the comments.

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Do a day walk from Northiam in high spring

19/6/2015

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A gentle springtime walk around the East Sussex/Kent border near Northiam, along the River Rother and through the hills.
Green grass, blue sky
The sun is high in the sky and it already feels like midday as we walk down through the pretty village of Northiam. We pass hawthorn hedges wearing their first blossoms and cross the River Rother at a narrow bridge, admiring the boats moored below.

Our path takes us downstream along the calm valley, through fields adrift with wildflowers - pastel blue forget-me-nots, sunny dandelion flowers and fuzzy dandelion clocks, delicate pink milkmaids (a.k.a. cuckoo flowers or lady’s smock) waving on their long stems and bold yellow wild mustard flowers echoing fields of rapeseed nearby. When we stop for lunch, we add a few foraged leaves to our sandwiches: milkmaids are a kind of peppery cress and wild mustard is also edible.

Relaxing on the sunny riverbank, the day feels long and lazy, as though the hours have slowed to a halt. The call of skylarks and the whistle of the heritage steam train on the Kent & East Sussex Railway adds to the feeling that the years have been wound back. When we finally drag ourselves away from our dozing, a herd of curious steers is gazing down at us from the track above.

But within half an hour, the sky has clouded over and a chill wind is blowing up from the marshes. At Blackwall Bridge, we re-cross the Rother and join the Sussex Border Path. Maintenance of this 150 mile long distance path has recently been taken over by the Ramblers, and new waymarkers direct us over rolling fields, down hedge-lined farm lanes and through bluebell woods.

We stop in an idyllic grove beside a reed-lined pond for our afternoon tea. Sheltered from the wind, we fall asleep, lulled by the rumble of a tractor ploughing a nearby field. We wake to a splash in the pond and a quiet rustle in the reeds - my partner says he sees a water vole, but my eyes are not so keen!

The last section takes us through Beckley and back to Northiam. We hang over a hedge to watch a delightfully furry pig at Swallowtail Hill farm, negotiate a series of increasingly treacherous stiles, admire an overgrown orchard and are followed by a friendly dog.

There are a few moments of confusion - when we miss a turning, or when the way is overgrown with rapeseed - but soon enough the path deposits us back in Northiam at journey’s end.

This article first appeared as "Words come like flowers at the call of spring" in the Battle Observer, Friday 22 May 2015, page 61. 

Download a GPX file of our route (right) or check my walking tag for more East Sussex walks.
Boating station
Wildflowers
River, rapeseed, sky
Pig!
Northiam circular GPX route
File Size: 11 kb
File Type: gpx
Download File


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Walk around Bodiam Castle

17/3/2015

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A pretty circular walk starting from Bodiam Castle, taking in the views from Sandhurst Cross and returning along the Sussex Border Path.
Farm track and Bodiam Castle
It’s hard to imagine what the locals must have thought of Bodiam Castle when it appeared on the scene in 1385. Even now, through modern eyes accustomed to epic feats of architectural engineering, it’s a wonderful sight: the round towers rise sheer from the surrounding moat and the stone walls glow pale gold in the sun. And it’s still a surprise to come across it, nestled amid vineyards, hops farms and white-tipped oast houses, looking out across the lush pasture of the Rother valley.

The winter sun sparkles on the frost as we head east from the castle along a farm track, crunching ice beneath our boots. It’s a glorious day under a big, blue sky, and we’re not the only ones outside enjoying it.

To the north, the square tower of St Nicholas church at Sandhurst Cross hoves into view. As the river twists away to our right, we cross Kent Ditch and head uphill, leaving East Sussex behind.

We pick our way across a muddy field and through an even muddier wood. A frantic volley of gunshots erupts close by and, realising it’s a party of duck shooters, I briefly consider turning saboteur. Instead, we push on, appreciating the open views towards Sandhurst with its clock tower and windmill.

At St Nicholas, the congregation is leaving after the Sunday morning service. We sit in the churchyard for a while, drinking in both the view and a thermos of tea, trying to keep warm in the wind.

Inside the church I read about the bells, including the John Bell, which was cast in the late 15th Century, cracked in 1961, then repaired with new technology and re-hung in 2009. We also admire a window constructed of salvaged fragments of old glass and prayer cushions decorated with everything from hovercraft and Boeing jets to badgers and biblical quotes.

From Sandhurst Cross, walkers can take the road straight back to Bodiam, but we venture on to join the Sussex Border Path.

If the first half of the walk was characterised by big things - castles, skies, views, churches - then the joy of the last section lies in the details. The first crocuses are blooming, joining snowdrops and daffodils at the side of the road. We pass a well-used badger sett. Multicoloured lichen adorns a fallen tree and a bright orange jelly-like fungus emerges from a fallen branch.

After weaving our way over the hills, we slip down a narrow path beside a vineyard to emerge back at Bodiam Castle, just in time for lunch at the the National Trust tea rooms.

A version of this article first appeared as "Crossing borders across a rich landscape" in the Battle Observer, Friday 20 February 2015, p46. 

GPX route map - Bodiam and Sandurst Cross
File Size: 9 kb
File Type: gpx
Download File


Bodiam Castle
Bodiam Castle under a clear winter sky.
Daffodils
The first daffodils of the season.
Panorama of fields and church
View towards the church at Sandhurst Cross.
Silence while bells are ringing please
Instructions in the bell tower at St Nicholas.
Lichen
Lichen on a fallen tree.
Orange jelly fungus
Bright orange fungus on a fallen branch.
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Go wildlife spotting

1/3/2015

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February's microadventure challenge was set by Emily. She chose wildlife spotting. Inspired by Emily’s species-tracking updates, Dan and I thought we’d keep a log of what we’d seen in our courtyard and beyond. As the month progressed, I also started thinking about why we hadn’t seen more wildlife.

In our courtyard

We live on the outskirts of a small rural town. We tend not to get woodland and farmland animals in our courtyard, probably because the nearby woods and farms are much nicer than our little concrete square. We’d had a peanut feeder up for a while, which seemed to attract a few birds, but we used this month’s challenge as an excuse to get a seed feeder to pop on our kitchen window. We saw the following birds and mammals in our courtyard during February:
  • Blue tits. Our most common and numerous visitor, these are cute little things.
  • Great tits. Handsome, bolder markings than blue tits and larger, there’s usually only one at a time.
  • Long-tailed tits. We first noticed these adorable birds visiting our garden when we did the RSPB’s Big Garden Birdwatch in January. They come rarely and visit in little flocks.
  • Coal tits. We hadn’t seen many of these before, but they seem to like the seed feeder more than the nuts. They’re quite hard to spot because they flit in and out very quickly. They’re a bit smaller than blue tits and they have greyer markings, so sometimes if it’s overcast or at the end of the day I’m not sure if I’m seeing a blue tit or a coal tit.
  • Robins. I saw two at the same time, which was interesting (they can be pretty territorial). They have trouble holding onto the nut feeder, but they’ll often peck crumbs from beneath it. I noticed them coming to the seed feeder, especially when the ground was frozen and they couldn’t peck away in the planters and pots.
  • A dunnock. These are sweet little birds: delicate, warm grey/brown and quite shy. They’re similar to sparrows and are sometimes called hedge sparrows. There’s something in their colour and manner that reminds me of grey shrike thrushes in Australia (which are much bigger).
  • Blackbirds. We saw male and female blackbirds. I hadn’t seen many in our courtyard before this month, though Dan had. Maybe they came for the seeds and nuts because the ground was frozen.
  • Eurasian magpie. Perching on the wall.
  • Grey squirrels. This was new. In the past we’d had brown rats climbing on the nut feeder and so I just assumed it was still rats to blame for the occasional mass disappearance of nuts. But this month we discovered it was not one, but two bold little squirrels. We don’t see many squirrels around here, so it is kind of nice to have it visit, even though we don’t really want it eating all our bird feed!
  • Mouse or mice. Again, this makes me think maybe the rats have gone, because I’m not sure if mice like hanging out with rats (with the exception of Mrs Frisby)? One of the mice was definitely a wood mouse. It was running along our windowsill under the new seed feeder and I noticed it was a much browner/creamier colour than a house mouse and had really big ears. It was super cute.
One of our neighbouring houses has a long garden that encloses our courtyard on two sides and stretches right down into some trees, towards a big, ungrazed field. The house was recently sold, and our new neighbours only visit occasionally. I wonder if the lack of activity in their garden is encouraging more wildlife up towards our courtyard?
All photos are licensed through Creative Commons. Please click pictures to view original source.
Two blue tits
Two blue tits on a branch (David Reynolds)
Great tit
Great tit (Kev Chapman)
Long-tailed tit and robin
Long-tailed tit and robin (Tony Sutton)
A dunnock
Dunnock (Åsa Berndtsson)
Magpie
Magpie in flight (Irene Mei)
Wood mouse in snow
Wood mouse (Erik Jørgensen)

Beyond our courtyard

We tried to keep an extra keen eye out for animals and birds this month. Around East Sussex and Kent we saw (in addition to the species in our courtyard): wood pigeons, collared doves, jackdaws, crows, rooks, herons, herring gulls, black headed gulls (they look like they’ve face-planted in black ink), a buzzard, a kestrel, geese flying over, wrens (or other Little Brown Jobs), chaffinches, rabbits, foxes and deer (though these were in a deer farm). We also heard woodpeckers and found owl pellets, though we didn’t see the woodpeckers or the owls.

At the end of the month, we were in London and Norfolk. In London we saw (in addition to species mentioned above) a scruffy mouse at a tube station, then in the outer suburbs we saw nuthatches, parakeets and woodpeckers. On the way to Norfolk, we drove past two camels at a funfair, saw many rooks in rookeries, spotted a number of kestrels and a couple of buzzards. 

During our stay, we spied oystercatchers, a little egret, a skylark (or something equally noisy in flight), moorhens, ducks, house sparrows, several hares (on the last day of February, so they weren’t mad March hares yet), a bar-tailed godwit and a smaller wading bird that might have been a redshank.
Kestrel
Hovering kestrel (Mark Kilner)
Rooks
Rooks in flight (timku)
Hares
Hares in a stubble field (Ian)

Wildwood

A couple of friends who have joined the microadventure challenge invited us on the spur of the moment to visit Wildwood in Kent. Since I hadn’t managed to spot a (live) badger, I thought this was likely to be my best chance of seeing one.

We had an interesting but cold afternoon wandering around the park. We saw a sleeping otter, then later on we were lucky enough to watch one up close being fed. They have amazingly powerful little teeth and jaws that can bite clean through a person’s fingers. There were a number of deer species and a couple of elk (they have bizarre looking faces). I enjoyed watching the big, hairy bison - they looked like pleasant creatures (though I wouldn’t like to have one charge at me - they’re massive). Dan was quite taken by the lynx, I was in a flap over the little owl. We saw lots of other animals, including storks, Bennett's wallabies (did you know there are colonies of wallabies living wild in the UK?), Scottish wildcats, harvest mouse, beavers, eagle owls, barn owls, wild boar, wild horses, egrets, ravens (they are so much bigger than crows!) and wolves. We all spent a long time looking at the edible dormice (which are much bigger than I expected and look almost like sugar glider possums), but that’s possibly because they were inside, where it was warmer. Oh, and we saw some snoozing badgers, too: success!

I’m always a bit uncomfortable in places like this. The animals aren’t cooped up in concrete boxes for display like in old-fashioned zoos, but they still don’t have a lot of room to move around in. I know that many of them are rescue animals and are better off here (e.g. Wildwood has just raised enough money to rescue two Bulgarian bears), but I didn’t like seeing the wolves pacing around the fence line of their enclosure, or the raven flying from end to end of its little aviary.

Where is the wildlife?

This was a fun challenge. It reminded us to pay special attention to animals and spend a few extra moments trying to identify them. We were pretty happy with our species total, too - not bad for people who get most of their wildlife knowledge from Springwatch.

But during the course of the month, I started to realise just how few animals we were seeing. For example, it seems normal to us to be excited by a skylark, but this was an extremely common bird within living memory. Likewise, it would have been inconceivable to someone doing this challenge in a rural area in the 1980s to not see a hedgehog - not even a squished one on the road. So many of the animals we spotted have experienced alarming declines in population over the last ten, twenty, fifty years. Even house sparrows and starlings are now red listed in the UK .

There have been some recent success stories: buzzards and red kites have made a comeback, some birds that live well alongside humans (blue tits, robins, blackbirds) are flourishing and although we didn’t see any wild otters they are also scrabbling back from “the brink of extinction”.  But overall, there are huge declines in UK bird populations (especially farmland birds), invertebrate populations worldwide and UK wildlife in general.

Something I read this month, which made me stop and think about this issue, was a fascinating piece of community research by a local primary school and conservation volunteers. They'd published a little pamphlet outlining the history of a village water meadow. As part of the research, they’d collected oral histories from local residents, who were first-hand witnesses to the decline of wildlife in the area. One account was from a person who described how as a child they could go to the meadow and see hundreds and hundreds of frogs: now the school children were lucky if they managed to spot a handful.

This reminded me of a chapter in Collapse, where Jared Diamond talks about the deforestation of Rapa Nui (Easter Island) and its disastrous effect on the human population there. Reading that story, our inclination may be to wonder why an islander chose to cut down the last tree, what went through their mind when they did so, how they could have destroyed that final specimen of what was once a forest. But Diamond reminds us that this deforestation took generations to complete: the person who felled the last tree had never seen a forest.

Such is the case with declining wildlife populations. I think it’s one reason that going out wildlife spotting - with children, with great-grandparents, with migrants, with people from multiple generations, with city people and country people - is so important. It’s one thing to say: “Species X has declined 70% in the last 35 years.” It’s another thing to engage a child in a story: “When I was your age, I would see dozens of Species X on this walk. Why do you think we’ve only seen one pair?”

It's not just children who need this. I’ve been in the UK for over three years and I have never seen a (live) wild badger, wild otter or wild hedgehog. I've seen one slow worm and two snakes. I don’t know what else I’m missing. It’s relatively easy to notice what’s there. It’s much harder to notice the absence of something you’ve never seen.

So, go wildlife spotting! Talk about what you see. Talk about what you don't see. Talk about why that might be. Talk about what you might be able to do to help wildlife survive and, hopefully, prosper.
Skylark silhouette
Skylark (Mark Robinson)
Hedgehog
Hedgehog (Johnson Cameraface)
Starlings
Starling murmuration (Laura Thorne)
Badgers
Badgers (Tim Brookes)
Buzzard
Buzzard (Mark Robinson)
Slow worm
Slow worm (Wilfbuck)
Puffins
Puffins (James West)

If declining wildlife, birdlife and biodiversity is something that concerns you, you might also want to get involved with a local conservation group. In the UK you could try: RSPB, The Wildlife Trusts, Woodland Trust, Bat Conservation Trust, BTO, Butterfly Conservation Trust, CPRE, High Weald Landscape Trust, Hawk and Owl Trust, Bumblebee Conservation Trust or Buglife.

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Walk along the Royal Military Canal

19/2/2015

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From our long list of microadventure ideas, we chose "walk along a canal" as our fifth challenge of the year.
Flat horizon and wind turbines
It starts with a few drops of water plunking on the road. Then, as we turn up the path, the storm begins. The rain is so heavy I feel like I’m standing under a cold shower. The wind picks up, then picks up again, lashing around us. The path is muddy and uneven. I fall over.

I figure things can only improve from this point. “Less than three hours to go,” I chant under my breath as we brace ourselves against the headwind and squint into the face-stinging rain. 
“Just enjoy the experience,” I tell myself. “Getting drenched is all part of the adventure.” I tighten my hood, pull my collar up and my beanie down, and settle in for a long, cold, wet walk.

At one point, I turn my back to the squall and look back along the path. With a sinking heart, I realise we’ve walked less than 200 metres. “Well,” I think, “we only have to do that another 49 times this afternoon and we’ll be finished.”

To be clear, this was not some epic trek through the peaks or fells. In fact, Walland Marsh is the exact opposite of mountains: it’s part of the large, flat expanse that stretches about 30 kilometres (20 miles) as the crow flies from Rye in East Sussex over Romney Marsh to Hythe in Kent. The marshes are bordered to the south by the English Channel and to the north by an escarpment and line of small hills that once marked the edge of dry land. Just beneath that escarpment runs an odd relic of history: the Royal Military Canal.

Canals aren’t something I associate with this part of the country. This one starts and ends at the sea, doesn’t link into a canal network and a quick glance at the surrounding geography and topography shows that, unlike many other canals in the UK, it was surely not designed to transport goods during the industrial revolution. The biggest clue to its purpose is in the name. The Royal Military Canal was constructed between 1804 and 1809 as a defence against a potential invasion by Napoleon’s army.

One of the ideas behind microadventures is to get out and explore your local area in more depth. Despite living about half an hour away and despite being keen canal walkers (they’re flat and there are usually lots of boats and locks and birds and old industrial buildings to look at), we’d barely set foot on the Royal Military Canal. We decided it was time to rectify this absurd state of affairs.

The Met Office had forecast a clear afternoon. We parked in Rye, took the train to Appledore Station and congratulated ourselves for getting out of the house. We had lunch at Miss Mollett's High Class Tearoom and set out to find the canal path.

It was then, dear reader, the mini-blizzard struck. You will recall, we left our brave heroes struggling against the elements. They considered taking shelter in a nearby pillbox, only to find the floor strewn with crisp packets, cans and toilet paper . . . 

. . . and then the rain disappears. The path stretches out ahead, clear and straight, on a green bank raised between twin strips of silver: the shimmering canal on the left and the gleaming road on the right. 

The wind is still pummelling us, but now we have a view over the sheep pastures up to the Stone-in-Oxney church, across the levels to the wind farm and, most excitingly, up through multiple storeys of vanishing cloud to blue sky.

At first, with few landmarks to mark our pace or distance, the going seems slow. But sometimes these stretches of almost meditative blankness sharpen the mind, so that new details come into focus.


Only on such a long stretch of apparently straight path would I notice the small kinks in the canal, a defensive design to allow a clear firing line over each stretch of water should the feared Napoleonic invasion take place. Only in such an empty place would my eyes catch a flickering flock of long-tailed tits. Only here would I linger for so long at a strangely shaped border marker, tracing my fingers along the carvings until I realise that it is a date - 1806, the year when the canal must have made it from Kent into Sussex. And only after walking for an hour or so in these conditions would I greet the appearance of a disused lock with such enthusiasm.

Iden Lock marks the point at which the canal joins the River Rother. We sit on moss-speckled concrete slabs for our customary tea and biscuits, watching geese and shags fly overhead and gazing at the wind turbines, which shine brilliantly white on the horizon. Iden Lock collected its last toll in 1909 and it’s now no longer operational for passage. But the section of river we are approaching is speckled with small leisure boats - some overturned and half-submerged after a few months of wild winds.

After another mile or so we reach Scots Float sluice, where the river becomes a different creature entirely. This stretch is tidal, open to the sea, and the tide is out. We are treated to mudbanks and flats sparkling with little ponds and lagoons.


Little birds dart through the reeds or pick their way over the mud. As well as the usual suspects, we watch a small formation of pointy-winged birds zoom past, low over the water. Later, the nice person on the Sussex Wildlife Trust Twitter account told me they were probably ringed plover - the stripe on the edge of their wings when in flight is a good identifying feature.

The silhouette of Rye, easily identified by the distinctive hill-top tower of St Mary’s, has been visible on the horizon for a little while. Now we are approaching it at speed. The path becomes well-trampled - a sure sign that we are nearing civilisation - and we pass under the rail bridge, read an interpretation sign and cross the river into town beneath a pretty winter sunset.
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Signs on the canal
Path between canal and road
Clouds clearing from the sky
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This microadventure cost about £25.75 for two of us (petrol, parking, train tickets, lunch, tea and biscuits).

We declared our expedition to be a microadventure success! We would not have gone out in such dicey weather if we hadn't had a challenge to pursue. In the end, after the initial excitement, it turned into a beautiful afternoon and we were glad to be out and about.

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