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"Oooh! Champing!"

15/9/2016

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We went Champing! Uhh, what is Champing? It’s camping . . . in a church! Sounds amazing (apart from the terrible portmanteau) and it is amazing!
Church porch
Your room for the night . . . Church of St Mary the Virgin in Fordwich, Kent.
The deal is, you book a church through this website, much like you might book a B&B. It’s £55 per person per night (discounts for larger groups and repeat bookings, currently free for kids to the end of the season). You have the church all to yourself/yourselves. The fee gets you camp beds, water, tea and coffee making facilities, camp chairs with cushions and blankets, electric candles, lanterns and access to a loo. Oh, and one of the more unique bedrooms you’re likely to experience in an average year.
camp beds and window
A trial bedroom setup in Albury. Too breezy.
bed in church
Cosy between the pews in Fordwich.
We found out about Champing when we were in Suffolk with our friends and we decided to give it a go. It seemed like a fun idea for a night away, a bit more interesting than the usual accommodation fare and a bit more appealing to those who aren’t too keen on braving the elements under a tarp or in a tent.  Most of the Champing churches are in the South East, but they’re starting to spread. The churches are no longer in use for services and such things.
Bed
Snuggling down at Fordwich. We didn't really need all that bedding! (NB: First time reading Swallows and Amazons - I haven't seen the new film, yet.)
Our first Champing adventure was back in June at the Church of St Mary the Virgin in Fordwich, near Canterbury in Kent. Fordwich is a pretty little village (actually Britain’s smallest town) on the River Stour. Our venue still had the feel of an old village church in use, with quite a few displays around the place.
camp chairs around a small table
Chairs, blankets and cushions all set up around a little coffee table in Fordwich. You can see the water filter in the background.
Aside: After our night in Fordwich, I went for a wild swim in the Stour upstream of Canterbury. It was brisk!
Person in river
Sitting on an underwater ledge, waiting to acclimatise to the chilly, fast-flowing river. This was a great treat.
We enjoyed our time in Fordwich, and we decided to try another church. We booked a date in September to visit Old St Peter and St Paul’s Church, which sits on a private estate near Albury in Surrey (that’s the church I’m reviewing below). This building had a different feel - emptier, more spacious, lighter, more regal, more austere.
Dome steepled church in morning sun
Morning at Old St Peter and St Paul's Church in Albury, Surrey.
One of the lovely things about these churches is that they are open to the public until the evening. When we arrived at both churches, we got to talk to other visitors about what we were doing. As you might expect, reponses ranged from envy and excitement to, “Isn’t it a bit . . . creepy?” and, “Rather you than me!” Generally, though, everyone was intrigued with the idea and agreed it was a good way for the Churches Conservation Trust to bring in a bit more money to help preserve these old buildings. “Oooh, Champing!” was usually the last thing we heard as visitors wandered off across the churchyard.
church with chairs
What a gorgeous sight to come 'home' to!
stained glass window
One of the windows in Albury.
I was impressed with both of our Champing churches, though Albury might just be my favourite of the two. The Champing team sent all the info we needed pre-arrival and everything was set up in the church before we got there. All we had to do get out our pillows and sleeping bags, decide where to put the camp beds, unpack our snacks and drinks, switch on the electric candles, then talk and play board games into the night.
two coloured glass windows
The huge window at St Peter and St Paul's was stunning, as was the whole richly decorated South Chapel.
In the morning, you get breakfast, usually at a nearby pub or cafe. We had a bit of a disaster with the first place, which no longer provides the breakfasts at Fordwich (despite confirming beforehand, they had no idea how to cater for three vegetarians and a vegan) but the hotel in Albury was OK (although they only had dairy milk for drinks, alas). All in all, it's a pretty novel experience and comfort levels are somewhere between camping and glamping. I'd recommend it for families and groups of friends who want to try something a bit different.
Manor house in morning sun
The church at Albury was on a private estate. This was our view on the way to the loo. I liked the golden morning sun on the chimneys.
"Oooh! Champing!"

Year of Sleeping Variously: Champing edition

Two camp beds with sleeping gear in a large church
We didn't end up sleeping in this location. But it was the lightest place to get a good photo!
  • Bed (3/5) - They supply camp beds, we added our Thermarests, sleeping bags and pillows. The camp beds are quite comfy, but not so good for snuggling up to another person (there's a gap!).
  • Room (5/5) - OK, so there are no wardrobes, chests of drawers or couches. But It is a pretty special bedroom!
  • View (3/5) - Gorgeous windows (but too high to see out of from inside) and a landscaped estate beyond.
  • Facilities (3/5) - It's a step up from campsite camping, with water, tea and coffee provided. They have "ChampLavs" - dry separating compost loos - but no showers or running water.
  • Location (3/5) - Pretty nice, yeah.
  • People (5/5) - Of course - can't fault the company of good friends!
  • Food (3/5) - We went shopping for supplies at Waitrose, so our snacks were top notch. Cooked breakfast at The Drummond at Albury was average, though I'm sure if you're a meat eater you'll have more variety.
  • Value (3/5) - This is a hard one. I'm averaging this out over the two stays - we got a breakfast refund on the first stay due to the food mix-up and a discount on the second stay because we were return Champers. At full price it's £55 per person per night, and I think four people could get better value for £220 per night.
  • Uniqueness (5/5) - On the other hand, you are unlikely to get a more unique bedroom, no matter how much you fork out!
  • That indefinable something (3/5) - A few bats came out and flitted around during the night, and I love bats! They added some excitement to the peaceful atmosphere. I enjoyed padding across the stone floor in the night to go to the loo, and waking up with the birds calling outside.

Champing verdict: 72%

Previous Year of Sleeping Variously posts: 
tarp on a hill; B&B in a town; tent in a garden; holiday cottage on a farm; tent at a campsite; cabin by a canal; budget hotel.

Have you been Champing? Would you like to try it? If you've got any questions about our experiences, leave me a comment and I'll get back to you.

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Channel to Channel: kit list, map and accommodation

2/9/2016

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Our channel to channel trip included a few pretty long days of walking. One way of making a long walk more pleasant is to do some training. We didn’t do that. Instead, we opted for Option B: carry less stuff.
Bags on seat
All our gear for 4.5 days.
person walking under trees
Shoulder bag and camera: small load!

Pack lighter, go further

That’s the mantra of many ultralight hikers. The idea is that the less weight you carry, the easier it is to walk long distances. You’re less tired, less weighed down, less likely to injure yourself. And after this walk I’m inclined to agree (though having the money to convert to ultralight gear, or the desire to sleep in a half sleeping bag is another matter!). Although we could have done the long days with big packs, I think we would have been even more exhausted and much, much achier.

Our biggest weight saving came from staying in B&Bs every night. I figured that, with the exception of a few things, we only needed to pack what we’d usually take on a day walk. We didn’t need to bring any sleeping gear or shelter and most B&Bs provide soap, shampoo, conditioner, moisturiser and tea bags (though we packed some Earl Grey teabags, in case any B&Bs only had plain tea!). Because it was only four and a half days of walking, we embraced the stink and didn’t carry any extra clothes. We checked the weather and left our jumpers behind, deciding a t-shirt/shirt/raincoat combo would be warm enough. We also left our PJs out . . . rude! We relied on eating out or not being hungry most nights, so we usually only had to buy and carry snacks and lunch a day at a time. As we knew we’d be passing quite a few pubs and villages, there was no need for the trowel, toilet paper or much first aid. I figured the batteries on my camera and the dictaphone would last, so didn’t pack chargers or spares. In the end, we could easily fit all of our gear into one day pack (Dan) and one shoulder bag (Jonathan).
person walking on harbour arm
When it rained, I had to tie a knot in my shoulder strap to hitch my bag up under my coat. It worked OK.

Kit list

  • 1 pair shorts (each)
  • 1 long sleeved shirt (each)
  • 1 t-shirt (Dan) / 1 thermal t-shirt (Jonathan)
  • 2 sets underwear (each)
  • 2 pairs socks (each)
  • Sun hat (each)
  • Raincoat (each)
  • Hiking boots (each)
  • Toothbrushes
  • Toothpaste
  • Deodorant
  • Sunscreen
  • Lip balm
  • A few bandaids
  • Paracetamol
  • 2 x 600mL bottles of water
  • Water treatment drops
  • Thermos
  • 2 x plastic cups
  • Small carton of UHT soya cream
  • 6 x Earl Grey teabags
  • Snacks and light lunch when needed
  • Bank cards, tickets, cash
  • Itinerary and booking details
  • 3 x OS maps (borrowed from the Ramblers map library - members only)
  • Journal and pen
  • Mini cassette recorder
  • Camera
  • Phone and charger
  • 2 x hankies
  • Backpack (Dan) / shoulder bag (Jonathan)
  • Dry bag, plastic bags, ziplock bags

Thoughts on our gear

I found this review helpful after our walk across Wales last year, so I'm doing it again.

What didn’t we use? We didn’t use the water treatment drops. Although there was one day when we came close, in the end we just asked at a farmhouse to fill our bottles and they obliged - which actually made for a much more interesting experience. I didn’t really use my thermal top, though Dan wore his t-shirt. Because we had the voice recorder, I didn’t write very much in my little journal. We had a couple of teabags left at the end, too.

What did we appreciate most? Probably our biggest luxury was our daily thermos of tea. It’s not light, and the tea paraphernalia can get a bit bulky. However, a nice cuppa can make all the difference in a long day of walking - it can really pull you (read: me) out of a mid-afternoon slump. I also want to give big props to my shoulder bag - it’s a Stuffit Pram Bag, which a former boss of mine bought for me at a trade show. I love the wide shoulder strap, which spreads the load over my shoulder so that it never digs in.

What did we miss? I missed having a second, less stinky top - Dan wore his t-shirt to dinner in Honiton and when we socialised with our hosts after having showers. My thermal t-shirt doesn’t really work for that. Maybe next time I’d take a normal t-shirt or a short-sleeved shirt instead. Dan says he would’ve liked a set of undies and socks “just for evening wear”. How posh!

What did we not take and not miss? Jumper, thermal leggings, walking poles, waterproof trousers - pretty much anything not on the packing list and not mentioned above.
bags maps boots
Rest stop! Once again, OS maps proved to be good makeshift groundsheets.
person walking on road between hedges
I swapped shoulders every hour or two.

Route map

Because no trip report is truly complete unless there’s a map! We started the walk at Budleigh Salterton, near Exmouth. We mostly followed the River Otter to its source in the Blackdown Hills. We dropped down into the Vale of Taunton Deane, then headed up onto the Quantocks for the majority of the last day. Finally, we more or less followed the Doniford Stream to Watchet.
map
An overview of our walk. The red circles indicate where we stayed overnight.
We didn’t follow any specific long distance route, though we ended up sharing the path with a good number of them at different points. I used my usual method for charting a course and booking accommodation and I was pretty happy with the route we took.
map
Zooming out to give those less familiar with UK geography a better idea of where we walked.
In terms of transport, we drove to Taunton and parked in the station car park. We took the train to Exmouth (I loved the section where the train line is so close to the edge of the River Exe that it seems to be travelling over the water) and a bus to Budleigh. At the other end, we took the bus from Watchet back to Taunton. This set-up worked well for us (apart from the terrible service from Buses of Somerset on the Watchet-Taunton leg). Thanks to Dan for organising transport! It was a simple thing to hop in the car back at Taunton and then head off to Wales.

Year of Sleeping Variously: B&B edition

Oh yeah! We're back on with this thing! So, over the course of our holiday, which included this walk, the canoeing trip, a day in Monmouth, a night in Malvern, a weekend in Birmingham and a few days in London, we slept at: 4 B&Bs (including one booked on Airbnb), 2 Airbnbs (the proper kind in a house), 2 campsites, 1 friend's house and Dan's folks' place. So there is plenty to choose from. For no particular reason, I'm reviewing Eastcote House in Honiton.
double bed
Comfy bed - just what you need after a long day of walking.
  • Bed (4/5) - Comfy. Nicer than it looks on the website or even in my picture.
  • Room (5/5) - We got a whole private sitting/lounge room alongside the bedroom. Fancy.
  • View (3/5) - A view out over the B&B's beautiful garden to the Blackdown Hills beyond.
  • Facilities (4/5) - No bath in the ensuite bathroom - that would have made it a 5!
  • Location (4/5) - It was a very good town location, up one end of the High Street. This made it a short walk to the supermarkets, shops and restaurants of Honiton.
  • People (4/5) - Friendly B&B types. Had a nice chat with Roger over breakfast.
  • Food (5/5) - Breakfast was delicious. Home made muesli and jams, raspberries picked fresh from the garden, cooked breakfast - yum!
  • Value (3/5) - Good value, especially considering the vast space we had to spread out in. I almost wished we were staying longer to take full advantage of it!
  • Uniqueness (2/5) - It's a pretty place with a lovely garden, but it's not terribly unique. 
  • That indefinable something (2/5) - There was fruit and chocolate provided in our private sitting room along with the usual tea and biscuits. Not really related to the place, but we had a good dinner out with a friend in Honiton (which was an unexpected surprise).
​
B&B verdict: 72%.


Previously in our Year of Sleeping Variously: tarp on a hill; tent in a garden; holiday cottage on a farm; tent at a campsite; cabin by a canal; budget hotel.


If you've got any questions about our gear or our route, drop me a line in the comments. Also, I love snooping at a good kit list, so feel free to link to one of yours!

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A post-thunderstorm microadventure

19/6/2016

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The summer solstice was approaching, #30DaysWild was in full swing, the Summer Microadventure Challenge had been issued and the weather forecast was absolutely miserable. It was time to extract our bivi bags from the dark recesses of the cupboard and find a hill to sleep on.
Backlit hills and fields
Good things come to those who persevere!
It had been a while since we last slept wild (on the verandah of a beach box on the winter solstice) and to be honest, I was feeling a bit uninspired. It’s the kind of apathy I get about walking when I haven’t been out for a long hike for a while: it’s not that I don’t want to do it, I just find it hard to muster the motivation to actually start. My mood wasn’t helped by the weather. On the way to work, we drove past the bit of South Downs where we planned to sleep. The hills were engulfed in drizzly clouds. I thought of saturated grass, chalky mud and clammy, insect-infested air and I shuddered.
Cumulus clouds
Ooh, I love a good cumulus cloud!
Low foggy cloud on hills
Low clouds sweeping over the hills gave the landscape a somewhat ghostly atmosphere.
As the work day progressed, though, my anticipation built. I was invigilating exams and there’s nothing like being cooped up in a small room with nothing to do for hours on end to reignite your desire to spend some time outside. The forecast was looking up, too: the rain was due to stop at 11pm, then 9pm, then 6pm. Perhaps we’d be dry after all!
Grey clouds
Now for something completely different: clouds! This time, reflected in a puddle.
Clouds and radio masts on hill
A hint of sun - enough to keep our hopes up.
But in the afternoon, the weather whipped itself into a right state. I left work in the midst of a massive thunderstorm, complete with torrential rain and flashes of lighting. My colleagues wished me well and hoped they’d see me alive on Monday. In the car, Dan and I looked at each other and made the kind of deal that civilised people make. We’d do some last minute shopping for snacks, get ourselves a nice big dinner of pizza and then head up to the hills. We’d take our packs and go for a walk. If we got out to the spot we were hoping to sleep and it was still bucketing down, we’d go home. If not, we’d stick around for the night.
Radio masts with dishes
I know 3G doesn't come from these masts, but I still feel like their presence should mean we have good internet reception on the phone. (It didn't.)
Grassy path
The path over the South Downs. Note the skylark in the foreground!
It was still raining when we finished shopping at 7pm. It was still raining when we finished our pizza at 8pm. It was still raining, just, when we drove into the car park. But as we wandered along the hilltops, the weather cleared. A few chinks appeared in the grey, revealing blue sky above. In the west, crepuscular rays pierced through the clouds, panning across distant ridges and valleys.
Sunset clouds and scenery
The first hint of what was to come - and we thought this was pretty speccy.
Clouds and crepuscular rays
By now, you might have gathered that I like clouds. Quite a lot.
We took our time along the path, detouring through raindrop-jewelled grass to recce potential campsites. What combination of view were we after? Sheep, cows, crops, sea, downs, levels, harbour, river valley, town, sunset, sunrise? There were plenty of options, but we struck most of them off our list when closer investigation revealed copious thistle cover. Ouch.
Thistle in the grass
Thistle do nicely . . . or not. Unfortunately, not all thistles are this easily spotted!
wet grass
Raindrops gleaming in the sunset, like fiery little jewels in the grass.
The shifting clouds, delicate mists and evening light created gorgeous, ephemeral scenes. I could barely tear my eyes from the unfolding drama on the hills across the way. Every time I looked around, the landscape seemed to surpass itself in beauty.
Sunset
The line of clouds on the last ridge burnt a fierce gold in the sunset.
Hills, levels, mist, sunset
(Imagine me gesticulating wordlessly, or saying, "Wow!" over and over.)
Finally, as we reached our destination, the sun broke through, setting fire to the mist, flooding the downs and valleys with gold. I decided then and there that even if I had a terrible night, even if I was cold, damp and cramped by the end of it, the microadventure would have been worth it, just for this view. It had definitely rekindled my taste for wild camping.
Sunset hills of gold
#NoFilter
Hills flooded with yellow sunset mist
Still #NoFilter. Seriously, look at this! Do you see the windmill?
Eventually, as it always does at this latitude, the sun sank below the horizon. We retraced our steps a short way and plonked our things down beside the path. A couple of blokes in camo gear trooped past and we exchanged some effusive words about the evening (“Good night for it” / “It turned out pretty nice after all”), then we started to set up. There was only one problem: it had been so long since I’d used the tarp that I’d forgotten all my knots. Luckily, Dan was on hand with the sensible suggestion that I refer to the intertubes. I stomped off with the phone to find a spot with 3G and a little while later returned victorious with a fresh understanding of the tautline hitch. In just a few minutes more, we were brushing our teeth and snuggling down into our bags.
Sunset and coastal town
Looking the other direction, out to sea.
Sunset sky and silhouetted grass
A wild-camper's-eye-view. Good night.
It was a surprisingly comfortable site. We’d put the picnic rug down to keep the worst of the wet at bay, and the long grass provided quite a nice mattress. My annoying pillow that always deflates deflated, so I used a stuff-bag full of clothes for my pillow instead. (I’d ordered a new pillow online, but we hadn’t been able to pick it up during the week.) Below us, the town lights twinkled and the highway hummed. Above us, a few late night flights headed out from Gatwick and over the Channel. I fell asleep. At one point I woke up thinking someone was shining a light onto the tarp, but it was just the nearly-full moon, sailing clear of the clouds. A clean breeze rippled through the long grass. In the distance I heard a cow calling her calf.
Tarp beside the path
Look! There's our tarp, right next to the path.
Pot of porridge
Uninspiring porridge to finish off the adventure. At least it was hot!
The next thing I knew, it was light, and the air was full of skylark song. There must be hundreds of skylarks up on the South Downs at the moment - or half a dozen very noisy ones that follow us every time we go for a walk. I tried to go back to sleep (it was just after 4 o’clock), but the birds and other aspects of nature were calling. We packed, then Dan wandered off to look at the view. He reported that the tarp was very well camouflaged in the grass. A couple of keen mountain bikers sped past just after 5am, grinning hello. Soon we were walking back to the carpark, where we cooked breakfast under the watchful eyes of rooks and jackdaws.
(Later that morning, Dan collected my new Exped Air Pillow XL from the post office. I tried it out on the living room floor and declared it to be good. I’ll test it properly next weekend in an unusual venue . . . stay tuned!)

Year of Sleeping Variously: Tarp on a hill edition

Tarp with sleeping gear under it
  • Bed (3/5) - Surprisingly comfortable and surprisingly dry, all things considered. At least one point needs to be docked for my annoying pillow.
  • Room (3/5) - Our lightweight tarp pitched using hiking poles. I'm always surprised by how much floor space we get, even if headroom is a bit minimal.
  • View (5/5) - The sunset was so beautiful, I think it's in the top 10 views of my life so far!
  • Facilities (1/5) - There was a small tree? And back at the carpark there was a bench (no table).
  • Location (5/5) - Perfect spot, and handily between work and home, so we can easily stop off again on a Friday night . . .
  • People (4/5) - Docking one mark here for my own grumpiness when I couldn't remember the knots to pitch the tarp!
  • Food (1/5) - The choc-chip biscuits from Waitrose were pretty tasty, but the tea and porridge were not very inspiring.
  • Value (5/5) - Free! And good! Well done, South Downs, would stay again.
  • Uniqueness (5/5) - Wild camping is pretty much the only way you can enjoy this view overnight, so yeah, it's unique.
  • That indefinable something (5/5) - The sunset has to count for at least two or three points, and then there was the skylark song, the clean smell of grass all around, the moonlight . . .

​Tarp on a hill verdict: 74% (but a really, really excellent 74%!)

If you’re interested to see what others have been getting up to outdoors this month, check out the #30DaysWild and #MicroadventureChallenge tags on social media.

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Year of Sleeping Variously: A Couple of Updates

3/6/2016

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Last time I sent a dispatch from a bed not my own was to tell you about our tent in the garden adventure. Our trip to Australia in March/April also involved sleeping in spare rooms and on aeroplanes, but there are no photos of those shenanigans. Back in the UK, the glorious month of May was bookended by long weekends - and here’s where we slept for those.

Suffolk

Two lambs
Two Southdown lambs. Look at those teddy bear faces and wooly socks!
We spent the first long weekend in Suffolk with a couple of lovely friends. We booked a holiday cottage that turned out to be on a rare breeds farm in the middle of the countryside. It was fairly close to the minster where we wild camped last July, so we went on a couple of walks in that direction. As well as walking, we spent the weekend lazing in the sunshine eating and drinking, exploring the cute church nearby and playing board games. On the way home, we dropped in to the local May Day Fair, where I picked up a good supply of jams, chutneys and marmalades.
Church with round tower
A church in the middle of nowhere. We learnt about Champing here - stay tuned for adventures on that front!
Bird on dead grass
A male linnet, IDed by notso at bus-stop birding.
Chook and lamb
A chook and a lamb. Too cute.
Yellow flowers
The rapeseed (canola) was in full bloom, and our walks took us through huge fields of it.
Sheep with horns
This looks like the kind of sheep my parents used to keep.
Two hares
Two hares, just before they loped away down the path ahead.
Ruins in a wood
The ruined walls of the minster, where we slept out last summer.
Rooster
A rooster on the fence. This was the view from our patio.
Goat
A goat sitting on a thing. As goats do.
House
Storybook thatched house. This is not where we stayed, by the way!

Year of Sleeping Variously: holiday cottage edition

Bedroom in pale colours
Our bed for the night, and the next night, and the next one. I love long weekends.
  • Bed (5/5) - It was certainly more comfortable than (a) a tent (b) an aeroplane or (c) our own bed.
  • Room (4/5) - A decent size with plenty of storage. And it had an ensuite bathroom. With a bath!
  • View (3/5) - Not so much from our room, but the view from the living area was lovely - a little garden and some fields with turkeys, sheep and chooks.
  • Facilities (4/5) - Would be a 5, but the water temperature in the shower and bath was . . . temperamental.
  • Location (4/5) - Perfect for what we wanted . . . but minus a point because it took us about 7 hours to get there from Brighton on Friday night. Is it unfair to dock a point for the M25 when the M25 is at least one county away? Probably.
  • People (5/5) - As I said, lovely friends. Would friend again.
  • Food (4/5) - It was all self-catering and I cooked some tasty vegan food. The welcome pack also included eggs from their free range chooks, a sponge cake and a bottle of wine. Score!
  • Value (4/5) - Four people, three nights, £360 (I think). Very reasonable.
  • Uniqueness (3/5) - It's a farm building converted into a holiday cottage - nothing too out of the ordinary for the UK. But then, you don't usually get to see Southdown Sheep and rare turkeys from your window . . .
  • That indefinable something (2/5) - A holiday after our holiday to Australia, far from anything resembling hustle and bustle, sleepy countryside . . . so relaxing.

Holiday cottage verdict: 76%

East Sussex

Handpainted sign
In case you want to visit us and stay nearby in a campsite, this one's pretty nice!
We hadn’t been camping in a tent in a campsite for almost two years! Last year, we spent all our nights out under the tarp and/or in our bivvy bags. So on the last long weekend in May we pootled off to a local campsite for a low-key adventure. Our aim: do nothing except read, eat and sleep. Mission accomplished! It was good to get our tent out after a long hiatus and it was quite relaxing to be in a legitimate campsite, with no worries about getting sprung or told to move along.
Deer
One of the little animal signs dotted around the reception area.
Campstove and pot, biscuit box, magazine
Stroopwafels are important camping material.
Vegetarian burger
Not, perhaps, the best veggie burger I've made.
Tree-lined road
The magic starts as soon as you turn down the lane to the campsite.

Year of Sleeping Variously: tent in a campsite edition

Tent
Home for the night! It was lovely to lie under the awning and read into the evening.
  • Bed (2/5) - Somehow less comfortable than the tent in Australia - but not by much.
  • Room (3/5) - This is our old Aspect 2.5 tent, which is a decent 2 person tent. It has a couple of storage pockets and plenty of headroom. This time for the first time we used walking poles to make a verandah at the front - bonus space!
  • View (2/5) - We put our backs to the campsite, so our view was mostly a fence and some woods. Nice.
  • Facilities (3/5) - We only used the water, loos (showered at home) and washing up area. But they had a laundry, showers, recycling point, tiny kiosk - all the things you need at a campsite, really.
  • Location (4/5) - All of ten minutes from our door, in a secluded, wooded valley. The magic starts with the sign at the front and the drive down the tree-lined track. It feels a bit like entering another world.
  • People (3/5) - The campsite wasn't boisterous in the evening and although there were a lot of kids we were awake before the morning noise began. We were amused by snatches of overheard conversations, too!
  • Food (2/5) - Look, I forgot the oil, so we kind of had to steam our burgers for dinner. They turned out OK, but it wasn't exactly gourmet. Food situation somewhat redeemed by stroopwafels.
  • Value (4/5) - Not the cheapest campsite around here, but it's nice enough to be good value.
  • Uniqueness (3/5) - I really liked all the handpainted signs and little cut-out woodland animals everywhere. Cute!
  • That indefinable something (2/5) - Lying under our verandah reading our books, listening to the wind sigh through the leaves overhead was delightful. And the extremely loud dawn chorus in the valley was . . . well, it was not nothing.

Tent in a campsite verdict: 56%

Now, onwards into summer! There are plans afoot for a couple of fun holidays - short breaks, multi-day walks and possibly (I hope!) some kayaking. Also throughout June, I'll be taking part in #30DaysWild - I did it last year too. This year is extra-special for me, because I did the illustrations on the Random Acts of Wildness cards that people have received as part of their pack. Maybe I'll post about that, as well.

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Australia (Part 1: Country)

16/4/2016

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We went to Australia! It was a wonderful, if too-short, visit. We caught up with family and friends, relaxed in the country (first week) and ate our way through the city (second week). This post focuses on the first part, travelling out to East Gippsland, spending time in the bush, swimming in the river and going to the beach. It's in four sections: (1) photos; (2) a reflective piece; (3) more photos; and (4) Year of Sleeping Variously: tent in the garden edition. I took a ridiculous number of pictures, so this is just a small selection. I hope you enjoy them and they give you a taste of our visit. I didn't feel like writing a diary-style blog about our trip, but I hope you enjoy the words, too.

East Gipplsand is the traditional country of the Gunaikurnai nation. More specifically, the area around Orbost and the Snowy River is the traditional country of the Krowathunkooloong people. If you live in or visit the area, you might like to explore the Bataluk Cultural Trail and visit the keeping place in Bairnsdale.

1.

Paddocks and distant hills
Scarred tree
Trees, fire and tents in back yard
Small timber shed, field and large trees
Top: View over the plains west of Bairnsdale. We took a few minutes out of our drive to detour down a wide gravel road off the highway, hop out of the car and admire the landscape. I've never explored this area, but this view made me want to go back and do so.

Middle left: "The Canoe Tree" at Howitt Park, Bairnsdale. Aboriginal people removed a 4m long section of bark to make a canoe, creating this scar.

Middle right: We stayed at my aunt and uncle's place on the Mornington Peninsula, meeting up with lots of folk from my dad's large family for my cousin's baby's naming day. This is my aunt and uncle's backyard, with my cousin's tent in the background.

Bottom: The old shearing and milking shed on the river flats at the bottom of my parents' place. There used to be more fences here, when they had sheep to shear, cows to milk and a vegetable patch to protect. There was no electricity - Dad did the milking and shearing the old fashioned way, by hand.
Rainforest creek bed
Currawong, black bird with yellow eye
Two long bridges over flat grassland
Small jelly fungus
Top: Temperate rainforest. We went for a scramble along the creek bed that runs through my parents' place, down to the river. Closer to the river, deer (non-native animals) are making a bit of a mess of the valley.

Middle left: A pied currawong. Currawongs are handsome birds with large beaks and fierce, curious, bright yellow eyes. The name is onomatopoeic, it sounds a bit like their usual warbling call (they can also imitate some other birds).

Middle right: View across the Orbost river flats with the Princes Highway on the right and the old wooden railway bridge on the left. We visited a fantastic exhibition in Orbost, all about the history of the railway (the last trains came to Orbost in the late 1980s) and we signed a petition to have this bridge looked after. The line from Orbost to Bairnsdale is now a rail trail, which (obviously) does not use the dangerous bridges.

​Bottom: A tiny white jelly fungus spotted in the rainforest. There are thought to be over 250,000 species of fungi in Australia, though only 13,000 of them have been recorded. 

2.

Driving through Melbourne and out to the Mornington Peninsula, I notice - for the first time in my life, really - the diversity of eucalypt trees. The freeway is lined with the short, scrubby kinds, multiple limbs springing up from the base, Mallee-style - trees that curl and wave and seem truly alien to eyes accustomed to oak, birch, spruce, hazel. I suddenly develop some sympathy for John Glover: I can understand, now, how he and others might have grappled with the unfamiliar proportions and anatomy of Australian trees, unintentionally emphasising the weird, writhing otherness of eucalypts in their paintings.

Down on the peninsula and through South Gippsland, I crane my neck to look up the elegant, smooth-skinned trunks of spotted gums, their pale, almost pastel pink skin covered in large splotches of smooth grey or creamy bark. Driving through the La Trobe Valley and into the plains around Sale and Bairnsdale, the dominant colours change to burnt orange and brown. We find river gums here, the broad, solid trunks covered in bark at the base, but sloughing it off in great, hanging ribbons at the top, where smooth boughs emerge a rich, tannin-y cream. The wavy Mallee branches have disappeared. After Lakes Entrance we pass through forests of stringybark, stringybark and stringybark, grey and rough coated, straight and slender, here blackened by the bushfires of a few years ago, with young, leafy branches springing from the burnt trunks.

At Orbost, we leave the highway to head out over the river flats, where blue-grey stands of coastal grey box dot the paddocks. Up the Snowy River, the rocky hills are striped with stringybark and ironbark while the lush valleys host tall mountain grey gums. On the way back to Melbourne a week later, we pass through the Dandenongs and acres of towering mountain ash, Eucalyptus regnans, one of the tallest trees in the world.

There are dozens of other species, too - eucalypts, acacias, banksias, others. The whole time, I ask my sister, the horticulturalist and gardener, “What’s that tree? What’s that tree?” She gives answers that satisfy me, but she also reminds me that there are hundreds of eucalypt species in Australia and only a specialist could keep up with my demands. When we reach my parents’ place, I ask them the same question, hoping that almost four decades in the area will have given them time to identify the local trees. They pull a few useful books off their crowded shelves - Forest Trees of Australia (1979 edition), Native Trees and Shrubs of South Eastern Australia (1984 edition) - editions new enough to have some full colour photos, though most are still black and white. I wonder what’s changed in the world of tree classification since their publication. I start Googling tree names, but Wikipedia has scant knowledge on some species and I’m not sure it’s any more accurate or up-to-date.

This sparse information makes me wonder if there's a big difference between my two countries. In the UK (at least, where I live), people go on bluebell walks and badger spotting evenings, they discuss what happened on Springwatch (or Autumnwatch, or Winterwatch), go on foraging and wild food cookery courses, happily spend an hour and a half watching a film about a year in the life of an oak tree, take part in outdoors campaigns (like #30DaysWild), get involved in citizen science (like the Big Garden Birdwatch) and read enough books about outdoorsy, naturey things that bookshops often have a “nature writing” section. There is a whole, loosely defined genre of media dedicated to nature. If I want to find out what bird I’ve just seen in the UK, there’s a pretty good chance the RSPB will have it on their online bird identifier. For butterflies there’s a Butterfly Conservation charity, for bats there's the Bat Conservation Trust, for bumblebees there's the Bumblebee Conservation Trust. There are countless pocket guides and wallcharts of wildflowers, birds, trees, insects, fungi and forage-able food. 

Compared to that, mainstream Australian culture seems to lack curiosity: there's very little desire to explore or connect with everyday nature. (This week, it feels like the petition to save a Lemon-scented gum on Flemington Road in Melbourne has not taken off as quickly as it would have done in the UK.) I wonder what that’s about. Is it fear? Do people worry about being called greenies? (Remember those car stickers, "Fertilise the bush, doze in a greenie" and "The only true wilderness is between a greenie's ears"? Remember how some shops in Orbost refused to serve anyone who looked like they were on the way to or from protest camps to save old growth forests?) Or is it anxiety about the bush itself, a relic of the colonists’ adversarial relationship with Australian landscapes, flora and fauna (lost in the hills, bitten by a snake, starving to death)? Is it a deeper cultural uneasiness, an unsteady repercussion of the new settlers' campaign to wipe out any intimate, long-term, traditional knowledge of Australian ecosystems along with the Aboriginal people who carried that knowledge? Is it simply that we’re taught that Australia is so big and there is so much bushland, so much desert, so much coast that we take it for granted? Are we just blasé?

Perhaps in the UK we can - and must - focus so intently because there is so little to focus on. Messing around on the Woodland Trust’s website a few days after returning to England, I read that there are two species of oak native to the UK, three species of native conifer and several species of native willow (which can hybridise, making identification tricky). The list of UK native trees, including photos, fits on a webpage that I can scroll through in a few seconds. I flick back through my photos from Australia, looking at all the trees I couldn’t identify there. Sure, most of them are eucalypts or acacias, but with several hundred species of the former and almost a thousand of the latter, the task of identifying them seems impossible. After looking at those tree books at my parents’ house I know even less about Australian flora than I did before.

Still, a eucalypt is a eucalypt is a Eucalyptus (or a Corymbia, or an Angophora, or...). The leaves always give off that shock-sharp scent when you crush them between your fingers or add one to a billy of tea. On our first full day at my parents’ place, the summer fire restrictions end. Dad and my sister light a big bonfire, hosing down the nearby tree trunks to keep it under control, raking dry branches into the flames. Up at the house, Mum starts to boil the kettle for tea, but I suggest we take a billy down to the fire instead. We dig around in the cupboards for a suitably billy-ish vessel, spoon tea leaves into a jar, grab some milk and some cups and head out for an afternoon adventure. The billy takes time to heat up, wedged among the coals, collecting a bit of ash and developing a fine, smoky flavour. The tea leaves go in when the water starts bubbling and, without being polite enough to check with the others, I throw a gum leaf in as well. The thing about billy tea is it has to be a bit dirty, a bit over-brewed, a bit tanniny, or it’s just not right. This tea? Is amazing.

We sit around on old planks and stumps of wood, staring at the fire as it dies down, chatting about this and that. I show Dad how to make a drink can stove, probably the first time I’ve ever been able to teach him anything remotely Boy Scout-ish. My sister disappears up to the house with Mum and they return carrying foil-wrapped potatoes, a pot full of rode kool (red cabbage, a nod to our Dutch heritage) and - best of all - piles of buttered bread, slices of cheese, tins of baked beans and a jaffle iron. The potatoes go in the ashes to cook slowly, the rode kool nestles at the edge of the fire. The five of us construct jaffles and jam the iron under the red hot coals, leaving it in a bit longer, and a bit longer still, to get that extra crunch on the bread. I bite into mine when I know full well it will be too hot, burning my fingers and tongue with impatience. After stuffing ourselves with food, we make another billy of tea, this time with Earl Grey teabags and two box leaves, which is perhaps not the best combination. By the time we finish our cups, it’s dark. We head home, full, tired, happy and infused with the smell of eucalyptus smoke. As Dad winds the hose back up to the garage, the rain begins.

Rain on a tin roof is one of my favourite sounds. It’s soothing, childhood-familiar, and sends me to sleep straight away. I dodged jet lag on this trip, but if I hadn’t, the rain that evening still would have worked its white-noise magic. Once or twice during the night I grappled feebly against drowsiness, wanting to record the sound as insurance against future insomnia - but I sank back to sleep before I could get an arm out from under the covers. The night wrapped around me, blanketed me in aural memory, transported me to every other time I’d slept under that roof, under that rain.

It's hard to write about the trip as a holiday. So many of the places we visited were already worn into my senses. I know that one morning, I stood outside in the soft early light, listening to bird calls echo through the trees. I know I heard magpies, currawongs, whip birds or lyrebirds imitating whipbirds, then, later, kookaburras, wattlebirds, cockies. I know it wasn't a huge hubbub; "They're not as noisy when it's cloudy," said Mum. I know my sister stood beside me at the fence near our old cubby house and watched the sky turn from orange to a pale, in-between beige on the way to daylight. I know this. Yet when I try to find something more specific about that morning, I can only recall a blended memory of all the mornings I've spent on that hillside, listening to those birds waking up, watching that dawn creep up the eastern sky.

I go swimming twice in the Snowy River at the bottom of the hill. The last time I swam here must have been in the late 1990s, before I moved to Melbourne. Back then, willows lined the bank and a steep, muddy step launched me into river slime and weeds. I had to wade a few metres through sluggish water before I hit clean sand. Those willows were cut down a decade ago as part of the Snowy River regeneration plan. For years afterwards the banks were a mess of devastation. Although I appreciated the theory behind the replanting programme, I grieved the trees that I’d played on from childhood and I resented the scrappy little shrubs that had been planted to replace them. Even five years ago, just before I left for the UK, the river banks looked strange and half-naked.

But now the ti-trees have grown, the acacias have shot up beside the creek and a few eucalyptus saplings have taken root, inviting me to imagine a future in which tall, graceful gums line the river once again. This all passes through my head as I strip down to my undies and pick my way down to the water’s edge. It's no longer a mudslide, but a well-grassed descent. The biggest change is in the river itself. There is barely any slime or mud, and no choking weeds: just clean, coarse river sand, fast-flowing water and a tribe of skaters skimming close to the bank. I wade across to a sandbank midstream, leaning against the current and sloshing up and down the ridges and valleys that have formed beneath the water. It’s chilly, but not too cold. There are several places where the loose-packed sand gives out under my feet and I sink a few inches, but the river never gets as deep as my waist.

On the opposite side, fresh deer tracks lead down to the water and back up into the bush; a single imprint of webbed bird feet is stamped in the sand; some large hoofed animal has walked around here, too, although the tracks are old and indistinct. I add my own footprints in a swerving, curving line back to the river. My legs are well accustomed to the temperature now, but when I try to duck dive under the water, I’m overpowered by a strong preservation instinct and find myself unable to move. I need to acclimatise a little more, so I splash my arms and shoulders with water, then my face and hair and lastly - most shudderingly - my neck and back. The coldness of my damp singlet in the light breeze is worse than being underwater, so I take a deep breath and fall face first into the river. Ahh! I leap straight back up, wave to Dan on the bank, then crouch down, letting the water rise up to my waist, chest, armpits and over my shoulders. The river flows around me, shallow but strong. I float on my back and let the current drift me along, turning me so my feet point upstream. I wonder how long it would take to float to the sea.

It’s time to go. Wading back to the bank, where Dan waits with a towel, I stop to watch the sand on the river bed. Flecks of mica, fool's gold, flash in the light, tumbling down the underwater dunes, swirling around the deeper pools, constantly moving. The river is always in flux, always remaking itself.

3.

Sunrise behind trees
Looking out from inside the culvert
Cups of billy tea - and billy
View across river with tiny person on other side
Top: Dawn, looking east from the garden down the paddock and over the trees to the lightening sky.

Middle left: Under the bridge. When I was a kid, our drive crossed two bridges on its way to our house. The bridges were wood, planks of timber laid across two huge tree trunks. They rumbled and juddered under the car as you drove across, they were very slippery after rain and the gaps between the planks made walking a bit hazardous, too. They were picturesque, but slightly terrifying (especially the longer, higher one, which we imaginatively called "The Big Bridge"). Eventually, my parents had the bridges replaced with these culverts. They are big enough to walk through, as we did on our adventure down the creek to the river.

Middle right: Billy tea, brewed and stewed, stirred with a stick, flavoured with a gum leaf.

Bottom: I set off to explore the mysterious Other Side Of The River (for about two minutes). Although I lived here for the first eighteen years of my life, I don't remember ever bothering to swim or wade all the way over the Snowy - only ever to the sandbank in the middle. UK summers have hardened me up enough that an overcast autumn day in East Gippsland is plenty warm enough for a swim! The next day I even convinced Mum to come along with me.
Female fairy wren
Mangy wombat butt
Two black swans on water
River mouth and sea
Top: A superb fairy wren. Yes, that really is their name, though we tend to call them little blue wrens. This is a female, with a cute bandit mask around her eyes. Mature males have bright blue and black heads and blue tails. They are jittery little things, flitting restlessly through the garden in search of food, bouncing comically across the grass. As I always do with cute small birds, I stuck my finger out and demanded they come and sit on it. As always, they didn't.

Middle left: We saw many of the wild animals I'm used to finding around my parents' house - a lyrebird, wallabies, and this wombat. Unfortunately, the little beastie has mange - a horrible condition.

Middle right: Swans on the Yeerung River, near Cape Conran. I have missed seeing black swans, with their ruffled wings, hidden patches of white feathers and bright red bills. They have quite a nice call, too. Also at the Yeerung, a sea eagle flew low overhead. That was very special.

Bottom: The Yeerung spends a lot of time cut off from the ocean by the sand. This means the sun has time to heat the water up, making it a lovely place to swim. When we visited, a shallow strip was open between the river and the sea. You can see where the tanniny, iron-rich water of the Yeerung meets the clear, blue-green water of Bass Strait. This is also a popular place for kayaking - we arrived just as a group was departing to paddle back up to the put-in place.

Year of Sleeping Variously: tent in the garden edition

Dan, my sister and I had planned to camp at McKillop's Bridge, but we were sick of travelling and couldn't be bothered driving three hours up the river to get there. "Let's go to Wood Point instead," we decided, "since it's only half an hour away." But Mum thought there might be a bunch of Other People camping there already for the school holidays and we didn't really want to deal with Other People. So how about we pitch our tents down on the river flats? Yes! Great plan! But then we ended up staying at the beach much longer than expected and by the time we got home it was getting dark. So we settled for the excellent microadventure mainstay of camping in the back yard.
Tent in a garden
  • Bed (3/5) - An extra blanket under our Thermarests made it a bit more comfortable than usual, I suppose. The sleeping bags I haven't used since I left home were quite toasty.
  • Room (2/5) - Not bad for a cheap tent from Kmart (courtesy of my sister), but it lacked pockets and a vent or window.
  • View (4/5) - Beautiful garden, bush in the background, stars in the sky, sunrise in the morning . . .
  • Facilities (4/5) - I'd give full marks, but the internet connection is dire out there!
  • Location (4/5) - Both the middle of the nowhere and right next to a well-appointed house for all our needs.
  • People (5/5) - Could I really give my family any other score? ;)
  • Food (4/5) - Food. So much food, including lots of veggies from my parents' garden. The cups of tea brought out to us at 7am were warming and delicious.
  • Value (5/5) - It was free. We didn't even buy the tent! (On the other hand, if you count the plane tickets to Australia, it was the most expensive campsite I've ever visited.)
  • Uniqueness (4/5) - I suppose it's still "just" a tent in a garden . . .
  • That indefinable something (4/5) - The stars on a clear night are absolutely stunning. The mysterious sounds of the bush made us all feel very adventurous. My sister being in the next door tent was fun. The huntsman spider on the outside of our tent when we headed to bed was a nice touch.

Garden camping verdict: 78%

Previously: budget hotel edition, canalside cabin edition.
Yellow breasted robin
Bonus yellow breasted robin for making it to the end of this post!

Thanks to Lis, Jerra, Esther, Caroline, Barry, Esther, Gabe, Martin, Brian, Bridget, Andy, Angeline, Richard, Ruth, John and Chris for your hospitality during the first week of our visit - for company, meals, treats, beds and many cups of tea.

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Three days on the Grand Union Canal

13/3/2016

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The Grand Union Canal, as the name suggests, is not a single canal, but rather a (grand) union of several canals. There’s the trunk stretching from London to Birmingham and then there are branches, or arms, heading off into surrounding areas. Some of those arms are full of water and navigable the entire way. Others are dry or filled in - completely out of commission. Some are little more than reed-choked drainage ditches, half forgotten except by the creatures that find a safe haven in these slivers of weed and water.
Picture
Fishing on the Slough Arm of the Grand Union Canal.
​A number of years ago, we embarked on one of our very long-term projects: to walk the length of the Grand Union Canal, including all its arms. We started strong, covering most of the sections within London as well as the Wendover and Aylesbury arms. Then we moved down to East Sussex and the canal was too far away for day walks . . . but not too far away for a three day break during the half term holiday! So we booked a couple of Airbnb places and set off. From Slough.

Day 1: Slough to Cowley Lock

Two red kites wheeled close over the road as we drove in - our first taste of the wildlife to come. We parked the car and headed to the canal, surprising a small mammal of some kind (possibly a water rat), which scurried through the reeds and plopped into the water.
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Slough has all the necessities.
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First glimpse of the canal through the rushes.
The Slough Arm was opened in 1882, mainly to carry bricks from the surrounding quarries and brickworks to London. It was closed to commercial traffic in 1960 and there were plans afoot to fill it in. Locals opposed this idea and got on the campaign trail. The canal was re-opened in 1975 and is still in use today. We didn’t see any boats moving about, but there were a few people fishing from the banks and a couple of boats with smoke wafting from the chimneys.
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Ducks of different sizes.
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I actually managed to get a photo of a robin. Miraculous.
We stopped for lunch a mile or so into the walk, just before we felt the first few drops of rain. It was light and scrappy at first, but got heavier as the afternoon went on. We passed a couple of other walkers and joggers, disturbed a deer, tut tutted at the section of canalside that was covered in rubbish, spotted a few birds and the first green hawthorn leaves of spring.  It was drizzling with a bit more gusto by now, but we didn’t want our thermos of tea to go to waste, so we agreed to ​stop under the next bit of shelter for a cuppa. The next bit of shelter was a large bridge carrying the M25 around London. What a romantic place for afternoon tea.​
Picture
We found a few interesting under-bridge artworks. This was not under the M25. The M25 was much more boring.
Refreshed, we strode on, following aqueducts over the Colne Brook and Fray’s River (where we saw a kingfisher). Soon enough, we came to Packet Boat Marina and the junction with the Grand Union Canal proper. Immediately, the canal became more lively - a few boats moving around on the water, cyclists and pedestrian commuters sharing the path with us.
Picture
The Slough Arm with red balloon.
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Junction of the Slough Arm and the Grand Union Canal "main line".
We admired all the boats on permanent residential mooring, but it started raining in earnest so we headed on. The phone was dead, leaving us without instructions of how to get to our Airbnb. Luckily we found a map by the canal, dredged a few bits of info from our memories and eventually found our way ‘home’: a cosy cabin beside the canal, belonging to one of the permanent moorings. Our host invited her two bedraggled guests into the boat kitchen for a cup of tea, where we met a cute dog (Rufus) and cat (Twix). In the end, we couldn’t be bothered going out for dinner, so we went to bed early, drifting off to the sound of rain on the cabin roof and deers and foxes barking in the night.

Day 2: Cowley Lock to Croxley Green

Picture
One of several canalboat cats we saw on the way. This one was totally uninterested in getting pats from us.
A cool, still morning dawned, robins and blackbirds singing in the garden. Twix the cat came to say hello and jumped on the bed for pats. After croissants and jam and freshly squeezed juice for breakfast, we set off at a good pace.
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Heron action.
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What? It was deliberate.
The canal was misty, the smooth water broken only by a little group of colourful mandarin ducks. We watched a heron stalk elegantly along a log, then lose its footing and flail around a bit before looking at us haughtily as if to say, “I meant to do that.”
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Striking old art deco / moderne style building beside the canal.
The stretch through Uxbridge was fairly urban, but passing under the A40 felt like stepping into the countryside. Suddenly, the trees and winter hedges were alive with birds: robins, wrens, chaffinches and tits - long tailed, blue and great. Beyond the trees, we glimpsed a large pink building, which later research showed was a new Hindu temple.
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Bricks and reflections of water make beautiful patterns under the A40.
We took the opportunity to leave the towpath for a while to walk through the woods by the Denham Quarry Lakes. More birds zipped through the trees around us (we spotted both types of woodpecker during the morning), while others swam on the lakes (ducks, swans, geese, cormorants, coots, moorhens). It was really lovely to see so many different birds. I also spotted some wood ear fungus, which was quite exciting. I didn’t eat it.
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Wood ear fungus.
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Another fungus - can any of you ID it?
Two grey wagtails greeted us as we rejoined the canal (a misnomer - they’re mostly recognisable due to their yellow fronts). A little further on, we took a detour up the Troy Arm (or Troy Cut). This is a short, private branch that was used to service Troy Mill. It looks pretty unnavigable now (at least to anything bigger than a kayak), but the surrounding scenery is beautiful: big quarry lakes, blue sky and presumably later in the year lots of greenery. We stopped at a canalside pub for lunch and even got a window seat.
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Cupcakes from the cupcake stall.
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Coal Tax Post, according to this blog.
We might have been full after our meals, but that didn’t stop us a mile or so further on from purchasing cupcakes from two kids who’d set up a canalside cake table. One kid was clearly the business minded partner, with the sales spiel and the cash handling skills. The other one was up a tree.
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Rabbit vs Crocodile. What Happens Next Will Shock You.
It was a gorgeous day, with sunshine so bright that I started to wonder if I was getting sunburnt. We frequently saw bands of goldfinches along the canal, with their distinctive red faces. We also saw a goldcrest and (we think) a yellowhammer. It’s funny that we noticed more birds when we were walking in what is essentially the outskirts of London than we do when we’re at home. I guess it’s partly to do with simply being out and about more when we’re on holiday, but I also wonder if it’s to do with the variety of habitats along the canal - part rural, part wood, part urban, part parkland, part lake. This walk also made me think I should try to get better at identifying ducks. We saw several types, but even after a googling session I can still only identify a few: mallard, tufted, mandarin and pochard.
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More under-bridge art. Frogmore.
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Rope mermaids are in this season.
Past Rickmansworth, we left the towpath again, this time to find our Airbnb. We didn’t have to go far - it was only a minute from the water. This time we were greeted by two lovely hosts, homemade blueberry muffins and an energetic little dog. Dan went to the shops to get rolls, cheese and tomatoes for dinner (so much food that day). We ate, had baths and then fell asleep without even getting properly into bed. Such lightweights!

Day 3: Croxley Green to Berkhamsted

Continuing our theme of delicious food, breakfast included fresh blueberries and homemade bread for toast. Yum! We said goodbye to our hosts (well, the one who was awake!) and headed out. There was a thick layer of spiky frost on everything: leaves, grass, ropes coiled on boats. The world was quite white.
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Frost on the leaves.
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Frost on the ropes.
We followed a flock of morning commuters, all of whom traipsed over the lock gates rather than going the extra hundred yards to the bridge. Wispy bits of steam rose and danced over the water and, further along, thin sheets of ice covered the canal.
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Mist rising off the early morning canal near Watford.
Watford went by without making much of a difference to canal life, although as usual we could tell when we’d left town: passers by started smiling and saying good morning. From Cassiobury Park, the canal and surrounds took on a slightly more manicured appearance. 
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A beautiful, frosty scene over the Grand Union Canal just outside Watford.
We passed a number of increasingly pretty bridges until we reached the white bridge, an ornate piece of work that was part of the canal’s payment to the Earl of Essex in order for him to allow the canal to pass through his estate. It’s easy to forget that while today a canal might be seen as a pretty, picturesque addition to the landscape, back in the day it was like having a highway put through the countryside.
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A pretty, but pretty everyday bridge.
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A pretty big bribe (payment) of a bridge.
We had morning tea in the almost-warm morning sun, sitting on a lock in the middle of a wide green valley between the M25 slip road and the M25. If you count the M25 as the edge of London (which in some ways it is), we were about to head back out of the capital. Near the motorway we spotted a little grebe, ducking and diving all over the canal.
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Fluffy butt.
Despite the warm sun, there was still enough frost on the puddles to try and skate. This mainly involved me clutching Dan’s arm and making him pull me along for a couple of steps as I slipped all over the place. We made good time to Hemel Hempstead. Too good, since we arrived at Woody’s Vegetarian Cafe before they started serving lunch. Oh well, second breakfast was good enough for us!
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Stick figures who have everything under control. Hemel Hempstead.
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The Grand Union Canal Monster.
Past the marina, the canal became quaint again - old pubs, locks, a swing bridge - and what with the very muddy path it was easy to forget we were in the middle of a large town. A few clouds started to appear, and a few more. There was rain forecast for the afternoon, so we didn’t amble. Back into the countryside we went, admiring the clear River Bulbourne running parallel. The river is more a small stream now that the canal takes its water. It was full of watercress, and a little further on a sign informed us that there used to be a thriving watercress industry here. We also saw a tiny wood mouse.
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Grand Junction Canal sign in Berkhamsted.
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Goodbye, Grand Union Canal.
We talked about canals and rivers as we walked, planning future adventures. The path disappeared behind us and soon we were in Berkhamsted. The people of Berkhamsted clearly appreciate their canal and have money to spend. The canalside became very well-kept, with pretty historic signs (still retaining the older name of Grand Junction Canal) and several information points. One such board informed us that Berkhamsted “has the dubious honour of being the home of sheep dip!” And with that, the walk was over. We said goodbye to the canal - until next time! - and hopped on a train. It had taken us about 6 hours to walk from the outskirts of Watford to Berkhamsted that day; it took the train 12 minutes to cover that distance in reverse.

Year of sleeping variously: canalside cabin edition

Our second month of sleeping variously. Last time it was Premier Inn!
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Just looking at this bed makes me want to curl up and let the rain put me to sleep.
  • Bed (4/5) - Loved the super-fluffy duvet.
  • Room (4/5) - Cosy.
  • View (2/5) - From the cabin we could only see the wintery garden, though obviously from the boat there was a nice view of the water.
  • Facilities (4/5) - Nice, big, hot bath: always popular on long walks.
  • Location (4/5) - Can’t complain about a spot right on the canal! It was pretty quiet, too, for what is essentially the outskirts of London.
  • People (4/5) - Clearly in this case we have to count the delightfully friendly cat and dog as people.
  • Food (3/5) - Tea on arrival and freshly squeezed juice for breakfast? Yes please!
  • Value (4/5) - A step up from last month at Premier Inn, ha.
  • Uniqueness (4/5) - Not only was it a cool location with breakfast on a boat, but it was nice to see how our host had modified and decorated the cabin and boat to suit her set-up.​
  • That indefinable something (3/5) - Rain pattering on the roof, birdsong in the morning and a cat to pat.

​Canalside Cabin verdict: 72%

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A weekend in Chichester

6/2/2016

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Being back in full-time work makes me realise all over again just how fleeting weekends are. Our cunning plan to make a weekend feel more like a weekend was this: we’d leave work on Friday, travel an hour or two in the opposite direction of home, spend the whole weekend (three nights) there and return to work on Monday, bright eyed and bushy tailed.
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Boats at Chichester Marina.
One Friday evening in January, we headed off towards Chichester in West Sussex, checked into Premier Inn and began our mini-holiday. Things kicked off with dinner at Efes, an unassuming-looking Turkish restaurant. It turned out to be a real treat: the meze plate was small but bursting with flavour, the halloumi in the halloumi salad was tasty, the salad was tangy. The vegetarian kebab was the stand-out: deliciously smoky veggies, with melt-in-the-mouth eggplant/aubergine and juicy mushrooms. We were stuffed. We came back to the hotel and I forced myself to have a nice hot bath. What a hassle!
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Efes Turkish restaurant.
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Chichester Canal basin in the mist.
Saturday morning dawned cool and misty. We wandered through the quiet town, getting our bearings and poking our noses down little laneways. Everything looked a little softer, a little more magical in the fog, especially the old Guildhall at Priory Park. When we (eventually) found a breakfast place that suited us, the town had woken up: there was a band in Chichester Cross and a constant stream of people flowing past.
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The Guildhall and Priory Park in the mist.
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View down East Street from Chichester Cross.
After getting some important shopping business out of the way, we headed to the cathedral for a look around. There are a few intriguing bits and bobs inside, including a cut through of the floor to reveal a section of Roman mosaic beneath, eye-catching contemporary tapestries and glass, and some great old paintings. Just down the road is the Novium museum, which is built over the site of a Roman bath house - the remains of which take up a large part of the ground floor. It makes a pretty spectacular foyer.
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Inside Chichester Cathedral.
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Tapestry by John Piper in Chichester Cathedral.
All that shopping and sightseeing knocked us out, so after a tasty, wholesome lunch at St Martin’s Coffee House, we went back to our room and fell asleep. Luckily, we managed to drag ourselves out of bed before it got dark so we could drive down to the marina for a short walk. We had fun looking at all the dry docked boats and plotting punny names for if we ever own a sea-going vessel. Down beside the water of Chichester Harbour, trees grew in loops and twists. We wandered a little way from civilisation along the stony shoreline before scrambling up to the footpath and heading back.
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Twisty trees along the waterline at Chichester Harbour.
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If it's black and white and upside down it must be art.
The next morning, we were persuaded by the in-house marketing posters to try Premier Inn’s unlimited breakfast. (The posters had sparkles on all the glassware, syrups, fruit compotes . . . and also on the sausages. I know I’m vegetarian, but sparkly sausages are A+ marketing.) I proceeded to stuff myself with pancakes, fruit, yoghurt, crumpets and inoffensive coffee. We timed this well. First, hardly anyone else was about to see us making pigs of ourselves and second, I had an hour-long online meeting straight after, so we could go back to the room and loosen our belts.
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A town of rescued houses at the open air museum.
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Bayleaf at the open air museum.
It was cloudy outside, but the forecast rain held off as we headed to the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum. This is somewhere we’ve wanted to visit since watching Tudor Monastery Farm a couple of years ago - and it didn’t disappoint. I loved poking around all the old houses and getting interesting facts from the stewards, tasting leftover Christmas treats and hot griddled bread in the kitchen, admiring the hilariously dumpy sheep, seeing the in-progress thatched Saxon house and saying “just like on TV!”
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Spinning wheel threaded with ivy for midwinter celebrations.
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The best sheep you ever saw. (Southdown sheep with woolly little faces.)
One highlight was going on a tour of the massive Downland Gridshell Building. It’s fascinating to hear how the structure was put together, and cool to see how it’s used by the museum (e.g. for workshops and to look at the buildings that they bring to the site) . . .
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Downland Gridshell Building: interior.
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Downland Gridshell Building: exterior.
. . . But it gets better! Underneath this amazing space is an even more amazing space: the artefact store. This is one huge room lined with stacks (like a gallery or museum archive), crammed full of all kinds of farm tools, domestic utensils, bits of machinery, clothes and other miscellany. The miscellany was very miscellaneous: a sink, wooden bosses, a horse-drawn hearse, bells, biscuit tins, artwork . . . it was brill!
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Details of smocks in the store.
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Drilling down into the archive.
On the way back we detoured through the fog to a lookout, which was unsurprisingly also completely enveloped by clouds. But as we sat there, the clouds drifted apart for a few minutes, giving us a glimpse of hills, valleys and the low coastal plains around Chichester. We’d spent most of the day at the open air museum, so when we got back we curled up in our room to read our books and have another bath. I love baths.

​As we drove into the sunrise on the way to work on Monday, it felt like we’d had a proper mini holiday. Well done, Chichester. Would visit again.

Year of sleeping variously: budget hotel edition

And so we kick off our year of sleeping variously . . .
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Yep, that looks like a room at a Premier Inn.
  • Bed (5/5) - Very comfortable, I can see why Lenny Henry likes them in the ads.
  • Room (3/5) - Not enough coat hangers and no drawers for me drawers!
  • View (0/5) - A massive KFC sign and a car park.
  • Facilities (3/5) - Bath, aircon, (slow) WiFi, big TV if that's your thing.
  • Location (4/5) - Easy walk to town centre, easy access to countryside, close to train station and free parking.
  • People (3/5) - Helpful, friendly staff. Drunk, loud, annoying neighbours!
  • Food (3/5) - Unlimited buffet breakfast with drinkable coffee.
  • Value (3/5) - It's a Premier Inn.
  • Uniqueness (0/5) - It's a Premier Inn.
  • ​That indefinable something (2/5) - It's a Premier Inn, but the misty mornings were lovely and the sparkly sausage amused me.

​Budget Hotel verdict: 52%

Do you have any ideas of where we should head for another weekend in a similar vein? Ideally somewhere within an easy 2hr drive of Brighton? (Maybe . . . Brighton?!)

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