With 4 days off that needed filling and only limited opportunities to get away, Easter 2021 could have been as much of a wash out as Easter 2020 was. However, with a bit of ingenuity and careful planning I've managed to have a real adventure over the past couple of days. With many of the lock down restrictions still in place, no pub's or cafe's open and still no organised running or cycling permitted, whatever I got up to was going to have to be alone, self-supported and self-sufficient. Pretty much a normal weekend for me then! I'd initially considered a few days away on the bike, but with the rules still officially preventing overnight stays and considering the distance that you can travel on a bike in 3 or 4 days (were talking hundreds of miles) I thought that wasn't quite in keeping with my law abiding self. A couple of days walking though, starting and finishing from home. Out of the way of other people, self-sufficient and alone, surely that's close enough to be allowed? Well, officially permitted or not, I wasn't going to waste the time off. So, after a bit of thinking, a bit of time studying the maps of the local area and a sort out of kit that's not seen the light of day for 6 plus months, I'd come up with a rough plan. Good Friday Walking kit packed Thursday night, I was up and raring to go well before some people go to bed on Friday morning. Breakfast done, brews supped, last minute kit fettling fettled and I was away by 07:30 on what was a dull and overcast morning, but with the promise of better to come. My planned route for the day involved heading West from home, following as many footpaths as possible in order to pick up the Test Way at Longparish, where I would turn North, marking the first leg of what would be a circular / square route around home. Slowly picking my way along the still deserted roads, feeling the weight of my pack on my shoulders for the first time in a while, I paused, not for the first time, to admire a row of trees in full blossom, the sound of Bee's, like me already up and about and working hard, clearly audible. Tree blossom is a sure sign that winters on the way out and better days are around the corner, it's such a precarious time to flower though, one sharp frost or gale and all that beauties destroyed in the blink of an eye. At the edge of town I picked up footpaths, familiar from a hundred evening runs, leading me through Oakley and onward, too pastures new. Moving off the familiar paths at Deane, it wasn't long before the stunning carving and fretwork on the fascia boards of the church lychgate at Ashe caught my eye. The hours spent by some long-forgotten master craftsman, carefully hand working the long Oak boards into symmetry and beauty, not for some cathedral, but a village church with a congregation numbering under 50. Craftsmanship admired for years by many, but now seldom noticed as we speed past on our busy way to wherever. I'd plenty of time to stand and stare today though and take the time to notice the small gargoyles holding the stone overhangs on the bell tower and the hand cleaved chestnut shingles on the roof too, before moving slowly on my way. Past duck ponds and through fields filled with young Lambs, I gradually wound my way through the Hampshire countryside. Slowly onward, pausing briefly to watch some young Muntjac Deer grazing peacefully in the fields a matter of meters away as I headed into Whitchurch, completely at ease once they had ascertained that I was no threat. The Churchyard at Whitchurch offered a bench in the sun among the Daffodils to take the weight from my shoulders and have a late lunch stop. Sitting in the early afternoon sun, I reflected on how many other travelers would have rested here on their own travels over the centuries. The church providing a constant point as the world evolved around it. Modes of travel, evolving from foot, through horse, to bicycle and onto cars, the churchyard and the shelter it provides a constant in all, until now where the car has made the need to rest irrelevant! Hunger sated, I pushed on towards Longparish and my date with the Test Way, not a care in the world and free with my own thoughts, just the steady plod of my feet on the soft ground as my companion, my only worry where to stop for the next brew. Life doesn't get much better than this, and as the miles ticked off I was in my element; Sun shining, beauty all around. I saw my first Butterfly’s for the year on this stretch, flitting easily on the gentle spring breeze. Where have they been all winter? It's hard to believe that some, the Painted Lady among them, migrate from southern Europe. When you see their delicate wings being blown haphazardly around in the wind it's a wonder they can fly at all, yet alone make those epic journeys. The tales they must have to tell of their travels! An Idyllic brew stop, in a secluded spot alongside the river test, seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up and I spent a peaceful hour, sat with a brew and my book, watching the world go by. That's the beauty of these types of adventures, there's nothing else to do apart from walk, watch the world go by and contemplate life. Simplicity in itself, something that’s often missing from modern life! As afternoon turned towards evening, so my direction of travel changed as I picked up the Test Way and turned onto the second, Northern leg of my journey. I'd walked the Test Way back in 2019 and had in mind a spot for the night that I'd used previously, just outside St Mary Bourne. As the day drew to a close though my memory seemed to be playing tricks with me, as nothing looked like I remembered it from my previous overnight stop, and with plenty of “Keep out” and “Private” signs on the ground either side of the path, my options looked limited. Forsaking my original plans, I pushed on a bit further than planned, and with 24, satisfying miles in my legs, settled on a quiet, out of the way spot on the outskirts of St Mary Bourne itself to get my head down for a few hours. Miles walked - 24 Saturday The wind had picked up massively during the night, waking me up on a few occasions as it whistled through the trees above my head, leading to a fitful night’s sleep. Oh well, if you’re not asleep you might as well be doing something useful and I was awake and packing up with the daybreak. With a warm brew inside me, thermals on, and a flask of porridge brewing for breakfast safely stowed away, I was on the road again just after 07:00. I knew from previous exploits that today was going to be a hard day, the first 13 miles are pretty much all up hill, climbing slowly (and not so slowly) from my overnight stop to the highest point in Hampshire at Pilot Hill. This was going to be followed by an exposed section along the high ground towards Kingsclere for the East bound leg of my walk and if the wind at low level was anything to go by, things could get interesting later on! Despite the overcast morning and chill in the air, the first couple of hours remained sheltered from the wind and I made good progress, getting 5 miles under my belt before stopping for breakfast and a brew. A mile-long stretch of farm track with millions of Daffodils in full bloom either side made for an epic sight and an ideal breakfast spot, spoiled only by the need for regular signs requesting people not to pick the flowers! Continuing the long slow climb through open countryside and small wooded areas, following the Test Way ever upwards was a real pleasure. Primroses, Blackthorn blossom, Tits and Finches, flitting from the hedgerows, maintaining their distance. Pheasants and Grouse calling from the fields either side and Red Kites circling easily overhead, maintaining a steady watch over their territory’s as I passed slowly on my way. A small heard of Deer off in the distance, alert to my presence, way before I sensed theirs, watching warily as I passed and the ever-present crunch of my boots on the ground as I marched steadily on. By lunchtime I’d reached the top, and, as predicted, the wind was screaming across the exposed hillside. I found shelter in the lee of a decaying tree for a well-earned brew and bite to eat. But, with the wind chill driving the temperatures down it was too cold to hang around for long and I was soon back on my way, heading steadily Eastwards along the ridge line I’d run 2 weeks ago, on my way back towards Kingsclere. With an eye on the water situation the afternoon slowly passed as I made my way along the high ground towards my destination for the night. I’d planned on pushing on towards the 20-mile mark and calling a halt for the day. Any night stop however, depended on finding water, a somewhat scarce commodity on the high chalk hills. I had a quick look around a few empty farm buildings for signs of a tap, looked in a few empty troughs and considered the options for dropping off the high ground for a resupply if the opportunity presented itself. All to no avail. The lack of water lead to a bit of a dilemma, the closest water source I knew of was at Hannington (a couple of miles the other side of Whitehill) and by this point still a good 8 or 9 miles away. That left me with 2 options; Stop as planned at the 20-mile mark and have a thirsty night with no morning brew. Or, push on to Hannington making it a 28-mile day! When there’s a choice to be made there’s only really one option, and that’s stop for a brew, think it through and then decide on a course of action. Decision made to push on, that’s what I did. With the mast at Whitehill guiding me towards my destination for the night I kept moving forward. As the afternoon turned slowly towards evening, so the wind dropped, and the sun started peeking out from behind the clouds bathing the surrounding countryside in its soft orange glow. A brief stop for Tea and a couple more miles saw me arrive at Hannington and the strategically positioned tap just as it started to get dark. Water replenished and a quiet spot found for my Bivvy I was soon tucked up, warm and snug in my sleeping bag watching a stream of Starlink satellites catching the sun, now well below the horizon, as they streamed overhead on their never-ending orbits of the earth. Miles walked – 28 Easter Sunday. With the clear skies the temperature had plummeted overnight, and I awoke with the dawn to a heavy covering of frost on my Bivvy bag and a thin layer of ice between the Bivvy and my sleeping bag. I’d stirred a few times in the night to move my knees and tuck my thermals in and felt a bit chilly (not enough to put any more clothes on though), but I hadn’t expected to wake up to that! It just goes to show that with the right kit you can get out and about at any time of year with no problems. With the sun slowly climbing like a giant red orb into the early morning sky and pushing the darkness away it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. As I packed up and made a brew with the dawn chorus in full swing and the frost glinting off the grass and bare trees, there was probably no where better to be in the world! After the big miles of Friday and Saturday, today would be an easy day. It was only 12 miles back home from here, most of which is downhill, so there was no rush to get going and with plenty of water now on hand it seemed rude not to have another brew and watch to sun rise from my vantage point. By the time I finally got going the sun was well and truly up and as predicted there wasn’t a cloud in the sky or breath of wind. A couple of hours of gentle plodding along and I found a nice little spot for a breakfast stop. Sat on a tree stump in the sun, brew on hand and breakfast on the go, all was right with the world, and I sat reflecting on previous adventures and those still to come. It’s the little moments like these that make all the day’s out in the rain, the cold fingers and toes and the mud so worthwhile. You’ve got to take the rough with the smooth but when the good bits come, boy oh boy, are they worth it! As the morning wore on and I got closer to home the day really warmed up and I was soon shedding layers like a man possessed. As the layers came off and I got closer to town, so the numbers of people steadily rose. Dog walkers, joggers, families out with their children, walking and on bikes, their days out just starting as my weekend adventure drew to a close.
Arriving back home just after lunch, as I sat in the sun with a well earned brew chatting to “The Emma” she asked if I’d had a good time. I thought for a moment of the 60 or so miles I’d covered over the previous 2 ½ days, all on foot, starting and finishing from home; 2 nights out under the stars, a howling gale, frost on my sleeping bag, butterfly’s, ladybirds, blossom, lambs, primroses, secluded river banks, wide open hillsides, woodlands, footpaths, birds, deer, brews with views, tired legs and to top it all off, that contented feeling you get at the end of a job well done. “Yeah, not bad” I said. “How about you”? Miles Walked - 12
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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