Category Archives: South Downs Way

The truth about Jack and Jill up that hill

Posted on 31 July 2012 | Leave a comment

They say Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pale of water, Jack fell down, broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after. The true story is rather different. Another fellow, Duncton, was already up the hill in 1765, waiting for Jill, who lived in Brighton. Jill was evicted from her home, which sat on land due to be redeveloped. In 1821 she was carried up the hill to meet Jack by teams of locals men; she’s a big lass. Her relationship with Duncton was relatively shortlived – he lost his head and died. Jill stayed at the top of the hill, waiting for Jack. He came up to join her in 1866 and the two of them have lived up there ever after, though not always happily. There was no pale of water.

Jill Windmill, on the South Downs above Clayton.

Jill Windmill, on the South Downs above Clayton. Click to enlarge.

I am, of course, describing to the two much loved windmills sitting on the South Downs above Clayton. In 1906 both Jack and Jill went to sleep, after people found modern mechanisation more profitable. In 1978 work began to restore Jill to her former working glory. When the Great Storm hit Sussex in 1987, the members of the Society formed for her restoration rushed up the hill to save her. Reading their modest accounts of that night makes it plain to anyone who witnessed the wind’s fury that night, that they risked their lives to save this magnificent machine. When the rest of Sussex was being flattened by a 120mph gale, Jill’s sweeps turned against her brake, threw out a torrent of sparks and set her on fire. These brave folk managed to bring the blaze under control and eventually stop the sweeps. Over 700 hours of voluntary labour repaired the damage. Such is the love that Jill inspires.

I’ve walked past Jack and Jill many times. When I was a boy and it snowed hard in the winter, the cattle track which curves away from them down the very steep side of the downland was the scariest sledge run in Sussex. More recently, I trudged past it as dawn broke on my sixth attempt to walk the South Downs Way alone over midwinter. Whether committed to the toboggan run or the long walk, it is impossible to ignore Jill’s arresting beauty.

I visited her again on Sunday, when she was open to the public. People clambered throughout her chambers, childlike, marvelling at her giant wooden cogs and the ingenuity of her design. Society members explained her machinations in as much detail as you could want. Instead of demanding an entrance fee, they simply left a collecting box at the foot of her stairs, as if a modern money grabbing approach would somehow offend her nineteenth century spirit. I climbed to the top floor inside – the ‘bin floor’ – and felt her swaying in the wind beneath my feet. I found myself lingering there a while, enjoyed her wooden soul.

Jill is open every Sunday and Bank Holiday in the summer. This really is the perfect example of a working museum and a wonderful aspect to a Sunday afternoon stroll. My wife and I will be joining the Jack and Jill Windmills Society. We’ve been so impressed that we’ve decided to pay for life membership. However long we’ve got left to us, we’ll be pleased to help preserve Jill for the centuries to come.

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Posted in Brighton, Clayton, Hove, Jack and Jill, Jill Windmill, South Downs Way

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Why an athiest can pray

Posted on 16 January 2012 | 2 Comments

In the late nineties I became frustated with the lack of mountains in the South-East of England. Mountaineering always meant travel, which cost too much, and was dependent on favourable weather conditions at the time chosen for the trip. Mulling over this problem, it occurred to me that I also enjoyed long walks without anybody around and that I had never walked the South Downs Way. In the summer it is festooned with people walking, cycling, picnicking, flying kites et cetera. Far too busy for my liking. Suddenly I realised that in winter it would be suitably desolate for my purpose. That’s why I decided to walk it alone over mid-winter.

I never completed the walk, even though it is only 100 miles from Winchester to Eastbourne. The furthest I ever got was in 2007, when I made it to Lewes. By that time I’d learnt a few lessons on how to walk the South Downs Way (the link is to my photographic journal of that ‘expedition’). Notably, I’d realised that camping out meant carrying loads of kit which slowed me down too much for the eight hours of daylight. In those early years I made plenty of other mistakes. Chief among them was setting off without any form of torch. Each time I left Winchester on 19th December and planned to walk through midwinter, through Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day and arrive in Eastbourne the day after. Being dependent on daylight at that time of year does not combine well with travelling because you lose 30 minutes at either end of each day whilst breakfasting and breaking or making camp.

My third attempt saw me calling at the houses whose occupants had previously given me water, rather than turn me away and avoiding camp sites which local boy riders used as skid pans for hand brake turns after dark. (Another problem with camping out when night falls quickly is that you can’t see the tyre marks gouged into the muddy earth.) Somewhere west of Old Winchester Hill, a farmer said, “Why do you turn up here on 20th December every year?” It was a good question. My answer was not very appealing; I mumbled something about being unsuccessful. “Good luck this year!” he called out each time I left him. Calling at homes happily decorated in the Christmas tradition in bad weather with darkening skies, alone, wet, cold, hungry and being denied permission to sleep rough in one of their fields proves the lie of the Christmas spirit. Very few people were helpful. All of them looked embarassed, as they turned me away but the doors still slammed hard. With one exception, most of the people that turned me down simply directed me to ask one of their neighbours a convenient distance away! The exceptional person said yes and, after I had pitched my tent, came out with some hot mince pies (which normally I hate but that year were very heaven) and tried to insist that I come indoors to sleep. She pleaded with me and later on, when it was really cold, her husband pleaded too. On that occasion, I felt embarassed turning them down.

I forget how far I got on the third attempt but I do remember that it was an exceptionally wet year. It never really stopped raining. The South Downs can be very hard underfoot in dry weather because the chalk drains so well. In wet weather the various cow herds churn up the deepest mud in their fields, which is usually in some dip or coombe (a Sussex word for a chalkland valley) where the gate is. The gate you have to travel through. Fields ringed with hawthorn except by the gate were a nightmarish quagmire. I kept slipping over, falling into an uncertain sloppy mixture of mud and cow shit. Somewhere along the way I had to ascend a short steep slope which proved nearly impossible. With my heavy pack, the greasy chalk, the mud and 100 feet of incline took two dozen attempts. With no-one there to laugh at me there was no-one to share the joke with. When I eventually got to the top I was absolutely caked in crap, bruised and had insufficient daylight hours left for much more walking, so I just camped at the top. My kitchen was restricted to a spoon and a single billy tin which I ate everything out of: porridge in the morning and vegetarian mince in the evening alike. It didn’t take long for both meals to resemble each other and nothing pleasant.

I can’t claim to have been happy but I was pleased to have got further than on the first two attempts. Walking along like this on my own at midwinter, with a full rucksack, made other people realise that I was walking the whole route. Often they would stop to talk. Consequently I enjoyed briefly intense moments of companionship with people who would probably otherwise have never spoken to me regardless where they met me: many of them were farmers out with their dogs in the early morning.

Somewhere along the Way on my third attempt I chanced upon one such conversation. It was the evening. The sky had not yet darkened but it was low in the sky. As per usual at this time, I was urgently looking for somewhere suitable to bed down. This was always a dilemma because there was a fairly small window to make a sensible decision in. I had long since given up asking for permission only to be refused. Instead, if I saw a likely spot I would keep walking whilst fretting about whether I would have turn back to it. The thought of retracing my steps was too much to cope with emotionally. The stranger struck up the conversation along the usual lines, enquiring whether I was walking the whole South Downs Way? When I replied that I was, he remarked that perhaps I was camping out? On hearing that I was, he directed me over a low hill in front of me and said that about half a mile further than that there was an abandoned house and suggested I camp out in its garden. “You can’t miss it”, he said, “it’s got the tallest pine tree on the Downs in it.”

I thanked him for this information and pressed on. The weather got really bad. By the time I made it to the gate of the abandoned house’s garden, all paranoia about someone knowing where I was camping being a problem had evaporated. All I cared about was getting somewhere I could warm up. The house was boarded up, the garden heavily overgrown but it was miraculously dry underneath the branches of the pine tree. I put my tent up there, right next to the trunk and pulled out my wet sleeping bag. I was using a hollow fibre sleeping bag which would warm up even if wet but it was grim getting into it. Knowing the best way to retain whatever body heat I had left did not assist me through the suffering of undressing completely and getting into the cold, drenched bag. I put my clothes in with me, hoping that my heat would dry them off in the night. I turned on my stove but the firing mechanism packed in. No hot food. Knowing I needed some energy, I ate the vegetarian mix raw. The wind creaked the rusty gate and a loose board high up on the house flapped in the wind. The scene resembled something out of a Hammer House of Horror film.

Shivering, I curled up into a ball inside my sleeping bag and worked at furiously wiggling my toes to keep my circulation going. Not sure this was a good idea. It probably just kept my blood flowing to my cold extremities. At least it gave me something to concentrate on.

Suddenly I had something else to concentrate on. There was a flash and I could hear thunder way off in the West. I counted the seconds. Here I was, directly at the base of a soaking 200 foot pine tree. I had looked higher than the little hill I had just walked over to get to it. Within a few minutes darkness fell and the lightning was getting closer. By 5:00pm the inside of my tent was either pitch dark or brighter than daylight. I could no longer count any time between the flashes and the thunder – they were simultaneous. I wondered about my ability to  break into the house and get a fire going inside it but the thought of failure prevented that idea from being pursued. Without a torch and with the various overgrown ornamental ponds in the garden I did not want to risk climbing out of my sleeping bag, pulling my cold wet clothes back on and attempting to find somewhere else to camp. Besides, any moment now the lightning would strike my personal conductor and it would all be over.

Looking back, I think by this point on my walk I had mild hypothermia and hadn’t been thinking straight for some time. At the time I became convinced that at any moment I would be electrocuted or crushed or both. Unusally, for Southern England, it was a very bad storm. After about hour, my brain grew tired of the constant fear. I gave up. I even began to wish for death. “Let’s get it over and done with”, I thought. Your brain is a clever beast and plays all sorts of tricks on you to keep you going. This was my subconscious brain preventing me from panicking. I lay still and relaxed and waited for the inevitable tragedy which never came. After an hour of the raging wind, lashing rain and constant lightning close at hand I became annoyed at still being alive. Although an athiest, I started shouting at God.

Aping Capaneus, no expletive was too strong for my angry prayer. Like he, I vented my hatred upon His Mercy. Time and again I screamed the challenge to on high. “Go ahead, kill me!” I shouted myself hoarse denying divine justice. Eventually I shouted myself to sleep. The storm did not rest. In those sixteen hours of darkness I dreamt violent and horrific scenes of killing and sacrifice. The constant flashing and noise was playing havoc with my mind. Several times I realised I was awake but was still beset with visions. I slipped in and out of consciousness throughout that long night. By the early morning, the storm had blown itself away and my anger with it. My sleeping bag was still wet but I was warm.

All of us can go beyond what our rational minds can cope with. During these dreadful moments, focusing on some higher power is palliative. Whichever theology you subscribe to or avoid, prayer finds a way to settle the mind when all else is lost. Thus, athiests can pray as fervently as believers although we prefer not to. I’ve often thought of making this confession but have hitherto stopped myself because of the apparent implications on the lack strength of my convictions. Yesterday, I read about another athiest’s prayer, which he uttered in an hour of desperate need. He’s a friend of mine and had got himself into a far worse predicament than I have just described. His account of a week trapped by a lack of equipment on a rocky ledge high in the Alps is amongst the finest first hand survival tales I have ever read. The photographs are chilling. During that awful time he was truly open to himself for the first time about his homosexuality and has been honest about it ever since. Whatever makes you pray, carry the prayer with you afterwards.

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Posted in Athiesm, Expectations, Facing Fear, Failure, Fear, Just Get Over It, Mid Winter, Prayer, Religion, South Downs Way

The second best way to walk from Brighton to Lewes

Posted on 19 September 2011 | 3 Comments

Yesterday morning, at 6:41am, I set off from the top of Hollingbury Hill on the outskirts of Brighton and walked to Lewes, via Blackcap. This week, I recorded my entire route using Google’s MyTracks app:


View A Walk Between Hollingbury Hill and Lewes via Blackcap in a larger map

Obviously this isn’t a perfect record of the route. I certainly didn’t turn around in little circles on top of Hollingbury Hill. It gives you an accurate line to follow though. Don’t forget you can zoom in on the map above and pan around. Apart from the pavement on the bridge over the Brighton Bypass, there was no need to walk on the Ditchling Road. That was a mistake, as you can see from the satellite view. This is route is generally considered to be the second best way to walk between Brighton and Lewes. The best way starts in Woodingdean and goes to Kingston. However, I don’t live in Woodingdean, so that’s not the best way for me. Besides, I like to aim for second best, always. The best of everything is always far too popular. I wanted solitude on my early morning walk.

Statistics, maps, films and even poetry can’t convey the spiritual bliss of a walk alone through the early morning in plenty of space. Here’s the statistics:

Total Distance: 10.7 miles (17.25 km)
Total Time: 2:52:31
Moving Time: 2:40:40
Average Speed: 3.7 miles per hour (6.00 km/h)
Average Moving Speed: 4.0 miles per hour (6.44 km/h)
Min Elevation: 378 ft (115 m)
Max Elevation: 843 ft (257 m)
Elevation Gain: 575 ft (175 m)
Max Grade: 22 %
Min Grade: -9 %
Recorded: Sun Sep 18 06:41:29 GMT+01:00 2011
Activity type: Walking

I’m not sharing poetry this morning, sorry. On arriving in Lewes, I immediately went to Southover Bonfire Society’s fire torch making Sunday Service. In a little more than two hours, we made 862 fire torches – a new record!

Conscious that a map can be somewhat abstract, slowing the walker down, and keen to encourage others to take up walking as a method of travel (The original and best!), I also made a short film which details the various turns the route follows:

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Posted in Blackcap, Hollingbury Hill, Lewes, Life, Solo Walking, South Downs, South Downs Way, Southover Bonfire Society, Stanmer Park, Sunday Service, The 2nd Best Way To Walk From Brighton to Lewes, Walking

Early morning walk from Stanmer Park, Brighton to Lewes, for ‘Sunday Service’ with Southover Bonfire Society

Posted on 12 September 2011 | 2 Comments


View Walking between Stanmer Park in Brighton to Lewes in a larger map

Sunday services are a members’ only event in Southover, Lewes. We’re gathering every Sunday morning from a couple of weekends ago until the 5th, to make our fire torches. On Sunday 11th September, I awoke very early. My natural clock has begun to wake me unsocially early these days. There I was, wide awake and lying in bed at 4:30am. ‘There’s enough time to walk to Lewes’, I thought, and that’s exactly what I did.

No more can I claim to my wife that it is only five miles from Brighton to Lewes. Stupidly, I forgot to turn my GPS recording on (I used Google’s MyTracks) until I got to Stanmer Park, although obviously I don’t actually live there. Here’s the digital record:

Total Distance: 18.68 km (11.6 mi)
Total Time: 2:52:54
Moving Time: 2:10:19
Average Speed: 6.48 km/h (4.0 mi/h)
Average Moving Speed: 8.60 km/h (5.3 mi/h)
Max Speed: 92.23 km/h (57.3 mi/h)
Min Elevation: 63 m (207 ft)
Max Elevation: 243 m (797 ft)
Elevation Gain: 274 m (897 ft)
Max Grade: 6 %
Min Grade: -14 %

I think this is mostly accurate, although the maximum speed can be discounted. Call me old fashioned but I do wish that these things would put the Imperial Measures in front of the Metric. Why should I have to rearrange them?

The digital record fails to properly describe the joy of traversing Hollingbury Golf Course free of golfers, of not seeing the autumnal sunrise but still seeing that qualitative change in the light, of taking my time and dilly-dallying along the way. Photographs also can only go so far. As per usual, click on the images to enlarge them.

On top of Hollingbury Hill, looking South, 5:00am, 11th September 2011

Smoke signals of the nearby Sussex University

Looking backwards and forwards at the same time

What luxury in the busiest corner of England to enjoy four hours of solitude and wide open spaces! I’m endlessly baffled by how few able-bodied people walk anywhere. It’s what we’ve evolved to do!

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Posted in Brighton, Fire Torches, Lewes, Life, Solo Walking, South Downs, South Downs Way, Southover Bonfire Society, Walking

Midwinter Solo Walk Along South Downs Way

Posted on 25 March 2011 | 5 Comments

Having made 5 attempts to walk along the South Downs Way alone and in midwinter, in 2007 I made my last attempt, having finally conceded that camping out had been too big a hindrance. Here’s my photos and account of that walk, which sadly I didn’t complete. 7th time lucky? Here’s the account I wrote at the time:

18th December 2007

Winchester here I come

Taking it easy on myself this year by heading off to Winchester the day before the start of the walk and staying overnight in a hotel there. Previously, I would leave Brighton in the very early hours of the morning and get a train to London (because there didn’t seem to be early trains to Winchester), cope with various train delays which always occur in the week before Christmas, and arrive in Winchester in the late morning. Then I would spend all morning faffing around looking for the start of the Way. It seemed that the people of Winchester didn’t want people to leave by walking off towards Eastbourne, or even Twyford Down. By the time I had set out I would be exhausted. Then I had to camp somewhere not very far away from Winchester, which was a demoralising experience, not to mention cooking a crude dinner and knowing that it would be the last dry night.

This time I am taking it ultra-easy on myself by staying indoors along the way. It was a last minute rejig of my plans. I made all the necessary bookings yesterday. The rucksack is much lighter than before!

The weather forecast is also good. It looks like this for the first few days:

The Forecast

That’s the best weather forecast I’ve ever had for this endeavour. Some years I didn’t even look at it. I knew it was going to be bad. Wind driving rain and gates settled above mud pits churned up by cows which made them impassable. More of those recollections later.

Could it be that this year, atlast, the Beast of the Midwinter South Downs Way is slain? Watch this space…

Golden Silence

Here’s a worthwhile nugget. If you ask them nicely the ticket inspectors on trains can ask the driver to mute the constant stream of electronic announcements which destroy train journeys between Brighton & Southampton; on this line there are so many stops that the electronic voice normally never shuts up. As if by some magical synchronicity all the school kids who got on at Barnham appeared also to be controlled by the driver’s mute switch. I was so pleased at the gift of quietitude that I asked the ticket collector if I could photograph her for my blog. Turns out it is her Birthday is on Christmas day but unlike my pal Nicola Ross, she loves being born that day. Maybe having a twin helps, she says. Her top tip for Christmas comes courtesy of the Telegraph – go to central London and wander around in the peace.

Guardian Angel

This much luxury must be sinful

There’s nothing wrong with having a private bathtub, of course. Wish we had one at home. A long soak is about to commence, followed by a very early night. Then I can get up before dawn and get to the edge of town by the time daylight breaks. Hopefully my first day’s walking can be completed before nightfall. (I’ve got a very powerful headtorch in case I am ever still out after dark.) The photograph is of my room in the hotel in Winchester. It’s a far cry from sleeping out on Old Winchester Hill, where one April myself and Nicola Ross awoke to find our tent in a thick blanket of snow. On the plus side, it was easy on get the pegs into the ground when we pitched the tent the night before. Some helpful iron age people had piled the earth deep, flattened it out and turfed it all. Photographs of that campsite will hopefully follow. If I was a purist then, I sure feel like a sinner now. The fact is that I have had to accept that I am just not fit enough, not young enough, not weatherbeaten enough to complete the SDW on foot, alone, wild camping and carrying everything I need for my purpose. At least, not at midwinter.

Unheard Of Luxury

Beard to begin with

Bearded Out

This was all posted live on another blog at the time. I received many supporting comments along the way, some of which I reproduce here:

Anonymous MD said…

Disappointed there are no photos of Mr Roy yet. Has he grown a beard before he has started? Does he intend to regale us with a variety of comedy facial hair during his expedition? I think he should.

MD asks if I sport a beard yet. Self-portraiture never one of strong points plus the bloody camera flashes twice to prevent red eye but with me it forced my eyes shut. Am sporting this beard permantly these days. MD are you MD of Somerset by any chance?

19th December 2007

Monstrous Man

The Big Man

That’s how King Alfred looked this morning at 7:30am. Wasn’t he the first King of England, allegedly? The good folk of Winchester must be enormously proud of him and his sword wielding proclivities because they have taken the trouble to spell his name correctly (the first A joined up to an E) and made him very big. Whilst the SDW begins, I think, at Winchester Cathedral, I have never been there, preferring instead to imagine that it begins with Alfred, whose posture seems more honest for this military town than a building dedicated to God.

Sunrise just east of Winchester

Forgot to mention that the bloody Wessex hotel had no hot water last night so I didn’t get an early bath or an especially early night. They didn’t even tell me when I checked in.

The Old Track

Despite having previously checked maps of the town, carrying a GPS and using Google’s mapping software, I was still thrown by the abhorrence which the good folk of Winchester obviously have for signs pointing the way out of town. The South Downs Way has been in use for 6,000 years, which makes it a much more ancient ‘construction’ that their local Cathedral (which I will visit one day) or their local school for the privileged. Signage is sporadic to the point of being unhelpful and, when really close to the start of the ‘walking through fields part’ ambiguous to the point of being, misleading. I was misled towards what a local walking her dog called the Black Road of Death. Lucky that I recognised my error (having made it before) and did, by 8:25am find the true path. Here it is, with the sun rising over the lip of the land.

Red Flag

We’ll Raise The Red Flag High

This flag represents an active danger area and not a communist insurrection. The good people of Hampshire aren’t ready for that, not yet. It also represents the edge of an area I found myself in previously when, whilst walking with Jasper Credland, we found ourslves in some woods which had no shortage (!) of signs warning us to leave immediately and to make a noise about it on pain of being shot otherwise. The early start after a fair sleep obviated that sort of navigational error this morning.

Comment:

Anonymous Magdalene said…

You write very well.

Proof of Extra-Terrestial Communications

Pyramids Are Always Popular

I think we should be told?

Along the way

Beautifully Hard Underfoot

Classic Downland Signpost

I Call This Temple Valley

Presumably, Lone Trees Stand Against Modernity Due To Legal Protection

Too Many Directions Home

Homage to past rests

Forgot to mention that I had a great pub lunch in the Milberry’s Inn, very large compared to the usual crappy portions served to vegetarians, washed down by a pint of copper ale and served in front of a roaring log fire. Rejoice, sinners! Anyway, if privations and suffering are spiritually pure why should their sensual opposites be forbidden. After all these years, my eyes have opened at last. Both experiential extremes are required!

Beacon of Hope

This ground was a little off-route but worth visiting, it being a campsite of mine in the past, several times. It lies at the top of Beacon Hill. Standing here again reminded me of bitter defeats become glorious with recollection. How very British…

The Sun Set On Me.

It became very cold. I put my hat on.

I Don’t Shake – Everything Else Does!

My destination for the night… With the best bath I have had this century (there is no tub at home), a very warm welcome and, to be honest, aching legs and a little chafing. Enough!

20th December 2007

2nd day a tough one

Thought a 2nd self-portrait was justified, after a fantastic night’s sleep at the Buck’s Head. No photos of the ragged me this evening. Took the strategic decision to avoid taking photographs today and just get along the Way but when I got to Old Winchester Hill, a previous winter campsite of mine, nostalgia got the better of me and I captured a view of its fortified entrance. A mark of the civilised times we live in is the flimsy protection offered (and no doubt respected) to the plant life. A sign informed me that the fort was built by people before use of iron but I expect those iron shovels came in handy later on.

Problem

This House Will Kill This Tree

After miles of flawless signs and approaching the border with Sussex, Hampshire County Council suddenly went awol and some crazy person erected all kinds of additional footpath signs in the Queen Elizabeth woods. Despite being well used none of the woods’ loyal residents had ever heard of the South Downs Way. One man said, “I do know that the M3 is over there.” He didn’t know. It was the A3. Another suggested a black railway line on my map was a “red line”. In the end I popped out of the woods just West of the village of Buriton, which meant that I had accidentally traipsed off the Way and had to walk the last few miles on tarmac and Wealden fields, with frozen waves of mud and pits concealed under ice lids. Before making tonight’s safe house (Copper Beeches), this tree house caught my eye. Got to the B&B to find no-one here but luckily the porch was unlocked and Mr Chew (the propietor) arrived 35 minutes later. Been lying down ever since.

Good to see so many commentators on my blog but I am concerned that they all, to date, wish to remain anonymous. Am I that frightening?

The hard part comes tomorrow and I say that bearing in mind today it was cold enough to justify hat AND gloves. I expect finish long after dark, 25 miles away from here.

Comments received:

Anonymous Anonymous said…

I have just caught up with your blog – looks like you’re well on course this time, given a bit of luck with the weather holding and not too many pub suppers
D

Anonymous northwest frontiersman said…

Thought I would indulge myself with another handle in wishing you well on day 2. How many miles on the agenda today?

Anonymous Anonymous said…

Well done so far – following progress with interest and a little envy – fingers crossed for you and the weather – good luck for tomorrow

Anonymous Anonymous said…

Previous comment went before signature -new to this M

Anonymous Romantics follow the moon said…

An inspirational trip, walking through the beautiful south downs taking the air & pushing your body to ache. I really enjoyed the photos, might join you next year… Hapopy New Year.

KD

Anonymous northwest frontiersman again said…

Be grateful for these frozen muddy tracks. Much better than ploughing through the mire. I expect you’ll sleep well tonight. Weather up here has been brilliant this week for a change. If you’re now in Sussex you will be on tracks which I have walked for the most part, but not all consecutively.

Anonymous XXX said…

hi duncan,
it looks fantastic. you’ve been lucky with the weather. let’s hope it holds.good luck with your long stretch tomorrow. just keep thinking of that hot bath.
see you soon
love
XXX
p.s. have you opened your pressie?

21st December 2007 – Midwinter!

Today I had theoretically the longest walk planned for the shortest day. That ‘plan’ took shape only because I couldn’t find anywhere closer to Torberry Farm. Mrs Chew made me a superb breakfast and a packed lunch for £3. The day mostly looked like this:

Winter Solstice Before Sunrise

The ground was frozen with a quarter inch of frost particles, which were pleasant enough to walk on.

Sunrise At MidWinter

Another Beacon Hill

This one has a steep side on the West, the side I approached from. It rose up out of the fog like an absurd wall. Suddenly, I remembered it from a previous attempt. My heart sank. The Devil called Doubt appeared with it but I recognised him and chased him away quite easily.

Great View

Realising that these viewless general shots can get a bit samey, I took this one to show some detail. Everything looked like this close up: all the blades of grass, all the leaves on the ground, every gate, every fence post and it looked really good on certain types of long grasses and on barbed wire. I guess I must have been walking in what the weather(wo)men call freezing fog because four hours after I set out this morning I noticed that one side of my rucksack had collected icicles of similar proportions. The visibility made crossing roads much more unsafe than normal. It wasn’t that the weather conditions were treacherous but the drivers were.

My previous best

Looking Back Is Good

It’s not much to look at but for me this was emotional view since it looked back to the furtherest point from Winchester that I had ever previously reached in my various midwinter walks along the South Downs Way.

Glorious New Ground

Really pleased to see more comments, especially from XXX. Sue also gets special mention for IDing herself. I think everyone who knows me will be able to guess the identity of northwestfrontiersman!

I’m in Storrington now but accidentally veered off the Way just after Duncton Down owing to a farmer having plowed over the path. It would have exceptionally dangerous to try to walk the half mile back to the Way along the A road I found myself on – the cars were speeding in convoys in both directions in dense fog. Crossinf the road was enough for me. A sympathetic local bailed me out by calling in a taxi. I had had enough. As the phographs show, today was not a stroll in the park.

Comments:

Anonymous northwest frontiersman again said…

I don’t think you would be working up quite such a sweat today. It would be nice to hear a few more local names of what you are passing en route – that would help me place you easily. Happy midwinter from the north west – another glorious day here but tomorrow we are promised rain again. I trust the “warm” south may at least stay dry.

Anonymous Anonymous said…

Many congrats. on furthest east. Appreciate the feeling. Wonderfully atmospheric photo’s. Make me even more envious. Fingers crossed for tomorrow. M xo

Anonymous Ancient Caledonian the artist formerly known as NWFM said…

As a philosopher once said,”the absence of pain should never be mistaken for pleasure”. I’m sure you clung on to that thought in the back of the taxi. Good luck on the next stage – hope your weather, chilly and foggy though it may have been so far, has not turned as horrible as it has up here on the northwest frontier.

22nd December 2007

New Beginning

Horribly muggy this morning but luckily a reasonably kind path up the North side of the South Downs. It was very quiet. This photo half-way back up.

Young Gentleman

George and Gem. George is nine. Gem is fifteen. Startled the living daylights out of me when on turning to observe a plane I heard behind me they were instead. George accompanied me through the myriad of potential pathways back to the true SDW. “I know all these Downs”, he told me. The two of them were much more agile than me coping with the verge and an upcoming 4×4. “Don’t put an acorn tree with a horse’s yard,” he informed me. Atlast I understand that there is only one type of ivy which is poisonous. He also asked where I was going and wherefrom. He (alone, ever) suggested, “Why don’t you camp?” I explained why not but he didn’t appear to grasp how bad it could be. Possibly he was a bit fixated on a summer camp he went on with his horse. “This is a sensible horse.”

When I was young I got a bicycle, which momentously expanded my freedom and thus my horizons. This lad rode beside me, guided me, conversed with me, informed me and finally, when after we had parted and five minutes had passed, I turned over my shoulder and he was galloping away down, like fire. He had a horse.

Nice one, Ian. My very best to your Mother.

South Harting Downs

Here’s a cyclist near Chanctonbury Ring, which site marked the edge of my known Downs.

Home Turf

This is my all time favourite seat but I’m sure it didn’t always touch the ground.

Old Seat at Chanctonbury Ring

Just off left to the picture above was Bill Finlay, also photographing the seat:

Great To Meet You Bill!

A Canadian over to see his in-laws in Steyning, escaping to one of his favourite spots. He was a member of some club which was extending the Bruce Trail. A website for that particular trail warns, “We strongly advise that hiking in the Blue Mountains, Beaver Valley, Sydenham and Peninsula Club sections be avoided during the following periods in 2007: November 5 to 10, November 19 to 24 and December 3 to 8.

Check out the Badlands in the Bruce Trail. Meanwhile, here’s another self portrait…

We’ve Evolved To Walk

It being a Saturday, the great outdoors suddenly became very popular:

People!

It took a long time to descend the Way from Chanctonbury, with the path bending quite some way South. It has to drop down to meet a road, apparently. I smelt the Devil called Doubt this time long before he crept up on me. I charged across bridge over the river Adur and up the other side without allowing myself to contemplate bailing. Atlast I reached Truleigh Hill, where there is a Youth Hostel my wife and I considered getting married in. Getting close to broken with Devil’s Dyke a couple of miles away. Here’s a view looking back towards Truleigh Hill, after I had passed it:

Truleigh Hill

Very tired as the sun went down and a full moon showed itself before me.

No Wonder People Worship The Sun

Have never been so pleased to see the Devil’s Dyke car park! Called up a pal, David Ingledew, who came and rescued me in his car and drove me home. Theory is to continue tomorrow. Rest day needed soon..
No navigational errors made today. The ground conditions were lovely. Soft top of mud topped off with grass most of the way, with flint or chalky interludes. Just what my feet needed, although they are throbbing a little now.

Home at last but will it last?

Staying at home tonight, reasons of cost mainly. Here’s a quick run down of the day after George sent me on my way, except that first, here’s a picture which got left out from yesterday, on South Harting Downs.

Comments:

Blogger Ian said…

Enjoying the blog. My mum has a message, “a very enterprising endeavour, I’m enjoying the views of the Hampshire countryside.” Privately,I think she might think you’re mad. “I didn’t say that!” she adds.

Ian B

Anonymous Anonymous said…

we’re enjoying the blog too :) is it all done on your phone,including the photos? good work,

Blogger Sharon said…

Sent email by mistake roughly saying that whilst mildly disappointed that you had abandoned the incredibly impressive plan to camp incommuncado (” no not even a monile phone”) the freezing weather conditions we are currently enjoying must mitigate against what might be considered such (fool)hardiness. Having caught up with the blog today I do hope you continue after your wellearned break and look forward to hearing more about it over a drink in the new Year? Great photos. Sharon.

23rd December 2007

R & R

Decided on a rest and recuperation day today. Probably because I woke up in my own bed. Having walked the best part of 75 miles was a factor too. Woke late too, that didn’t help. Weather is for more mist today, cloudy tomorrow and rain the day after. Perhaps I deserve some rain? On my previous attempts it hardly ceased raining. Am resolved to reduce kit size (For example, there was no need at all to carry a fat edition of Homer or some notepads for writing. What was I thinking?) and get an early start tomorrow. Despite the way everyone is behaving this week, incredibly, I feel guilty at my laziness but a rest for my limbs is needed to prevent injury. I have never previously walked more than 4 days without an R&R day to follow. Why should I change now?

Therefore, ground conditions today will be square slabs of slabs of rock abutting asphalt with the run off going from the former to the latter, carpet and varnished wooden boards. If I have a view it will be either of herringbone tiles or flemish wall bond. Over and Out.

Comments:

Anonymous Ancient Caledonian said…

Enjoy your day of rest – it is Sunday after all – and whatever the nation’s secularism/religiosity that seems to be a topical moot point, you have earned the r and r . Yesterday’s hike stirred many, many memories for the Ancient Caledonian who would have enjoyed it enormously.

Anonymous Anonymous said…

Exceedingly well done – Mxo – only anonymous till I can think of a tag

Blogger Ian said…

Are you back at it today? Why no pictures of your bed?

Was damned foggy anyway on 23rd amazing I could find London in it.

Happy Christmas to the ancient caledonian and all other readers!

24th December 2007

R & R again

No excuses. I took another day off. Let the chafing settle a bit more. Still on schedule.

Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said…

Good luck for tomorrow if you go again – Mxo – Merry Christmas to Ian.

Blogger SD said…

Disappointed not to see any action photos from today – I am sure they would have made interesting viewing.
Have you managed to keep the inside of the rucksack dry on this trip?
Get on and finish it lazy bones.

25th December 2007

Jack & Jill

Here’s a video I took on arriving back at Devil’s Dyke. You can hear me talking above the wind at 20s and see me at 32s. The video is only 47 seconds long in total.


This was the last time it was dry today. After this it got surprisingly busy with families, dogs, children etc., but that was because I was near Ditchling Beacon with its easy to reach car park. Ground conditions remained good though – just the right proportions of slip and bounce.

No photos today because it has been raining, as the forecasters promised, “heavily”. Got wet. The chafing places became uncomfortably. Got lost in my own neck of the woods! Popped out at Poynings rather than Saddlescombe, which added a little mileage to the journey. Pressed on to Jack & Jill (windmills), Ditchling Beacon and Black Cap, where I decided to bail out by heading for Lewes rather than the obscure place where the SDW crosses the A27. When I got to Lewes I quickly found the Meridian [a pub, now closed] and was served with a glass of punch on the house. That was lucky. Even more lucky was managing to secure a taxi back to Brighton.

… and that was as far as I got

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Posted in Mid Winter, Solo Walking, South Downs Way, Walking