St Cuthbert's Way - Setting out

We've set off on another long distance footpath. In my sixties, with various arthritic joints, I never know if I'll make it. And actually, last time, there's a gap in our walk of the Pembrokeshire coast while my legs took a couple of days to recover. 

So this time I voted for a shorter path - St Cuthbert's Way. It follows the life journey of the gentle and nature loving man who wanted to be a hermit, but was singled out by the depth of his faith and the breadth of his ability to become a prior. What I had failed to take account of was that the route lay through the mighty Cheviot Hills.

Pascoe joined us for the start and we explored the red sandstone ruins of Melrose Abbey with its ornate window tracery. We admired the sculpture of the bagpipe playing pig, and the inscription to the redoubtable mason, John Morrow. We were silent a moment at the spot where Robert the Bruce's heart was buried.

But then it was time to start. And what a start. The map contours were jostling eachother as we made the steep ascent to a saddle between two high hills. My hip was creaking and my mouth was whingeing. But after that harsh climb and descent it got gentler, often tracing the windings of the great river Tweed, accompanied by herons, sand martins and black-headed gulls. 

Like Cuthbert himself, we took time to admire the nature around us, and we saw orchids, bell flowers, butter bur and sneezewort amongst others, and foraged wild cherries raspberries, whitecurrants, bilberries and sweet cicely. 

But all that appreciation slowed us down so in the end we had to dash for the bus (which was to take us from the path to our B&B) and my creaky old hip proved it could do it, today at least.

Pembrokeshire Coast Path with knees!

In 2022 we walked Hadrian's Wall. Beforehand I was apprehensive - my various arthritic joints wouldn't hold up. But despite ominous twinges, they did. Same story with the South Downs Way last year. 

So when Nigel planned a large section of the North Pembrokeshire coast path, I grumbled again - the Cassandra of the achey knees.

However, he'd soon booked it, all planned in meticulous detail. We were going, and my knees were coming with us. 

Unfortunately, the first day was going to be the hardest with what the guidebook said would be 14 miles of distance, but turned out more like 16. And moreover was 1240 metres of ascent, and then the same of descent - almost as much as Ben Nevis. 

It was the descent which really did it, and despite knee straps and walking poles and Nigel carrying the day sack, I was limping badly for the last four miles. 

However, once I recover, I'll try again!

Oh dear, we shall just have to be tourists for a couple of days. In scenic Pembrokeshire. What a burden.

South Downs Way - Learning the Landscape

 I feel like I know a place better if I try to paint it, so when we go on holiday, I carry a small box of Winsor and Newton watercolour paints and a post-card sized sketch pad.  I'm definitely better at trees and sea and clouds than at buildings, but that's okay because that's what we usually seek out when we go on holiday.  On the South Downs Way, I liked the way that prehistory manifested itself in the landscape and you can spot Bronze Age round barrows (AKA tumuli) in some of my pictures.  I also liked the way the chalk path drew a line on the landscape.  It turned out though, that walking for many miles along a ridge, the main star was the sky, surrounding us with its changing moods.

South Downs Way - the earth laughs in flowers

'The Earth laughs in flowers,' Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sometimes we wonder how we might communicate with aliens should they visit our lonely planet.

Maybe a more interesting question is whether there are already 'aliens' here with whom we have failed to establish contact 

I have been enjoying the flowers of the South Downs Way. 

Meadow saxifrage, lime green crosswort, eyebright, common spotted orchid and silverweed are all in bloom on the downs. To me they are an exquisite tapestry of yellow, blue and pink. 

But seen from another viewpoint, flowers are the genitals of plants, lewdly displayed in order to achieve fertilisation.

Bees and butterflies get excited, just as the flowering plants intend, but for them, the glowing shapes of flowers mean food, not sex. They are enthusiastic but unwitting partners in plants' reproduction.

As for me, as this deadly serious battle for reproduction and nourishment takes place right under my nose, I cry 'Oh, how pretty!'

But I am missing so many layers of communication.

South Downs Way - Swift response

In several of the villages where we stopped we have heard a particular shrill bird call.

'Swifts!'

But although I'm pretty good at birds, I found I was mistaken. 

When I looked up, there were no scimitar winged swifts wheeling.

Yet if we returned via the same street later, I heard their calls again.

Finally I twigged. 

Each time, high on a house wall was a nest box.

Inside there must be a 'swift caller',  designed to attract these joyous summer visitors.

This happened to us five times during our nine day walk, but over the whole time I saw maybe only twenty swifts in all.

With these swift nest boxes, caring people are offering the birds hospitality, but is it too late?

Climate change and conditions in their wintering  places in Africa are also affecting the swift population.

The very beautiful village of Amberley was one where swifts were visible, wheeling and squealing, and also one where houses had swift nest boxes. There was a tall castle whose weathered walls rose behind the church, offering many convenient crevices.  I couldn't understand why the houses had swift boxes when the castle presented such a perfect nest site. 

Then I saw the reason.  Scaffolding.

The considerate inhabitants of Amberley were offering the swifts temporary accommodation while their historic residence was renovated.

Lets hope the swifts return there for many years to come.

South Downs Way - Missing it

Sometimes the walkers and runners we pass are plugged into headphones or earbuds. One guy wasn't even bothering with those - he had music blaring straight out of his rucksack.

I want to tell them, 'You're missing it!' 

Every time we pass a thicket or a rustling hedge, there is birdsong. The mob of summer-visiting warblers has arrived to breed and our native birds are also singing their tiny hearts out over mates and territories. This incredible symphony lasts only a few months of the year.

Different birds favour different areas - on day three we were hearing tree pipits, who have the most beautiful song, the following day, whitethroats, with their busy, scratchy tunes.

And always, there are wrens, robins, yellowhammers, chiff-chaffs, blackbirds and thrushes.

But there is one constant accompaniment on the South Downs Way of which we never tire - the buoyant warbling of the skylark.

Many and wonderful are the podcasts and pop tunes folks might be listening to through their ear buds, but none could possibly be as heart-lifting as the song of the skylark. 

South Downs Way, Day 8 continued, Room for Improvement

Our choice of accommodation was limited by the places that our baggage hauliers were prepared to call at. We paid roughly similar prices for all of them but met with a huge variety of facilities, space and even cleanliness.

One in an ancient half-timbered pub had very little sound-proofing. We could hear every word of the TV program our neighbours had chosen. 

They considerately switched off at ten at night, but the folks in the bar below continued until late. We both screwed in ear plugs and attempted sleep.

Once or twice in the night I was woken by a loud creak or bang that seemed to come from within the room itself. 

In the morning I said to Nigel, 

'It's possible this room is haunted, but the pub is so noisy in general that it's impossible to know. That banging could have been a cry for help from a very frustrated poltergeist.'

Very true,' 

'And did I hear our neighbours boiling their kettle just now?'

' Yes,' said Nigel. 'He's having coffee and she said she'd like tea.'

South Downs Way, Day 8 - Lewes to Alfreston - Charleston - Worth going off-path for

If there was one bit of culture worth tramping down off the South Downs Way for, then it was Charleston Farmhouse, occupied by Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant and frequently visited by other members of the Bloomsbury set. 

It was obtained during World War 1 so that Grant could claim to be labouring on the land and thereby avoid being drafted to the army.

The walls were hung with great art, both that of the artists, and others which they had collected. 

However, what I particularly enjoyed were the two fireplaces designed by Roger Fry. They were not beautiful like the dining table, hand painted by Vanessa Bell, nor cool like the rug designed by Duncan Grant.

Although Fry was the foremost art critic of his day, his two fireplaces were ugly makeshift constructions which used slabs of firebrick to extend the hearth further into each room.

The reason I like them is because, like nothing else, they conjure up a picture of the privileged upper middle class writers and artists from London scratching their heads as to how on earth to keep warm in this primitive farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

Douth Downs Way, Day 7 Ditchling to Lewes - The bright lights of Lewes

Ever since we began our adventure a week ago, I have had my eye on this Thursday. A short walk, then an afternoon pottering about the shops and cafes of Lewes.

The morning's walking turned out to be only around seven miles. 

'Perhaps we can make it longer,'

'Absolutely not!'

An afternoon without milestones to hit was a wonderful prospect.  But when it came, it was hard to adjust to the change of pace.

Even as we began to wander the streets, I was still waiting for Nigel's Fitbit to announce 'Eight miles!' I kept feeling I had forgotten something. It was my walking poles - abandoned at the hotel.

Worst of all, our feet, instead of rejoicing at the leisurely pace, began to ache. 

We had to cut short our visit to Charleston Galleries and hobble back to the hotel.

So much for the bright lights of Lewes!

South Downs Way, Day 6 - Bramber to Ditchling - Don't mess with the yellow hats

Because the path was on a ridge the morning often began with a mile of steep uphill walking. Just outside Lewes, there were people ahead of us on the ascent.
A large mixed-sex group of people, around thirty years old, mostly wearing yellow beanies.
Some appeared to be capable walkers while others were frankly shambling. 
What did they have in common (apart from the yellow hats)?
Why were they here?
Due to their mixed abilities, they were already strung out.

'Its going to be too hard to overtake all that lot on this steep bit. And we don't want to end up in the middle of their group.  We'll just have to tuck in behind.'

But, to my horror, only minutes later, I found our normal pace had placed us in an overtaking situation.

Once begun on this course, one has to see it through, otherwise one is in the socially awkward position of walking alongside a stranger and looking as if you're trying to join their group.

On we pounded, bidding every yellow-hatted walker 'Good morning!' as we passed.
Even as we eyeballed each of them, we couldn't figure out what they were doing here. 

Finally we reached the foremost group - three young women, clearly fitter than the rest.
'We have to ask. Why the yellow hats?' I gasped.

'Oh,' replied a tall woman. 'It's my hen do and I wanted everyone to come for a walk!'
'What a lovely idea,' I panted.

But, now, having overtaken everybody, it still was not lovely for us. We had not yet reached the top of the ridge and if we slowed down, the yellow-hatted troupe would inexorably overtake us, each one bidding us 'good morning.'

'I think I'm going to die,'  I wheezed.

'You started the overtaking. Now we have to keep going!' grunted Nigel.

Day 6 became the day when we broke our own speed record!

South Downs Way, Day 5 - Amberley to Bramber - Falls!

Twice today I ended up at eye level with the chalk and flint surface of The South Downs Way. 

The first fall was when I skidded on the chalk, extremely slippery after rain. I had watched my step on the slopes, used my walking poles. But on a flat bit, with barely any incline, my legs skidded from under me.

The second was when, striding along at top speed,  the loop of my bootlace hooked onto the metal eye of the OTHER boot. I actually felt it happen, but there was nothing I could do.  I went flying and was just so relieved not to break my glasses. 

Both times, I was saved from bad cuts by the fact I was wearing fetching elasticated knee supports.

Had tiredness made me clumsy?

When we arrived at the (very hospitable) Black Horse in Amberley yesterday, we got chatting to another South Downs Way walker. He and his wife had not been on the path that day. They had dallied in the picturesque village of Amberley and taken a rest day.  

Now that is an interesting idea for future trips.