Glemsford to Sudbury: E2 Day 96

Another sunny day to enjoy England's green and pleasant lands.

My first conversation of the day was with the lady serving me a breakfast Cornish pasty at the local convenience store (helpfully opening at 6:00 am). We agreed that a lot of strange ingredients go into some vegan foods but that at least with a proper Cornish Pasty you knew what you were getting (meat, potato, pepper and pastry). As I was taking down my tent my second conversation was with the campsite owner, a man of mature years who drove around in a golf buggy. He told me in his younger days he was a long distance runner, even though it was not obvious from his current figure. We then discussed the grass, how it had suffered in last year's heatwave although it now looked green and healthy. I was glad it had not been cut recently as the clods of cut grass tend to stick to your shoes and get spread to the toilet floors, tent and anywhere else you go.

Leaving the little community of Glemsford behind I was soon crossing large fields of young, green wheat, the haze making trees a progressively lighter grey the further away they were. As I walked, there being no-one nearby, I was singing "Jerusalem", or at least the bits I could remember. 

Approaching Long Melford I began to see people in clothes similar to those worn in centuries past. Then I saw the grand façade of Kentwell Hall. They were hosting a Tudor themed May Day festival, hence the clothes some people were wearing. As the event did not appear to have started yet I carried on down the long straight drive. The driveway, lined with trees, must have made the hall look very important to people arriving. Now old and ravaged by age, many of the trees had large growths of mistletoe, easily visible as this year's leaves were still in the making. Ahead of me, peals of bells were sounding from a grand church of many tall windows. Judging by the length of the performance, the bell ringers were enjoying themselves. 

Kentwell Hall.

Mistletoe.

So entranced was I that I missed a turning. On recovering the Sour Valley Path I was led past the church as the Sunday service was starting. Beside the church was an old, red brick Almshouse of ancient foundation (1573) but still providing accommodation for the elderly. Long Melford seemed blessed by old buildings. Melford Hall was nearby, a National Trust property that looked closed when I walked by, and the towns attractive main street had houses, pubs and shops in various pastel shades.

I continued south, following the Valley Trail, an old railway line now a good path shaded by trees. Deviating onto riverside meadows I soon reached Sudbury, where, despite bring a Sunday, I found a café open for lunch. On the table next to me one of the other customers seemed very "picky", of his various complaints he said the bacon in his lunchtime cooked breakfast tasted like sweet ham. After his harangue of the apologetic waiter, the cook came out and assured him it was bacon but without success. Leaving the dispute unsettled I left and shopped for a few items then continued through the meadows as my campsite lay a few miles to the south. Gainsborough, the landscape and portrait painter was born here and drew and painted meadow scenes. I tried to take a photo that would capture a similar view, but the camera is too literal, when painting an artist can enhance attractive features in brighter tones, make ephemeral details disappear and move objects around. 

My Gainsborough shot, but the cows were too far away and modern signs intrude.

I passed one of the many weirs on the Stour, which controlled the water levels, and maybe made the water deeper for fish. Sometimes they were associated with old, wooden clad mills that used the power of the falling water. It is a pity that this renewable source of power is not still used in micro hydroelectric plants. The mill buildings that remain have been converted to other uses, such a pub and restaurant that I walked by today. As I crossed the meadows a man with his daughter asked how far I had come and other questions. On telling them I had walked from Darlington, the daughter, about five, said she was going to walk to her Grandma's in Yorkshire. They were impressed that I had been walking for over a month, which gave my morale a boost, it helped as the edge of my heel was hurting. The landscape also become unexpectedly hilly for the last few kilometres to my campsite.

From where I pitched my tent I could see down to the river on which people on paddle boards and inflatable kayaks were enjoying the afternoon. A beer garden ran down to the river and later I walked to the pub for some food. I chose the Sunday roast, which was nicely arranged in a tower, with vegetables and roast potatoes on the bottom, slices of roast beef in the middle and Yorkshire pudding as the castle on top. After finishing with a cheesecake I wondered how long it would take them to bring me the bill.  In the congenial atmosphere of the pub's restaurant, surrounded by the hubbub of other people's conversation I read several chapters of a book on my kindle before I gave up the test and went to the cash register. After paying a slightly harried young man, I walked down to the river and looked at the meadow beyond with grazing cows, trees in the distance and a willow to my right, and thought of Gainsborough and the composition of a bucolic scene. Turning to my left the image was jarred by another concrete pillbox, with its empty black holes for guns should the Germans have invaded Britain in World War II. It was my second today, and I had seen several since leaving Peterborough. There must have been a very real fear of invasion to have built so many, so far from the sea.

Great Wratting to Glemsford: E2 Day 95

Sunshine made this a beautiful ramble through fields and villages.

Sunshine and blue skies greeted me this morning as I peered out of my window. Such good weather can turn a walk that might otherwise seem mundane into a special event. Today the young wheat was a deeper green, the oilseed rape a brighter yellow and in the verges blue, white, yellow and purple flowers were bursting out. Although the sky clouded over later, it could not spoil a delightful day.

Crossing one of the large fields of young wheat.

As I crossed freshly tilled fields and those with crops already growing. I was puzzled by one particular crop that was widely planted. A passing walker told me they were broad bean plants, and that the local practice was to rotate fields between wheat, oilseed rape and broad beans. 

Reflections in a pond at Baythorne Park, helped by perfect weather.

Stretches of countryside were broken by villages, first Kedington, then Stoke-by-Clare. Stoke is a common place name meaning a settlement linked to a larger one or a religious place. As it is so common it has to be qualified in some way, so Stoke-by-Clare is near the larger village of Clare. I purchased an ice cream and "boutique" lemonade (plum and cherry) from the village shop before continuing to Clare.

Clare had an attractive high street of old houses, although a number of the shops seemed empty. However the historic highlight was the remains of a castle, not that there was much left of it, a wall standing on top of a large mound or "motte". Beneath there were ponds and people picnicking and enjoying a sunny Sunday. I planned to lunch here but the service was so slow in the nearby café that I gave up and walked back to the High Street for a coffee at a quieter place.

The Castle ruins on the motte.

View of the town of Clare from the castle. 

The next settlement, Cavendish, was a quintessentially English village with an ancient church, an old pub, a village green with trees and even a duck pond. In fact I spotted three pubs in the village. Avoiding the temptation of the tea shop I continued to Glemsford, where I am pitched at a campsite on the village outskirts. The afternoon sunlight helped dry my tent, wet from the rain when I last slept in it. I am now at the Angel pub, an ancient hostelry where I had a vegetable curry with chips and an Eton mess (not simultaneously). For the second night running I have over eaten. I will need to take care otherwise I will soon have a belly like some of the pub's other clientele. Afterwards I wondered around the village. It seemed like summer had suddenly arrived. People were in tee shirts and I was managing without my padded jacket this evening. The settling sun was giving me and the village a golden glow.

Brinkley to Great Wratting: E2 Day 94

An opportunity to visit churches on a shorter, drizzly day.

Overnight the rain fell as forecast and much of today's walk was in light rain and drizzle, the trees grey on a misty skyline. My early paths were squashed between hedges, so people had been forced to walk over the same ground which had been made wet by the rain and turned to slippery mud by the repeated footfall. Path conditions underfoot improved as I turned off the Icknield Way and headed south on the Stour Valley Path. Initially this was through a tunnel of bushes and trees. Bluebells bloomed in the woodland to my left, their heads drooping in the wet conditions. 

Landscape through the drizzle.

The path followed a stream which had a number of small weirs, I then joined the River Stour itself which had further weirs. I wondered what their purpose was. Internet searches suggest it was part of a scheme to move water from the Fens to Essex in order to meet demand. There is apparently a pipeline along the same route.

Although the Stour Valley Path passed a number of villages none seemed to have a café to nourish the body, however they all had churches to service the soul. As today's hike was a mere 18 kilometres I had time to visit a few of them. All were constructed of local flint, cemented together, and all seemed be of ancient foundation, although the current buildings had been much altered, restored or rebuilt in the last 900 years. Only one church was open, although I was able to sit in the porch of the others and enjoy a snack while reading the Benefice newsletter. As there are fewer churchgoers than in the past, Sunday services rotated around different churches in the area. While the church newsletter spoke of Easter and the joy of the resurrection, a separate village newsletter advertised the planned celebration for the upcoming coronation of King Charles III. Earlier I had seen a post box decorated with a knitted cap shaped as a crown, a celebration in wool of his ascent to the throne.

Monument to Sir Stephen Soame.

The church of St Peter at Little Thurlow was open letting me look inside and obtaining a donation as a result. Beside the chancel was the mausoleum of Sir Stephen Soame, a grand affair sculpted out of alabaster showing Sir Stephen, his wife and their many sons and daughters. He was Lord Mayor of London, a successful business man and public figure but came from relatively humble beginnings at Little Thurlow. He died in 1619, before the English Civil War tore up the structures he had worked within. The church at Little Bradley also attracted my attention due to its unusual round tower.

Another church at Great Thurlow.

Ever since I began this trip in the Tees valley, blasts of what sounded like shotguns disturbed the sounds of the countryside (birds, tractors and cars on nearby roads). Some, maybe all of these load blasts were produced by bird scarers. Devices which consisted of a tube mounted on a support, supplied by a gas bottle and with a battery to provide, I assume, an ignition source. They would produce two or three load bangs a few seconds apart and then remain dormant for a long period. I saw no birds being scattered by these contraptions.

Stour Valley Path.

I was now in Suffolk. There were a few buildings clad in black, wood siding like the traditional barns, and also thatched houses and old, brick buildings. My destination for the day was Great Wratting, a little off the Stour Valley Path. As I approached the Airbnb, the long, thin nose of a lurcher appeared through the cat flap, and its brown eyes looked up at me. On the door being opened I was greeted by four lovable dogs, all lurchers, eager to say "hello", along with their owners.

For my evening meal I went to the local pub where I ate generous portions while a group of people of a similar age to myself were chatting and popular songs from our joint youths were being played in the background. The pub looked vaguely old. A child ran around, ignoring its parents. It was a scene that could have been from many of the villages I visited. 

Cambridge to Brinkley: E2 Day 93

Today I walked on ancient tracks, first a Roman road and then the prehistoric Icknield Way.

Leaving the campsite early I returned to the E2 via recently built apartment blocks, which likely house many of the people working at the nearby megacampus of the various Cambridge hospitals. While the brick faced housing looked modern, landscaped with grass areas and public sculptures, as a community it lacked a heart. I saw no shops or cafes. Judging from a sign, much more similar housing was planned. The Biomedical campus caught my attention, it was where "academia, industry, research and health meet".

The roads were packed with cars on the morning commute and I was glad to reach a quieter road and then a hedge lined path, like a miniature avenue. After a community woodland I had to follow a busy road for a short way to reach the Roman Road. Thankfully the only traffic on this ancient highway was myself and a few dog walkers. Vehicles such as 4 x 4's were not allowed or restricted which meant the track was unsullied and in good condition, unlike my earlier experience on the Viking Way. In places it was lined with trees, elsewhere it ran between hedges, everywhere it ran in a straight line typical of Roman road construction. Sometimes the original banking up of the height of the road compared with surrounding ditches and fields was visible. The ghosts of those who built the road almost 2000 years ago can be justifiably proud of their work. Once again the rock hidden beneath the soil covering was chalk, so instead of the flat trails of the Fenland, the road rose and fell as I crossed the gentle undulations of the land.

The Roman Road, a pleasure to walk along.

Pylons striding across the landscape.

I left the Roman Road to join the Icknield Way. It is a long distance path I have walked along before, one which tries to follow a series of tracks even older than the Roman Road. This lead me to Balsham, a village with a café where I enjoyed a coffee and apple strudel (my second coffee of the day, the first from a petrol station just off the Roman Road where it crosses a busy, modern highway, the A11).

Icknield Way. 

Beside the various tracks I followed today there were yellow cowslips and, as a sign of summer, the cow parsley was unfurling its white flowers while the cleavers and stinging nettles were rapidly gaining height. For lunch I ate a cheese salad baguette on a grassy verge, while admiring two red kites floating on the wind currents above me, moving this way and that with just a twist of their wings or tail feathers.

Tonight I am a lone camper in the garden of a pub. Inside the beams are so low that even those of moderate height will need to duck their head. The toilet with its high cistern claims to be an original "Crapper" design but seems to work perfectly well. However the proprietor said that it would likely be replaced if it misbehaved due to difficulties accessing the moving parts.

Ely to Cambridge: E2 Day 92

A riverside walk to an ancient seat of learning.

On returning to the centre of Ely I walked down to the River Great Ouse where I joined the Fen Rivers Way. For the next 17 miles I followed this trail first along the Great Ouse and then beside the River Cam to Cambridge. Unlike the long straight sections of the River Nene which I had recently walked beside, these rivers had been allowed to keep their gentle meanders, although their curves downstream of Cambridge were bounded by embankments that I walked on top of for much of the day. There were often flat areas between the river and these flood banks, which were marshy or flooded. On these transient waters there were modest numbers of waterfowl: geese, mallard, moorhens and swans. My passage disturbed a heron which took to the air before gliding to a more secluded spot on the opposite side of the river.

River Great Ouse.

Among the mixed farmland, trees were more common than on recent days. On the river bank willow predominated, some trees showing signs of pollarding. There was much twittering and cooing of birds in the trees. Several fields near Ely were covered in white sheeting for some unknown crop. A barge made such slow progress ahead of me that I kept pace with it for many hours until it stopped at a lock. There were several marinas containing various types of boat. The path was generally good, the coarse grass mowed in some stretches. Nearer Cambridge a gravelled towpath replaced it, along which men rode on bicycles coaching rowers in slender skiffs on the river. Maybe one of the rowers will make the crew for the annual Oxford and Cambridge University boat race, where students from the two ancient universities in England compete on the River Thames. Cambridge was a place of learning from 1209. Oxford University is slightly older at 1096 but the boat race has only been around in the last 200 years. I looked for the "dreaming spires" that characterise Oxford but saw no such collection as I approached the centre of Cambridge, maybe as the land was flatter.

Rowers practicing on the River Cam.

As I entered the more urban area I passed the Museum of Technology. Although closed except at weekends I peered in at two huge steam engines. Beside it the Kerb Collective sounded a suitably studenty place for coffee and cake, although the cake supply was meagre due to lack of baking that day. The city centre was full of people, and my loitering to view the streets and the new and old buildings around me was getting in people's way. An uneasy mixture I thought of old stone and brick colleges, closed to visitors, and modern shopping areas. As there seemed a preponderance of Japanese restaurants I had lunch of teriyaki chicken and rice at one such place.

Central Cambridge.

Outside the centre, having left the Fens River Way, the E2 wound a route through parkland and meadows. Cows were grazing on the grass on some of the green areas, confined by fences, pedestrian gates and narrow cattle grids designed for bicycles. There were many bicycles and electric scooters (which I had thought were illegal), some on the move, others parked up. Not only the preserve of students, bicycles were popular with families and people of all ages possibly because the traffic was exceedingly slow moving, with long lines of cars creeping forward at a speed rather less than a walking pace. Buses were not full even at "rush hour" despite the fares all being two pounds or less, perhaps because they moved no faster than the cars.

My campsite was in Trumpington on the south side of Cambridge, the name reminded me of a children's programme on television. To reach it I detoured through the enormous campus of Addenbrookes, Papworth and possibly other hospitals. The huge extent of their buildings perhaps reflecting the increasing amounts of money spent on maintaining our health and extending our lifespan. At 40 kilometres, today was longer than I expected and I was glad to lie down in my tent hoping that tomorrow's walk will be a little shorter. Fortunately there was a pizza truck on the campsite, so I did not have to walk far to get my supper.

Hereward Way: Some Comments

While I have not walked all the Hereward Way, just over a year before I walked much of the path to the east of Ely, and on this trip have covered most of it to the west.

There are a few reasons to consider this somewhat unusual long distance path. Unusual but unique as it crosses the Fens, a particularly flat area of Britain. Yet it has its own beauty, big blue skies in good weather, reed lined ditches, long straight lines made by roads and rivers, converging somewhere far off. Such factors give the area a distinctive look. The route is not entirely confined to the Fens, the sandy soils of Thetford Forest mark one end of the trail, and the artificial lake of Rutland Water forms the other. Although there is much farmland, there are also flooded areas attractive to waterfowl. Another advantage of the route are the towns and villages visited. Two are of particular interest, Ely with its beautiful, lofty cathedral and the cream stone coloured town of Stamford.

Waymarking is a bit erratic so a map or GPS track is needed. Accommodation is available but is concentrated in the bigger towns so it is worth planning ahead. There are some campsites but apart from Thetford forest, this is not an area for wild camping. The path can be walked at any time of the year, although people interested in birds may wish to select when they are most plentiful.

Christchurch to Ely and a rest day: E2 Days 90 and 91

Following a rest day yesterday there were blue skies at the start of the day and the splendour of Ely Cathedral at the end of it.

Yesterday and the evening of the previous day was a time for washing clothes, catching up with my blog, planning the next few days accommodation and most importantly, enjoying the company (and food) of my relatives who I do not often have an opportunity to see. This morning one of my cousins drove me back to the Hereward Way and gave me a very tasty packed lunch. Having offered my thanks for a bed for the last two nights I said my goodbyes I resumed my walk.

Above me the sky started completely blue, a huge dome over the flat Fenland fields. Soon insubstantial clouds frothed up from nowhere and by the time I had succumbed to the temptation of the cake in my packed lunch clouds with grey bases covered much of the sky. I ate my cake on the grass of the Hundred Foot Bank, looking over the New Bedford River and the flooded fields with scattered trees between it and the Old Bedford River. The two rivers run parallel to each other, in artificially straight lines, created by a 17th century scheme to drain the marshland. While the Duke of Bedford was responsible for the work being completed, a Dutchman, Cornelius Vermuyden, was the engineer. Between the two rivers the land, called the Ouse Washes, is frequently flooded to control water flows and supports a great amount of waterfowl in the winter, although today I could only see some geese and ducks.

Big blue sky.

Away from the river I was crossing fields on roads and on overgrown paths by drains. The route an exercise in straight lines and right angles. Farming on the grade 1 agricultural land, was almost entirely arable: wheat, rape, potatoes and vegetables. However, once long ago there were more cattle. Many of the roads and tracks are called "droves", tracks used to move cattle to drier land during the winter when fields tended to flood.

Pumping station.

Bridge over a drain.

I had walked this section of the Hereward Way a little over a year ago. Then, as now, a footpath was closed where it crossed a railway line. A diversion was again required. Walking through the villages of Christchurch, Welney and Little Downham I admired the yellow bricks used in many of the houses. Other buildings were of red brick or rendered. Unlike recent areas visited on my walk there were no stone built houses.

As my old GPS, a Garmin etrex 30, had worn rubber, compromising its water resistance, I ordered the latest model, a Garmin etrex 32x and had it delivered to my cousins. A real disappointment, the screen is much more difficult to read in the 32x, especially without the full (battery depleting) back light. It also loads maps more slowly. So much for progress.

Reaching Ely I diverted to a budget hotel on the bypass, those in the centre having become far too expensive. I then walked into town for a little shopping and to revisit the beautiful Ely Cathedral with its soaring architecture, uplifting height and rising columns fanning out around the central octagon. Candles were flickering in the chancel in the early evening light as I meditated on family and my recent journey through time and space.

March to Christchurch: E2 Day 89

A chance visit to St George's fayre at March and a walk across the Fens.

Walking back into March this morning I noticed stalls erected in the park south of the river, curious, I went to investigate. It seems St George's day was being celebrated. Perhaps I should have realised yesterday from the flags and bunting with the red cross of St George, England's patron saint. Stalls were still being set up, sound systems on a stage being tested and scouts were gathering for a parade. By a stall selling locally made wooden canoes, coffee and doughnuts were available. Despite having had a cooked breakfast at the Fourwinds campsite I indulged in two doughnuts with my coffee (two being the minimum order).

Leaving March on a path beside the River Nene (the Old Course), the urban surroundings soon changed to large flat, open fields extending to small distant trees on a far horizon. The river, tamed by drainage schemes, ran in a series of straight lines. Boats and barges were moored on the bank, one had sunk. A pumping station managed by the Middle Level Commissioners kept the surrounding land drained. A cluster of wind turbines stood on the other side of the river, bright white when the intermittent sun shone on them, although for most of the day grey cloud formed a ceiling on the sky. At least there was no rain. 

Wind turbines by the River Nene.

Turning away from the river the route followed a small drain cut deep in the ground, ruler straight through fields, some brown with recently ploughed earth, some green with a growing crop, and one yellow with rape flowers.

Drain.

Finally reaching the road by the small village of Christchurch, it was time to link up with my cousins and enjoy a rest day, which I felt well earned as the outside of my left heel was starting to give me pain, a common problem on my longer walks. I was however pleased that my knee was holding up well with no evidence of fluid accumulation. 

Peterborough to March: E2 Day 88

A day in the Fens.

The Fens are an area of very flat land, once marsh and peat swamp, but now fertile farmland criss-crossed by drains, straight dykes and channels. Hereward the Wake was a hero of the local resistance, who fought the Normans who invaded this corner of England in the 11th century, using secret paths through the marshes according to the stories I was told at school. The Hereward Way which I was following, was named after him. Although many might find the landscapes lack of relief uninteresting, the area has a certain beauty, changing with the weather. This morning's faint mist and stagnant air lent distant trees a sense of mystery, like grey ghosts, insubstantial, while the sun brought riverside rushes into sharp focus against still, dark waters. On my previous visits, on days full of sun and free of cloud, the vast blue sky forms a magnificent arc over a flat floor of fields, making farms and trees look small beneath its extensive reach.

River Nene in the morning, a triangle pointing to the flat horizon.

Crossing the ruler straight Nene on a graceful, curving bridge by my campsite, I joined a cycle track on what might have been once a railway line. A wartime pillbox, hid low down among some bushes, as many people passed, out for a Saturday walk, jog or cycle. The charming old village of Whittlesey offered a prospect of a café and after a brief search I was contentedly enjoying a breakfast croissant with my coffee. 

Whittlesay.

Long, straight stretches by roads, rivers, drains and fields took me towards March. From his garden a man started a conversation with me. His theme was the increasing mechanization and automation of the farming around his house. Mechanical harvesters now left no potatoes behind for him to pick up from the ground as he once did in the days of hand picking and less sophisticated machines. He even told me of a field where all the work would be completed by machines without any human intervention: ploughing, seeding, spraying and harvesting. Later, I saw a real farmer out spraying his crops. It seemed the time of year for such activity as I had seen several fields being treated over the last week. On one occasion a farmer stopped spraying from one of the two booms extending from his vehicle in order to avoid treating me for wheat rust or whatever. I felt guilty I was adding extra work to the farmer.

Parallel converging lines, it is a very geometric landscape.

After a long stretch of riverside path I reached the rear of the Fourwinds Campsite. Looking back I realised I had just climbed over a gate with a notice stating "No Public Access". It seemed I had missed a turning. The embankment I had illegally followed was just the same as previous sections. Why stop people using it I wondered, forcing them onto a road with traffic, narrow verges and deep ditches on each side? What harm would it do to allow public access other than offending the owner's sensibilities? If a walker had a road traffic accident as a result would they feel guilty?

Arriving early and having pitched up I walked on into March. The trail I happily sauntered along was the "West End", a path between houses and their riverside gardens. Nice for me but maybe a little inconvenient for their owners, although the path was clearly of long standing judging by the age of some of the houses. The main street of March was being modernised, much of the road having been taken up. There were plenty of shops and fast food outlets, but some premises were empty. Maybe the road works were interfering with business. I found a café for an early tea, and after a little shopping at the convenient and well stocked Tesco Express, returned to my campsite. As I sit at a picnic table writing this a ginger cat (called Jazza I think) is trying to impose himself on me. 

The campsite cat on my itinerary. 

Stamford to Peterborough: E2 Day 87

A long day, much of it following the River Nene.

Rain blighted the first part of my day as I left the historic but wet town of Stamford and headed out through the Burghley Estate, famous for its horse trials, patronised by royalty. Starting from a golf course, unnaturally straight paths cut across fields, ignoring their layout, creating a corridor through a field of rape in yellow flower. Sheep, both black and white, looked at me suspiciously as their new born lambs hurried towards them on shaky legs. High, long, stone walls stretched into the distance.

Leaving the Estate I crossed organically farmed land to reach Sacrewell, a place where children could meet farm animals, but I was more interested in the café and a place out of the inclement weather. After a muffin and a scalding hot cup of coffee I continued to the River Nene which I followed either on its bank or a little distance away for the remainder of the day. One significant deviation was along a length of the Nene Valley Railway, a heritage line with an attached museum. After that I stayed close to the winding river or one of its many channels and backwaters as it crossed fields, its banks lined with trees just bursting into green leaf. Over the past few days the trees had started to cloth their stark bare branches, black against the sky, with a fuzz of young green leaves, so subtly that I barely noticed until today. The willows by the water were looking especially graceful in their new coat.

River Nene before Peterborough. 

Today's sightings included a few red kites carving curves in the air as they glided across the sky; a hare that raced up the track, saw me and promptly turned around and raced back; swans, gliding brilliant white over the brown waters of the river; a flurry of flapping wings as startled pigeons scattered from the trees above my head; and a pheasant sprung by my arrival. 

There was an irregular distribution of Hereward Way waymarks today, and also those of the Nene Way, both trails following the same route for a while. Yesterday my path coincided with the Macmillan Way and the Jurassic Way. At times it seems that too many "Ways", or long distance paths are being created. Effort might be better focused on promoting and maintaining existing routes, or else joining them together to make longer National or International trails such as the E2.

The river had some interest, there were boats moored, both barges and motor cruisers. Locks on the river seemed to be associated with large sluice gates used to control the flow. A pretty section of riverside path went below a wooded slope with drifts of bluebells just coming into flower (although they needed some sunshine to really show off). I could smell the wild garlic whose flowers were still in bud. A long boardwalk carried me over the lower lying areas where iris will flower later in the year. Nearer Peterborough the path ran through parkland and split into a parallel channels. A deviation was required as the central span of a pedestrian bridge was missing, I followed a cycle path re-joining the Hereward Way a little later. A later diversion was needed in central Peterborough where a length of chewed up tarmac was barricaded off.

Bluebell wood.

Needing to reach my campsite I quickly left Peterborough along the river, which had now been forced into a straight line through the countryside, canalised between embankments. The river, embankment, path and adjacent drain seemed to converge at a point at infinity or at least far, far away, like an exercise in drawing perspective. My path was along the top of the northern embankment, often flanked by a line of willow trees, their greening branches swaying in the wind. An attractive sight not fully appreciated as my feet were sore after walking over 20 miles, so I was pleased to reach tonight's campsite, graced as it now was with intermittent sunshine. At the reception the owner asked if I had seen a Russian submarine sailing up the Nene. I took it as a joke, and while said in jest it was prompted by an article claiming Russia was spying on British infrastructure with the aim of destroying it in a future conflict.

I camped in a position to capture the western light of the setting sun, which, when the clouds allowed, lit up the thin nylon of my tent as I relaxed inside.

Willows by the river near Peterborough.

Lines joining in the distance. 

Viking Way: Some comments

When I enquired of people who had walked the Yorkshire Wolds Way what they thought of it they were enthusiastic, but on asking the same question of veterans of the Viking Way they were more equivocal. Good bits they said, such as in the Wolds, and less interesting bits. This about sums up the route. 

For me the low point was definitely the unnecessarily extended excursion through the modern housing developments of North and East Lincoln. The deeply rutted, muddy and waterlogged byways on the southern part of the route were also a pain. Highlights included the historic centre of Lincoln and the many small towns and villages visited such as Woodhall Spa. Hospitable old pubs were an essential part of the villages' charm together with the churches. The Humber Bridge itself was an iconic place to begin the 147 mile, 237 kilometre journey, and I enjoyed the stretch beside the wide river estuary. Rutland Water was a similarly dramatic place to end the trail. As many people commented, the Lincolnshire Wolds were attractive and I liked the views from the Lincoln Edge.

Most of the people who I encountered that had completed or were walking this long distance path did so as they lived in the area. As it was nearby they could conveniently tackle it in stages. It was also commented to me that there are a lot of straight sections, at the end of which the route may turn at right angles. The Viking Way is almost entirely within the county of Lincolnshire and as the name implies is in an area invaded and occupied by Scandinavians over a thousand years ago as attested to by many Danish place names. I completed the long distance path in 11 days. Waymarking was good but not comprehensive throughout, so a GPS with the route and a digital map loaded is needed, or a paper map if you are "old school". Accommodation is scattered throughout the route, often associated with village pubs, and there are a few campsites. It is not wild camping country being mostly farmland. 

Sign at Viking Way Café by the Humber Bridge at start of Viking Way, note the yellow waymark used throughout the trail.

Greetham to Stamford: E2 Day 86

Today I left the Viking Way at Rutland Water and began on the Hereward Way.

A street in Exton, the verge awash with flowers.

After breakfast at the Rutland Campsite café it was a walk over fields and through villages to Rutland Water. This was a large reservoir, unusual in that it was not in a deep valley surrounded by hills but in a gently undulating landscape. The reservoir cannot be deep. Still I suppose there were few other options to supply water to the low lying lands to the east. Efforts had been made to provide recreational opportunities around the reservoir, maybe to make amends for putting a large portion of the small county of Rutland under water. There were boat trips, canoe and bike hire, wind surfing and a café I took advantage of. A member of the Wildlife Trust at a small stand encouraged me to join. Although a worthy organisation doing great work to foster wildlife, I declined as there is a limit on how many charities I feel able to support, but a sense of guilt followed me as walked along a good path around the water. I had now joined the Hereward Way heading east, having left the Viking Way before its final destination at nearby Oakham.

Rutland Water 

As well as fields of young crops, and ploughed fields waiting for seed, there were fields of grass, some with sheep, others carpet covered with dandelions and daisies. In the attractive villages the old houses were made of a creamy limestone with either thatched roofs or tiled with stone flags. Just off the trail in Ketton there was a monument to Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee, on the side details of Queen Elizabeth II's Diamond Jubilee was inscribed. 

Dandelions and daisies. 

Easton on the hill.

I passed a quarry still digging out the limestone used in the villages but probably now for cement rather than masonry. The path crossed the quarry so I could look down at the operations. A future nature reserve I thought when the quarrying finally finished. Stamford, where I am staying tonight, has a centre of church spires and towers, pubs, shops and houses, all made of the same cream coloured limestone. Having checked into an attractively decorated Airbnb, I am having a meal in one of the older buildings with the curious name of Tobie Norris. Recommended by Airbnb owner the pub dates from the 13th century and its little wood panelled rooms were filled with people and the hubbub of conversation.

Croxton Kerrial to Greetham: E2 Day 85

Although there were some pleasant sections, today's walk was spoilt by deeply rutted, muddy and wet tracks.

Leaving Croxton Kerrial along a busy road I soon reached the Viking Way at the "Drift". This section of the ancient pathway was a Site of Special Scientific Interest (an SSSI) due to the flowers, plants and insects of this lowland calcareous grassland. Cowslips and blackthorn in blossom were the most noticable plants. Approaching Saltby Airfield a man with a lively Springer said I had just passed some bunkers from the Second World War in the strip of woodland beside the trail. The conflict was also responsible for the airfield. Gliders from here had been involved in the D-Day landings and the less successful Operation Market Garden. There was a small stone memorial with three flagpoles and a few poppy wreaths remembering past comrades. Gliders again fly from the airfield, but for recreation not war. Later I passed yet another airfield, RAF Cottesmore, this one disused, one of the many built in Lincolnshire for World War II.

The Drift.

For much of the remainder of the day I was following byways used by 4 x 4's. These off-road vehicles had created deep, muddy ruts, often filled with water. Sometimes the water extended over the complete width of the track and with thorny bushes each side which made getting around the water a hazardous balancing act. Sometimes I was forced to splash through the brown water where I thought it would be shallowest, risking wet boots. Other times I risked slipping into a water filled rut as I made my way through slick, slippery, slimy mud on the ridges between ruts. People should be allowed to play with their off-road vehicles and as I was on an ancient byway they were probably legally entitled to use it, but it is unfortunate that a separate walking route was not created. It was not fun!

Track wrecked by 4 x 4 vehicles.

In between water filled, muddy sections, which required my full attention, I had the chance to look around and spotted a few red kites flying overhead (or possibly the same one following me). A hare hopped around the track ahead of me, sniffing, before disappearing into the seemingly impenetrable bushes beside the track.

One of the more pleasant parts of the walk.

A few villages were on my route. At Sewstern I was annoyed that the Viking Way took me down a road parallel to the village which had no particular merit, rather than down the main street. The latter would likely have had more interest with maybe attractive old houses or a shop, I shall now never know (although I did check with Google to make sure I did not miss a café). At the second village of Thistleton, I stopped at the church for lunch, eating the samosas I bought yesterday on a picnic table in the churchyard. Although no longer used for regular services it served as a venue for music and other events. 

I saw a sign for Rutland, which surprised me as I thought the county had been dissolved as part of some reorganisation. However it appears to have re-emerged as one of the smallest counties in Great Britain. Reaching Greetham I struggled to find the campsite. A local couple told me that the entrance was not from the village, as it might appear from maps, but from a more distant road. However there was a pedestrian side gate, which, when I found the correct one, could be opened remotely by the lady in reception in response to my phone call. It turned out to be a lovely campsite with neatly cut, flat grass, clean toilets and a convenient café on the site for diner and breakfast. 

Marston to Croxton Kerrial: E2 Day 84

Blessed with another sunny day, I walked across the Lincolnshire farmland. 

I began today's walk by heading in a westward direction crossing fields. The Viking Way started in this direction yesterday afternoon in order to avoid Grantham. Reaching the village of Long Bennington after crossing back and fore over the River Witham, I decided to divert into its centre to visit a cafe promised by Google Maps. I would not encounter any other village today so this was my only chance. Their raspberry and white chocolate cake was exceedingly good, a Victoria Sponge type cake with a filling containing chips of white chocolate.

Crossing the River Witham.

After Long Bennington my route was due south. My enjoyment of the walk through the countryside was marred by the effects of off-road vehicles. Sections of the track, were deeply rutted by the 4 x 4s. Avoiding areas of mud and pools of water, extending from hedge to hedge in places, proved difficult. A shame as the route (Sewstern Lane) apparently dated back to Bronze Age times, and was used as a Drove road to bring cattle south to market, in more recent centuries.

Rutted track made by offroaders.

A more pleasant part of my day's travel was beside the Grantham Canal. There were restored locks but also floating booms so I was unsure whether it was currently navigable. In the morning the trail was over flat arable farmland with one slight rise, but after the canal the route rose over a limestone ridge. I caught glimpses of Belvoir Castle from the canal, standing on top of the escarpment. 

Gentle rise away from flat farmland.

Climbing up the escarpment. 

There being no accommodation on the Viking Way in these parts, I diverted off the track to the village of Croxton Kerrial where I had booked a room in the local pub. At the village store I discussed the best snacks for my walk tomorrow with the man serving. He recommended the samosas and the tiffin, which is exactly what I bought. In the pub that evening there were three men in motorcycle leathers having long and detailed discussions about obscure bike topics. The pub had a "Community Dinner" on Tuesday nights tonight with a very nice pork escallops, dauphinoise potatoes and vegetables. Only problem was that you had to decide how much to pay....

Wellingore to Marston: E2 Day 83

My highlight was the sun coming out this afternoon and lighting up the bright yellow cowslips in a churchyard.

Older buildings in the villages today and yesterday were either made of red bricks or else a creamy to sandy orange limestone, sometimes both, all with a red tiled roof. The limestone also appeared in walls where I could look more closely at the white, yellow and black lichen that was slowly colonizing its surface. Where these walls separated fields they had been left to tumble down, no longer necessary as the fields were all of young crops or ploughed ready for crops. The hawthorn hedges were also no longer functional, with gaps between the individual bushes.

My first stretch was over large open fields in the misty morning light, the path cutting a straight if diagonal line. I noticed what looked like Second World War pill pillboxes, but a little research suggested they were old concrete bunkers around what was once RAF Wellingore. There were many airfields in the area during the war.

Ermine Street was a section of today's walk, I had been looking forward to hiking this old Roman road, an elegant straight line crossing the map, also called "High Dike". I was disappointed. The first few kilometres followed by the Viking Way were also used by recreational off road vehicles. The 4 x 4s had dug deep and muddy ruts in the ground. A later section was by a moderately busy road, and although the path was quite separate from the road it had been neglected. In one section trees had been planted some years ago, protected by plastic sheathing. Sadly the plastic had not been removed and the bark of the trees had partly grown over it. Throughout there was rubbish and random fly tipping, and although I had seen worse in other places it made it difficult to image a cohort of soldiers marching where I was now walking almost 2000 years earlier. 

Tracks of off-roaders on Ermine Street.

On the plus side the sporadic cherry trees alongside the track were in beautiful blossom and there was a café (and therefore coffee and cake) where Ermine Street crossed a more modern road. The place was called Byards Leap after a horse who was involved in ridding the village of a witch. Stories vary but all involve the horse making a huge leap now marked by horse shoes cemented in the ground.

Leaving Ermine Street, as I crossed more fields the mist and clouds dispersed and the sun began to shine. While I have walked in rain and wind, and on dull and cloudy days, my pleasure is greater when the sun spreads her light. The grass glows greener and the wayside flowers look brighter. There were white and purple dead nettle and bright yellow dandelions although I found the best flowers in the churchyard of the curiously named village of Carlton Scroop. Cowslips surrounded the gravestones and there was an excellent display of primulas of many colours. The church was open. Its interior was simple with white painted walls. In the visitors book there were a smattering of people who wrote they were walking the Viking Way and even one (a person from Verona, Italy) who was, like me, following the British section of the E2 European Long Distance Path.

Path beside ploughed field.

Cowslips in the graveyard of the Church of St. Nicholas in Carlton Scroop.

Path in the sun.

On the final section of today's walk I again walked beside the River Witham, smaller here than when I followed it east of Lincoln. A little after I past a sewerage works, or rather a "Water Recycling Centre". This one involved sending the waste water through a series of reed lined ponds to clean it up. A few geese were sampling the progress. In the distance trains glided up and down the electrified main east coast line. 

Tonight I am staying at "Ye Olde Barn", despite the cheesy name it has a very modern, red brick appearance. My ensuite bathroom off my large bedroom even has "his and hers" washbasins, no doubt to justify the very expensive cost. So I have been investigating campsites and cheaper, if simpler, accommodation for the next few days.

Lincoln to Wellingore: E2 Day 82

A short day walking along the Lincoln Edge.

Leaving Lincoln down a road lined with shops including I thought, an unusually large number of tattoo parlours and hairdressers. However, I was soon walking across green areas, albeit close to housing. Then it was a climb up to the top of the Lincoln Edge also known as the Lincoln Cliff, although I saw no exposed rock to justify it being called a cliff. Rather it was an escarpment, associated with the underlying Jurassic limestone. To the west the ground dropped steeply to a wide plain of clay. During the ice age this was maybe a great lake. A plateau extended to the east.

Looking down the escarpment of the Lincoln Edge with the southward spread of Lincoln visible, more housing is planned.

Looking down the escarpment of the Lincoln Edge further south.

From the top of the Edge, the Viking Way provided good views across the plain below me. As well as fields, some yellow with rapeseed, there was the much housing, some quite recent, as Lincoln continued to grow. Many dog walkers used the track. They were concerned about a bypass being built across the very field on which we were walking, little flags marking out the route. They thought it would cause congestion in the nearby villages. Mercifully, today the Viking Way avoided any new housing developments but my informants said many more houses were planned, often on the flood plain with a high risk of flooding. Inevitably, immigrants with large families were said to be the reason why all the new houses were needed.

I continued by a succession of villages with their pubs and old churches, in between my path went in straight lines between fields, either ploughed or with young, green crops. Navenby was one of the larger villages and included a busy café where I enjoyed a coffee and cake from the multiple, flustered staff. My inn for the night, the Red Lion, was in the next village. A friendly pub which had a pizza stall in its garden whose produce I much appreciated.

Straight path of Viking Way with Sunday dog walkers in the distance.