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.