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. 

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.