One of the benefits of lockdown has been the chance to walk anytime and anywhere. In town there are plenty of clues as to where you are but in the country side you need to have some kind of a map.
Navigation
Mobile phones tend to run out of signal at crucial points so in my view an Ordnance Survey map is vital to proceedings. But a map is no use if you don’t know which direction you are walking.
Be prepared
Luckily – years ago - I bought a small compass from my local Scouts group at a ‘Bring and Buy’ sale. Having this avoids the sort of navigation which relies on ‘gut feeling’ or a wild guess at where the sun is on a cloudy day.
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| Scouts all-purpose wristband |
Off the beaten track
When I’m planning a route I try to avoid the roads. As a walker, it’s always disappointing if you have to resort to following a road, even if the road is so minor as to have no number or name.
If there is only the occasional car - or more likely a tractor - this can still be irksome especially when the driver looks at you as if you should not be there. Then you have to stand back into the hedge to let the vehicle pass. So instead, I keep away from the roads and follow the dotted lines on the map showing official paths.
The best-laid plans
That day the route I had planned would take me in a circle of about seven miles then comfortably back to the house and a warm shower.
As it turned out, it wasn’t easy to follow. Although most of the land owners had played by the rules, some had bolted and padlocked their gates – that was manageable – it’s easy to climb over them.
What was really mean was when I found out that the gate had also been fitted with
a single line of barbed wire stretched over the top. That was obviously not to
keep the animals in or out - it was meant to rip the seat out of your
trousers (or worse) as you tried to climb over. I had to make a couple of
detours to avoid that possibility.
Official paths
More reliable are the upgraded pathways designated for walkers. These are shown as diamond shapes linked by dotted lines, and they actually have a name. I had followed the Cotswold Bridleway and the Monarch’s Way as far as I could.
Whenever I see a sign for a permissive path, I have to curb my imagination. This is not a path intended for permissive behaviour – such as the route for a bunch of hippies off to a rave, but rather the landowner’s permission for you to use it - even if that seems a bit begrudging.
Picturesque village
So
near and yet so far
I was
only about three fields away from the village but I had obviously made one too
many detours. I was approaching the village from a steep hill which went
through a dense wood. The wood was encircled by a wire fence with a latched wooden
gate overgrown with nettles. I hoped that there would be a gate at the other
side which could take me further up the hill. I felt relieved that I had not
worn shorts and holding my arms above my head to avoid the nettles, I managed
to get through the gate without being stung.
At the other side of the wood I
saw a gate a few yards away to the left. This gate was clear of nettles but chained
shut. I clambered over and walked up the steep ridge. At the top, the earth
flattened out and there was a field ahead, full of cattle.
Peaceful
cattle
As I emerged above the ridge, they all turned to look at me. ‘How delightful!’ I thought.
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Greystones farm nature reserve |
Oh! Bullocks
But these creatures were not cows, they were young bulls and as their curious gazes rested on me I pondered the mix of youth and testosterone showing in their somewhat glazed looks. The first two started slowly towards me and as they moved, they were flanked by four others as the pace picked up. Others came from the sides of the field and now the group were trotting in a phalanx, shoving and jostling one another, while letting out grunts of excitement.
For
once I could not see a fence or gate on either side – the field stretching as far
as the eye could see. For a moment I wondered whether I could outrun them but
the ground was uneven and the thought of falling in front of them was not pleasant.
The only way was back and through the wood. I turned, tumbled down the ridge
and threw myself over the gate into the wood.
Back
on track
I found my way back to Monarch’s Way and the road. Still shaking, I walked in the direction I thought was Bourton-on-the-Water. After what seemed like hours, I looked at the map and began to wonder whether I had gone the wrong way again. Up ahead and walking towards me was a young man with a very excited and energetic collie. The young man was trying to train the dog to walk to heel and kept calling out ‘Finn!’, ‘Finn, back.’ As they came towards me Finn leapt up and I made a great fuss of him, rubbing his ears and tickling his chin. The young man explained that Finn was a rescue dog and had been born into a family that couldn’t cope with him. ‘He’s only seven months.’ he said ‘but it’s a nightmare – I can’t let him off the lead. He won’t come back when I call him.’
Rural Wisdom
I too was beginning to feel like a wandering rescue dog and the young man seemed to know what he was talking about so I said ‘I hope I’m going the right way. Perhaps you can tell me where we are on this map.’ He took the map turned it round while Finn continued to hug my legs and dribble on my trousers. The young man looked at the map and said. ‘First right here, then keep right along the public footpath.’ He handed the map back and wrenched Finn off me. ‘Thanks, and all best with him.’ I said.
I took the map back and immediately realised
that the young man had been reading it upside down. I reminded
myself that just because someone lives in the country side they don’t necessarily
know it like the back of their hand.
I carried on the way I had been going and sure enough I came through a clearing and saw the River Windrush with its beautiful stretch of water.
The following day I bought a copy of the Cotswold Journal to read with my morning coffee. The front page informed me that David Beckham – a resident of Chipping Camden – had put a picture of his spaniel ‘Fig’ on Instagram. Fig was seen begging for digestive biscuits.
In the later pages a small item gave an account of a court case
involving a farmer who had shot a dog on his land. The farmer claimed the dog
was out of control and had been worrying his cattle.
