For Spring Equinox I chose to head up high
to meet with the winds and sniff spring arriving. I love being up above high the
surrounding land, the sense of expansiveness feels so limitless and
freeing. I swear I was once a plains woman (some of my ancestors lived near Avebury for 200 years apparently).......as its where I feel the
most at home. I love looking far into the distance, dreaming and
picking out details. Seeing
human communities reduced to tiny square boxes with even tinier occupants, with
a patchwork of fields hemming them in. I am walking the Malvern Hills, (nearly
mountains in height), fully loaded with my gear for feasting, sleeping and
walking in all weathers. Except my bivvy bag. I forgot my bivvy bag. I told
myself that a tarp overhead would be good enough and forgot about it.
To focus myself for the walk I drew a Rune
– Isa. This for me represents being in the present moment, focus, stillness and
possibility. This felt perfect somehow for this walk. At Imbolc I felt a little
disconnected from its overall purpose and realised later it was the people I’d
met that made it interesting and thought provoking. I decided to just try to be
alive in each moment with no expectations this time.
A local friend got me started on my way
with a good route into the hills up a slightly vertiginous tarmacked road. I
headed south down the ridge choosing to go over the peaks of the hills rather
than around their sides. I am in training of sorts with this walk for the next walk........ it'll be 87 miles long.
I noticed crows wheeling and circling on
the winds and they became constant companions, never too far away.
I love to watch their aerial acrobatics and hear their raucous cries. I noticed
flowers had started to spring up everywhere, I came across huge late snowdrops,
wild daffodils and the first bluebells easing themselves open on the woodland
floor. The trails here are well walked on a fine day; families, children, dogs
and young couples mingle and talk. I never felt isolated or alone. The hills
were great companions too. I didn’t worry about where I might sleep, I just
chose a good time of day to start looking. My spot for the first night turned
out to be in a bluebell wood and the night was still and mild. I watched a
woodpecker search for a nest hole in the trees above me. I listened to
teenagers barreling through the hills across the valley shouting and laughing. My
fire burned happily and owls hooted me to sleep.
Feeling pretty chipper I was up and on the
move again by half seven in the morning, loving that feeling of independence
when travelling on foot with a pack. Yes the weight is there but you gradually adjust. The freedom afforded by taking off on your feet and having all you need on your back to travel is a huge gift.
Within an hour a weather change meant sleet
was pouring into my face as I stood atop a crag looking at the southerly end of
the ridge, the tiny bit that I do know from having worked nearby for 3 summers.
Shielding my cheek I spotted a couple dog walking and we all waved
encouragingly at each other due to the sudden onslaught of wind and hail taking
our breath away and threatening to pull us off our feet and the crag. I spun around putting
the wind to my back and made my way back along the ridge, passing by my
favourite spot en route, Midsummer Hill and stopping in the small shelter
there. This place feels ancient, atmospheric. The larger and visually more
impressive British Camp is criss -crossed with trails and more well tramped by
visitors. There’s a belief that a huge encampment was once situated here. However
there are no springs at this point, whilst they occur in several other places
in the hills, so this theory is debatable. The hills themselves are around 650
million years old with interesting geology and a chequered past. It seems at various times everyone has wanted a piece of them. Literally. Quarrying and mining
have left their scars on the land before shaping what you see today. Even this
weekend trees are being felled and cleared. Surely this is an area of
conservation now? I later learn that 7 years ago trees of 100 years in age and
more were clear felled using heavy machinery under the premise that they had
been planted for lumber. How do these things happen? Why can’t we value nature
instead of always razing it for short term economic gain? Someone told me the value of a mature ash tree planed for timber and I understood a bit better. Sigh. *
The rain is intermittent and as I make my way along, I pause to release the
weight a moment from my shoulders on a bench. My friend Chris appears over the
ridge and its great to have company for some of the walk. He tells me a bit
about the area, sharing his local knowledge and gamely helps me by dragging me up
to the Worcestershire Beacon. The wind is so full on by this point and it’s
catching my backpack like a cumbersome sail and I can’t get up there alone. It’s hilarious. Even
funnier I can’t get back down
and he has to drag me back off. He only stays a couple
of hours but the familiar face is brilliant and having someone to walk with for
a bit. He suggests the St Anne’s Well Café and as I haven’t really had a lunch
break and have been walking for hours it seems like a good call.
Hot vegan soup, well water, good
conversation and the loan of a book later and I feel restored. Its more
challenging out there today but people are friendlier and there is more
conversation. The café owner tells me I can take refuge there in the night if
the storm really kicks in and I am grateful for his generosity. He tells me
something of the wildlife and fauna and of a local ancient oak.
That night I have to walk further than I
thought for a suitable flat spot and end up in a place that feels nice but is definitely
a sort of flattened ledge on a woodland slope. It is dry when I pitch camp and
I’m grateful. A water bottle has exploded into my bag at some point going on
most things including my thermals to sleep in. I get into the least damp things
I can find and crawl into my bag on its little ledge. My tarp is all the way to
the floor just in case the wind really rages. A storm is predicted. I am really
glad of the simple loan of my book and a head torch and wait for my body heat to
begin to offer a bit of drying capacity.
Good ole sleeping bag doesn’t let me down. I am grateful for a sleeping
bag, a simple tarp, a book, my light, my new boots. The rain begins to patter
again on the tarp. If its shitting it down in the morning I’ll have to decide
whether to do a day of wet everything or head off. The moon shines into my tarp
in the night casting bright light and the rain eases.
In the morning a beautiful hazy sunrise is
the first thing I see on emerging from my cocoon. I’ve slipped under the tarp
and my sleeping bag is wet from having splurged down the slope. Everything goes
into the trees to dry like a woodland launderette, bemusing passing joggers. My
stove jams and I have to make do with a clementine and boiled egg and water. I
later treat myself at a café as I need to be warmer. Its nice to have people to
talk to and a cup of hot coffee if you need it. This is not a wilderness walk,
although parts feel secluded and wild for sure.
My third and final day is a loop around the
northern end. The sun is out once again and I can leave off the sweaty
waterproofs. I squat and observe the view and a rainbow greets me. I pet
people’s dogs and watch cyclists downhilling. I feel relaxed, quiet and content,
not too much aching in my body.
I make for the last section, watching the
crows. A few of them helped steer me to my camping spot last night; I was grateful and running out of ideas.
I feel mildly elated, really glad I have
got back into the swing of sleeping out on my own. At Imbolc I was unfamiliar
with the area I chose and although I could have slept out, I couldn’t find a
place that I felt comfortable to bed down. This walk has been different, some
beautiful views and trees, some surprises that I felt more confident than I
expected, lovely conversations, insights…….it didn’t feel like a slog at all
although I was tired at times. And the local support of my friend meant a lot
too.
I was just starting to really drop in to
the experience on the third day as it was drawing to a close. It left me really
feeling like I can’t wait for the next one which will be 6 or 7 days long with
more people joining me.
When I descended the ridge (and celebrated
with a bowl of chips) I decided to ease back into the modern world by visiting
the ancient oak that John in the café had told me about. I had no idea where it
was except at the southern end of the ridge somewhere. I drove to Ledbury at
that end which I know a bit and started my search. After speaking to nine different
people I got exactly to my destination with their help. No smart phone, no map
or Sat Nav. It was a mad mystery tour. The tree is a wonder and revered for
sure. She sits with two younger trees in a crescent shaped ridge atop a rock
and its like her ancient strength is drawn from that stone. I felt like she was
a great grandmother watching over me with her clouties and gifts rippling in the
breeze. I sat with her for quite a while, left my own tiny gift. Asked her
questions and soaked up the answers and sun and sat amongst her roots. It was a
fitting end to a truly wondrous weekend. I felt rejuvenated and grateful for
this life o’ mine.
*(If you are interested please research the High Speed Two fast rail project. It is happening in the UK and upwards of fifty ancient woodlands are threatened by its construction).
