Photos from the Beltaine Walk

Sizing up the Beacon as I get packed up ready to begin.

Grateful that the sun is drying my icy tarp.

At the top of the beacon.....Overhead sun making shots tricky.

Just one of many huge vistas.

And the trail begins........

There are 15 National Trails in the UK of which The Ridgeway is one. If you are bad at map reading these acorn signposts really help as they are every half mile or so.

Winding through some beech woods.

Cyclists, horse riders, motorbikes and even cars can use some sections of the route at certain times of year. It changes form winding paths to wide trails. Where vehicles had churned up the soil was where I got frustrated as its really hard to walk on.

Beautiful views, not sure about the woodland clearance. But if you love butterflies then walk the first section from Ivinghoe Beacon as there are several specially cleared reserves to encourage wild flowers and butterflies.

Woodland den. Evidence of other wild folk....

Kid's natural play area. The side on the left has a wooden carved dragon face.

Flowers, flowers everywhere

Never found out if the witch was in.

Yes its me

Hatched blackbird. Fly free little one.

The best name for a hill ever.

My set up. Walking poles double as rigging.

Cameron's place. Wonder if I had buzzed if they'd have filled up my water bottle?

Heading up over another chalky field to the ridge.

The path crosses an old green lane.

Gently sloping fields and ridges make up many sections of the walk.

Hillbilly crossed with alpine skier. A hard look to rock. 

Huge arable fields characterise much of the walk. If you look at the far end of the path you get an idea. I took it at the wrong angle to justify it. Wheat, rapeseed........Miles of it. And a bit of a wildlife desert to be honest. I saw two deer and of course some birds over the course of the walk. But nowhere near as much living as I expected in these rural areas.

Stretching and eating. Stopping for lunch meant muscles tightening. The only solution was eating and stretching at the same time, as I was too hungry to wait and couldn't leave my muscles to contract. I became pretty good at it. I also only ever stopped for about 30 mins for lunch otherwise I lost momentum.

Flowers and bulbs bedeck a hawthorn and grow beneath it. A sacred spot for someone.

I was hot. Then this appeared. Several hundred metres away down a cliff. The injustice! (It's a quarry although it looks like the Isles of Scilly).

Four horses seem to observe the absurdity of the M4. They are living right beside it and I felt sorry for them. You can hear the noise on the approach and retreat from it for at least 40 minutes walking either side, depending on the wind direction.

A tree laden outcrop.

Let's go under the M4. The only times where I felt disorientated were when I hit roads or tarmaced areas.

Post Industrial Minimalist graffiti. Actually a great opportunity for any aspiring graff artisits out there. Both sides are begging for a mural and you are unlikely to get disturbed.

Wooded green lane.

The view from under the brim of my hat.

Resting. Looking a bit flattened.

Rare bee? Still trying to I.D it

More great weather. I've just broken camp.

Sunset after the rain didn't set in.

There was frost on quite a few mornings.

The beech was the tree of the walk. My majestic shelter for the night.

Spot my bivvy under the same beech........Stopped and dropped that night.....

My dear friend Owen. Thanks for the pic.

Waylands Smithy, thanks to Steve for the pic.

Beltaine Walk

Beltaine marks the beginning of summer. It’s a cross quarter festival, a fire festival. There are some serious shenanigans that go on in Scotland at this time of year and I will get to them one year. On this late April walk I have to say that the nearest I got to a fire was to light candles. I was strangely happy to crash into my nest and watch the light fade without need for a fire. More like an animal than a human. I often simply didn’t have the energy and sometimes I was in the open and not near good supplies of wood. I walked the Ridgeway for Beltaine. Six days through the Chiltern hills crossing several counties. Fully loaded. I carried everything. I couldn’t pick my bag up with one strap which was made better by the fact that I knew I would eat stuff and make it lighter. I walked, ate and slept out. I knew it was possible. I’d just never done it for this long before. And I was doing most of it on my own.

What learnings from the Beltaine walk? Never get on a tube with a fully loaded backpack at 5.45pm for one. My train to Tring broke down outside Reading, serving as a strange homage to the birthplace of Simon, who conceived of the walk but was unable to join me due to health issues. Jettisoned rudely aboard another train and herded down the half closed underground, I started to feel somewhat queasy and then militant. A man was moaning about the size of my backpack. “What do you want me to do?” I countered. “Stick it on my head!” Yes, a state of zen calm had not befallen me yet as I headed on my earth celebratory walk, but transgressing large cities can wring every bit of patience out of the best of us.

I found my campsite in the foothills of the Ridgeway just as night was falling. I woke up to see that I was facing east towards the rising sun coming up over Ivinghoe Beacon. There was ice on both sides of my tarp. Shaking the glittering shards away, I met a fellow camper with one arm who was also walking some of the trail. This wasn’t the first time I felt lucky for my full health as everything took him twice as long to pack up. He liked the idea of a tarp like mine as it had no poles to juggle.

I packed up and headed out towards the Beacon, the start of an 87 mile walk along the Ridgeway. I had the most rudimentary first aid kit ever (second skin and savlon) and wondered briefly if I should’ve bought a better set up. Or an emergency flare. I decided to talk to the nature goddesses and gods instead and ask for their blessings and safe passage instead. There is a huge element of trust involved in undertaking this kind of journey. If I don’t trust my surroundings how will they be able trust me? I am walking out into remote nature and I am glad that I am accepted as a visitor into this living, breathing world. 

As this walk was longer than the others I considered how to relay it. What is interesting to me as the journeyer may not be to you as a reader. I have simply recorded some Highlights and Challenges for the blog, I may write a longer piece on it later. As it really didn’t seem like there were any low points, just stages of tiredness and changing heat levels in my boots. Some of it hurt a bit, but I knew that it would. I did most of it solo and lived entirely outdoors for the duration. This wasn't about endurance, just the flexibility to stop where I pleased, to be able to live entirely on the ridge and to be independent.

HIGHLIGHTS

Ø  The opening sunrise, clear skies and an unexpected walking companion for the first couple of miles in a friendly local man who told me a bit about the area and we also bumped into some amateur archaelogists.

Ø  Foraging all the trail, for beech leaves, (especially fun being giraffes with my friend Owen), hawthorn leaves, gorse flowers and other generally green snacks.

Ø  Watching the wind blow across a field of long grass at lunchtime on day one with a wide vista in the background.

Ø  A cold shallow stream appearing towards the end of day one which I slid into to cool my feet. I swear they steamed.

Ø  Being showered with surprise snow at the crest of a hill and hiding behind a hawthorn tree for cover with several other amazed walkers.

Ø  Sunshine and cloud and cool air being the mainstay of the weather for the whole trip.

Ø  My straw hat. I love you. To be fair I could list all my kit and say I love you. The simple things become very important on the road.

Ø  Seemingly endless beech woods with bluebells. It was the perfect time to walk.

Ø  Watching a woodpecker creating a nest hole and bobbing out from inside the tree. What a creation every spring, to carve a nest out of wood.

Ø  Finding tawny owl feathers at a point when I was really tired and flagging and had to go under the M4 on day two.

Ø  Birdsong. Everywhere. And an evening sleeping bag serenade by a blackbird above my tarp on day two.

Ø  Finding a really friendly pub for a drink with a tyre swing outside.

Ø  Old tiny churches, one of them ingrained with pieces of local flint.

Ø  Big views and big skies.

Ø  A self serve café in one local church. Like on my Imbolc walk, a church offering real hospitality to wayfarers. Especially beneficial to me as I was outside so much and carrying everything.

Ø  My friends Owen, Steve, Kate and Simon for meeting me en route. And Simon for sending me off in Bath and lending me some kit. My family meeting me at the end. Owen found us a great bluebell wood to sleep in, although there was a barking roe deer living in it I could’ve stifled with a blanket as it went on for most of the night! Steve boosted my spirits with a spot of shamanic drumming at Waylands and gluten free cake. Awesome.

Ø  The extremely helpful jogger who explained where the nearest water point was and sites of interest without being asked.

Ø  The farmer who offered me his hay barn to sleep in. Thanks Steve you’re a legend. I was dead on my feet and its sweet smelling hay, ivy tumbling in the windows and resident robin was too good to be true. I called a truce with a large brown rat munching corn and he seemed to concur. It felt like paradise to me to stretch out on the bales after a long hard stretch and loads of hail.

Ø  Indian army rations – My evening meals in varying degrees of spiciness. Simple, quick and took the time equation out of cooking when I was ready for bed.

Ø  I had no gear malfunctions or injuries.

Ø  I absolutely loved seeing the old white horse and Waylands Smithy.

Ø  Creating poems for each of my sleeping spots, often directed to trees, to thank them for their shelter. I met a man last year who made up songs and poems for the land and we talked about them not needing recording that just the birthing and releasing of them was important.

Ø  Trying to get a feel for the ancient wayfarers that had walked The Ridgeway before me. I identified most with the travelling seller, probably because of all the clobber I was carrying. What a novelty a pedlar might have been back in time, bringing new wares, bringing news from other places. If most people couldn’t afford a horse, I presume people would have simply travelled less distance or toughened up. I am sure they would’ve walked quicker than me and been stronger too. And there would have been more dangers for a woman on the open road. I genuinely did not feel threatened or uncomfortable at any point. My view on how to improve women’s ability to feel safe alone outdoors is to, Stop watching horror movies. They are really, really unhelpful. Have a plan as to what you would do if the shit goes down and that’s all. Expect the best and prepare for the worst. Just wanted to add that.

Ø  The final stretch of the walk and all the mixed emotions that arose. The hilarity of The Sanctuary looking like a helicopter landing pad. I had no idea that as a former wood henge the positions of the wooden poles are currently represented by breeze blocks effectively. Painted red and blue. English Heritage….. Sort it out! It has a road running right beside it too akin to the Avebury stones themselves. A shame as The Sanctuary is a beautiful spot and great vantage point.

Ø  Being wrapped into a Beltaine Druid Ceremony at Avebury. A long and interesting affair where I volunteered to enact a play with 3 others whilst a narrator talked us through. I inadvertently chose Gwyneth Nap. The celebrant said, “Its usually a man in this part”. “Never mind!” I trilled. “Ignore my skirt!” I later learned I’d unwittingly cast myself as Lord of the Underworld whilst wearing a skirt and daisy covered straw hat and feeling quite mellow. I quickly ditched the hat and pulled up my pointy black hood (a happy accident of clothing) and minced around looking something like a dark lord, if not Lord of the Entire Underworld. I later had to duel the sun god and I had no prop so my implement of choice was a leek I had plucked from amongst the altar goods, not sure if that was entirely appropriate but I found it funny and people seemed to like it, and the whole thing became pretty surreal. (For anyone from Embercombe, think Stone Soup). The druids finished with a communal horn of mead, which was a ridiculously fitting end to my journey. I might now include this at the end of every walk from now on.

CHALLANGES

v Being diverted off my mission by Cameron’s CCTV. I didn’t know Chequers was a prime ministerial residence. Should I? I didn’t know I was on the edge of the estate and got discombobulated by a menacing looking black CCTV camera, missed my acorn sign post (these markers run the length of the Ridgeway making it pretty easy to follow as a rule) and took a one hour detour by mistake on a fast A road where I thought I was going to be run over. Repeatedly.

v The 5 hail blizzards that came through on day 4, the most remote and exposed stretch of the Ridgeway. Hiding behind a transit van in a car park with a bloke in it drinking coffee trying to get into full waterproofs whilst my rucksack got covered in floor mud. And wondering if I had made an error regarding not bringing a flare as I couldn’t see further than the car park.

v Finding and carrying water. Learning how much to carry. Water is in short supply on the free draining chalky Ridgeway and some of the taps are only on in the summer. I learnt to down what I could at the water points and carry no more than a litre or so with me as the weight was totally prohibitive with all my other gear.

v My feet taking a lot of the brunt. As I mentioned Second Skin / Compeed. Worth its weight in gold.

v Trying to work out how to rig an asymmetric tarp without any trees at 8pm when you are really tired and it’s threatening to rain.

v Bleeding the whole way. This was perfectly timed to day one and continued right the way through to the end of the walk. Women can sometimes plan around such things. We used to joke where I once worked that we would come on on the busiest working days without fail. Amazing that Co-exist in Bristol has now introduced a policy around this for women. However I am from the dogs and rollerskates generation of menstruation, (sorry if you are under 30 this reference will make no sense at all but basically get on with it and actually do more!! I am not advocating this I’m just familiar with it.) There is a definite absence of glamour and degree of hilarity bordering on hysteria about managing bleeding at certain times in the wild. Picture if you will, de-packaging all the necessary products, lining them up ready to rock in your tarp-mouth (too low in there to sit or stand) and then trying to remove your waterproof trousers like you’re going for a Guinness Book of Records speed trial in the art, cursing as you remember you have a skirt and leggings on under said waterproof trousers, changing all the necessary items in record quick time as a black anvil advances from the west bearing buckets of rain whilst you pray there are no late evening dog walkers approaching as you’ve camped right beside the main trail with nowhere to hide if anyone does come along to witness your arm flailing performance. And of course, gotta leave no trace. Out with the sandwich bags! Shame there’s a lack of bins on the Ridgeway.

v Putting on my waterproofs to go out and stretch in the sleet. I had to stretch for at least twenty minutes at the end of each walking day or risk seizing up overnight. Sitting in the sleet doing it as my tarp was too low for anything was er….….interesting.

v Drinking water from a bottle is a lot easier when a friend can grab it and pass it to you. My bag was heavy enough that I couldn’t pick it up by one strap I had to grab both ends and heft it to my knee first. Sincere thanks to the army training guy who suggested this backpack lift idea to me on the train to Tring. I think you saved me from ending up at my osteopaths. But suffice to say I didn’t want to be taking my pack off every half hour. Cue more large glugging moments, when its better to sip water little and often.

v My camera broke on Day 3. A curse and a blessing. No more stopping for shots, but all the shots are of the first half. And none of me duelling with a leek at Avebury. Unlikely to ever happen again. You’ll just have to imagine it.

v Wanting to do some sound recording and finding only one of two batteries in the recorder. Gave up a bit easily on that one, as didn’t want to run my head torch batteries down….Room for improvement next time.

So I did make it to Overton Hill in six days. My friend Steve also explained the original route of the ancient Ridgeway, which is totally different to the official map. He also agreed with me that the recommended direction in the guidebooks is silly as it says to start at Avebury, due to prevailing winds. The wind slowed me a little on day 4 but really the lesson is do it your own way and sometimes it’s fine to ignore the guide books. Avebury is a brilliant end point. (Don’t ignore the guide books if you are planning to cross the Darian Gap between Panama and Columbia then do take heed). It seems there is a longer modern diversion of the Ridgeway claiming it is the real route, although it isn’t.  Once you follow the ancient trail you see old signs confirming it. It’s really strange. The fake Ridgeway crests a few more hills so you get some more views. I went for the old school route as I wanted to walk as my ancestors had done and I really liked it. It felt less tramped and quieter although it was partly on tarmacked B roads it felt good. So it is done. A walking celebration of the land. There will be more. I might walk the next one backwards. Just to shake it up a little.