an addition to the woodland route – first published 7 July 2013

At the beginning of July 2013 I was on a mission to explore a route that would take me from the shore to Millers Pond without road walking. At least that was the theory. For once I’d planned it all with precision on WalkJogRun so I knew exactly where I was going. When I say exactly, I mean, more or less because there were woods involved and they’re quite difficult to plot as you can’t see the paths on the satellite map. Still, how lost could I get?

7 July 2013

The morning started just before seven, because I wanted to end my walk at the butchers and pick up some meat while there was still some to pick up. When I set off it was overcast but humid, not the best walking weather. Following the route I’d plotted, I headed for the woodland path behind the green, stopping to take a photo of some hydrangeas just coming into flower on the way. I love the delicate graduation of colour on the petals, the way they cluster to form a ball and, most of all, the way they turn to old lace at the end of the year as the flowers dry out.

By the time I reached the woodland path I was quite hot and bothered so the cool darkness was welcome. When I came to the walled garden close to the water I sat on a bench to drink some water. Normally I drink as I walk but the humidity was taking its toll. Less than two miles into my eight I felt tired, drained and in need of a rest. Still, it would be cooler along the shore with the breeze blowing off the water.

The garden wasn’t as colourful today with the rock roses over and the petals mostly fallen on the dog roses. The fat rose hips showed promise of colour to come though and there were green fluffy balls on the burdock, hardly pretty, but interesting nonetheless. Gathering strength, I sat for a while, sipping my water, and watched a white heron walking up and down the water margin. His odd jerky walk made me think of an Egyptian dance, like a hyrogliph come to life.

It was back to street walking for a while, down through Woolston High Street, past the place where the Vosper Thorneycroft factory used to stand. The shops along here, once thriving businesses catering to the thousands of ship builders passing in and out of Vosper’s gates every day, are mostly closed. The little terrace seemd sad and neglected with boarded up windows and peeling paint. Many years ago I used to live quite near here. A walk down to the shore had to be timed to ensure it didn’t coincide with changes of shift or lunch breaks because the pavements would be so crowded with men in steeltoecapped boots and blue overalls it was impossible to get past, especially with a pushchair.

Hopefully all the new luxury flats being built on the old factory site will regenerate the area soon enough. What will take the place of the cafes, sandwhich shops and newsagents I wonder? Walking the last leg down to the shore I pondered on this. Maybe a swanky delicatessen or a patisserie, a kitchenware shore, a drapers? What kind of shops do people living in luxury flats frequent, what would they need? Whatever it is that breathes new life into the crumbling shop fronts it can only be an improvement.

What a relief to get to the shore and the cooling sea breeze. The foreshore was a mass of swaying grass flowers and amongst them I spotted wild garlic, some beginning to sprout green leaves. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I picked a couple to add to my herb garden. All along the promenade the breeze cooled me down and I managed to keep up a good pace. In front of me a man was jogging in shorts and a t-shirt that looked to be brand new. He wasn’t making much forward progress and I felt slightly guilty when I dented his ego by overtaking him close to the playground with the sunken ship climbing frame.

Just after this I turned and started back, stopping for a moment to look at the progress on the tall flats on International Way. The last flat is more than half finished now, soon the scaffolding will come down. They look so much nicer with their graduated shades of blue against the sky, something for the cruise ship passengers to look out for as they sail down Southampton Water. The slow jogger overtook me while I was taking a photo and carried on towards Victoria Country Park. Slow or not he was running, which is more than I could do so good luck to him.

Looking out to sea I was disappointed that the cloud still hadn’t burned off so There would be no lovely blue sky pictures. Still, Fawley Power Station, shrouded in the haze, had the look of the spires and towers of a futuristic city from a sic fi film. White trumpets of bindweed flowers added a splah of white amongst the swaying grasses. For some reason all the Perspex windows have been removed from the little beach shelters. Perspex was probably not the best material to use, given the sea air, it had become scratched almost to opacity and, there was a fair bit of graffiti. Without it, the huts actually look better to me.

Instead of walking back past the sailing club I turned off down a cutway I’ve never taken before. It’s not that I didn’t know it was there but I didn’t know for sure where it led. Although I knew you could walk under the railway bridge and through Mayfield Park down to the shore I’d never actually done it but looking at the route on WalkJogRun, I worked out more or less how all the little bits of woodland joined up.

This little trail from the shore, across the road then up behind the car park where I did my first driving lessons was new to me. I’d seen the cutway many times and always thought it just led to the houses along there. Actually it led to right through the woods behind the car park. This area is called Jurds Lake and there is actually a lake although, due to an abundance of greenery and reed beds, it was barely visible. The woodland here was once part of the grounds of Weston Grove house, owned by the Chamberlain Family, whose estate included Netley Abbey along the shore. The original woods have been manged to produce a butterfly walk.

As I walked along the well kept earth path a honey scent drifted on the air, it was the bright pink dog roses lining the path attracting bees and hover flies but no butterflies. Despite it being a butterfly walk I didn’t see a single one. There were haws forming on the hawthorn though and further on, cherries beginning to ripen. It must have been lovely along here when the blossom was out. I wish I’d known about it then. The path twisted and turned and was a little muddy in places, I’m not sure it would be a good walk in winter. Before long I could see a patch of bright sunlight ahead. This was Archery Road and on the other side, Archery woods.

Some years ago Bard was mugged walking past the very same woods, beaten badly enough to need stitches in his mouth. The only thing stolen was the old guitar he was carrying on his back. I thought of that as I entered the woods but consoled myself that it happend late at night not on a bright sunny morning. Besides, when I started down the steep slope into the woods a man and a young girl were struggling up, pushing bikes. The man said “good morning,” and I replied, “I’m glad I’m going down not up!” I was too, it really was quite steep.

The Archery woods merge seemlesly into Mayfield Park. I’ve walked some of the trails before but so many years ago I can barely remember. When I was in my early teens Alex used to live nearby and I often took my nephews to Mayfield Park to give her a break. It’s much damper than Jurd’s pond and there are lots of fallen tress which make it quite interesting, not least because of all the fungi. Reading my New Hampshire friend’s blog with so many photos of weird and wonderful fungi and the amazing amount of knowledge he has about them has got me quite interested in them. Sadly I have no idea what I’m looking at so I can’t tell you their names. The first I came across was a crop of creamy white shelf fungi and further along I saw another, larger one that seemed to be covered in green gloop.

Fallen trees were everywhere, several completely uprooted their root balls sticking up into the air, roots dangling. Some looked recently fallen, others, moss covered and rotting, seemed like they’d been lying there for years. On one, very rotten, carcass a wonderful crop of tiny round mushrooms had sprouted, like a colony of fawn umbrellas each less than the size of a penny. Umbrellas for tiny fairies.

It was damp in the woods and, in places, the path was very muddy so I was thankful for my waterproof hiking shoes. Some parts had a kind of wooden pathway, created to get across the really boggy places, it was topped with chicken wire, maybe to make it less slippery in wet weather but some boards were missing and it felt quite rickety. I walked across gingerly, worried the rotting boards would give way under my weight. When I came within sight of the stream a stand of young saplings had topped over bridging it. Maybe the boggy ground and all the wet weather we’ve had made the earth too soft to support their weight. A little way up stream I could see a tiny waterfall, only a foot or so high, but the water tumbling over stones sounded lovely. I took a detour down to the water’s edge but couldn’t get close enough for a decent photo.

I carried on, following the stream, not quite sure if I was going in the right direction or not. These woods are criss crossed with a network of trails, some come out onto the field of Mayfield Park, where my nephews used to run and play football. There is a big stone obilisk there and a climbing frame, at least there used to be. Soon I came to a little bridge across the stream. Some women were walking along the path on the other side in the opposite direction.

Once I’d crossed I checked WalkJogRun and could see I was heading in roughly the right direction but I couldn’t tell if I was on the right path or not. When I came to a steep slope with a wrought iron handrail made to look like a twisted vine I was pretty sure I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere because I didn’t think I should be going uphill at this point. Even so it looked quite inviting and if I ended up right at the top in the park I knew I could always take the road to get back down to the railway bridge and Millers Pond. It was a steep climb and in the humidity it was tough going. By the time I reached the top I was dripping wet. I came out, not on the main park, but on one of the little playing fields right at the end of it. This was really not where I wanted to be so I took the trail leading back into the trees and carried on.

There were a few rhododendron still in flower and, through the trees, I could see the trail I needed to be on at the bottom of a steep slope. For a while I stood, looking down and contemplated trying to make my way down through the leaf mould. It was extremely steep and, although I’d have had a soft landing if I’d slipped, I decided against it. Knowing my luck I’d have ended up breaking my ankle and that I really could do without. The path finally came out near the bottom of the hill, not far from the path I should have taken so all was not lost.

The stream runs from Millers Pond, right under the road and into the park. Looking over the edge of the bridge I could see the water rushing through, making a whirling eddy of foam before it flowed along through the trees. Across the road I walked under the old railway arch and back to familiar ground. From here on there would be no getting lost because I was at Millers Pond and the path I’ve taken many times now. The yellow water lilies had opened and I watched as a duck and her ducklings tried to find some clear water for a swimming lesson.

The steep climb combined with the sticky heat had taken its toll on me by this time and I considered just turning up Spring Road and making my way home. Stubbornness won out though and I carried on along the path concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other, not really taking much notice of my surroundings. On I went, across Botany Bay road, through the woods along the stream to Bunny Hill. Another road to cross, another path beside the stream. On I pushed, thinking of the other places I could turn off to shorten my journey but each time walking past. I’d come so far it would be such a shame not to walk the whole route. When I came to the clearing where there are benches I sat on one and fished some carob coated raisins out of my rucksack. The bag had split but luckily most of the raisins had stayed inside. Once I’d eaten a few to give me an energy boost and had a few more sips of water I carried on.

The worst part of the walk came once I reached the end of the trail and came out onto the road. There are two steep hills and nothing but traffic and the odd pretty garden as a distraction. Up and down, up and down I went, getting hotter by the second, especially as the cloud had finally burned off by this time and there were no trees to shelter me from the sun. By the time I finally made it to the butchers I had a face like a wet Beetroot. Luckily they’re used to me and my mad walks. So I completed the whole trail from start to finish. The short eight miles turned out to be a lot tougher than I expected due to the heat and humidity but I’m hoping that added to the calorie burn. I don’t envy Commando his ten mile run tomorrow for sure!