Lost in West Wood

20 April 2016

With the cool salt air in my face I strolled across the grassy area where the kite skateboarders hang out thinking about ice cream. Sadly there were no lads performing acrobatics with their skateboards today. In fact there was no one about at all. Still the sun sparkled on the sea and the grass along the promenade was dotted with daisies. It was enough to keep me smiling.

On I went, past the old beach shelters, ticking them off as I went. Each one brought me closer to my ice cream. One, two, three and the fourth by the sunken galleon climbing frame beyond which was the car park and the ice cream van. Those last few yards were spent digging a coin or two from my bum bag. Thankfully there were enough for a small cone.

Speeding up now, I dashed to the first of the benches along the shore path behind Abbey Hill. The ice cream was drooping a little by the time I got there but I wanted to sit and savour it. It felt as if I’d earned that much. Is there anything more perfect than a cool ice cream and a shimmering seascape after miles of walking?

When the ice cream was gone I carried on. A family were sitting on the shingle and I was surprised to see a young girl paddling fully clothed and up to her waist in the water. The sun may have been shining and the hawthorn flowering but it felt a little chilly to be in the sea. Still, what do I know?

The waves were gently lapping at the shore and on the opposite side of the water I could see Fawley, the flame dancing in the breeze. The path here is shaded by trees, their branches casting intricate shadow patterns across the ground. The sea danced in and out of view, along with the stream that trickles down from West Wood. Originally I’d meant to enter the wood by the gateway opposite the car park but my ice cream stop had distracted me. Besides the earth was still boggy there and I thought the trail might be too.

A woman was sitting on the bench close to the bridge with her granddaughter on her lap. As I came towards them the little girl asked me if I’d like a cup of tea. Obviously it was an imaginary cup but even imaginary tea makes me squirm.
“Thank you very much,” I said, “but I’ve got a long way to walk and no time to stop today. Maybe another time.”
“I’m glad it’s not real tea,” the grandmother smiled, “I’ve had six cups already.”
This was where I turned back to Abbey Hill and the road. There was a trail leading into the woods there, at least I thought there was. When it came to it though, I couldn’t find it. There was some wandering up and down the path until, finally, I found a very overgrown track with the stream next to it. It didn’t look quite right but I took it anyway. This turned out to be a mistake.

After a little bit of tussling with brambles and branches I came out onto a wider trail. There were steps leading down to a bridge I thought I remembered but I wasn’t sure if I should cross it or carry on past. The only time I’ve come this way it’s been in the opposite direction and even then I was constantly verging on being lost. For a while I stood wracking my brain trying to remember but I couldn’t. In the end I decided not to cross the bridge and continued along the trail. Whether this was the right decision or not is still a mystery.

It was a great relief to come to a firm, well maintained trail, even if I didn’t recognise it or know quite where it led. Before long I came to a clearing and some benches I knew I’d never seen before. It was all a bit of a worry because this is not the first time I’ve been lost in these woods.

When I spotted a post with a marker I thought it might give me a clue where I was heading but it only told me I was on a cycle trail which wasn’t exactly helpful. It seemed a little silly to go to all the trouble of putting up a sign without actually adding any useful information. Still, there was little I could do but keep going and hope the cycle trail led me somewhere near where I wanted to be. Surely it had to come out somewhere?

By this time it was clear I was not on the trail I thought I’d been taking when I set out. For a start there was a high bank to my left and no sign of the stream I’d meant to follow. After a bit I reached a gate and shortly after that I came to a cross roads. There was another rather unhelpful sign with nothing but an arrow on it. Which way to go now?

It seemed as if I’d been walking for a long time and I began to worry I was heading for Netely rather than Tickleford Drive as I knew some of the trails went in that direction. Netely was not where I wanted to be at all but there’d been so many twists and turns I’d lost all sense of direction. Google Maps was no help at all because it didn’t show the trails. In the end I looked along each path and made a random choice based purely on the fact that the left hand one had bluebells.

This route may not have been taking me where I wanted to go but at least it was pretty. There were bluebells and wood anemonies threaded through the wood to either side. For a while I wandered on feeling quite content. Then the path petered out and I was faced with a steep, grassy bank. It was a bit of a climb and, at the top, I was still none the wiser.

Now I was on a large grassy hill with a small pond, or maybe a large puddle in the middle. Ahead I could see a line of trees and I had an idea the trail I’d meant to take was down there amongst them somewhere. The problem was there was no path leading into them and no gap between them as far as I could tell.

There was nothing for it but to keep waking, looking all the while for something that might be a trail. Eventually I spotted one running between scrubby bushes. It appeared to be going down the other side of the hill towards the trees so, with my fingers crossed, I took it.

What a relief it was to come down a steep bank onto a trail that seemed much more familiar. In fact I was pretty sure it was the exact spot where a small dog had bitten my ankle the first time I came this way. When I saw the tree stump riddled with holes I knew for sure I was on the right track, although I had no more idea what had made the holes now than I had last time.

Now it was just a matter of following the path. Finally I knew exactly where I was going. Before long I came to the bridge where CJ and I had decided not to walk to the shore after we found boundary stone number six. Then there was the green fence and the steps leading back to the road.

It had all been slightly more of an adventure than I’d bargained for but once I was back on the road passing the verge side display it was all plain sailing. Next time though, I think I’ll brave the mud at the official West Wood entrance. Then again, I might just see where that cycle path would have led me…