Meandering in Meadows – first published 4 August 2014

Back in 2014 Sunday was usually walking day. When the first Sunday in August rolled around though, what with funeral arrangements, I hadn’t really given it much though. To be honest, I was tempted to give it a miss. Of course, Commando told me to get off my bum and get out there so I did as I was told. One place sprang to mind just before I set off, Itchen Valley Country Park.

4 August 2014

It was March when I last visited the Itchen Valley Country Park. There had been nothing but rain for weeks and weeks and much of it was too muddy to walk on. The part that really interested me, the meadows leading onto the Itchen Navigation, had been a quagmire and I’d ended up trailing through the woods instead. Perhaps, after weeks of sun, I’d have better luck.

This was as much of a plan as I had and I set off up the Big Hill thinking I could pick up Cutbush Lane and keep in the shade for much of the walk. One of the first things I noticed was a mass of immature hazelnuts crunching underfoot. Looking up the trees were full of them. A return trip in a few weeks might be a good idea, I love hazelnuts.

It may not be the prettiest path in the world and it’s a steep climb going the other way but the dappled sunlight coming through the trees was pleasant and there was no one else about which suited me fine. The curious leaning tree whose roots have almost turned into a tunnel from the spring soil erosion was still standing, much to my surprise. Goodness knows what’s holding it up and I didn’t hang around too long just in case.

Other than that the walk along the lane was uneventful and, before too long I was three miles into my walk and looking at fields through gaps in the blackberry crowded hedges on Allington Lane. Some of them were wearing the strange hoods over their eyes and ears just like the ones I saw on the Itchen Navigaion some time ago. Whether these are a form of horse sunglasses or something else I don’t know but I wondered why some horses had them and some did not. Odd.

Walking towards Highwood Barn I thought I might find a picnic bench and stop for a square or two of chocolate and a cool drink. What I hadn’t counted on was crowds. It was busy back in March but on Sunday it was teaming, at least the area around the barn was. If there’d been somewhere to sit I might still have queued for a drink but there wasn’t so I carried on towards the bridge. There were cows in the first field I passed, all standing around under the small wind turbine that presumably powers the barn. A field full of cows is not a welcome sight for a walker and I hoped there weren’t more in the meadow, I didn’t fancy an impromptu run with cows in hot pursuit.

The first bridge crosses the Itchen and is bounded by an inviting looking path winding along the bank. The path leads to Gaters Mill but, sadly, this is private land and there are gates and large warning signs of the Trespassers Will… kind. This all seems a shame to me but I suppose the people who own the houses by the mill don’t want every man and his dog traipsing past. The river looked cool and inviting. Some men were fishing, presumably owners of the mill houses.

Across the bridge the meadow looked dry enough and I couldn’t actually see any cows. As I stood trying to decide which way to go a plane appeared from behind the trees, a reminder of how close the airport is. There are markers from time to time and a trail of sorts so I followed it, not quite knowing where it would lead. It wasn’t quite as aimless as it sounds, I was curious to know whether I could get from the country park to the gates I’ve seen on the Southampton Eastleigh end of the Itchen Navigation or not.

There may not have been any cows to be seen but the evidence was all around that they’d been there. I walked with half an eye on the ground to avoid treading in it. From the satellite map I’d seen what I thought were bridges over the streams that criss cross the meadows and, on the other side of the first field, I came to the first of them. As I opened the gate I was delighted to see the area around the bridge was teaming with dragonflies, big bright iridescent blue and smaller red ones flitted from plant to plant. Many photos were taken trying to capture them, even though I knew it was pointless. Of course, there was the tiniest hope that one of the shots would strike gold, or, in this case, shimmering blue.

Pretty soon the futility of dragonfly photography became obvious. The little blighters seemed to be playing a game, stopping just long enough for me to raise the camera and then skittering off. Instead I stood and watched them, entranced by their beautiful colours. Then I turned my attention to the wild flowers. A mass of shocking pink willow herb crowded the far bank, along with purple toadflax and orange balsam.

I meandered across the next meadow stopping now and then to take pictures of the flowers. It felt as if I should be wearing a pretty cotton dress and sun hat rather than serviceable leggings and t-shirt. Thistles were flowering and seeding, bees crowded the teasels and bright discs of gold fleabane hugged the ground. Concealed amongst the cheery fleabane small orchid spikes were half hidden.

The next stream was not quite as colourful although, when the water iris were flowering, it must have been breathtaking. Of course there were more dragonflies and, of course, I didn’t manage to get a decent photo. The Navigation path was hidden somewhere in the distant tree line I was fairly sure. If I’d be able to reach it and which way I should go were a different matter.

There was no path as such, just a trail of shorter grass, tramped down by countless feet and the odd stake with a blue arrow. Memory of my Navigation walks told me to go in the direction of Eastleigh, I’d seen a gate with a sign for the Itchen Valley Country Park, or at least I thought I had. Back then it was a quagmire though, more pond than path, surely it would have dried out by now!

So I tramped through the long grass and wildflowers of the meadow towards the familiar territory of the Itchen Navigation. At least I thought that was what I might have been doing. There was nothing to go on other than instinct and, let’s face it, my sense of direction isn’t the best.

These are water meadows and the grass was dotted with water mint. There were bees everywhere and I also spotted a drone fly, eristalis tenax. These look rather like shiny, hairless bees but actually they’re hover flies. The larva, a rat tailed maggot, lives on water polluted by manure and feeds on the bacteria. Thanks to the cows there is plenty of that about.

As I got closer to the trees I came to a cross between a mini boardwalk and a bridge crossing what, after rain, would be boggy ground or even a stream. It looked familiar and I wondered if I’d seen it through the trees from the Navigation path. This may have been wishful thinking though. Nearby there was burdock. I kept well clear of it knowing how easily the burs get caught on clothing. In fact burdock burs were the inspiration for Velcro and the things are hard to remove once they’re stuck to you.

Everywhere there were cow parsley seed heads, umbels of shiny golden discs. They lined the rough grass beside the trail along with the ubiquitous bindweed flowers. When I reached a gate with signs for the Itchen Navigation I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d walked far further than I expected and the sun was hot. Thankfully there was no mud and the shade beckoned.

The sign for the Itchen Valley Country Park was there too, just as I remembered. For once I’d not got lost and ended up precisely where I wanted to be. Tall hemp agrimony was doing a great job of attracting pollinators. There were bees and something else that may have been a large fly or a mason bee, I’m not sure.

The shade of the narrow Navigation trail was very welcome, broken in the odd place by sunny clearings. The familiarity made it feel like an old friend. Here there were white comfrey flowers and elderberries ripening. As I brushed past a shower of berries fell and ended in my shoe staining my toes with deep red juice. The heart shaped bindweed leaves twined in the trees looked lovely with the light shining through them, not so much that I’d let them stay in my garden though.

Through the gaps in the trees I could see the meadow I’d just walked across. The yellow fleabane were everywhere, like golden beacons along the trail and soon I was going under the motorway bridge with the Itchen beside me once again. Some people with fishing rods passed me just after this and said good afternoon. I suppose they were making for the water by the bridge, although I can think of prettier and certainly quieter places to sit and fish but each to their own.

When the path opened out I knew I was almost at Mansbridge Lock and, sure enough, it wasn’t long before I came to it. Most of this section of Navigation is dry but, even after all the sun, there is water here if you look hard enough between all the weeds. This is where the final triangular marker stands, right next to the wooden bridge that stands on the tail of the old lock. The old brickwork is almost hidden by the new bridge but if you look hard enough it’s there.

First thing on Sunday morning it had seemed as if there was too much to do to go out walking. Those seven meandering miles took three hours or more out of my day but I’m glad I went. Sometimes, especially times like these full of grief and stress, taking time out for a walk is exactly the right thing to do.

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