The secret of the other side of the river

15 March 2015

The weather was a little disappointing on Sunday morning, one of those grey days with a hint of drizzle that make walking a chore rather than a pleasure. Even so, after a little grumbling and wavering over whether to go out, I set off for the river. For a long time now I’ve been looking at the opposite bank as I walk the second half of Riverside Park. Once in a while I think I’ve seen people over there walking but I’ve never been able to work out how to get there. After a lot of map looking, I thought I might have found the secret and I was keen to explore.

On the way to the park I was pleased to see the little tree that has been blossoming in the cold and ice has put on a new spurt and is full of pretty pink flowers with lots of buds still to open. This made me smile as I was convinced it would have used up all its energy on the winter flowers and would be bare come spring. Two swans flying high over the Itchen as I started my walk through the park were another bonus to help me forget the drizzle that felt like it was seeping into my bones. The womp, womp of their wings alerted me before I saw them but, by the time I’d fumbled with my phone, they were specks in the distance. The three black swans were back too, joining the throng by the jetty.

Eager to get to Mansbridge and see if my theory about the secret river bank was correct, I’d been planning to just power through the park as quickly as possible. A football from one of the games on the playing fields narrowly missing my head as it whizzed into the undergrowth made me change my mind. It felt safer to take the trail behind the reed beds and put some trees between me and the match. While a red shirted Sunday footballer searched in the bushes to retrieve his ball, I wandered off behind the trees. Just off the trail the foxhole, if that’s what it is, has now become two foxholes. Being so close to the playing fields it seems a noisy and rather public place for them to choose to build a den but maybe they like watching football.

The fungus magnet tree was still covered with what looks like turkey tails despite no other trees in the vicinity having a single one. Further on the jelly ear fungi are now shriveled and black. As I was there, I stopped for a quick look at the back of Woodmill before new leaves hide it away again until next winter. A few hardy canoeists were setting off from the activity centre, rather them than me. It looked cold on the water.

The grass in front on the mill was smothered with daffodils speckled with rain. I was pretty rain speckled myself by this time although it seemed to be clearing a little. Across the road a pair of swans were huddled on the bank looking about as sorry for themselves as I felt. This part of the opposite bank belongs to the activity centre and, interesting as it looks, I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk there, unless I managed to sneak in and trespass.

Close by, the geese had left the water and were foraging on the grass. They looked a little cross with me for disturbing their peace. Fearful of a pecking, I scurried past. This part of the park was a little crowded with Sunday walkers and families throwing bread to the ducks. A plane coming in to land competed with the noise of squabbling gulls. Sometimes they fly so low it’s hard to believe they’re going to make it over the trees.

Once I’d crossed Mansbridge I turned off the path towards the fields where I hoped I’d be able to get onto the riverbank. There are actually two fields here, divided by a fence, although you can’t see it from the satelite map. The one closest to Monks Brook has a new gravel path that I’ve briefly explored before, the first field is mostly open grassland with a small play area in the far right corner. Once, I sat on a bench in the play area to put a blister plaster on but that had been the extent of my exploration to date. Until I started examining the map it looked a little too open and busy to be interesting.

On Sunday there was no one about and the first part of the trail ran through rough grassland with trees to my right beside the river. The first flowers were coming out on the blackthorn and the trees were covered with an abundance of lichen but I was still a long way from the riverbank and I wondered if this was a wild goose chase.

Then I spotted a barely discernible trail through the trees. It was narrow and bordered by brambles that clutched at my coat as I passed. Occasionally I had to clamber over fallen trees. Before long I could make out the grassy banks of Riverside Park, the white line of the path and the movement of the dark river through the bare trees. From what I could make out this was close to Mansbridge, in fact, I could just see the orange tape marking off the fallen trees by the boggy area.

Much as I’d have liked to get to the riverbank it was soon obvious this wasn’t going to be possible. The land here was as boggy as the land beside the path on the opposite bank and, without the benefit of a nice bit of raised paving, the best I could so was walk beside this marshy, reed filled area dotted with saplings. After a while even this became impossible when I reached a large fallen tree that even I darent try to climb over. Retracing my steps back to the field, it occurred to me that both banks of the Itchen would be the same if it hadn’t been for the man made bank and path. It may not have been quite what I was expecting but I was walking on the opposite bank.

The next field, close to Monks Brook, is less open, the area beside the trail quite heavily wooded. As soon as I could I headed into the trees on another small side trail. This time there was running water. Through the trees I could just make out the green of the park but it seemed further off now. For a moment I thought I’d come upon Monks Brook, but it was flowing in the wrong direction. Then I realised this must be the water running off from the weir close to the sharp bend half way between Woodmill Lane and Mansbridge. The map tells me this is still classed as the Itchen and, after winding around a pond in the grounds of the activity centre, it rejoins the main river at Woodmill. For a while I followed and was rewarded with a view of the paths of the activity centre.

Soon the ground dropped away steeply and became too marshy to continue so, once again, I turned back to the gravel path and made for the gate. At this point I thought my exploration was over as I darent try to walk through the deep, boggy dip and I was close to the green bridge and the brook. The river bank beyond Monks Brook either belongs to the activity centre or the University so I’d have to climb a high fence or trespass to see it.

As I was about to step on the bridge I noticed a narrow trail beside the brook. It was ill defined and closer to the water than was strictly comfortable but, as it wasn’t too muddy, I decided to see where it would take me. Somehow I managed not to fall into the brook and my reward was to find the point where the diverted Itchen meets Monks Brook. Across the river I could see the activity centre grounds and the edge of the pond.

Now I’d seen all I could of the opposite bank but, rather than turn back, I thought I’d cross the green bridge and make my way back to Woodmill via the churchyard. It was a suitably dismal day after all. What I hadn’t counted on though was, being Sunday, there were people coming out of the church. This made me a little uncomfortable about wandering around the graves taking pictures, after all, these could have been their family members, so I scooted round the side out of sight.

Pretty soon it sounded like they’d left so, looking around to make sure, I walked back towards the church door. It was open. Feeling a little nervous, I crept up to it and peeked into the small hallway with stone steps winding up to a door. In front of me was another open door leading into the nave. What I’d really have liked to do was have a wander round and, as the door was open, I probably could have. In fact I did walk through the door, feeling a little like a burglar, but the sounds of someone moving about inside put me off going any further. Church etiquette is not my strong point, besides, I didn’t want to give the vicar a heart attack if he came out and found me there.

So that was that, I walked back through Woodmill, slightly disappointed that the cafe wasn’t open. As a consolation a mass of little birds were flying back and forth from the trees by the reedbeds chirping and singing. Yet again I just missed flying swans. I swear they wait until I’m not watching to take off. Still, I managed to catch them on their ungainly splash down.

Despite the drizzle it wasn’t a bad walk. The mystery of the opposite bank is as solved as it will ever be and I’ve peeked inside St Mary’s Church at South Stoneham. It all goes to show that even the most familiar places have a few secrets tucked away when you stop to look.