water water everywhere – first published 4 November 2012

In early November 2012 Commando was training for his first ever half marathon. His longest race at the time was 10k, just over six miles, so a thirteen point one mile half marathon was a huge step. Sensibly, he had a proper training plan and was sticking to it religiously despite some rather wet weather. On the first Sunday in November he decided to go out to the New Forest for his longest run ever, fourteen miles. He didn’t have to ask me twice if I wanted to come along. It turned out to be quite an experience.

4 November 2012

We went out to the New Forest this morning. Commando was scheduled for a fourteen mile run and I was going to walk for the two hours twenty minutes he thought it would take. Driving out there we both commented on how much standing water there was everywhere. There were whole fields that looked more like lakes. One house we passed had a gaggle of geese in the driveway, I’m pretty sure they were more at home with the conditions than us.

The rain had at least stopped and it was sunny but I’d worn my waterproof trousers and a thin waterproof jacket under my parka just in case. Commando had his long compression trousers on and a bright yellow waterproof jacket. We both had hats but he was sensible enough to remember his gloves. Within minutes of setting off I was regretting that omission. In the end I pulled the sleeves of my hoodie down over my hands.

We started off at Lyndhurst, from the car park at Bolton’s Bench. Commando took the road route and I took the forest trail. In hindsight not such a good plan although things didn’t start off too badly. As I walked up the path towards the cemetery I could see that the poor horses grazing in the fields beside me were surrounded by big boggy puddles. The cemetery itself was standing in the middle of a small lake.

At this point there was still a nice wide gravel path and, although I had to skirt round some pretty big puddles, I was managing to keep my feet more or less dry. Then I got over the brow of the first hill and the puddles got bigger and bigger. Soon I found myself having to walk on the boggy ground at the side of the trail to get round them. At one point I had to walk behind a huge pile of logs just to find some solid ground. I’m not sure what they were there for but there were some impressive fungi growing on them. Some of them were hollowed out and it made me think of the mason bee homes I saw online a while back.

Everywhere I looked there was water, the path kept disappearing under mini lakes and I was forced to keep jumping from one patch of dryish ground to another. My poor Skechers were filthy and I could feel the icy water seeping into my socks. Not a pleasant feeling I can tell you. When I came across a stand of gorse that looked like an island amidst all the water and mud I began to regret not taking the road and braving the traffic. There was no choice but to press on, the road wasn’t too far to my right but the ground was far too boggy to attempt to get to it and the next part of the route was uphill so I was hopeful that I’d find some drier ground at the top.

In this part of the forest the paths are a mixture of gravel, earth and sand and the path on this hill was sandy. It was dry but I could see the tracks made by currents of rain water flooding down. It almost looked like a dry river bed. What goes up must come down and it wasn’t long before I was on lower ground again,  this time even boggier. It was a case of walking on whatever little grassy islands I could find and I’d long since given up worrying about the state of my muddy Skechers. Then I came to a place with no islands. The puddle was deep and stretched right across the path. All I could do was squelch through the mud at the perimeter as quickly as I could and hope I didn’t lose a shoe in the process.

A little while later I could actually see the road and the ponies carelessly grazing beside it heedless of the traffic. Sadly the ground between it and me was still too wet to risk trying to cross to get to it so I carried on. When I reached the campsite at Matley Woods I was relieved to see a nice wide gravel path. All I had to worry about was skirting round all the ponies. They’re beautiful creatures, but they scare the living daylights out of me and having to walk so close to wild ones seemed pretty scary. Luckily the New Forest ponies don’t pay much attention to people, they hardly even glanced at me as I passed.

After a while I came to a fork in the path. I had no idea which way to go but I was hoping they would all lead the same way in the end. At least I was on dry ground although on either side of the path it was hard to see anything but water. I’m surprised the ponies don’t have webbed feet. There were ponies everywhere I looked, in some cases blocking the path and I held my breath as I squeezed past them, expecting at any minute that one would charge right at me. The path twisted and turned and I carried on walking thinking I’d see tents and caravans at any moment. After a while I noticed the sound of traffic seemed to be coming from my left instead of my right and that confused me. I was sure there was only one road and it had been to my right throughout the walk.

It soon became clear why. The path had led me round in a big circle and I was back at the entrance to the campsite. When I looked closely I saw a third path, not as wide as the other two, but I thought maybe this was the path through the campsite so I took it. Five more minutes of walking and I was back where I started again. I knew there was a path there somewhere but where was anyone’s guess. Maybe it was under water.

At this point I was just under an hour into my walk but I wasn’t sure how long I’d been walking in circles which meant I wasn’t sure how much further I should walk before turning back. There was nothing else for it I had to squelch my way across the boggy ground and slip and slide up the bank to get to the road. At least there was a grassy path and in most places it was more or less dry. Before long I came to a little bridge, behind it on the forest path there was another bridge and the fast flowing water was spilling out onto the surrounding land. Commando swears he saw fish in the water when he crossed on his run. All I saw was water.

The road ran between flooded woods, with trees emerging from the water. It was mostly dry but there were places where the flood encroached and I trod a careful path along the grassy bank going as quickly as I could past the lakes of standing water, hoping no cars came past to soak me. I was lucky and managed to make it to one hour fifteen minutes without getting sprayed.

Soon I thought I’d better turn back. I knew I’d spent quite a bit of time going in circles and I was pretty sure it was more than five minutes but I didn’t want to be late back and keep Commando waiting.  He wouldn’t even be able to get changed and sit in the car because I had the keys. At least the grass verges were relatively mud free but I did have a few other obstacles to contend with. I came upon some cows laying down in the heather and ferns right beside the road. At least I was hoping they were cows, I didn’t fancy an impromptu jog with a bull chasing after me. Luckily, they did watch me as I passed but none of them made a move to come after me. Not long after that I had to skirt round yet another pony, this one was right on the edge of the verge completely unperturbed by the cars whizzing past at forty miles an hour.

It wasn’t long before I started to see the odd house here and there so I knew I wasn’t far from Lyndhurst. There was one really quaint little thatched cottage that looked as if it might have been there as long as the forest, except it had a bright pink and green plastic Wendy house in the front garden and a car on the drive. It wasn’t long before I could see Lyndhurst Church in the distance and then I passed the hill where Bolton’s Bench is and I was rounding the corner to the car park. When I looked at my Walkmeter I still had about fifteen minutes to go so I decided to have a little walk through Lyndhurst.

It might have been paved and puddle free but the little village was surprisingly crowded for a Sunday afternoon and the pavements are narrow. I ended up getting caught behind a succession of frustratingly slow walkers. It’s a funny little place, full of pubs and cafes but with very modern shops like the Sunglass Gallery complete with bright red ‘sale’ signs standing cheek by jowl with places like The Old Apothecary that could have been exactly the same a hundred years or more ago. The Mad Hatter Tea Rooms certainly bought a smile to my face, Alice In Wonderland has always been one of my favourite books and the window was decorated with pictures from the nineteen thirties version I had as a child.

When I got to the church I decided it was best to go back to the car park. Apart from anything else it was well past lunch time and the food smells wafting out from all the pubs, cafes and especially the fish and chip shop were too tempting. On my way back I spotted a shop called tasty pastries. The window display seemed to be attracting quite a bit of attention and I was intrigued by the sign on the brickwork beneath the window that said simply ‘strange.’ I crossed the road to see what all the fuss was about. I still have no idea what the sign meant but I know why there were so many people stopping to look in the window. The display of cakes was mouthwatering and even now I’m not sure how I peeled myself away.

I made it back to the car park at two hours twenty two and was quite relieved to see Commando’s bright yellow jacket as I made my way to the spot where we’d parked. Fourteen miles is a long way to run and, with all the water everywhere, I was a little worried about him. He’d been back for a while because he actually completed the fourteen miles in two hours fourteen minutes which is impressive.

In typical Commando fashion he wasn’t pleased with his time. He said the run went well although he hit a bit of a wall at the ten mile mark which is only to be expected as ten miles is the longest distance he’d run until today. At least he now knows he won’t have any trouble with the half marathon. We stopped at the car park for a few minutes while Commando changed out of his wet t-shirt and dried himself off. Running is a sweaty business.  Did I mention I’m very proud of him?