SDW day 7: Amberley to Steyning

Before the cold wet winds blew in, we had one more leg of the South Downs Way to finish up.

When the train pulled into Amberly, it was like greeting an old friend.  The gentle green hills were back in my sight and I was blissed out and happy to be once again putting one foot in front of the other in the beautiful farmland and chalk hills of southern England.  

We chose an awfully warm weekend to complete our journey on the SDW.  It was humid and sticky, but easily some of my favorite days on the trail.  Red Kites, Buzzards and Kestrels were everywhere- I think I saw more different birds of prey this weekend than I have all summer.

We passed dozens of tumuli- the primitive burial mounds that dot the countryside.  Now that I know to look for them, I see them everywhere.

We hiked up to Chanterbury Ring, a hilltop fort, with a stand of beautiful wind-blown beech trees at the top.  

Local legend has it if that you run around the hilltop 7 times, the devil will appear and offer you a bowl of soup.  I KID YOU NOT.

The breeze coming off the sea gave lots of good lift off the hillside for the birds, and I saw so many Kestrels here.  They are lovely fun to watch as they have the ability to hover, and swooping down and stopping inches above the ground, talons extended.  If I find a good spot to watch them hunt, there isn't much that would drag me away.  And mmmm, mice and voles, so delicious!

Kestrels

Bertrand Russel simply put it, "Any view that includes Chanctonbury Ring is a good view".

I can't find argument in that.

Alas, the sun was getting low in the sky, so moving became a priority.

A first along the trail, we walked through a pig farm.  Ah, these pigs.  The fragrance coming off the area was not soon forgotten, but they were living like happy pigs, outside in groups, rooting around and making all sorts of content pig noises.

We probably could have skipped this part of trail and headed to town early.  It seemed to go on forever, and I felt the need to wash myself of these piggy smells urgently.

We spent the night at a cozy little guest house in Steyning.  I was pretty excited because I had found a place for dinner that ended up being the best meal I'd had in a long time.  If you are ever in the area, check out The Sussex Produce Company.  They sourced local ingredients and treated them with love and respect- real farm-to-table ethics.  I had fantastic fresh mussels, lovely honey glazed roasted root vegetables, a beautiful piece of fish, and a decently delicious organic red wine from the south of France.  It was perfect, and so decadent after a 15 mile walk.  We raved and swooned our way through desert.  I would hike this bit of trail just to eat here again.  Even better, I noticed that the couple sitting nearby had that peculiar English quality of moderation when it came to alcohol and had paid their bill and left a half a bottle of good wine on the table.  A quick glance around and I made that bottle fly on over to our glasses, and we left the place quite jolly and relaxed.  

European goldfinch

I think the confluence of a perfect meal after a perfect day of hiking was just too much.  Was it going to rain puppies tomorrow?  Would some unicorn show up and grant me three wishes?  Probably not, but I had this optimism that something amazing was about to happen.

Perhaps running around the hill fort seven times wasn't such a bad idea after all.

South Downs day 6: We have ourselves a swim to Amberley

Oh, the rain!  The papers would later call it "WETTEST BANK HOLIDAY EVER!".  Who am I to argue?

Despite the fact we did a pretty good clip the day before and we had been in bed and asleep by 9:30, we woke refreshed and ready to go.  The inn we stayed- The MoonLight Cottage- gets my raves forever as the woman who runs it is actually a good cook.  Not only was the cake excellent, but breakfast was spot-on, and she had lovely touches like plain, unsweetened yogurt and good organic ingredients.  The packed lunch was probably the best we've had on the trail as well.  

It made the morning all the more sweeter.     

We were carrying our light packs, which we don't have rain covers for, so we carefully packed up all of our stuff in big heavy-duty ziplock bags.  Including my camera.  I was phone-reliant for the day.

We headed back up the now slippery slope.  We passed a farm near the trail side.  A huge dog came running out- it had a face like a German Sheppard, but it was much bigger and had shaggy black fur.  It didn't bark or growl, but it came running at us very alert looking.  At the last minute, he stopped, and put his giant head on my leg and looked up with big brown eyes.  Thanks for making my wet pants wetter, you stupid sweet dog.

It wasn't so bad.  At first, anyway.  It rained, it drizzled.  We had crap visibility.  It's days like this where you get concerned about losing the trail.  We had very little view, of anything, making it really easy to get disoriented.  I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

It was beautiful.  It was still.  There was no one out at all.  It was other-worldly and calm and misty and magical.

Something we hadn't seen on the trail before:

Sunflowers!  A huge field of them.

This one made me laugh- it was the only one out of the whole bunch that was facing the wrong way, and it looked beat up because of it.  This is why I walk from West to East here.  You want the rain and wind at your back whenever possible!

We stopped really briefly to eat our sandwiches while standing under a big pine tree, which was about the driest place we could imagine finding.

The low visibility made you look extra hard at anything that you could see, and everything was eerie and ominous and beautiful.

At this point, we were up on the ridge with the rain pelting us ferociously.   Despite our waterproof jackets and trousers and boots, we were soon soaked to the skin.  I figured it was like a wetsuit, and my body heat was keeping a nice layer of water warmed up.  I don't think I've been out when it is raining so hard that your hooded rainproof jacket became useless- the wind was just blowing too hard for anything to be watertight.  As long as I didn't stop, I felt okay, but the moment I paused, I would start feeling really unpleasant.  I didn't mind so much, except my socks wicked up enough water to soak my feet, and I was squishing water out of my boots with every slippery step.

Rather hilariously, my shirt fell apart completely.  It was one of those merino layers that I love to wear on the trail so much.  I went to tug on the hemline and was surprised to find I had managed to tear a huge chunk off the back of my shirt.  Further poking and prodding revealed the whole shirt was easily persuaded to transform into tatters, and it was staying on only by adhering to my wet skin.  Something about the wet and the friction and the wool meant I was walking in nothing but my sports bra and a few mangy tatters of what used to be my shirt.  I...I had just never had that happen before.  

Yup.

We went through a huge farm that was practicing lots of sustainability and organic methods, which seemed really cool.  We could barely stop to read all the signs they had posted at the gates, the water was just pelting us too hard.

We did encounter one other walker coming towards us.  We barely saw each other until we were almost on top of him.  "WHY ARE WE DOING THIS?" he yelled our way.  "BECAUSE IT IS FUN!" I yelled back.

And it was.

The only thing I remember seeing the rest of the day was a sign post at the old Roman Road we crossed.

This might have been the fastest we ever walked 13 miles before.  Despite that the trail was becoming a slippery white-chalk mess, we booked it and arrived at the pub less than 6 hours from when we set out.  With nothing to stop and admire, we made really good time.

We got to the pub in Amberley.  We were in desperate need of a change of clothes and a pint, I hesitated at the door.  I was beyond soaking, and I knew that every step I took would leave a huge pool of water on the floor.  I went for it anyway, and locked myself in the bathroom and dried up and put on clean clothes.  I ended up having to mop up the bathroom floor because I flooded it while wringing out my clothes in the sink.  Well, except for the shirt.  That just went into the bin once I figured out how to scrape every last bit of it off.

Dry clothes never felt so good.  The pub was really warm and friendly, and we could peer out the back and see the board at the train station, so I'm going to say it was convenient as well.  We got some drinks and some nibbles and relaxed by the late-August fireplace.

Oh, and the only real damage?  The phone that went for a swim in the Lake District a few weeks back and managed to survive.  A waterproof pocket ended up being not-so-waterproof, and the poor phone drowned for good this time.

Even after all that, we felt good.  It had been uncomfortable being so wet for so long, but we had walked nearly 30 miles over two days and we still felt fresh and energetic.  However, we wouldn't turn down a chance to sit down by the fire.  We're not that nutty.

I'm actually kind of sad that we only have two more days of walking on this trail.

South Downs Day 5: Petersfield to Cocking

Arriving back in London, I suddenly had to scramble for warm clothes.  The last two weeks of August ended up being dreary- cold and wet and windy for days on end.  Ah, this is the famous summertime weather I had been warned about.  How lucky I felt the June and July were spot-on perfect weather.  Although, it was hard to have sympathy when I'd ring up my friends from New York.  "It's hot and sticky and humid and SO HOT" and I'd be ah, I'm wearing a sweater and wool socks and I have the big down duvet on the bed.  

It had been a while since we hit the South Downs.  Finding accommodation on the trail has been kind of a problem, as we usually wait to see what the weather is predicted to be like before committing to a hike, and with only a handful of options trailside, it's easy to end up a little screwed.  

Luck would have it, and over a bank holiday weekend I found a room in the town of Cocking on a Sunday night.  We would strike out on Sunday morning from Petersfield, spend the night in Cocking, and make our way to the train station in Amberley on Monday.  Sure, there was a little rain in the forecast for Monday, but I figured it wasn't hiking in England until you've had a bit of a walking bath.

  

With cheery optimism, we set out from Petersfield.  The South Downs Way is a few miles south, near a hamlet called Buriton, but lucky for us, we could follow tree-lined footpaths in the countryside almost right away.

We came to a freshly mowed field that was awash with crows.  More than I maybe have ever seen.

They made a racket as we startled them and they collectively flew off.

But that was about all the noise we heard.

Kestrel

Buriton was slightly adorable, with thatched-roof cottages, an old church, and a duck pond.  I would have stopped to see if they had a pub (it's not a proper town unless it has a church and a pub)

 We didn't linger, and soon we were on the wide chalk hillsides on the South Downs.

It's been really amazing for us to be out here and see the changing landscape.  From the mud and bright greens of early spring, to the lush green summer, and now the harvested fields giving everything a golden glow.  

Across Harting Down, where we stopped for lunch on a handily-placed bench in the shade of some tall trees, with views over the valley and the North Downs.

The trail actually skirts around the next big hill, Beacon.  We debated the merits of the view versus "not actually doing the entire Southdowns trail" by leaving the trail for a mile, and began the trudge up the steep hill.  Completion certificate be damned!

It was so worth it- views to the Isle of Wight and the sea.

And....

we got a little airshow courtesy of the Red Darts.

We lazily made our way back down and re-joined the trail.

This is why I love the South Downs.  It's not difficult.  You have a big climb up the ridge when you start, and a climb down at the end of the day, but once you are on the ridge, you have mostly gentle elevation gains, unobstructed views, and a feeling you are far from everything.  It's just the most pleasant walking.   Plus, the chalk trail sheds water easily, so you are rarely in mud.  

We hit a little off-trail spot of interest, labeled on the OS map as the "Devils Jumps".  They ended up being a series of well-formed bronze age burial mounds.  That was just crazy- many thousands of years ago, people were cremated and buried here.

The skies were getting darker as we neared the village of Cocking.  An ominous humidity was hanging thick in the air.

I startled a group of pheasants who were busily doing the same thing that we were:

The blackberries were perfectly ripe weeks earlier than expected.  This might have been the slowest 14 easy miles we've ever had because of them.

We turned off the trail and walked the mile into the village of Cocking.  Looking back on the downs, what a tremulously elegant sight:

Cocking was a cute little village, and the name made me te-he-he every time I had to say.  We found a place of interest: a column of the villages' history.  It's too bad that it was so tall that we couldn't read anything near the top, but eh.  It seemed interesting.

And also kind of sad.

The B&B that we stayed had an adorable tea house.  You have to cross the cafe to get to your room.  The cakes proved too much for us, and we finished off our hike with a very English snack of Victoria Sponge and tea.  It was fantastic

It really made up for a dismal pub dinner.