Whitchurch Canonicorum - 27th July 2017

You could be forgiven for thinking I had abandoned my gridsquare project, given that I haven't posted anything for a couple of months. I can't believe it's been that long, but what with searing heat, holidays, work and a burgeoning garden, time seems to have slipped away from me gridsquarelessly! I've now divided the Dorset map into an arbitrary east and west and have decided to aim to complete the west side of the county, having become rather daunted by the scale of my enthusiasm and quest!

With a smaller area now to survey, I could focus on those rather white looking parts of my well coloured-in Ordnance Survey map. I had visited Whitchurch Canonicorum once before, but we had never walked there so I drew out what I thought was an 11 mile walk and set off along west Dorset's tiny winding roads, arriving at Whitchurch Canonicorum at about 9.30 am.

Walking boots donned, I walked eastwards towards Ryall and made a decision to also record every single butterfly I saw - no matter how inconvenient it was to keep stopping - that's what walking by yourself is all about, right? Being able to stop every few yards if you want and then being able to jog whenever the fancy takes you! Who am I kidding? My fastest mile was over 21 minutes long; my slowest 27! I blame those many butterflies!

I was conscious that rain was forecast for later in the day, but at the moment the sun was shining and I was feeling quite elated at the privilege of being able to enjoy the sunshine, fresh air and exercise on such a day. My first photo was an obligatory one as I approached Beerlands Farm.

Approaching Beerlands Farm - SY4095

It didn't take me long to come across my first obstacle. Life would be so easy if the footpaths were all where they are marked on the map without being overgrown and sporting broken or non-existent stiles. As I approached a veritable building yard at Ryall with two workers outside looking at me quizzically, I decided to play my 'Is this the footpath?' card. I have not yet worked out the best response to those good-hearted people who love to tell you which way you should be going even though you know very well thank you very much which way you want to go if only the footpath were better marked.

I wasted a good quarter of an hour in debate with these two men who both knew a better way of getting to Butt Farm than my map showed and which turned out to be in the opposite direction to the one I'd planned. Having already turned the way they had shown me, discovered instantly it was wrong, I didn't want to turn back and risk facing them again, so I carried on, exploring every little lane of Ryall and revelling in gorgeous names, before working out how to get out of this situation. It involved walking along the pleasantly named Butt Lane.

House sign, Ryall - SY4094

Butt Lane, Ryall - SY4094

I only got to see the thatched roof of Butt Farm because the rest of it was hidden from view. Butt Lane itself was beautiful and I wished I could take a 'snapshot' of sounds as well as pictures because the wheat was popping all around me like a big bowl of Rice Krispies.

Butt Lane - SY4194

Butt Lane - SY4194

For once I ended up walking along quiet roads. I don't think a single car drove past me all day (with the exception of when I was taking cover under trees from inclement weather and cows and two vehicles drove past). At North Chideock I looked forward to joining Hell Lane which has always been swimming in water when I've walked up it in the past. Today was no exception, although I turned off almost immediately after joining it to ascend Quarry Hill.

I wonder what the origin of this name is? - SY4293

Ascending Quarry Hill - SY4293

Langdon Hill was prominent to the south-west, obscuring the more familiar landmark of Golden Cap from this angle.

Langdon Hill from Quarry Hill - SY4293

Checking my map, I realised I was in the next square for only a brief time, but would return to it once I'd bounced back from the A35 so I decided to leave that gridsquare's photo until later, concentrating instead of the next square - SY4392.

Southern slopes of Quarry Hill - SY4392

I'd enjoyed exploring Quarry Hill, which is a very shapely hill from a distance. I'd have to return to actually ascend it fully!

I now joined another minor road which deteriorates into a holloway - one of my favourite types of habitat in Dorset.

Quarr Lane - SY4393

Roots on Quarr Lane - SY4393

This lane runs almost directly northwards for the best part of a mile, and what a delightful, tree-laden, rooty mile it is! The distinctive cone of Colmer's Hill is visible and framed beautifully by the Beech and Ash trees lining this lane.

Colmer's Hill - SY4393

As I continued towards Henwood Hill, the view opened out, with stunning views south to Quarry Hill and Langdon Hill.

Quarry Hill - SY4393

View south to Quarry Hill from Henwood Hill - SY4394

Langdon Hill from Henwood Hill - SY4394

As I turned westwards, I gained another glimpse of Colmer's Hill and Quarry Hill. I realised I would see Quarry Hill from all four aspects today - it is such an attractive hill.

Colmers' Hill and Quarry Hill from SY4294

At Venn Farm I paused to photograph the rather attractive farm sign, but not long enough to look at my map and realise that, if I'd really wanted to, I could have taken a significant short-cut here, back across to Ryall and westwards still to Whitchurch Canonicorum.

Sign at Venn Farm - SY4194

Instead, I carried on northwards with a trigpoint in mind. Would I reach there for lunch, I wondered? I could see the promised rain clouds building up and decided I should have lunch before it rained.

Once beyond Venn Farm and onto Wormstall Copse I should have entered another holloway, but the Monarch's Way here is soon barricaded by a thicket of overgrown bramble. For a moment I thought my plans were thwarted, but I soon realised that others had come across the same problem and simply wandered through the adjoining field instead, which is what I did, stopping for lunch en route.

Gate at Wormstall Copse - SY4195

I winded in and out of the wooded Monarch's Way before reaching Coppet Hill and heading upwards.

Ascending Coppet Hill - SY4195

By the time I reached the trigpoint (which was surprisingly easy to access, not like a lot in Dorset), the rain has started in earnest. I disturbed two loved-up Roe Deer and kept bumping into them (not literally) for a while thereafter.

Coppet Hill trigpoint - SY4195

 I had been thoroughly enjoying the walk up to this point; not a lot had gone wrong, I'd seen lots of butterflies, Roe Deer, kept hearing the Green Woodpecker yaffle and wheat popping and seeing lots of beautiful scenery. That was all about to change on account of my first major wrong turn. I should have followed my instinct, instead of pedantically adhering to the map.

I was just priding myself on realising that my footpath was south of the boundary line so I needed to find a stile or gate imminently and then lo and behold there it was, half hidden. Out came the secateurs to do a bit of necessary gardening and I was through the gate and ooops, there was another one before the view opened up and I was beholding Denhay Hill and Jan's Hill.

Denhay Hill and Jan's Hill - SY4295

I soon realised, however, that the footpath I wanted next was back through to the field from whence I'd just come and there was a thicket of brambles and bracken and of course the fence preventing access. But surely there must be a stile somewhere along here! I told myself. But how long does one keep walking in the wrong direction  before one concedes and turns back?

Not long in my case. I'd go back to the stile which had cost me bruises and scratches and see if I could work out what, if anything, I'd done wrong. I didn't work it out but managed to gain access into the next field - once again the correct footpath was overgrown and fenced off, but it was easy enough to walk down the field alongside it.

It was not so easy when the next stile was too overgrown to access. I must have been the first person this year to walk this way - if ever! I walked back to a gate and then down a field towards Denhay Rookery, prepared to give an answer about the footpaths being non-existent if I was accosted. All the time I was still stopping frequently to record each butterfly on my phone.

I felt a bit fed up by the time I was in my next gridsquare - SY4296 and not inclined to photograph much, not that there was much inspiration anyway. Fortunately I would be returning to this square shortly, so didn't need to worry too much about it.

I walked between two electric fences on a footpath rather than the minor road towards Purcombe Farm.

Purcombe Farm - SY4197

Stoke Mill Lane did a lot to restore my faith in the walk - and in gridsquare SY4296; it was back to green lanes - muddy and overgrown though they were.

Stoke Mill Lane - SY4296

I battled my way through willowherb, brambles, nettles and thistles and crossed under the line of pylons - something I'm never keen on doing, but which is often necessary in Dorset and crossed the River Char to Buckett's Farm.

Stoke Mill Lane - SY4297

Stoke Mill Farm Cottage - SY4297

The path here is not signposted, but in the absence of any better ideas (or options), I wandered through the farmyard, phone/map in hand to prove my point if accused of trespassing. I needn't have worried, however. The farmer's wife spoke kindly to me and assured me I was on the right path. "Where you heading?" came the next, inevitable question and one which I hate because I never really know; it is never somewhere obvious. "Not the Monarch's Way," I replied, "Oh, Crabbs Bluntshay Farm, then? You'll be OK; there's no electric fences in that field because there's not stock." Phew, that was a relief. Cows were one obstacle I'd not encountered yet on this walk and an obstacle I didn't mind not encountering at all.

I'm not sure if it was just the rain and/or my weariness, but the scenery seemed to have gradually become less interesting at this point. There were not as many butterflies to count and I was walking through several arable fields. What scenery there was, was hidden by rain clouds.

Still I trudged on, occasionally checking on the miles I'd walked and wondering if my estimate would be anything like accurate.

Barns at Crabbs Bluntshay Farm - SY4197

The rain was descending heavily now and I was beginning to feel in need of another cup of tea. I'd realised almost from the start of the walk that, for the first time I can remember I had forgotten to bring any water. But, I had told myself, I had a litre of tea in my flask, a banana, an apple and a nectarine, so I reckoned I wouldn't die in a holloway of dehydration and be left festering for weeks before anyone found me.

Just as I was contemplating these cheerful thoughts, I stopped dead in my tracks (metaphorically). Huddled by the gate which for sure I had to go through was a herd of cows. Humph! I decided to shelter from the now heavy rain under a tree and consider my options whilst drinking my now lukewarm tea. As I did so, two vehicles trundled down the farm track towards me. (The two which I mentioned at the beginning of this post!)  I decided to ask their advice about the cows, but didn't get the chance as it turned out because neither driver appeared to notice the bedraggled walker they almost ran over. Had the miles I'd walked and the rain I'd absorbed rendered me invisible?

Worse than my apparent newly discovered ability to turn invisible was the fact that the cows had mistaken the vehicles for vehicles bearing food and had started to chase them - which meant they were heading my way! In a flash I saw what I had to do, even if it meant going the wrong way. I'd turn right onto the footpath - wherever it was heading; it had to be better than sure and certain death by a herd of cows - and, oh no, that one was definitely sporting a dangly bit  from its middle. I reached my turn off just before the cows/bulls/bullocks did and saw, to my horror, my way thwarted by a huge bottomless pit of mud and cow dung. If I went through that fast I was sure to fall and I fancied that less than I did the sure and certain cow mangling option. I turned to face my enemy and made myself big and scary. The cows paused. Evidently my newly discovered invisibility gift did not apply to cows. I shouted again and kept shouting and making myself big all the way up to the gate I thought I had to go through.

Once through the gate I dared to check my map, only to discover that I'd come through the wrong gate! The one with all the liquid mud was the one I should have gone through and I was blowed if I was going back that way again. Wiping the surface of my phone on my trousers I peered onto the screen, my coat hood - and nose - dripping onto it, making the hope of ever getting a picture again futile. Ah, there was a lot to be said for paper maps! The map finally reappeared and I worked out I could continue on this footpath and go a slightly different way back to the car.

I walked under the pylons once again and took my photo for gridsquare SY4097 - Middlebrook Farm.

Middlebrook Farm and pylon - SY4097

If I'd kept to my original path, I would have been walking closer to the farm, but actually the farm slightly further north (Lodgehouse Farm) looked more interesting with the word 'Castle' written invitingly in Old English font, albeit with the qualification 'rems of' written in brackets underneath. I later looked on the satellite photo and there does indeed seem to be some remains there - and a footpath, so I shall choose that one next time. Yes, despite the obstacles thrown at me in the last hour, I'd already decided I wanted to return.

The butterflies had started to reappear after a brief disappearance during the rain. I was suddenly conscious that my feet were absolutely swimming in water. I think/hope this was due to the long, wet grass I'd been walking through for 10 miles, and not to the fact that my boots had developed a leak after only 22 months of walking. I pondered these things as I wandered through ever so slightly less interesting countryside, past Mandeville Stoke Farm where I crossed the River Char again and then saw a sign telling me that I'd been on a path on which apparently there was no public right of way, despite the footpath being clearly marked through it.

Bridge over River Char at SY4096

I now entered my favourite field of the walk - a veritable meadow of Knapweed in which, with the recent cessation of rain, the Meadow Browns were dancing.Oh, the beauty of it all, the air was alive with the scent of pollen and with revitalised energy and a butterfly ballet and I was alive and joining in the ballet - OK, now my imagination had gone one step too far as I could barely put one sodden foot in front of the other never mind pirouette and whirl, but if I'd wanted to I could have shunned my shoes and danced barefoot with the Meadow Browns - maybe next time I will!

Meadow near Lower Coppice - SY4096

Just as I was about to leave the ballet, the prima donna arrived on the stage in the form of a Silver-washed Fritillary, darting from Knapweed to purple Knapweed saying 'look at me; I'm the best!' and I had to confess she was!

Silver-washed Fritillary near Lower Coppice - SY4096

I took a boring photo for my final gridsquare, looking back at Lower Coppice and began scouring the skyline for the tower of the church of St Candida and the Holy Cross at Whitchurch Canonicorum. It was definitely still not in view.

Lower Coppice - SY3996

I plodded wearily on until I caught sight of the church and welcomed its gates.

Gate at the Church of St Candida and the Holy Cross, Whitchurch Canonicorum - SY3995.

I had another cup of tea and a banana left in my rucksack so I entered the church and sat silently (apart from squelchy feet) in the darkness. The door creaked open and a little girl appeared. "Hello," I ventured in what I hoped was a reverent, yet audible voice. She definitely looked my way, but was silent. She was followed shortly after by her younger sister and I tried again in an ever so slightly louder voice and bigger smile. Still silence. A buggy and man and woman now appeared at the door and didn't even look my way. I obviously still had the gift of invisibility; the rain had washed my body away and left me dancing in that field with the fritillaries and Meadow Browns. I slipped silently and apparently sightlessly out of the door into a scented and bright late afternoon.

Church of St Candida and the Holy Cross, Whitchurch Canonicorum - SY3995.

Number of gridsquares walked: 15
Number of miles: 12.5
Number of butterflies seen: 201
Number of trigpoints: 1
Number of people who spoke to me after the rain: 0