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Worcestershire
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The walk:Before today we hadn't climbed a thousand-footer in over five months; following Cleeve Cloud this would now be our second in a couple of hours. From the map Worcestershire Beacon looked most impressive. It formed part of the ridge of the Malvern Hills, which (judging from the number of contours packed into a width of no more than a kilometre) seemed as if they would rise almost vertically from the landscape. Although part of the ridge, Worcestershire Beacon was clearly a distinct hill in its own right, its contours rising above and dominating the ridge on the map. There was still a little of the mist around that had plagued us all day. As a result, we didn't see the Malverns until we were within a few miles, when they suddenly appeared, looming above us; a seemingly impenetrable barrier, gloomy, oppressive and formidable (especially for walkers about to climb them!). And this was just the low southern half of the hill range - Worcestershire Beacon itself was rather higher! We parked in a rather nice car park (as car parks go!). Just by its name (Earnshaw Quarry) you could guess that it would be in a steep-sided cut into the side of the hill, and your guess would be fairly accurate. There are actually two car parks here - we parked into the lower one nest to a Malvern Hills Conservation Ranger, and went to look at the interesting information board at the entrance. This said that the Malvern Hills had been protected since the early 20th century when it had been said that quarrying would soon turn them into the Malvern Flats! More to the point the board had a good large-scale map. There are so many contours and footpaths crammed into such a small area around Worcestershire Beacon that even the OS orange map is pretty incomprehensible. Our black-and-white 1:50000 scale print out from streetmap.co.uk didn't stand a chance. Fortunately the board clearly showed that we could complete a circular walk - a straight hike to the top, then descending the other side and returning around the base of the hill. Jim, however, said he was tired and just wanted to go straight to the top and back by the same shortest route. That shortest route took us up into the upper car park, from where a path zigzagged up through woods. These zigzags were frustratingly long and shallow, and we soon found ourselves taking short cuts from zig to zag. The woods felt stiflingly still, humid and warm (possibly in part due to us turning the path into a steeper but shorter one!), and we were glad to emerge into the open air on top of the main Malvern ridge. We had not seen another person, and soon found out why. A tarmac'd "tourist" path led up the shallow slope of the main ridge and it was to this that all the walkers had gravitated. It was, frankly, heaving with them! They weren't the rucksack wielding, boot-clad professionals of Cleeve Common; no, these were your child wielding, trainer or stiletto-clad townies, probably out for their only walk of the year. Worcestershire Beacon was clearly a right little honeypot. At least the presence of so many people implied a decent top! The junction between our path and the trainer-brigade highway was marked by nothing so common as a simple signpost. Instead there was a large low stone table, with direction arrows laid out on top like the points of a compass. This was most impressive. Someone obviously cared very deeply about this area to get such a monumental directional device built, and we greatly appreciated his or her efforts - thank you, whoever you are! We turned right and headed uphill to the Beacon – we could see its summit not far away, just beyond a lower sub-top. The tarmac path wound round the side of this sub-top, but we decided (like many people) to go over a well-worn path over the sub-top instead. After all, it was a hill and it was there. It was a stiff old climb, and I was sweating and out of breath by the time I reached it. Children went scampering past us as we climbed it, before running back down again to chivvy their lagging parents. It mad me feel old – where do children get their boundless energy from? The sub-hill was a bare grassy knoll, with a seemingly sheer drop-off to the east. Far, far below us we could see Great Malvern. Unfortunately we couldn’t see much further – the distant views were still obscured by lingering mist. Having secretly caught our breath whilst ostensibly pausing to catch our breath, we left the knoll and headed onwards and upwards This last leg seemed relatively easy, and we were particularly gratified to see the previously energetic children now flagging badly (“Mum, I’m tired, can we go home now?”) – a classic tortoise and the hare situation! At the top, we were very happy to find a rocky rather than grassy surface. There’s a lot of discussion on the web about what it takes to make a British mountain. A lot of people have tried to come up with “scientific” definitions based on absolute height and height relative to the surroundings, but the fact remains that ask any person in the street and they’ll say a mountain is pointy and rocky. Discussion on the web often tends to agree with this; so on this basis I declare Worcestershire Beacon to be the first mountain (albeit a very short one) we’ve climbed since starting the County Tops!
I found out later that there had at one time been a café on top of the hill, before it was destroyed by fire. I don’t remember seeing any sign of its foundations, but then I wasn’t looking for them at the time. There was an odd rocky mini-gorge cutting across the hillcrest that in retrospect might have been linked in some way, but could have been anything. Unfortunately there were some idiot children nearby throwing rocks off of the hillside (potentially injuring walkers on the lower paths). Their seemingly neanderthal parents were sat unheeding nearby with an airgun (at least I hope it was "merely" an airgun) on the bench beside them. I felt obliged to make a comment as I passed; they did have about enough manners to grudgingly call their children back, but I felt in danger of getting an airgun pellet in my back afterwards. As you'll recall, Jim had originally wanted to return the same way as we came up. Now, no doubt buoyed by the rocky top he wanted to push on the long way back. We descended the northern side of the Beacon; it was astonishing how quickly the numbers of people declined as we moved away from the tarmac'd tourist route. The few people who we did see from now on were more sensibly clad in the usual hiker attire. We descended into a wide grassy col, where a meeting of several paths was once again marked by one of the innovative stone directional tables. To get back to the car we would follow the path down to St Anne's Well, but first we had a brief diversion, for Jim had seen a "cute" pointy hill ahead which he wanted to climb and claim in the name of Jim. I pointed out that, although un-named on the map, the stone table referred to it as Sugar Loaf. Jim didn't care, and said that from now on it would be called "Jim's Hill". A few minutes later, after a swift ascent and descent of (groan) Jim's Hill, we resumed our circular walk via a rapid descent to St Anne's Well. The Malvern Hills were once revered for the life giving-qualities of their many mineral springs (you can still buy bottled Malvern Water today). St Anne's Well is one of them, but nowadays provides sustenance in a more up-to-date form - as a teashop! Today it was closed, and anyway we had tea and hot cross buns back in the car. The path back now skirted the lower slopes of Worcestershire Beacon, running through dense woodland with no views. After the free and open feeling of the top this was most disappointing, and I accelerated rapidly towards the waiting refreshments, leaving Jim trailing somewhat. This did backfire - when we reached a sharp slope near the car park I suddenly lacked the energy to deal with it! I had loved what we had seen of the Malverns, and would love to return
(on a clearer day and quieter day) and explore further. If it hadn't been
quite so over-run with people, Worcestershire Beacon could have rivalled
Foel Cwmcerwyn as my favourite county top to date.
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It’s
a shame when your first “mountain” is so over-run with the
trainer brigade; it somehow detracts from the achievement. There were
a good couple of dozen people at the top, with a very rapid turnover.
Amongst the crowds were the arbitrary trig point and a toposcope (the
viewfinder thingy that I couldn’t remember the name of in Gloucestershire).
The Trig Point marked a significant landmark for us - our fiftieth county
top - unfortunately it was too busy to ascend it. It took a while to get
through the crowds near the toposcope, and when we did part of the glass
was obscured by condensation – it wasn’t as smart as the one
on Cleeve Hill, but these devices are still always good to see on a hill.
It was hard to believe that someone had stolen this one in 2000 (it was
recovered a year later). The toposcope would no doubt normally have pointed
out some fine views, but, despite blue skies and warm sunshine above,
the horizon was still obscured. It was the clearest weather so far today
and we could see a few enticing green rolling hills immediately to the
west, but probably no more than a mile or two distant.