(a) Enfield Lock to Chingford (4.5 miles,
plus 0.25 miles of station link)
This was a bit of a surprise day's walking. We had been planning to go
camping at Brightlingsea in Essex this weekend, but cancelled it due to
my wife being ill. As it was not too hot we thought we'd notch up another
bit of LOOP instead, although Jim did voice concerns about it only being
2 weeks since the last walk, and that he hadn't recovered from it. I graciously
completely ignored his worries…
We started this day in a much more optimistic frame of mind than day
6. The sun was shining (although heavy showers were forecast), it was
our penultimate day on the LOOP, the maps showed it to be a pleasantly
rural section with little of the road-walking that plagued day 6, and
we knew that we would start by returning to the Turkey Brook.
Our spirits were dampened slightly by the shocking discovery that Liverpool
Street station did not possess a cookie shop. In fact, this vital walkers'
commodity has been entirely lacking for the entire northern half of the
LOOP.
We were cheered up again on the journey out to Enfield by the sight of
a warehouse proudly bearing the grand title of "The Home of Scrabble",
and by a gloriously coloured line of tower blocks in purple, yellow, green
and blue. We idly wondered if one colour had more cachet than another
- whether, for instance, it was more fashionable to live in the purple
block than the green?
I've always found that walking by water enhances any walk; most of the
best bits of the LOOP have been alongside water. The start of this section
certainly had a lot of water to choose from. Jim's worries seemed unfounded
as he confidently strode off in front, leaving me feeling distinctly sluggish
- a pattern that was continue for much of the day, so much so that I think
Jim got a bit fed up with having to wait for me.
 We
first of all returned to the Turkey Brook that we left at the end of Day
6. We quickly left it to go over a ridiculously long footbridge over another
stream and a not-very-busy road. Strangely an alternative path went down
to road level & across the road - this is another footbridge that
could be easily swiped to provide a better route across the A1.
It was not long before we returned to water; Enfield Lock itself on the
Lee Navigation. The Lee Enfield rifle, used extensively by the British
Army in the early 20th Century, was both made here, and named after the
region. There are still many links to the industry - near the lock a pub
called "Rifles" proudly sports the "303 Bar".
More water was to swiftly follow - we turned off the Lee Navigation by
the Swan & Pike Pool (seeing neither) and joined the ambiguous "River
Lea or Lee" as it was confusingly marked on the map. This was a sheer
delight of a river, fast-flowing between banks of reeds and tree-lined
banks. And only slightly spoiled by the constant screeching noise of a
bridge being restored with "grit blasting".
We crossed another waterway joining the Lea or Lee from the right, before
eventually crossing the Lea/Lee itself and veering away over one final
huge flood relief channel and into a nature reserve. I was quite aggrieved
to leave this section - it had been a delight to walk by (at my reckoning)
seven different bodies of water in under a mile!
 After
crossing a road there was a stiff climb up Daws Hill, which in the sunshine
was particularly tough - a water break was called on attaining the summit.
It was worth it for the views back over Enfield of those amazing technicolour
tower blocks, plus two huge reservoirs that weren't visible from the valley
bottom. Unfortunately our camera batteries ran out as we took a picture
of the view, leaving us with no way of gathering evidence of the beauty
of the rest of the section.
A short piece of roadwalking ensued past a rather wonderful asymmetrical
farmhouse with a beautiful little pond. We soon turned off into Gilwell
Park, the home of the International Scout movement. Even at 11.30am a
disco and several football matches were shattering the rural calm. This
was not Scout camp as I remembered it; I wondered whether they actually
still learnt wilderness survival skills or had even seen a bivouac!
Relief was soon at hand as we descended through woods into a pleasant
valley a little reminiscent of an Exmoor coombe - certainly the sides
were steep enough! We admired the bravery of someone who had cycled down
the rather slippery path, although his tracks showed that he had often
come close to losing control.
After a steep ascent from the "coombe", a long walk through
some woods and then a surprisingly pleasant path running parallel to a
road, we arrived at Chingfield Plain. You can get the train from Chingford
station here, but there was no chance of us giving up after just 4.5 miles…
(b) Chingford to Chigwell (3.5 miles)
Yes, I admit it, on this bit of the walk I did get the two end towns
repeatedly confused. References to "Chingwell" and "Chigford"
were common. What sort of muppet would put two such similarly named suburbs
so close together? It must give the local Royal Mail (or whatever they're
calling themselves today) sorting office a right headache!
For some time the storm clouds they had been a-brewin' on the horizon,
and as we hurried up the gentle slope of Chingford Plain towards Queen
Elizabeth's Hunting Lodge it was clear that heavy rain was coming our
way - and soon. Having coped admirably with the deluge of LOOP day five,
rain scared us not, but we still prefered its absence to its presence.
The Lodge was apparently built to provide Bessie with views of hunts
progressing on the plain below - it's rumoured that she used to simply
ride her horse into the building & up the stairs to save time. To
my eye though, the building was a bit small and dowdy, and certainly held
little interest for us compared with what lay immediately ahead. Yes,
it was that mecca of all walkers - not just a café, but one that
has outdoor tables and therefore doesn't mind dirty smelly hikers.
It was in fact the Butler's Retreat, actually quite a posh restaurant
but a posh restaurant with the splendid idea of opening a café
hatch in the side out of the kitchen, and scattering some picnic tables
about (well out of sight of the "posh" restaurant entrance.
We were about to destroy this carefully orchestrated class separation…
We ordered chips (damn fine chips!) and tea (damn fine tea!) from the
hatch just as the rain started to fall (or, to be more accurate, plummet).
Other café-goers grabbed their grub and made haste for the shelter
of their cars whilst we sadly contemplated the prospect of soggy pommes-frites.
Our golden comestibles were saved by what can only have been divine intervention
- disguised as a stripey green canvas gazebo (a type of antelope???).
Whilst the smelly café patrons had to sit outside in all weathers,
rather better care was taken of restaurant-goers - to the extent that
the path up to the door was sheltered by the aforesaid sanctuary. We surmised
that it was the ideal size for a picnic table, and promptly hauled ours
under it, and sat there happily munching on our miraculously dry snack
as it precipitated torrentially all about
A little while later the chef emerged from the bowels of the kitchen
for his midday smoke. He quite clearly did a double-take on seeing a picnic
table blocking the ingress to his restaurant. He was an affable chap though,
and explained just how lucky we had actually had been - the gazebo had
only been installed for a function the previous night, and was being taken
away later that day. Divine intervention, I tell you!
The rain helpfully stopped as we finished our drinks, and the noble restauranteur
was in for another shock as I pulled out my bright silver jetpack turtle
to waterproof my rucksack in the event of further monsoons.
Looking at the book we were disappointed to see that the author had actually
strayed from the LOOP to take his photo of Bess's Hunting Lodge. He seems
to have been doing this quite often, even once going so far as to suggest
that a half-mile divertion from the path to see a statue was a good idea.
When you're already doing 20 miles, an extra mile is almost never a good
idea, and we have sensibly ignored these strange delusions of his.
We were so happy to have - for possibly the first time ever - actually
have found and used a bench at such an opportune time that we quickly
forgave the author's transgressions of the unofficial through-hikers code.
We were even happier when we discovered that the LOOP signage - predicted
to end at Chingford - had been extended for at least as far as the end
of today.
Further joy ensued when, on crossing a stream with the wonderful name
of "The Ching" we suddenly and unexpectedly entered Essex. Although
we hadn't made the planned trip to Brightlingsea, at least we'd ended
up in the right county. As we'd forgotten our white stilettoes, we decided
not to linger, for fear of not fitting in with the local denizens.
After climbing a very pleasant grassy slope and crossing a couple of
roads we came to our first urban area since the start of the day. But
this too was pleasant, and in keeping with the general niceness of the
day - a small hotel and several large house clustered round a green.
The path then descended through a well hidden alleyway and into fields
where a traditional woven willow fence was protected on each side by further
fences. Possibly this extra protection was warranted - at the end of this
demonstration of rural craft we came to one of those dramatic contrasts
which makes the LOOP such an interesting path to walk. A footbridge over
a railway was surmounted by a heavy duty mesh tunnel, with 10 foot high
fences crowned with barbed wire stretching for some distance either side.
It was more suited to a prison camp than the fields we'd just walked through,
and we guessed we were about to enter a rough area.
But the houses and flats of Buckhurst Hill didn't last for long, and
we soon emerged into a recreation ground full of scruffy oiks swigging
lager and racing motorised skateboards. In fact, it might have been a
quite dreadful place if it had not been for the gorgeous lake at the centre
of it - so nice that we decided to stop & have lunch on one of the
benches besides it. We weren't even at the halfway point but it seems
that we have finally realised the value of stopping at a decent bench
and not waiting for a later one that won't materialise.
At this stop we also learnt not to buy Lancashire cheese for sandwiches.
Even the ducks wouldn't eat the foul muck! We were briefly entertained
by a local denizen who came racing up to collect a large jar full of mud
we she had left there earlier. We didn't dare to ask why…
After crossing the M11 (the final motorway on the LOOP) we left the LOOP.
I know what you're thinking, surely that's against all the rules. Well,
the official LOOP route followed a B road and an A road for about a mile
through Chigwell just to pass close to a station. We didn't want the station,
and we felt that if the LOOP hadn't been so constrained it would actually
have followed Roding Lane - a comparable distance but along a minor road
(lined with enormous houses). We felt that we were being more faithful
to the rural principles of the LOOP by following this route.
(c) Chigwell to Harold Wood (10.75 miles)
Leaving Chigwell was quite hard - the path passed almost invisibly through
some scrub and woodland and we had to walk a circuitous walk past surreally
placed armchairs and mattresses before we could find the exit - into a
field with a randy horse.
The emotionally charged beast followed Jim closely until - scared that
he was about to be mounted - Jim made a run for it. Not wanting to be
left alone with the amorous equine I also left the field at high speed,
and ended up with a splitting headache from the heat, and probably came
the closest I've yet come to giving up on a day's walking. I gratefully
accepted a couple of ibuprofen from Jim, but was to struggle badly for
the next few miles.
The next section twisted and turned unnecessarily - just like a politician.
Left, then right, then left - and so on, all the time whilst there was
a perfectly good straight alternative route. We ascended a path across
the centre of a wheat field - the farmer had kindly kept the route cleared
- to a strangely small and perfectly round reservoir.
At Chigwell Row recreation we stopped for tea, and enjoyed a group of
children playing cricket with one wicket, little enthusiasm and wonderful
ineptness. But fair play to them, they had marked out the boundary with
a large collection of jumpers. Our enjoyment of the park was bought to
an abrupt end by a small yappy type dog attack, accompanied by the usual
dog owner imbecilities - "he's just being friendly" as the grotesque
little monster jumps barking at your face and sprays stinking saliva on
your clothes.
The next chunk of path was through the Hainault Forest Country Park,
centred on a huge open area around a lake. Being a nominated "country
park", it was of course heaving with Londoners, despite being less
pretty than some of the non-Country Park bits of the LOOP we've seen.
It's a shame people don't get out and explore more - although it does
mean that the nicer bits don't get over-run and are saved for us to discover!
The park was still pleasant enough, if a little lacking in character.
Our main gripe was the vagueness of the path. The official signs conflicted
with what the book was telling us, and the book directions conflicted
with what the maps in the book said. We stuck with the maps, trusting
the OS more than any subjective description or the meagre LOOP signpostings.
This took us a slightly more circuitous route than the posts in the end,
but it was worth it for the security of knowing where we were going. To
help out anyone else about to walk this section, we discovered that the
signposted path left the park at the back left hand side.
A stiff climb bought you up to the top of a golf course, and here again
the signposts and book were deceptive (unfortunately we failed to stick
to the map which once again was correct!). The signs said straight on.
The book said head to the left of a small grove of trees (which also led
us straight on). Following these, we were alerted by a shout of "fore"
which helped us dodge a pretty decent looking drive along the fairway.
This was our first hint that we might not be on the path. Our second was
when we reached the woods on the far side, there were no LOOP signs and
the paths there didn't remotely correlate with the description in the
book.
We returned to the group of golfers whose shot we had nearly terminally
interrupted, and asked their advice. In the circumstances they were very
friendly. They didn't actually know for sure where the path went, but
said they'd seen some signs further down the course that might help. They
were right - the path actually went to the right of our initial small
grove and then to the left of another much larger grove, and descended
the golf course through the centre of some pretty skanky woods. I'm a
big fan of walking through the soft grass and open spaces of golf courses,
so this was a disappointment.
We left the golf course through farmland, which contrasted nicely with
the tower blocks of Romford briefly visible in the distance. After about
a mile the path turned left and started to climb. Just before we turned
right off this path into Havering Country Park, we turned round to savour
a stunning view over London - we had not seen it's ilk since Croydon,
way back on day 2. The skies had cleared and, despite only being at an
altitude of 55m, Canary Wharf and the Erotic Gherkin were clearly visible
amongst London's distinctive skyline. What a shame the camera had died…
There was a good bench here, but neither of us fancied a break yet.
The gentle climb continued through the Country Park, taking a kilometre
to double our altitude. Leaving the Country Park, we decided that tea
had arrived and were fortunate, after having ignored two benches on the
climb, to find another with nice views over open valleys just as we required
it. We were certainly being lucky with our stops today.
As we sat supping our brew, we discovered that we were overlooking a
riding school. A bunch of budding 12 year old jockeys poured out into
a yard below and started cantering around - this was without horses, mind!
Nearby there were sawing noises and occasional cracking branches, presumable
from a tree surgeon (how are they different to lumberjacks?). Then there
was an especially large crack and the sawing noises stopped. The youngsters
all rushed to the fence and shouted helpful things like "did that
big branch fall on your head and kill you? Are you okay, Mr Tree Man?"
Once we were reassured that Mr Tree Man was indeed okay, we continued
on our way into the village of Havering-atte-Bower.
The walking positions were now reversed. My headache had gone, &
I felt fitter and faster than I had all day. Jim on the other hand was
distinctly tired and had descended into a slow and weary trudge - a fact
that made me feel even fitter and happier in comparison!
I was to experience great disappointment here. A photo in the book showed
a lovely little wooden cottage that had an external postbox designed as
an exact scale replica of the house itself. We found the house, but the
postbox had gone - the owner had obviously got fed up with people taking
photos.
Another hidden alley lead us out towards Pyrgo Park, which was a pretty
nice place to be and yet almost strangely devoid of people.
The first field was huge, and we had to walk most of the way around the
edge of it. Off to the right was a tall round white house, looking something
like a stubby rocket. The book unfortunately did not enlighten us as to
its origin, and as it was on private land we were unable to ascertain
this ourselves. It's a nice unusual building to look at though.
The path ascended a lovely ridge. At the top it was big skies and open
grassland, my very favourite type of walking. It would have been nice
to have continued along the edge of the ridge, but the path designer had
decided instead on a pointless diversion. For no reason at all the LOOP
headed northwards for a kilometre through some fairly unremarkable fields,
then turned sharply south (the end of our long eastward march that started
at Harefield on Day 5, and the start of our southwards trek back to the
Thames) to rejoin the ridge path as it started to descend into Harold
Wood.
It has to be said, the path through Harold Wood could have been a lot
worse. What little we saw of it looked like a particularly grotty area
of cheap and dirty housing. The locals we saw wandering around seemed
to support this theory - shell suits, baseball caps, white stilletoes
and rottweillers seemed the norm.
Fortunately the Carter Brook, surrounded by parkland, runs smack through
the middle of it, and the LOOP follows this for the last couple of miles.
Jim was pretty shattered now, almost to the point of hobbling. I felt
great, I couldn't understand it - in total contravention of the laws of
hiking and common sense I had felt better with each mile we walked!
Harold Wood is easy to motivate yourself in - you just tick off the roads
you encounter. Five roads bridge the brook within the park, and the sixth
road takes you to the station which is - astonishingly - actually on the
LOOP!
All in all this was a great day's walking, almost entirely rural, with
little roadwalking, and plenty of interest. I would recommend it to anyone.
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