Introduction.

It had been 3 months since we’d last walked the Ridgeway, and Jus, Cat & Jim had all been pushing me to get on and organise the next bit (I had been a bit pre-occupied with decorating our new nursery). The August Bank Holiday seemed the perfect opportunity. Heavy showers were forecast, but Cat now seemed to have overcome her fear of rain and was well up for it.

We asked Mark along again, but he said that he’d be washing his hair. Possibly he was put off by the news that this was one of the longest sections of the trail, with a load of ascent squeezed into the second half. Bearing this in mind, we met slightly earlier than normal in a deserted Wendover before heading back to Watlington Hill Road in my car.

Watlington Hill Road to Lodge Hill

I was a bit nervous about parking on Watlington Hill Road. We parked on the verge immediately east of the Ridgeway. Right in front of me was a sign banning parking on the road beyond; in both directions the Ridgeway forebode parking, and behind me large houses seemed to frown upon the very idea of parking in front of them. It seemed that the one-car-length section of verge I was on was the only available option, short of returning to the car park in Watlington itself and adding a fair amount of tarmac walking to our journey. Still, needs must, and at least we were off the road and not blocking any access.

Above us a huge white scar had been cut into the hillside. Apparently an 18th century local by the name of Mr Horne felt somewhat aggrieved that his church did not have a spire and decided to cut a spire shape into the chalky Watlington Hill to make up for it.

The early part of today’s march looked exceptionally easy on the map, with the first six or seven miles running in a straight line along the base of the Chilterns whilst barely crossing a single contour. The Ridgeway was completely failing to live up to its name. We set off at a fast pace, slowed neither by the blackberries (which have been small and tasteless this year), nor by the views (as the track was low and tree-lined there simply weren’t any). Jim threw a crab apple at me and caught me right on the noggin – he claimed he had been aiming to miss, but based on the available evidence I was disinclined to believe him.

Although not officially open to motorised traffic, I had been afraid that, following recent rain this section would have been churned up by 4x4’s. Fortunately most drivers seemed to have obeyed the signs at the start, and despite a few motorcycle tracks the path was largely unmuddied. Maybe they had just not bothered driving on it because it was dull. Jus and Cat seemed to be enjoying walking along the wooded lane, but I felt frustrated at the lack of open skies and views. I was glad when we emerged from the trees a little before the M40 and saw to our right the lovely grassy combe below Bald Hill. Jim and I had walked here before. Bald Hill was the highest point in Oxfordshire prior to the boundary change that bought Whitehorse Hill into the county, and we’d therefore visited it as part of our county tops challenge. If you fancy a diversion from the Ridgeway there’s a sculpture trail on the summit. The sculptures go in for bizarre and sometimes disturbing rather than large or impressive – a torn, bloodstained and grafitti’d wedding dress hanging in a tree stuck in my mind.

Crossing the M4 earlier on the trail had felt like a bit of the milestone. There was no such elation on crossing the M40 – you pass underneath it through an ugly concrete underpass, hearing rather than seeing the traffic. This is unfortunate, for a view of the M40 here would reveal what must be one of the most impressive sections of motorway in the country; the road carves its way down through the Chilterns escarpment in a deep and winding cutting.

Soon after the M40 we crossed its pre-motorway counterpart, the A40. Traffic was virtually non-existent – it would have been hard to imagine the chaos if today’s M40 traffic was suddenly diverted back onto this road if, as a local, I hadn’t already seen this happen!

Beyond the road the way was partially blocked by a gate that appeared to have been mounted upside-down – we assumed that the lowered central portion allowed horses to jump over whilst preventing vehicular access. Beyond here the trail continued much the same as before – straight, level, wide and tree-lined, making for very easy but rather dull walking (although Cat and Jus seemed to enjoy it). Between the trees we did catch a glimpse of Chinnor cement works, and soon after (by diverting slightly off of the path to the right) looked down into the depths of a huge quarry pit with patches of water in the bottom. Red kites wheeled surreally dozens of feet below us, presumably waiting for the waterfowl at the bottom to die so they could pick at the carcasses.

In Chinnor you can catch the restored Icknield Line steam railway. At present it just runs a few miles to Princes Risborough and back (you’re not currently allowed to get off at the far end). The prices are steep for such a short journey, but at least you know that your fare may eventually help more of this line to reopen – who knows, at some point it may be long enough to actually be useful again.

This banal (in my opinion) straight section finally ended at the tiny hamlet of Hempton Wainhill, where we left Oxfordshire and entered Buckinghamshire, the fourth county on the trail. Astonishingly, a sign instructed us to turn right. It was well that you had this practise turn though, for after a few more wiggles of the usual tree-lined track the Ridgeway bore off of the track, over an easy-to-miss stile and into an open field. If we hadn’t been paying close attention we could easily have missed the turn – beware! The map (although oddly not the text) in the book “The Greater Ridgeway” cheats a bit at this point, taking the Icknield Way instead to cut a large looping corner off of the Ridgeway. We of course stuck to the “official” National Trail route, although I had a sneaking suspicion that the route of the ancient Ridgeway would certainly have taken the short cut too.

After the stifling tree-lined track so far, I was pleased to be back in the open, and to feel a gentle breeze on my face, wandering easily around a grassy hillside between grazing cows, with a hedge to our left. After unexpectedly switching to the other side of the hedge, we crossed a minor road and followed the trail through the centre of harvested cornfields. Here Jim did something that he claimed he’d always wanted to do – he jumped up on top of a large round straw bale and tried to “walk” it down the hill.

Entering the nest field the trail makes another surprise right turn and makes a moderate ascent through woodland to the summit of Lodge Hill. Jim and I had been here before, and I knew it would be a good lunch stop. Cat & Jus protested, pointing out that we were not quite half way through the walk yet. However, once I had shown them that – according to the map – there were no better lunch stops for many a long mile, they grudgingly agreed.

Lodge Hill to The Plough at Lower Cadsden

To be quite honest, it shouldn’t need any encouragement to stop here, for it’s a truly beautiful place. This short ridge forms a bijou standalone hill; capped with grassland with the occasional scattered cluster of bushes, it offered a splendid all-round panorama. For me, it was also a bit of a watershed; this was the closest point on the trail to my house, and from here on I would be heading away from home. We chose a sunny spot hidden from the path and laid back to enjoy our lunch in one of the nicest spots on the trail. We wondered if Lodge Hill was the reason that the modern Ridgeway makes the aforementioned detour south; it was certainly worth the extra walk.

For all their initial reluctance Jus & Cat showed a distinct reluctance to move on after lunch; that is, until a spider crawled up Justin’s trousers. Now Justin has a huge and irrational fear of spiders, and performed a most amusing dance for us, trying to remove his zip-off trouser legs whilst at the same time prevent the spider moving its way up to more, ahem, vulnerable areas. Needless to say he didn’t discover the wee beastie, and continued to pat ineffectively at himself as we headed eastwards off the far end of the ridge. Soon he could no longer cope with his arachnophobia, and headed off into the undergrowth so that he could remove ALL his clothes to check them for spiders! I still don’t think he found it, and as we eventually got the walk underway again we tried to entertain him with stories of spiders building nests in, ahem, warm damp crevices!

Crossing another road, we found ourselves heading through a golf course that looked like it would be rather nice once all the trees were fully mature. I usually love walking on paths across the soft, green, open grass of golf courses, but here the trail was heavily segregated from the fairways, and delivered us unceremoniously to one track of a railway. The crossing was one of those where, despite no indication whatsoever of an approaching train, you always hover uncertainly at the edge for a few moments before making a fast, nervy crossing.

A short climb later we came to the other track of the same line, which for reasons best known to the designer takes its a separate route to the other track here. The trail goes over the top of the short Saunderton tunnel; looking to our right you could see the impressive cutting leading into the tunnel. We couldn’t help wondering if it wouldn’t have been simpler for this track just to have stuck with the other one...

We had greatly enjoyed the last few miles; unfortunately the trail now fought back with a mile of road walking. Just before we joined the busy A4010 there was an unexplained marquee on an exposed hilltop to the right, but otherwise it was just traffic noise all the way. Jim and I knew from the LOOP how to cope with these irksome interludes; we picked up the pace, and belted out a lusty rendition of “Seven Drunken Nights” by the Dubliners. When we finally turned off, I don’t know if Jus & Cat were more pleased by the end of the traffic noise or the singing!

The National Trail reaches the edge of the small town of Princes Risborough (named for the Black Prince, son of Edward III, who had a palace and land here) before turning thankfully off the A4010 onto Upper Icknield Way. If you were tired at this point, you could actually turn off the A4010 one footpath earlier to cut a corner – we of course stuck assiduously to the exact trail route!

Upper Icknield Way swiftly degenerated into a track running round the outskirts of the town, passing a heavily fortified school – we weren’t sure if the high fences were to prevent intruders getting in or to stop pupils escaping. Eventually the trail escaped from these urban environs and turned sharply uphill through steep woodland (here again the book “The Greater Ridgeway” had correct text, but an incorrect line on the map). Now I discovered exactly how unfit I was. Due to my aversion to hot weather I had avoided exercise (and indeed direct sunlight!) for the recent two month heatwave, and I laboured mightily up the slope. I even dropped behind Justin, who I can normally rely on to make me look good! The reward for our labours, once we were clear of the trees, was a grand view back from whence we’d come, and – more importantly from my red-faced, breathless point of view – a bench.

We turned left across the trench-laden hilltop (ancient works...?), eventually coming to a road. Crossing the road bought us to a car park and picnic site; we thought about stopping here for our afternoon break, but decided to push on to the next picnic site on the map, a kilometre further on. We could tell we were in Sunday afternoon strolling territory now – the woodland path was wide, gravelled and level, and we made good time. We soon came to an open grassy area offering more splendid views, and we assumed that this was the next picnic site. Unfortunately there were no picnic benches, and so we pushed onwards, galloping down a dirt track at high speed.
At the bottom of the hill was a pub called the Plough, with a beer garden, where a tired Justin insisted we stopped. Jim and I rarely frequent pubs mid-trail, if merely due to the fear that our malodorous whiff would cause the departure of other patrons (alcohol-induced dehydration is also a factor). This pub caused us less worries though – first of all, we could sit outside, and secondly the landlords were very amenable to walkers, even providing plastic bags that you could put on over your walking boots whilst you walked around inside. Jus and Cat seemed to have come round to mine & Jim’s way of thinking on dehydration, and it was soft drinks all round. We chose to sit in the garden though, and had to huddle in close under the table umbrella when an unexpected but thankfully brief squally shower arrived.

The Plough at Lower Cadsden to Wendover

The brief shower was followed by leaden skies with the promise of further rain, and as we left the pub the sun and warmth of Lodge Hill seemed a distant memory. We immediately had a small hill to climb through woodland, but after our pub break I had no trouble with this ascent. Coming into the open at the top we could see the steep Pulpit Hill ahead, which despite being heavily wooded was clearly surmounted by the remains or a hill fort – fortunately the Ridgeway doesn’t pass over this formidable barrier!

We soon found ourselves walking through a narrow strip of grassland above an impressively deep combe (“Happy Valley” on the map). I thought this was one of the most beautiful sections of the whole trail – I’ll definitely come back and explore this area more in the future. The loose gravel on the winding path had become very slippery in the rain, and a lady in a passing group of walkers went base over apex in a most impressive fashion. I checked she was okay, but couldn’t help notice that she was wearing smooth-soled shoes which were clearly unsuitable even for such a tame route as this.

Unfortunately our enjoyment (of the scenery, rather than another walker’s misfortune) was quickly spoiled by another shower – this one torrential and prolonged. Waterproofs and turtles were quickly donned, and the walk proceeded as a heads-down, let’s get to the end trudge. Matters were not improved when Chequers, the Prime Minister’s traditional country retreat, came into sight half a mile or so ahead, nestled into a typical Chilterns “dry” valley. Whilst rain continued to spatter our glasses and seep into our socks, Chequers was clearly bathed in sunshine. Does this maybe disprove the maxim that the sun shines on the righteous?!

Jim and I had walked across here before several years previously, and it was therefore left to Justin to express surprise at the fact that, in these days of heightened security and ridiculously over-the-top ministerial privileges, walkers were still allowed so close to Chequers. Not only is the brick-built mansion clearly visible behind a low screen of trees, but the Ridgeway then proceeds to run straight across the estate grounds. Admittedly it’s very close to the edge of the grounds (running close to the sturdy gatehouses) and is overlooked by banks of security cameras, but it does cross the beech-lined main driveway. For a prime minister who has such an over-inflated sense of his own importance that he considers it necessary to close down half of London every time he drives to work, this degree of freedom for walkers seemed astonishing!

We escaped the grounds of Chequers without anything nasty happening to us (like being forced into an orange jump suit and incarcerated without trial), and entering woodland began our final climb of the day. It was an easy one, and before long we turned left to run along the crest of ridge. Unfortunately, due to the thick woodland there was no sense of altitude or views. Crossing the road marked on the OS maps as Lodge Hill there was a brief lack of trail signage, but we soon managed to pick it up again and quickly emerged on the open top of Coombe Hill.

I’d been here several times before – it is, after all one of the most popular spots in the Chilterns. It has fantastic views out over the Vale of Aylesbury and an impressive monument (with 4 sub-monuments at the corners) to the men who fought in the Boer War. It was also the highest point on the trail since day 2, and the highest part of the Ridgeway north of the Thames. Even on what had become a damp, breezy and surprisingly cold day it was busy up here with kite and model aircraft fliers, walkers and other hill-dwelling types. We stayed long enough for a quick muesli bar before Justin, now chilled and tired, insisted on pushing on.

It was an easy stroll down the gentle slope to the east of Coombe Hill, and then down a minor road into Wendover. I had thought that we would have tea and cake in “Le Petit Café”, which I’d enjoyed on a previous visit. Cat and Jim had a mug of hot chocolate in a chocolate shop there (“well nice” was the verdict) whilst Jus & I went to retrieve my car. We met back at a pub called the Shoulder of Mutton, at the top of the High Street. It was a thoroughly nice pub, and I’d strongly recommend it – all the dark wood and nooks and crannies that you expect of a “proper” pub, and not a hint of theme pub about it. The menu looked pretty enticing too, and we decided that we would return here after the final section for a celebratory meal.

Although the first section had been rather uninspiring, overall I’d had a great days walking – I though that the section above Happy Valley was the nicest bit of the trail so far. Superfit Jim, who had as usual spent much of the day striding ahead of the rest of us, gave his normal understated response of “it was a pleasant little stroll”. Cathy seems to go from strength to strength with each walk, and enthused at length about the trail – such a difference from her sufferings on the early sections. Justin though, had had a terrible day – his feet were blistered, and when I asked him a week or so later for his thoughts on the day he said, “I was dead for most of it. My only memory is of the sun shining on Chequers whilst it rained on me”.

The one thing we all agreed enthusiastically on was that the sixth and final section couldn’t come quick enough – we were all thoroughly looking forward to a happy celebration on Ivinghoe Beacon, and in the Shoulder of Mutton afterwards.

Previous | Introduction | Next