Introduction.

So, the final stint. Jim and I were about to complete our second long distance path (after the LOOP the previous year); for Jus and Cat it would be their first. The forecast was for a warm sunny day, and we couldn’t wait to start getting the miles under our boots (although I had my usual reservations about how my heatstroke-prone body would cope in the heat).

Today’s walk would be the shortest of the six we had taken to complete the trail (I reckon you could do it in 4 days without too much difficulty though). As a result, we agreed to meet up at 10am, an hour later than normal. Looking at the maps, it seemed that once again the trail got progressively more hilly as it went on, but in compensation it looked pleasantly varied and with good views. It seemed we had a cracking days walking ahead (and a lie-in to boot!)

Wendover to Tring Park

We met at the large car park on the minor road directly south of Ivinghoe Beacon, and then piled into one car to return to the car park off Wendover High Street, where we had finished section 5 of the trail less than three weeks before. The Wendover car park was filling up with super-fit lycra-clad types, who piled out of their cars, had a bit of a chat, and then started doing various limbering-up (read: posing in a sporty stance) exercises. They then all abruptly got back into their cars and left. We wondered if that was their exercise done for the week, or if they would head off to another inspiring car park for their next set of stretches. For our part we decided to exercise in a more comely setting, and set off on the Ridgeway.

The Ridgeway follows the majority of our National Trails in generally trying to stay as far away from human habitation as possible, but makes an exception to head through the centre of Wendover. The London LOOP had proved to us that urban areas can actually provide a lot of variety and enjoyment, and Wendover, the biggest settlement on the Ridgeway, offered additional evidence for this school of thought. It’s a lovely little redbrick town where – rare in this day and age – most of the shops are independent. If they’d been open and I hadn’t been here before I’d have certainly wanted to spend a bit of time exploring (perhaps concentrating my attentions on the chocolaterie that Jim and Cat had visited at the end of the previous walk!).

Maybe the most impressive building in town is the brick clock tower at the bottom of the High Street, which houses the tourist information centre. The trail turns right and heads down a path leading to a narrow strip of parkland bounded to the left by a tiny stream. Some of the houses beyond had little bridges over the stream from their back gates and I was jealous – it was almost like having your own moat (personally I’d have gone for the full drawbridge rather than just a plank though). This pleasant grassy area was certainly a nice break from the open downs and woods of the rest of the trail, and once again underlined the inherent variety of urban walking.

This path, so different from the rest of the trail, led us to Wendover’s main church, situated a surprising distance from the town centre – it must have a fitter congregation than your average ecclesiastical centre. The Ridgeway took the minor road to the left of the church, soon after passing an apparent school building with disproportionately large spacing between the floors – we assumed it must have formerly had an industrial use.

We continued on up the road, which degraded to a track as it passed a couple of farms, and then as it entered woodland swung left onto a wide path. The woods here were dense, dark and full of some of the most spectacular spider webs we’d ever seen. It put me in mind of Mirkwood, from Tolkien’s “The Hobbit”. Jim and I examined them closely, whilst Jus & his arachnophobia hurried on ahead.

We found them waiting at a path junction where the trail turned diagonally up the hillside on a route that had recently been rebuilt to high standard to stave off erosion. At the top off the slope the woodland was lighter, dappled sunshine shone through the leaves, and the walking was altogether pleasant. Ahead another hiker with a hefty backpack was managing to stay just ahead of us, although we were gradually catching him.

We crossed a minor road and re-entered woodland. After a few hundred yards, we came upon the heavily encumbered hiker standing at a crossing-path looking somewhat perplexed at the lack of Ridgeway signs. His bewilderment was understandable, for in the whole trail there had been less than half a dozen occasions when the direction had not been obvious, and possibly only one previous time when there hadn’t been a signpost to guide you through these difficulties.

The other hiker turned out to be a friendly gentleman of Asian ancestry with a magnificent beard and a full-on Brummie accent. He had started out from Princes Risborough this morning, and was, like us, heading to Ivinghoe Beacon. This was his only day of walking; we didn’t like to ask why he was carrying so much kit. The bedding roll could conceivably have been a top-grade prayer mat, but we couldn’t believe he needed such a large and clearly heavy rucksack for a single day. Perhaps he was just a very hungry fellow!

We compared maps, and discussed the route we would take. The decision was complicated somewhat because our Aurum Press guide appeared to offer a choice of two routes; the text advising us to turn left and the map showing the route heading straight on. In the absence of signs, we decided to take the left turn; the four of us leaving the hirsute hiker well behind as we galloped down the steep hill with whoops of joy. These turned to panted swearwords as we turned right at the bottom and started to follow the deep trench of the Icknield Way back up the hillside. Near the top we were joined by the path that had headed straight on at the crossroads; in retrospect this would have been a quicker and easier way, but I think that the way we went was actually the correct National Trail route.

Jim and I recognised the next road crossing; we’d been here before when we’d bagged the highest point in Buckinghamshire (also the highest point of the Chilterns), which lies less than a mile north up the road. It’s marked by a large inscribed rock, which is hidden in woodland beside a car park and is quite hard to find without a GPS.

The Ridgeway itself continued into a field opposite, which was a welcome relief after the dense woodland we’d just ascended through. We celebrated our emergence into sunshine with a brief snack, during which time the bewhiskered Brummie passed us again. We nodded hellos and said we’d no doubt see him again later. Jim and I had experienced this passing and re-passing of fellow hikers regularly on the South West Coast Path, but it was the first time it had happened on the seemingly less-walked Ridgeway.

After circumnavigating a huge group of Rambler’s Association types sporting their compulsory uniform of red socks and map cases, we came to an enclosure filled with an agricultural museum’s worth of rusting farm equipment. One particular piece was crowned by a frightening array of spikes, and looked worryingly like a medieval torture device. Hurrying away before anyone tried to use it on us, we passed an ugly radio mast and walked down a road for a short distance before turning off into Pavis Wood. We were very lucky – the road was due to be closed for tree-felling and it would have been a lengthy diversion to avoid it.

After an easy stomp through level woodland, we emerged at a road corner. Again, Jim and I had been here before, as it represented the somewhat disappointing highest point of Hertfordshire. We now had to endure a long section of road walking through the hamlet of Hastoe, passing along the way several large groups of exhausted teenagers collapsed at the roadside. We wondered if they were doing their Duke of Edinburgh’s award. It was good to see them out in the countryside, rather than vandalising bus stops!

Eventually we were able to follow a track into Tring Park (the brown Cicerone Guide, “The Greater Ridgeway” again wanders off course at this point, but the Aurum Press guide closely follows the signs on the ground). The OS map shows the Ridgeway running along the top of a steep escarpment; we hoped for some good views, but were frustrated by thick woodland.

According to the guidebooks, these woods are the only pace in Britain where you can see the Edible Dormouse or Glis Glis, and are also home to large numbers of deer. Unfortunately we saw neither. What we did see was the Midlander with the magnificent beard, crashed out at the side of the path enjoying an enormous repast. He clearly hadn’t seen the bench a couple of hundred yards further on with resplendent views across the lower reaches of Tring Park and the Vale of Aylesbury. We had been planning to have lunch by the Grand Union Canal but this opportunity was too good to miss. When our sometimes companion finally finished his lunch and came past he did seem rather aggrieved that he’d failed to find the bench! I’d recommend finding it, as there are very few other viewpoints along this section of the path.

Wendover to Tring Park

Eventually the Ridgeway leaves Tring Park, crosses a minor road and enters agricultural land. Here stood a trig point, which Jim, Cat and Jus all ascended in turn. For my part, I didn’t because I was feeling a bit weird. I had a headache, felt somewhat dazed, queasy and completely lacking in energy. It felt like I was starting to suffer from heatstroke, but it never normally made me feel as drained as this. By the middle of the following week (by which time I was forced to take time off work) it had become clear that it was actually the onset of some nasty flu-ey type bug. For the time being though, I simply toiled onwards.

The Chiltern Hills are notable for their “gap towns”; long straggling settlements that developed where trade routes passed through lower parts of the hill range. We were approaching one of these natural corridors now; at Tring the Grand Union Canal, a railway and the A41 all took advantage of a dip in the hills (although all three still require deep cuttings to make their way through). The Ridgeway crosses the gap a mile or so east of Tring. We descended through a field strewn with broken trees to reach a sloping bridge high above the A41 dual carriageway cutting. Justin gently talked Cat’s vertigo across whilst Jim and I submitted huge overestimates in the “guess how many cars will pass underneath in 30 seconds” game.

The Ridgeway crossed the original route of the A41 (now the quiet A4251), and then followed a pleasant sandy ride further downhill to reach the Grand Union Canal. We were now very glad we’d had lunch in Tring Park rather than here, for rather than the expected airy waterway filled with pleasure boats, the Grand Union Canal was dank and gloomy,

We followed a road up the other side of the “gap” and soon came to the final transport component, the railway. The station here is tiny but surrounded by huge car parks – unsurprising when you consider that the station is bizarrely situated almost two miles from the town centre. The old station hotel nearby seemed to being converted into flats, denying the rather desperate Cat the chance of using the loos there.

It had been an interesting transport-orientated interlude, where we had seen the historical progression from road to canal to rail and back to road (plus we’d walked on footpaths and bridleways. However, it was time to return to what the Ridgeway does best – grand vistas from chalk downs. After a brief dangerous flirtation with speeding traffic on a busy minor road, the Ridgeway turns off to the left to reclaim the escarpment via a climb through ancient woodland containing many a gnarled old tree.

I now really began to suffer. In addition to the headache, I was now shaking; I had a cold sweat and barely the energy to place one foot in front of the other. Despite this I was still labouring under the impression it was just heatstroke and (as I had in the past) I would with sufficient hydration (and maybe the odd tactical chunder) be able to walk through it. I was lagging badly behind the others, but fortunately they waited for me at the top of the hill. When I eventually arrived they agreed I did not look in good shape. I flopped onto a tree stump and knocked back a mix of isotonic drink, water and ibuprofen, which failed to help in the slightest. My recollections of the remainder of the walk may therefore be a little hazy to say the least.

Much to my fevered brow and trembling legs’ relief the next section was level and passed through cool woodland. Gradually, though, the trees thinned to take us onto a grassy hillside (Pitstone Hill) corrugated with ancient earthworks, some of which were a continuation of the “Grim’s Ditch” boundary that we’d seen more extensively on day 4 of the trail. The views were good enough to demand that you stop awhile to take them in, with the National Trust-owned Pitstone Windmill in the foreground and the Vale of Aylesbury once again stretching out into the far distance. The others paused to have a drink and take it all in; I (once I’d caught them up) simply trudged past, trying to avoid looking at the stunning but worryingly hilly escarpment leading to Ivinghoe Beacon and the end of our walk.

The others quickly caught me up and left me behind again, with me feeling like I was holding them up. Coming off Pitstone Hill we accidentally left the Ridgeway, albeit briefly. There’s a small 202m summit shown on the OS map, and we headed straight over the top of it – the Ridgeway strangely skulks around the back of it. I felt our route was rather better!

We’d been seeing increased numbers of other walkers over the last half a mile or so, and found out why as we rejoined the Ridgeway at a car park. Crossing a road, we joined on the busiest section of the trail so far. It was no surprising though – the ascent up and around the magnificent Incombe Hole is an exemplary example of the scenery of south-eastern England. Unless you’re suffering from flu, in which case it’s just a tiresome slog.

Scrubby woodland led us back to the road on which we’d parked, but we continued on up the very last half kilometre of the Ridgeway National Trail. The others were once again well ahead, and branched the main trail to sunbathe on a subsidiary hill to the left. When I caught up, I didn’t go to join them but instead continued my measured trudge to Ivinghoe Beacon. Jim caught up with me and we finished the trail at the Ivinghoe Beacon trig point together, with Jus and Cat arriving a couple of minutes afterwards. I collapsed on the grass with my hat over my face.

It was maybe 45 minutes before I’d recovered enough to take any interest in proceedings, which fortunately was just in time to see the spectacle of Jim and Cat both trying (successfully!) to get on the trig point at the same time. We wondered if perhaps there is a record for the number of people you can get on top of a trig point?

Ivinghoe Beacon is a splendid place to spend a sunny afternoon (in fact, it’s not a bad place to recover from a new year hangover, as I’d found out with some friends a few years previously!). The summit is grassy, but pleasantly small and convex compared to other hilltops in the region, allowing for good views in all directions. A topograph pointed out the main features. South west was the beautiful escarpment edge we’d just walked. North west were once again the wide lowlands of the Vale of Aylesbury. But best of all, to the north east was the white lion of Whipsnade Zoo, dramatically carved into the chalk hillside of the rolling Dunstable Downs.

With such a panorama available, and parking nearby, it was no wonder that the hilltop was heaving. Children ran about all over the place, kites flapped and model aircraft droned overhead, and couples curled up together in slightly more secluded spots away from the centre. Despite the hustle and bustle, it still felt a congenial and relaxed place to be.

My only complaint would be that it’s a bit of a “middle of nowhere” place for a National Trail to end. There’s no “end of the trail” sign, there’s no sense of having actually finished a trail. I can quite understand why people have created the coast-to-coast “Greater Ridgeway” so that you start and finish more meaningfully at the coast. For our part, however, we had to turn tail and head back the way we’d come to reach the car.

Epilogue

On our way back to the car we saw something absolutely disgraceful on the next hillside, the one below the car park. Someone had let their greyhound into a field of sheep, and it was quite literally running amok, with panicking sheep running in all directions. The owner had climbed over the fence to catch it, but – unbelievably – had bought their other mutt in with them, which now also started to chase sheep. By the time that they managed to catch the greyhound, it had already brought down and – we think – killed one sheep. Other people around us were also looking on in horror. By the time we got back to the car park it was too late to do anything, the despicable owner had already scarpered. I understand that farmers are allowed to shoot any dogs seen worrying sheep. However, it’s not the dog’s fault, it’s in their nature to chase things. Perhaps the government should give serious consideration to allowing the farmer to shoot the irresponsible owner in these circumstances…?

As we were changing out of our boots at the car, we were glad to see our hirsute companion toil into the car park. Somehow we must have managed to overtake him again, although we hadn’t seen him – perhaps he took a wrong turn.

We drove back to Wendover to meet my now heavily pregnant wife for a celebratory nosh-up at the Shoulder of Mutton. We all went for traditional, calorie-laden, beef-orientated, post-walk fare – my delicious steak-and-ale pie together with a good pint of real ale seemed to offset my flu symptoms for a while. Over steaming plates in a darkened corner we, as usual, discussed the day’s walking, possibly looking like a group of unusually sweaty conspirators.

Justin and Cat were understandably elated at finishing their first long distance footpath. For Jim and I though it was a more muted feeling of joy. Possibly this was in part due to the fact that it was our second one, and you’re never going to be as ecstatic the second time around. Maybe it was because we both felt that the Ridgeway was simply not as interesting as our previous trail, the London LOOP, but I think it was also because there was no sense of closure or completion. On the LOOP you finish within sight of the start, just the Thames Estuary preventing you from having gone full circle. On the Ridgeway, which effectively starts and finishes in the middle of nowhere, you finish it thinking “now I need to go on and do the Wessex Ridgeway, Icknield Way and Peddars Way to complete the whole Greater Ridgeway route. In fact, it leaves one unsatisfied and itching to go further.

Jus and Cat had most enjoyed the wooded sections of the Chilterns, although I felt that, certainly in Cat’s case, this opinion might have been influenced by it having been warmer when we walked those. For me, the Ridgeway was all about high, open hillsides, big views, Neolithic sites and a cool breeze – I felt these had been best epitomised by the sections on the North Wessex Downs. I felt that the trail had lost a lot of its unifying characteristics as it passed into the Chilterns. Jim offered his usual lugubrious “it was all alright I suppose” when asked for an opinion. One thing we were all agreed on was that the final three miles to Ivinghoe Beacon (even through my flu-induced torpor) had been sensational. I’d therefore agree with the Arum Press guidebook’s opinion that the trail is best walked west-to-east, saving the best bit for last. I’d add a word of warning though, that you might want to consider walking the entire Greater Ridgeway instead, to avoid the disappointment that Jim and I felt on finishing this trail.

The meal was also a farewell to serious hiking for a while. With a baby due in less than a month, I want to spend as much time as possible with my new family – plus sleepless nights will no doubt mean that I’ll be a gibbering wreck and not up to doing walks any longer than ten minutes round the block with a pushchair! Nevertheless, Jim and I are already discussing our next challenge, which we’ll possibly start next spring – we’re thinking maybe the Capital Ring would provide a series of easy one-day walks, which wouldn’t leave my wife alone with the baby for too long. Cat and Jus don’t seem too keen on an urban long-distance path, despite all our superlatives about the LOOP, but maybe we can talk them round by next spring!

Postscript

Baby Emily was born on 23 October 2006. I’m already trying to get her to love the outdoors by taking her out in the pushchair as much as possible, but it just seems to send her to sleep (no bad thing, I can tell you!). My parents-in-law bought me one of those rucksack-baby-carrier things, and although she can’t go in it until she’s 6 months old, I’m already looking forward to the day when I can take her up her first marilyn or county top!

Until next Spring and the Capital Ring, farewell!

Previous | Introduction