On
Saturday, I pulled on my trusty hiking boots for the
first time since last
Spring and headed back out on the
Tunbridge Wells
Circular Walk. Last year I’d set myself the relatively easy task of completing
this
28 mile walk which, as its name suggests, encompasses the town of
Tunbridge Wells. On the way, the
TWCW passes through the
High Weald Area of
Outstanding Natural Beauty, and takes in some attractive villages, which
include some excellent pubs. A guide book, published by the
Kent Ramblers
Association, divides the trail up into four sections of slightly equal length,
with the opportunity of dividing these further. Being a circular route, there
are opportunities to join the path at a number of different locations, whilst
keeping in mind public transport connections at either end.
It should have been an easy task, after all when a friend
and I walked the South Downs Way, we were covering distances between 12 and 14
miles, on a daily basis. That was 14 years ago, and unsurprisingly my levels of
fitness and stamina have declined somewhat, but even so, just a couple of years
ago, I was walking 8 to eleven miles a day, as I completed the quite
challenging at times, North Downs Way.
By the end of
May, last year, I’d only completed two of the
four sections (
15 miles) of the
Tunbridge Wells Circular, before inexplicably
losing interest in the walk. The guidebook was partly to blame, as I took
several wrong turns due to a combination of poor signposting, plus scant, and
in some cases, incomplete information in the guidebook. Becoming lost in the
middle of a wood, is no fun, even though civilisation is never that far away,
so I kind of gave up on the
TWC – not completely, but the idea was definitely
put on the back-burner.
This weekend though, I was determined to do something about
it, and following a couple of weeks of dry and relatively warm weather – for the
time of year, was determined to do something about it. Up to this point, I had
walked in a clockwise direction, from Southborough to Frant, taking in the
large village of Pembury on the way. The next stage is from Frant to
Groombridge, a distance of just seven miles, although given my decreased levels
of fitness, plus the possibility of muddy conditions under foot, I sensibly
decided to cut the walk short at Eridge Green. This isn’t quite the halfway
point, but with a half-hourly bus service back to Tunbridge Wells, it did make
sense. So, on a rather dull and overcast Saturday morning, off I went, taking
the bus over to Tunbridge Wells from Tonbridge.
I was lucky with my onward connection to
Frant, having just
a
15-minute wait, and after a short ride south, out of
Tunbridge Wells along
the
A267, the
No. 15 bus dropped me off almost out side the
Abergavenny Arms.
This imposing pub, dates from the
15th Century, but has seen many alterations
since first opening its rooms. It is one of two pubs in the village, but seeing
as it was both nearer to the starting point of the walk, and the fact I wanted
to renew my acquaintance with the pub, the
Abergavenny was my first port of call.
There will be more about the
Abergavenny in a subsequent
post, and the same applies with the strangely named,
Nevill Crest & Gun at
the end of the walk in
Eridge. For now, I want to concentrate on the walk, apart
from saying that the walk I was about to undertake, was a repeat of the one I
made with a group of friends, on
August Bank Holiday Monday, 2020. This was during
the period when
COVID restrictions were first lifted, only to be re-imposed three month's later
with that ridiculous
4-Tier system, devised by the hapless
Matt Hancock. The bonus,
at the time was our meal qualified for a
50% reduction, under the then
Chancellor, Rishi Sunak’s “Eat
Out to Help Out” scheme.
Rishi is now
Prime Minister, and
Hancock thankfully, is nowhere to
be seen, but three months later, we were to look back at those halcyon days when lock down was first lifted, with a sense of longing.
It's worth noting that my friends and I had walked to the
Abergavenny from
Tunbridge Wells earlier that day, and after our meal hiked a
similar distance to
Eridge. On
Saturday, after leaving the pub, I continued
along the
A267 for some distance, concerned that I might have missed the
spot where the
TWCW deviates from the main road, and descends into
Eridge
Park. I hadn’t missed it, even though the turnoff seemed much further away than
I remembered from
3½ years ago, but the drop down into the park was every bit
as steep as I recall. The path was slippery as well, and contained umpteen
trip hazards, in the form of exposed tree roots.
Worse was to come, in the form of mud and lots of it,
and my initial optimism that it might be reasonably dry underfoot, soon vanished.
I was warned about the mud by a group of ramblers who were making their way up to
Frant, after having walked over from
Eridge. One look at their muddy boots and
trouser bottoms said it all, although it was some way down before I reached the
really muddy areas. These were found in the relatively flat bottom of the hollow,
where a series of lakes, topped up by a number of streams, makes this an
idyllic spot in summer.
The area didn’t look anywhere near as attractive in early
February,
but I kept plodding steadily on, only to reach a sign which said
“Halfway ish.”
Discovering there was a similar distance
still to walk, was rather dis-heartening, because whilst this section of the
trail was only three miles in length it seemed much longer, thanks in no small part
to the muddy conditions underfoot, which made for slow going. A walk which should
only have taken an hour, ended up taking nearly two because of the constant
need to make ones way around the worst of the muddy areas.
I almost got lost again, although the guidebook did hint that
one should bear right, across a stream, and then continue steeply uphill.
Having to leave the mud-free, metalled road I’d been walking along, didn’t seem
right, but fortunately salvation appeared in the form of a young couple, who
knew where they were going. They suggested that I follow them, which I did, but
they soon disappeared from sight, being much faster walkers than me. This didn’t
matter too much, as after looking at both my map and guidebook, I could see I
was on the correct path.
Getting left behind, seems the story of my rambling life, as
I am quite a slow walker. This is the principle reason I prefer to walk on my
own, as it ends up quite embarrassing when walking companions end up having to
stop and wait for me, at the brow of every hill, or area where the path splits
in two. And
Mrs PBT’s thinks I’m a fast walker! Fortunately, I was on the final
straight, and at the top of the final hill I could hear the noise of the traffic
on the busy
A26.
There was one last hurdle to contend with, and that was
a field of sheep, or rather two fields, as they were interconnected. A field full
of livestock doesn’t normally bother me, and I have
walked through herds of
cattle (including one containing a rather large bull) as well as flocks of
sheep, without any trouble. This lot had a look about them though which was far
from friendly, and when several sheep came bounding towards me, I had to scare
them off by waving my rucksack in front of them. That worked for a while, but
as I continued towards the second field, further woolly beasts made their appearance
and didn’t look like giving up on me.
Again, waving my backpack and my stick along with raising my
voice had little effect, so foolishly or not I made my way towards them making
as much noise as possible. They backed away, but then their mates in the second
field came funnelling through the gap in the hedge to join the others. Once they
were all through the gap, that was my cue to make my way as quickly as possible
towards the kissing gate at the far edge of the field, and escape.
I recall a work colleague claiming that sheep can, if
alarmed, charge at people with the objective of headbutting them to the ground.
This is where the danger lies, because should you find yourself in this unfortunate
position, the herd will take great delight in trampling you, possibly with serious
and even fatal consequences! Knowing this and determined to show these normally docile creatures
who was boss, my tactics of waving things around, shooing them away and looking
them directly in the eye worked, and I escaped from the field unscathed.
I double checked the way mark signs plus my map, and was definitely
on a
public right of way, so technically I wasn’t at fault. One possible explanation
for the sheep’s intimidating behaviour could be the lambing season is fast approaching
and these expectant mums would soon be giving birth. It makes sense, wanting to
protect their unborn from a nasty man, even though his sole aim was to get across their field, to the other side of the road, where a nice welcoming pint of beer was
waiting for him.
The Nevill Crest & Gun was indeed just a few minutes’
walk away, and next time I shall tell you about the pub, and how it served me
one of the best pints of Harvey’s I’ve had in a long time.
Footnote: the second sheep picture belongs to another time and another place, but they still look quite menacing, don't you think?