Holiday in the Mendips, part 3 - to Glastonbury
The forecast for Thursday was dry, making it the last rain-free day for at least a week. It had been fixed for several weeks that I was going to go to Glastonbury on Thursday, as I'd arranged to meet Liz Williams for a drink at 5 pm at the George and Pilgrim ("the G&P", locally), but the question was whether I would get there by a 20 minute bus ride, or by walking 12+ miles. It would be the longest walk of the trip, which seemed an odd way to spend a rest day, and I found myself dithering as I was getting ready for breakfast. My itinerary notes for the Thursday mentioned several gardens to the north of Wells, so maybe I could just visit them. But then I looked at the website for the largest garden and saw it was closed on Thursdays, so that was decided: I would get in some last serious walking before the rain started.
Glastonbury is about 6 miles south west of Wells, and the A39 takes a very direct route between them. However, the website for my walking company suggested a route that starts by heading south-south-east along the Monarch's Way walking trail as far as the top of Pennard Hill, due east of Glastonbury, and then heads west along the ridge of the hill, then down and across the Somerset Levels to the back of the Tor. I didn't have route notes for this, but I had the OS map that the company had sent me.
I set out shortly after 9 am into a rather misty morning. In town, the Monarch's Way headed around the east side of the palace moat (see picture) , and then headed into parkland. There were a few people around and I got chatting with the other person in hiking gear. I mentioned I was walking to Glastonbury and he raised a surprised eyebrow so I hastened to reassure him that I was aware it was an indirect route. He was not actually hiking but out for his morning walk, and at the next road he turned left, and I promptly discovered that the tarmac path I had been walking with him had not been the Monarch's Way and I should have headed more to the right across the parkland, since I was to the north of the hamlet of Dulcote when I should have been firmly to its west. Not a problem, as the map showed that if I carried on through the village, there was then a footpath diagonally across a field that would put me back on the MW.
I crossed the stile for this footpath, noticing that the fingerpost above the stile was missing its finger, and then I found that the field was covered in chest-high maize. No path. OK. Back over the stile, and if I carried on along the lane for a km, it would put me back on the same place on the MW through a route only slightly less direct than the maize-covered footpath. There was a cottage at a point where the lane took a turn to the right, and the map showed a footpath straight ahead - which would also put me back on the MW, but about a km further along the route - and there was an intact fingerpost saying "Public footpath". So I followed the footpath as it curved around to the left and across a stile into a field below Smallford Wood. The path was shown straight across the field but again... chest-high maize. Fuckers. I should probably have retraced my route and taken that right turn along the lane by the cottage, but that fingerpost had promised me passage by foot across this field, and I was damn well going to take it. So I trudged around the edge of the field, which was damp from the previous day's rain, and then when I eventually got to maize-free terrain the convergence of footpaths that I'd been expecting at the north east corner as the woods wasn't nearly as obvious as I'd hoped - though other features were where they were supposed to be, so I couldn't be too far off. Then I spotted a stile into the woods - quite overgrown and rickety - and the track on the other side curved correctly and then duly took me up to Worminster Down, and a faint path across the down brought me to a stile with a waymarker for the MW. Yay!
They are quite generous with waymarkers on the MW and thereafter I only had a few moments of doubt. I experienced a few drops of rain during one of these moments but mostly the conditions were very pleasant. There were a few pubs marked on the map, and the one I reached after midday was the Apple Tree Inn, on the A361 just below Pennard Hill. They weren't really expecting customers and weren't doing food, but were prepared to sell me some cider and a packet of crisps, which I had at a bench outside while watching their black kitten being startled by traffic - and by butterflies and leaves and by anything else that moved. She was called Fiona, and appeared to be in the stage of kittenhood in which they ricochet from one surface to another.
The next pub was in West Pennard, at the foot of the western end of the hill. The sign suggested it should have been open, but it was closed, so I sat on one of their benches and had an apple, and then dropped the core in one of their flowerpots. By this point I had the Tor firmly in my sights so it was mostly a matter of heading towards it, though at one farm this involved clambering over a farm gate. There were 2 shiny "Public Footpath" signs prominently nailed to a post by the gate, presumably as reassurance to the walker and a rebuke to the farmer. A bit further on, a kissing-gate took me into a small field with two very pretty donkeys. There was another kissing gate to the left, but that led into an area filled with what looked like private property, so I headed diagonally across the field to the farm gate, and found myself being almost-chased by one of the donkeys. She backed off when I turned around, but didn't stop following me, and I'm now inclined to think that she was just puzzled as to why I was ignoring the obvious pedestrian gate. Or the people who used the farm gate were the people who supplied treats.
I arrived at the top of the Tor around 4 pm, and found my week's walking route spread out before me (apart from the first section from Weston-super-mare, which was hidden behind Crook Peak). It looked really quite impressively far, though it hadn't felt like a huge amount of walking, though Monday's walk to Cheddar had taken me over 42,000 steps, breaking my personal record and earning me a Cleats badge on Fitbit. If I had taken the bus to Glastonbury, I would definitely have climbed the Tor and seen the same view, but it meant a lot that I had in fact got there by walking every step from the Bristol Channel.
See photos from the walk
And then down into town, where I managed to locate the G&P with about 15 minutes to spare. I know Liz from science fiction circles and had very much enjoyed her posts on LJ, especially her posts about adopting Sid, a young cat with a broken tail. The first time I met her, at an Eastercon, I told her that her description of Sid's first direct encounter with the household's dogs was the funniest thing I'd read that year. I also told her how much I'd enjoyed her novel "Nine Layers of Sky", which captures the weight of worldwide hopes that were invested in the Soviet Communist project in a way I'd never seen articulated elsewhere. We'd had our first proper "general-purpose" social chat at Roz Kaveney's birthday party last year and she'd suggested I visit if I was in the area, so I'd got in touch to arrange the drink. And in the meantime I'd also read her recent novel "Comet Weather", which is set in the area and which added another layer of enjoyment to the trip. We chatted very happily for a couple of hours about mutual friends and about tenants and about the Bishop of Bath and Wells and his place in British comedy (he features in a Monty Python sketch in which we learn that the name of the bishopric is tattooed on the back of the holder's neck, and most famously there is the Baby-Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells from Episode 4 of the Elizabethan series of Blackadder). I had planned to get the bus back to Wells, but Liz kindly offered me a lift.
This entry was originally posted at https://helenraven.dreamwidth.org/488619.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Glastonbury is about 6 miles south west of Wells, and the A39 takes a very direct route between them. However, the website for my walking company suggested a route that starts by heading south-south-east along the Monarch's Way walking trail as far as the top of Pennard Hill, due east of Glastonbury, and then heads west along the ridge of the hill, then down and across the Somerset Levels to the back of the Tor. I didn't have route notes for this, but I had the OS map that the company had sent me.
I set out shortly after 9 am into a rather misty morning. In town, the Monarch's Way headed around the east side of the palace moat (see picture) , and then headed into parkland. There were a few people around and I got chatting with the other person in hiking gear. I mentioned I was walking to Glastonbury and he raised a surprised eyebrow so I hastened to reassure him that I was aware it was an indirect route. He was not actually hiking but out for his morning walk, and at the next road he turned left, and I promptly discovered that the tarmac path I had been walking with him had not been the Monarch's Way and I should have headed more to the right across the parkland, since I was to the north of the hamlet of Dulcote when I should have been firmly to its west. Not a problem, as the map showed that if I carried on through the village, there was then a footpath diagonally across a field that would put me back on the MW.
I crossed the stile for this footpath, noticing that the fingerpost above the stile was missing its finger, and then I found that the field was covered in chest-high maize. No path. OK. Back over the stile, and if I carried on along the lane for a km, it would put me back on the same place on the MW through a route only slightly less direct than the maize-covered footpath. There was a cottage at a point where the lane took a turn to the right, and the map showed a footpath straight ahead - which would also put me back on the MW, but about a km further along the route - and there was an intact fingerpost saying "Public footpath". So I followed the footpath as it curved around to the left and across a stile into a field below Smallford Wood. The path was shown straight across the field but again... chest-high maize. Fuckers. I should probably have retraced my route and taken that right turn along the lane by the cottage, but that fingerpost had promised me passage by foot across this field, and I was damn well going to take it. So I trudged around the edge of the field, which was damp from the previous day's rain, and then when I eventually got to maize-free terrain the convergence of footpaths that I'd been expecting at the north east corner as the woods wasn't nearly as obvious as I'd hoped - though other features were where they were supposed to be, so I couldn't be too far off. Then I spotted a stile into the woods - quite overgrown and rickety - and the track on the other side curved correctly and then duly took me up to Worminster Down, and a faint path across the down brought me to a stile with a waymarker for the MW. Yay!
They are quite generous with waymarkers on the MW and thereafter I only had a few moments of doubt. I experienced a few drops of rain during one of these moments but mostly the conditions were very pleasant. There were a few pubs marked on the map, and the one I reached after midday was the Apple Tree Inn, on the A361 just below Pennard Hill. They weren't really expecting customers and weren't doing food, but were prepared to sell me some cider and a packet of crisps, which I had at a bench outside while watching their black kitten being startled by traffic - and by butterflies and leaves and by anything else that moved. She was called Fiona, and appeared to be in the stage of kittenhood in which they ricochet from one surface to another.
The next pub was in West Pennard, at the foot of the western end of the hill. The sign suggested it should have been open, but it was closed, so I sat on one of their benches and had an apple, and then dropped the core in one of their flowerpots. By this point I had the Tor firmly in my sights so it was mostly a matter of heading towards it, though at one farm this involved clambering over a farm gate. There were 2 shiny "Public Footpath" signs prominently nailed to a post by the gate, presumably as reassurance to the walker and a rebuke to the farmer. A bit further on, a kissing-gate took me into a small field with two very pretty donkeys. There was another kissing gate to the left, but that led into an area filled with what looked like private property, so I headed diagonally across the field to the farm gate, and found myself being almost-chased by one of the donkeys. She backed off when I turned around, but didn't stop following me, and I'm now inclined to think that she was just puzzled as to why I was ignoring the obvious pedestrian gate. Or the people who used the farm gate were the people who supplied treats.
I arrived at the top of the Tor around 4 pm, and found my week's walking route spread out before me (apart from the first section from Weston-super-mare, which was hidden behind Crook Peak). It looked really quite impressively far, though it hadn't felt like a huge amount of walking, though Monday's walk to Cheddar had taken me over 42,000 steps, breaking my personal record and earning me a Cleats badge on Fitbit. If I had taken the bus to Glastonbury, I would definitely have climbed the Tor and seen the same view, but it meant a lot that I had in fact got there by walking every step from the Bristol Channel.
See photos from the walk
And then down into town, where I managed to locate the G&P with about 15 minutes to spare. I know Liz from science fiction circles and had very much enjoyed her posts on LJ, especially her posts about adopting Sid, a young cat with a broken tail. The first time I met her, at an Eastercon, I told her that her description of Sid's first direct encounter with the household's dogs was the funniest thing I'd read that year. I also told her how much I'd enjoyed her novel "Nine Layers of Sky", which captures the weight of worldwide hopes that were invested in the Soviet Communist project in a way I'd never seen articulated elsewhere. We'd had our first proper "general-purpose" social chat at Roz Kaveney's birthday party last year and she'd suggested I visit if I was in the area, so I'd got in touch to arrange the drink. And in the meantime I'd also read her recent novel "Comet Weather", which is set in the area and which added another layer of enjoyment to the trip. We chatted very happily for a couple of hours about mutual friends and about tenants and about the Bishop of Bath and Wells and his place in British comedy (he features in a Monty Python sketch in which we learn that the name of the bishopric is tattooed on the back of the holder's neck, and most famously there is the Baby-Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells from Episode 4 of the Elizabethan series of Blackadder). I had planned to get the bus back to Wells, but Liz kindly offered me a lift.
This entry was originally posted at https://helenraven.dreamwidth.org/488619.html. Please comment there using OpenID.