Which is mostly dominated by mud
A few weeks ago, a neighbour recommended a short walk that branched off from the coastal path about 5 or 6 miles from here. Last Monday I decided to walk those familiar miles of coastal path west from Cowes, do the recommended walk, then walk back home. All went well. The recommended walk was indeed very pretty, and the weather was glorious. I walked most of it in t-shirt sleeves, and at times was almost too warm. However, probably misled by the whole "familiar miles of coastal path" part of the plan, I hadn't taken my camera. So yesterday, seeing that the forecast was once again good, I went on the same walk again, this time armed with a camera.
It immediately became apparent that it was a lot colder than last Monday, and I had no coat, only a thin hoodie over a t-shirt. However, I walk fast and usually have to strip off coats and jackets if I take them, so I persisted - slightly chilly for the first few minutes, but warming up soon, especially when in the sun. No rain at all was forecast; I double and triple checked before leaving.
Another thing soon became apparent. Much rain had fallen since Monday. On Monday, there were a few stretches of mild squelch and one total quagmire. Yesterday the were quagmires galore, and patches of unmitigated squelch. To add insult to injury, the sun - so glorious on Monday - kept rudely hiding itself behind clouds.
But I lay in wait for it, and caught up with it when I could. Here it is casting its bounty on the marshes at Thorness Bay.
Rather than tackling Monday's total quagmire - a patch that is soggy even in July, and had doubtless turned into a lake deep enough to swallow giants - I did a detour, following a winding road through a caravan park. But on the far side of the park, the mud was inescapable.
Then along the road through Porchfield, where I turned off the main coastal path and followed the recommended route towards the sea. (Yup, that's right. The Not Coastal Path footpath went to the sea, while the Coastal Path footpath remained over a mile inland, giving not even a glimpse of water for several miles. Blame the army and a sprawling, branching estuary.) This route skirted the edge of the army firing range, offering views over forbidden but very pretty farmland.
If the army was they, they were clearly hiding well, since I saw none of them. Given that I've never once heard guns anywhere near the estuary, and I've walked near it many, many times, I'm beginning to suspect that the whole "firing range" thing is a cover to hide a crashed alien spaceship or a lost Mayan temple, or something. But, anyway... Whether a firing range or a hidden secret, it had pretty scenery, while a forbidden wood skirted the other side of the path, full of gnarly oaks.
Facing the "army" in their secret lair, we have what is presumably an outpost of the enemies who hold the woods. I suspect jays.
decided to disappear.
Unfortunately, not long after I started along this new, unphotographed, scenic terrain, the sun disappeared, making everything look far less scenic than it did last week.
But just before it went, here is a glimpse of the sea that lay ahead. I include this now just to prove that the sea existed. Or, at least, the army wanted me to believe that it existed. Perhaps it was only a model.
Because, 50 yards from the seashore, I crossed a stile, and THIS lay ahead of me. Since there would be nothing to do when I reached the sea but say, "oh, it's the sea," and immediately turn round and retrace my steps, I decided that valour was the wetter part of discretion, and retreated.
Whereupon it started to rain. ENTIRELY ILLEGAL RAIN! How dared it? And there was I, 7 miles from home, without a coat or waterproof, with no way of getting home but to walk those 7 miles back.
But, luckily, the rain only lasted for about 15 minutes, and wasn't that heavy. 5 minutes before it ended, the sun came out. "At least they'll give me a rainbow," I thought grumpily, but they didn't, the swine!
So then it was a case of retracing steps. Back along the road: trampy tromp trampy tromp trampy tromp. Back through the mud: squishy squelch squishy squelch squishy squelch...
Oh no, it's a tiny thing! A hungry, tiny thing! The hungry tiny thing followed me closely along the fence, clearly hoping I had food. Not far behind me, a two-legged tiny thing was staggering along the lane with a tub, so presumably that was tiny thing's lunch.
Then back to Thorness Bay, complete with another tiny thing.
Then up onto the cliff top... where All The Wind In The World assailed me all at once.(Hoo-woo! Hoo-woo! Hoo-woo!) Rather worryingly, this happened just as a sign warned, "Danger! Cliff fall! Path narrows along cliff edge!", with said narrow, cliff-edged path being very muddy and slippery and angled towards the edge, so any slips would be in the unfortunate direction. Fortunately, the wind was coming in from the sea, and the cliff is a shallow muddy one, rather than sheer cliffs of certain doom, but it was still a challenging few minutes.
Almost back in Cowes, and away from the wind and the cliff edges, I liked the shadows on the path, with bonus shadow monster.
Here is the small harbour where the little stream called the Gurnard Luck enters the sea.
After an hour or two back home, I headed out for a much chillier walk in the late afternoon, along the rest of the Gurnard/Cowes seafront, but I entirely failed to take any photos, only this one, of the new, shiny Outdoor Gym in the rec just around the corner.
It immediately became apparent that it was a lot colder than last Monday, and I had no coat, only a thin hoodie over a t-shirt. However, I walk fast and usually have to strip off coats and jackets if I take them, so I persisted - slightly chilly for the first few minutes, but warming up soon, especially when in the sun. No rain at all was forecast; I double and triple checked before leaving.
Another thing soon became apparent. Much rain had fallen since Monday. On Monday, there were a few stretches of mild squelch and one total quagmire. Yesterday the were quagmires galore, and patches of unmitigated squelch. To add insult to injury, the sun - so glorious on Monday - kept rudely hiding itself behind clouds.
But I lay in wait for it, and caught up with it when I could. Here it is casting its bounty on the marshes at Thorness Bay.
Rather than tackling Monday's total quagmire - a patch that is soggy even in July, and had doubtless turned into a lake deep enough to swallow giants - I did a detour, following a winding road through a caravan park. But on the far side of the park, the mud was inescapable.
Then along the road through Porchfield, where I turned off the main coastal path and followed the recommended route towards the sea. (Yup, that's right. The Not Coastal Path footpath went to the sea, while the Coastal Path footpath remained over a mile inland, giving not even a glimpse of water for several miles. Blame the army and a sprawling, branching estuary.) This route skirted the edge of the army firing range, offering views over forbidden but very pretty farmland.
If the army was they, they were clearly hiding well, since I saw none of them. Given that I've never once heard guns anywhere near the estuary, and I've walked near it many, many times, I'm beginning to suspect that the whole "firing range" thing is a cover to hide a crashed alien spaceship or a lost Mayan temple, or something. But, anyway... Whether a firing range or a hidden secret, it had pretty scenery, while a forbidden wood skirted the other side of the path, full of gnarly oaks.
Facing the "army" in their secret lair, we have what is presumably an outpost of the enemies who hold the woods. I suspect jays.
decided to disappear.
Unfortunately, not long after I started along this new, unphotographed, scenic terrain, the sun disappeared, making everything look far less scenic than it did last week.
But just before it went, here is a glimpse of the sea that lay ahead. I include this now just to prove that the sea existed. Or, at least, the army wanted me to believe that it existed. Perhaps it was only a model.
Because, 50 yards from the seashore, I crossed a stile, and THIS lay ahead of me. Since there would be nothing to do when I reached the sea but say, "oh, it's the sea," and immediately turn round and retrace my steps, I decided that valour was the wetter part of discretion, and retreated.
Whereupon it started to rain. ENTIRELY ILLEGAL RAIN! How dared it? And there was I, 7 miles from home, without a coat or waterproof, with no way of getting home but to walk those 7 miles back.
But, luckily, the rain only lasted for about 15 minutes, and wasn't that heavy. 5 minutes before it ended, the sun came out. "At least they'll give me a rainbow," I thought grumpily, but they didn't, the swine!
So then it was a case of retracing steps. Back along the road: trampy tromp trampy tromp trampy tromp. Back through the mud: squishy squelch squishy squelch squishy squelch...
Oh no, it's a tiny thing! A hungry, tiny thing! The hungry tiny thing followed me closely along the fence, clearly hoping I had food. Not far behind me, a two-legged tiny thing was staggering along the lane with a tub, so presumably that was tiny thing's lunch.
Then back to Thorness Bay, complete with another tiny thing.
Then up onto the cliff top... where All The Wind In The World assailed me all at once.(Hoo-woo! Hoo-woo! Hoo-woo!) Rather worryingly, this happened just as a sign warned, "Danger! Cliff fall! Path narrows along cliff edge!", with said narrow, cliff-edged path being very muddy and slippery and angled towards the edge, so any slips would be in the unfortunate direction. Fortunately, the wind was coming in from the sea, and the cliff is a shallow muddy one, rather than sheer cliffs of certain doom, but it was still a challenging few minutes.
Almost back in Cowes, and away from the wind and the cliff edges, I liked the shadows on the path, with bonus shadow monster.
Here is the small harbour where the little stream called the Gurnard Luck enters the sea.
After an hour or two back home, I headed out for a much chillier walk in the late afternoon, along the rest of the Gurnard/Cowes seafront, but I entirely failed to take any photos, only this one, of the new, shiny Outdoor Gym in the rec just around the corner.