Symonds Yat
A slight change to format this time: pitch tent first in proper campsite, complete circular walks from camp, rather than wild camping on linear walk carrying heavy packs. Cheating really, but I think we’ve paid our dues.
Quite the departure from the usual soggy field shared with assorted wildlife, we stayed at Christchurch campsite with its lovely reception, bar, shop and washroom. We pitched our very spacious 3 man tent with large porch, in which we put our very luxurious airbed, sleeping bags, duvet and pillows! Oh, the decadence!
Quite the departure from the usual soggy field shared with assorted wildlife, we stayed at Christchurch campsite with its lovely reception, bar, shop and washroom. We pitched our very spacious 3 man tent with large porch, in which we put our very luxurious airbed, sleeping bags, duvet and pillows! Oh, the decadence!
After some procrastination in the form of coffee and chocolate croissant we set off into the woods. With no real clue as to our route (as per normal), we stumbled upon the Highmeadow Trail and off we trotted for a happy 90 minutes before happening upon the Royal Lodge for the first glass of apples since dry January came to its long awaited end.
That pint of Stowford was delicious and went down very well with a pepparino. But while the view of the very wide, very brown and very fast flowing River Wye was lovely on the rare sunny winter day we got, sitting outside had consequences and we needed to move off to bring life back to our frozen outer appendages.
That pint of Stowford was delicious and went down very well with a pepparino. But while the view of the very wide, very brown and very fast flowing River Wye was lovely on the rare sunny winter day we got, sitting outside had consequences and we needed to move off to bring life back to our frozen outer appendages.
Shortly before bouncing across Biblins suspension bridge I vaguely recognised a face or two in a pack of rambling women coming towards us, in that confused out of context way. Recognition dawned as we passed my neighbour at the rear of the pack.
A sisterhood of local mums (a sisterhood I’m not party to, being anti-social of nature as I am) were out en masse for a weekend away, small world. A short hop across the bridge and a jungle wee later and we parted company with the riverside, for the depths of the forest.
A sisterhood of local mums (a sisterhood I’m not party to, being anti-social of nature as I am) were out en masse for a weekend away, small world. A short hop across the bridge and a jungle wee later and we parted company with the riverside, for the depths of the forest.
Somewhere around King Arthur’s cave, and a debate about the merits of country living for the homeless as a much more viable alternative (given a bit of initiative) than city doorway begging, we got slightly confused about the route for the first time. We realised we were confused when, after a good hour or so of rambling and a mini pork pie or two, we came full circle back to the caves.
After re-joining the trail in the right direction we eventually came out further up the river opposite the Saracen’s Head. The very appealing Saracen’s Head (complete with sisterhood of mums cackling away over a few drinks) on the other side of the river.
After re-joining the trail in the right direction we eventually came out further up the river opposite the Saracen’s Head. The very appealing Saracen’s Head (complete with sisterhood of mums cackling away over a few drinks) on the other side of the river.
The uncrossable river. The hand ferry separating us from the Saracen’s Head and a cool glass of apples was not in operation during winter months. So on we went. Past Ye Olde Ferrie Inn and its out of action ferry and on, until the Wye Knot Inn summoned us to a warm fire, a spot of rugby and a welcome drink.
On up the river we went, and around some bends and back on ourselves we came, through soggy fields, thinking somehow we had magically crossed the river. Entirely confused we found ourselves lost for the second time. A two or three mile detour took us back to Ye Olde Ferrie Inn, resigned in the knowledge that the only way back across the river was the Biblins suspension bridge.
On up the river we went, and around some bends and back on ourselves we came, through soggy fields, thinking somehow we had magically crossed the river. Entirely confused we found ourselves lost for the second time. A two or three mile detour took us back to Ye Olde Ferrie Inn, resigned in the knowledge that the only way back across the river was the Biblins suspension bridge.
The suspension bridge that we reached in the dark. It is very creepy in the forest in the dark, not helped by crazy forest dwellers who take their dogs out for walks without any torches. It was a much brisker walk back to the Saracen’s Head, where we ate crisps for supper and had a glass of wine to calm the nerves while waiting for a taxi to take us the last little way home!
We eventually traipsed across the campsite to our tent, marvelling at the frost on the ground while using the car keys to find our pitch by unlocking the door and looking for the lights. It’s not a big campsite … really our navigation skills do need some work. By 8.30, after donning thermal PJs, several layers of fleece, thick socks, hats and gloves, we were in bed and ready for sleep after 14 forest miles.
After 12 good hours sleep and a delicious breakfast of pepparino, boiled eggs, chocolate hobnobs and coffee we were ready for round two. A good weekend of walking, and our coldest camping yet.
We eventually traipsed across the campsite to our tent, marvelling at the frost on the ground while using the car keys to find our pitch by unlocking the door and looking for the lights. It’s not a big campsite … really our navigation skills do need some work. By 8.30, after donning thermal PJs, several layers of fleece, thick socks, hats and gloves, we were in bed and ready for sleep after 14 forest miles.
After 12 good hours sleep and a delicious breakfast of pepparino, boiled eggs, chocolate hobnobs and coffee we were ready for round two. A good weekend of walking, and our coldest camping yet.
