After leaving my Bed & Breakfast I rejoined the Wessex Ridgeway at a muddy track. It was so wet a stream occupied a section of it. By balancing on the bank between brambles and water, supported by my trekking poles, I maintained a grip where slip marks showed others had failed and manged to edge passed this obstacle. Next, my first steep climb of the day to the top of Bulbarrow hill and its hillfort. The earth works were of a decent size, an impressive defence to anyone out of breath climbing the hill. There was a mound on which someone had planted a large cross, maybe to exorcise any pagan worship that once took place here. I reached the cross through a gate marked "Private - No Right of Way" despite it being a public footpath (I confirmed this on the Ordnance Survey map on my OutdoorsActive App). From here the route was along a ridge on a tarmac road. Sadly mist obscured the views but a passing cyclist assured me they were magnificent.
A good path on compacted stone led me to woodland, then a descent to the village of Shillingstone. The sunken path down had an abundance of harts tongue fern on its sides, green among the dull browns. My research had indicated there was a tea shop at Shillingstone which I was looking forward to patronising, but worried that my boots, trousers and much else was far too muddy to be allowed in. I need not have stressed, the tea shop was closed.
After a snack on a wet bench in the café and shopless village I followed the path over fields on a flood plain, crossing the river, walking by a farmyard, its concrete yard coated with brown slurry. Then the inevitable climb, a steep one up towards Hambledon Hill. Although the Ridgeway does not quite reach the hillfort that sits on top of this flat topped hill, the parallel earthworks were clearly visible on the side of the slope, at least when not hidden by passing clouds.
A few more hills were crossed which included dropping into Iwerne Courtney on a white chalk track, another village without a shop or café. Towards the end of my day I began skirting or crossing extensive areas of woodland. My plan was to camp in these woods but initially the many "Private Woodland" signs and fencing discouraged me. The area, with its neat thatched cottages and Audi cars, was evidently prosperous, but the plethora of "Private" signs suggested wealth was not compatible with a willingness to share. Eventually I reached woodland that was not fenced or ringed with warning signs. I found a spot free of brambles, partially hidden by fallen trees on which to pitch my tent as darkness fell. Now lying in my sleeping bag surrounded by darkness I am listening to two owls, one near and one far away, calling to each other. A pheasant's screech periodically intrudes.
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