Icknield Way: Some Comments

The Icknield Way captures Middle England, the sights and sounds people find on a walk with their dog, the villages and towns they might visit or live in. There is plenty of farmland on the Way, often muddy especially when I walked the trail in January. Yet there are also gorgeous views from the top of chalk escarpments on the western half of the trail. These steep slopes are quite different to the gentle, green, grass covered swellings to the east and an even greater contrast to the flat area of Breckland with its forests and heathland.

English villages are visited with the archetypal church, pub and duck pond (although often with no shop or tea room). Churches typically have walls made of flint and a tower. Old, Norman to 15th century with Victorian additions, they are worth visiting for historical, artistic and architectural reasons, as well as for religious contemplation. Public houses (Pubs) are also usually old, with blackened timber beams. Sometimes towns and their lines of houses are carefully avoided, other times the Way goes straight through. This reveals old and new, timber framed and thatched buildings centuries old, a Garden city only a hundred years in age, or more recently densely packed, red brick housing complete with solar panels. The trail itself is historic, claiming to be "the oldest road in Britain", following prehistoric pathways along the chalk outcrop.

Waymarking is generally good. Be aware that there are separate walker's and horse rider's trails (Icknield Way and Icknield Trail respectively) which follow the same route at times but not others which could cause confusion. Whether on horse or foot you cannot rely just on waymarks, a GPS track, map or smart phone App is needed for navigation. Ideally you should purchase the guidebook from the Icknield Way Association which has developed and promotes the path. Not that you are ever far from some village, the route is not remote. Accommodation can be found throughout the Icknield Way if you book and plan in advance, although costs can add up. It is not ideal for wild camping until the final day in the Thetford forest.

Overall a pleasant walk, but maybe not in the running for the World's 10 greatest hikes.

Icknield Way is marked by waymarks with the image of a stone axe, alluding to the age of the trail.

Chalk Escarpment near Chilterns Visitor Centre

Typical farmland that forms much of the paths scenery.

Gentle hills are typical of the central part of the path.

Many traditional English villages are visited complete with village pond, this one at Tuddenham. 

Icklingham to Kettishall Heath: Greater Ridgeway Day 24

My last day on the Icknield Way was through Breckland, a landscape of trees, heath and farmland quite different to other parts of this long distance path.

Breckland landscape.

This morning my tent's flysheet was coated with sparkling white frost. Despite the cold my winter sleeping bag and air bed had kept me warm overnight, although I was conscious of an occasional drip of water from condensation above my head. Outside the tent a scattering of small clouds above the trees were capturing the pink light of the sun, still over the horizon. One of the joys for me of wild camping is being up to see the sunrise, away from any light pollution, and the effect of the low sunlight on the landscape.

Sunrise.

Packing my tent into its bag was a struggle, its material still stiff and packed with frost despite my attempt to shake it off. I was curious to see what might have caused motorbikes and cars to stop on the main track near my tent last night. There was an area where the track was enlarged, widened with numerous rutted tracks. Maybe a convenient place to stop and chat. Yellow signs on trees said the area was monitored by CCTV. Nothing was explicitly prohibited, so I asked a dog walker the purpose of the signs and was told some of the Land Rover drivers were "animals". Most of my walk today was on "byways" on which you can legally drive your four wheel drive vehicle or scrambler motorcycle. There were plenty of both out today, maybe as it was a weekend, the motorbikes loudly screaming down the tracks, the four wheel drives moving at a more cautious pace with older men driving.

Rutted tracks were lined with birch trees, their white bark side-lit by the morning sun. Beyond the birch there were the regular rows of a mature coniferous plantation. Even after I left the forested area, lines of pine trees marked the edge of fields I crossed on wide, rutted lines. In places a copse or larger wooded area was on one side of me and open fields on the other, elsewhere I was on a tree lined track through fields. Pigs occupied several of those fields, each with its own pig house and bales of hay.

Rutted tracks through Thetford forest, made by four wheel drive vehicles and motorbikes which can legally drive on these byways.

Motorbikes out for a Sunday ride.

The only village on today's route was Euston, and I merely touched the edge of it by the grounds of Thetford Rovers Football Club which seemed to have just finished playing the Bulldogs. Although only a village league there were many cars in the parking area.

The Icknield Way ended at Knettishall Heath, an area of rough ground with grazing ponies behind a fence. A small child tried to attract their attention but the horses were facing away from her and ignored her entreaties. I had planned to continue up the Peddars Way, the next waymarked trail on the Greater Ridgeway, camping in some woodland area, but the weather forecast was warning of high winds overnight with a yellow warning from the Meteorological Office. As the day had been sunny throughout and the air still, I was not sure I believed the forecast. However my tent was designed to be lightweight rather than rugged and sheltering in woodland might not be prudent with the risk of branches or trees falling in high winds wind. Consequently after walking a short way up Peddars Way through woodland, I turned down a quiet road towards Thetford. 

This town was several kilometres away but the nearest I could find accommodation. My knee was causing me pain and the thought of a two hour walk was depressing. However, I was extremely fortunate that a car stopped and a kind lady gave me a lift into the town centre. Having been without coffee for 24 hours, that was my first priority. My driver took me to a Portuguese café where I had a coffee and cake, and bought her something similar in gratitude for saving me a long road walk. As well as pointing out some handy East European food shops where I could resupply she told me that Thetford was where "Dad's Army" had been filmed. A TV comedy favourite from my youth I was surprised that it was filmed in Thetford as the events supposedly took place in a seaside town (the fictional Walmington on Sea). Outside the Travelodge where I am staying there is a statue of Captain Mainwaring, the leader of the Home Guard troop featured in the series. Private Pike was painted in a doorway nearby.

Private Pike in Thetford.

Stretchworth to Icklingham: Greater Ridgeway Day 23

A walk through an increasingly flat landscape and several villages.

Paths confined by hedges seemed characteristic of the first part of my walk today. Behind the hedges were horse paddocks and "gallops" for exercising the animals, although I saw few horses using these facilities. With Newmarket nearby, famous for its racing, the number of equine establishments was maybe to be expected. 

Path lined with hedges behind which there were horse related establishments.

Back in open fields a herd of grey-black deer ran out from behind a hedge, they stopped briefly, looked at me, then returned to where they had come from. On rounding the hedge I could see no sign of them, they had disappeared into the landscape. The fields themselves were either lines of grass (or maybe they were young crops of grain) or some kind of widely planted brassica.

The villages I walked through seemed to have been prosperous with some large, old, attractive houses, as well as the flint walled churches with square towers typical of the area, but maybe not able to support a congregation every Sunday. I was particularly anticipating the church at Gazaly as my research suggested it had tea and coffee making equipment, of key interest due to the sparsity of tea shops. My wish to reach it was frustrated by a detour in the Icknield Way, which added an extra few kilometres by completing three quarters of a circle through countryside rather than a direct approach up the road. However the diversion was undoubtedly more attractive than the shorter road route. I spotted my first snowdrops in flower and a few groups out for a Sunday ramble, busy chatting to each other.

The first snowdrops I had seen in flower.

Sadly, Gazaly church had facilities for making neither coffee nor tea, only a collection of second hand books and vinyl records for sale, so my donation to church funds was suitably reduced. One new book being advertised was about the 16th century wood carvings on the chancel roof. Unfortunately, without binoculars you could not see the animals said to be carved on the wooden bosses.

After a period of wind the afternoon brought intermittent sunshine, making views of bare branched trees and even telegraph poles look attractive. At Tuddingham, after a conversation with an older farmer about what his son might be doing with his forklift, I was rewarded with a coffee and cherry & custard strudel at a farm shop. I also bought a "smartie" cookie for later but unfortunately it was so attractive it predeceased my coffee.

Cavenham Heath had a sign describing the Brecklands, an area of sandy heather covered heath and woodland (where it was not farmed). Although shadows were lengthening as the sun dropped lower in the sky, many families were still enjoying a weekend walk on the heath as I crossed it. I reached the edge of the village of Icklingham as the sun was setting. In the dusk twilight I followed the Icknield Way around the north of the houses and then into a large area of forestry. By the time I had reached the main track through the forest my head torch was needed. Finding an area of grass down a side trail, I started to pitch my tent. Although I had seen no-one for a few kilometres, my act of pitching coincided with the sound of a car on the main track. Once inside my tent there was a roar of motorbikes which stopped not so far from my where I had pitched. They departed but were replaced by a car which stopped nearby, more motorbikes and the sound of distant conversation. At first I switched off my head torch, thinking meetings in a remote spot like this, rather than in a house, café or pub, must be for some nefarious activity. After a while I decided that the bushes between me and the main track would hide me. I turned my torch back on, ate my tea and completed my other evening activities. I am still listening to distant motorbike noises.

Great Chesterford to Stretchworth: Greater Ridgeway Day 22

Another day over increasingly low, green hills, but with two coffee shops on the way.

Today was the start of RSPB's Garden Bird Watch. As I was leaving Great Chesterford, passing its housing, a multitude of sparrows were flying about chattering to each other, no doubt wanting to be counted for this annual survey of bird numbers and maintain their number one slot. Hills were now gentle swellings clothed in green, although one slightly longer uphill stretch was rewarded by a bench at the top to sit down at, by a cairn of stones with a sign saying "for remembrance"  My route was again over open fields and on tracks between hedges or trees. The fields were large, created no doubt by removing earlier hedges, however, perhaps in a reversal of this trend, new hedges had been planted. Some were just twigs in plastic tubes, but others had long outgrown their tubes which still clung to the bushes beneath their branches. Another sign of their newness was their lack of diversity. Old hedges are mixtures of many species that have accumulated over many years. In a nod to biodiversity, on this trip I have spotted several signs beside wide field margins stating they had been left wild to encourage wildlife. Mature hedges had been cut by flailing, that is by a rotating chain or similar, which breaks rather than cuts the branches. It made them look unsightly, but hedges have to be cut to stop them growing ever wider.

By a brick water tower I noticed people with flags standing well apart at points around a large field. Curious I asked one what they were doing. Part of a "shoot" it appears, presumably of pheasants although I thought I saw some partridges later. Coffee shops have sadly not been that common on my Ridgeway walk but my research had revealed that there were two on my route today, so I was looking forward to patronising one. All the tables were taken at the "Linton Kitchen", and I was still full from breakfast. I reached Balsham at lunch time which gave an excellent reason to buy a pulled pork roll to eat with my coffee at the "Old Butchers". The roll was enormous, with apple sauce spilling out the sides. Although very good it did lay heavy in my stomach for my afternoons walk. 

"Old Butchers" café in Balsham.

I briefly joined the E2 European Long Distance Path that goes from Scotland to the south of France, a challenge I might take up in the future. A sign mistakenly said it was a European Community route whereas it is designated by the European Ramblers Association. Towards the end of the day I found that a kind farmer had carefully avoided ploughing up the footpath which crossed his field. In the fresh earth beside the path I looked at the hard flint pebbles which came from the soft, unseen chalk rock hidden beneath the soil. They are white on the outside but blue grey on their curved fracture surfaces where broken. The following section was less attractive. A straight, narrow, muddy path between prickly hedges.

A considerate farmer has not ploughed up the footpath.

Fragments of flint from the underlying chalk rock in a ploughed field.

Cross Green Bed & Breakfast, where I am sleeping tonight, provided a filling evening meal, brownies, a beer, lots of materials for breakfast and newspaper to put my muddy boots on in a modest apartment. Tomorrow night may not be so pleasant...

Royston to Great Chesterford: Greater Ridgeway Day 21

A shorter day through gentle countryside and a few villages.

The Icknield Way left Royston on a straight line, first along a road, then beside one, with busy traffic on the left, hidden by trees, and a large field on my right, ploughed to a rich reddish tilth. Eventually the road curved away and I crossed farmland on a track. I spent some time trying to capture the trail and its surroundings on my camera, however good landscape photographs rely on the weather and the lighting it provides, which is often transitory as clouds briefly reveal the sun, occluding it before I can get my camera out. In the morning, after some light rain, the sky was grey and overcast, then a band of blue developed in the north. Setting the exposure to capture the colours of the sky without the fields in the foreground appearing dark (or vice versa) proved difficult. There were two types of shot I concentrated on. The first type was where the path crossed open fields with no hedges bounding the track, just a change from the rough grass and bare earth of the trail to the cultivated grass or soil of the field. Here the hills were just gentle swellings over which the trail was draped. Steep escarpments of the type I had walked along prior to Ickleford were no longer present, maybe flattened by the moving ice in the last Ice Age. Skylarks sang above me. The second type of trail photo was when the path was bounded by trees. Walking below their branches was especially attractive in the afternoon when the low winter sun broke through the clouds and cast shadows of the trees over the trail.

Path through open fields.

Route following quiet road, now with band of blue above horizon.

Path between lines of trees.

In my travels I passed through three villages, each with a flint walled church and pub (although cafes and shops were hard to find). The only church I stopped to enter was St Mary the Virgin's church at Strethall, which was not in a village at all, but just by a farm. Inside this simple but handsome church, light from the stained glass coloured the floor of the chancel. On a wall a board listed the rectors responsible since 1322. Apparently it is in the parish of "the Icknield Way villages". It is difficult to see where it gets a congregation from. No doubt once there were plenty of farm labourers living nearby, but now tractors and other machines do the work. The parish's website calls the area "a little bit of heaven beside the M11", and an hour or so later I cross the motorway in this rhyming couplet, followed by an electrified railway. Probably the last of the great arteries of traffic radiating out of London that I shall cross.

St Mary the Virgin in Strethall.

My knee had been loose and complaining most of the day but in this final section it settled down as if it knew I was nearly finished for the day. My reward was a cup of coffee and baguette at the bakery in the village of Great Chesterford before a shower and rest in my hotel room. Typical of the area the village is a mixture of orange-red brick, flint walls and rendered houses of various ages with thatched, tiled and slate roofs. Increasingly there are black, wooden clad barns and houses that seem more unique to this part of the country.

Ickleford to Royston: Greater Ridgeway Day 19 and 20

A walk through Letchworth Garden City to wide open skies and large fields.

Yesterday I had a rest day with my brother, his wife and family. An opportunity to catch up on the latest news and wash my clothes properly. This morning I was back at Ickleford to continue my expedition. Following the signs I crossed a railway line and then a track across open fields. There I met a man looking up at a tree, or rather a small bird in a tree. It sounded like a dunnock to me but he thought a meadow pipit. After a few words on long distance walks I left him to continue into Letchworth.

The town is a "Garden City", indeed it was the first one, being created in the early years of the 20th century. As such the whole of the "city" was planned as a single project to include the best of town and country, with clean air, good drainage, bright houses and gardens and, it was hoped, high wages. The original well spaced houses and tree lined streets are a pleasure to look at and no doubt live in. Standards continue to be maintained by the Garden City Foundation. My route took me by the Spirella corset factory, a stylish building from the 1920s which now seemed to house offices. I deviated from the Icknield Way for a coffee in the town centre, by a wide, largely pedestrianised street. On the eastern side of the town the Icknield Way went by car show rooms, light industry and some very modern housing. A contrast to those built in the 1900s, these were closely packed with solar panels on their roofs. Crossing the busy A1(M) motorway the urban landscape continued in Baldock. There were older houses near its centre, the high street was a wide boulevard.

From there to Royston I crossed large, open fields and a few small villages, of which Wallington contained a thatched house once occupied by the author George Orwell. It was here he wrote of his experiences in the Spanish Civil War in "Homage to Catalonia", experiences that would greatly influence his later work and influenced me when I read the book in my youth.

George Orwells's house at Wallington.

Now that the clouds had cleared the gentle swellings of large fields of grass or stubble were encompassed by wide blue skies. On one mild summit a shooting party had collected, its attendees all dressed in green jackets and Wellington boots, men in flat caps, guns in leather carrying cases, eager bright eyed spaniels and retrievers with greater gravitas ready and waiting.

At  Sandon the church looked massively built with sloping buttresses, inside was an interesting brass commemorating John and Elizabeth Fitzgeffrey from 1480, a liked the little dog at the base of Elizabeth's dress. After the village the Icknield Way went back and fore on tree lined tracks used by horse riders. The lowering sun lengthened shadows, softened the landscape in its yellow light, and painted the top of steel grey, gathering clouds a shade of pink. As I walked I alarmed pigeons roosting in the trees, who took to the air in great flapping, flurries. After turning back on itself many times, after Therfield the track made a run for Royston.

The key attraction of the town was a boulder called the Royse Stone, a glacial erratic brought from hundreds of miles away by a moving ice sheet in the Ice Age. It had a depression in the top that may have once been filled with vinegar, used for disinfecting coins in times of plague. A cross may also have stood on the rock. The other attraction of the town, closed when I arrived, was the Royston Cave, a man made subterranean chamber with religious carvings of unknown purpose. I walked down one of the streets lined with shops to the Old Bull where I had reserved a room. A room with ancient, black beams and rafters running through my bed and bathroom. Now I am full of food and beer, thinking of another day on the trail, pushing ever eastward.

Streatley to Ickleford: Greater Ridgeway Day 18

A short day over fields and woodland before a rest day.

Leaving the chalet I had rented last night I was confronted by an Icknield Trail sign at the gate, not where my GPS indicated my route was. My confusion arose as there is a walker's route (the Icknield Way) and a route for horse riders and cyclists (the Icknield Trail). They often follow the same track, but in this location they diverged. After some fields and skirting a housing estate on the edge of the town of Luton, I climbed up through a golf course into the Warden hills. From the top, Luton looked distinctly grey in the broad valley below, monochrome apart from an orange Sainsbury sign. Beyond, my route was along hedge and tree lined tracks or "rides". Red kites, perched on the bare branches of a tree, dispersed into the air as I approached. A crow's "caw" and the shrill, short song of a dunnock in the hedgerow was accompanied by the distant hum of traffic. In one field there was an unusual flock of black sheep with horns (Hebridean sheep?).

Red Kites perched in a tree.

After crossing the Pegdon hills, I walked through the village of Pirton. First I saw the Motte & Bailey pub, then I saw the "motte", a mound remaining from a 12th century timber fortification. It was adjacent to the church (rebuilt in the 19th century on older foundations). A village pond, once used by sheep and horses, had been renovated by removing many years of silt accumulation, and was now enjoyed by ducks. I had encountered a similar restoration project of a village pond in Streatley. The village shop was the other attraction, in particular,  the spiral, cinnamon pastries.

It was then a few more kilometres through fields to Ickleford. As I walked I was inordinately pleased that today there was little mud, after two weeks with little rain the earth was slowly drying out. It meant that when met my brother and his wife, in whose house I am staying tonight, I did not have to worry about the depositing two inches of mud on their doorstep.

Approach to Ickleford.

Whipsnade to Streatley: Greater Ridgeway Day 17

A mixed day with lovely stretches along the top of the chalk escarpment and muddy plods over farmland.

I did not have high hopes for today. To avoid the conurbation of Dunstable and Luton the Icknield Way curves over the top of it. A route to avoid a problem rather than to link up attractive or interesting sights I thought, however that conclusion was unfair as I encountered several places on today's walk worthy of a visit. The first was as I left the village of Whipsnade. A "cathedral" of trees had been planted in memory of three comrades from the First World War. Looking down the "nave" I am not quite sure they used the best trees to mimic the high arches of a cathedral, although maybe when the trees are in leaf the appearance is more exalted.

Whipsnade Tree Cathedral.

Soon I was walking along high grassland, above where the land dropped steeply giving long if misty views over lower ground to the north. Below me I could see a field with gliders, their long, white, wings outstretched. Yesterday I had seen them in the air, being towed into the skies by a small plane. Many people and dogs were out for a Sunday walk; pootling poodles, graceful greyhounds and a large dog so pleased to see me that he jumped up to greet me several times, leaving several muddy paw prints on my coat, much to the embarrassment of its owner. At the crest of the hill the National Trust's Chiltern Gateway Centre was selling gifts, coffee and cookies. I  succumbed to the latter two.

Approaching Chilterns Visitor Centre on top of the chalk escarpment.

Dropping down to lower ground I skirted the suburbs of Dunstable on a "green lane", before starting across farmland. Crossing pasture, and fields where grass seemed to have been planted among stubble, my boots soon accumulated a thick layer of soil. Sliding on the mud made for a tiring day with my left knee complaining. My mood was not helped by an electric fence, which enclosed a large field of turnips and sheep, obstructing the path. I very carefully put my feet over the wires, taking care they did not contact my undercarriage.

The monotony of farmland crossing was broken by a few notable sights. These included walking between enormous warehouses belonging to UPS and Amazon. Lines of "Amazon Prime" vans were in front of the latter, not in use, maybe as it was a Sunday. Another memory was visiting a church. It was locked however I made use of a bench in the churchyard for a rest and an apple. A solitary man, bent with age, was the only other person there. He was carefully tidying a grave using long handled shears. The grave had fresh flowers. We exchanged a few banalities on the weather. I did not ask him about his loss, it seemed inappropriate, although I would have liked to.

There was an optional section of the Icknield Way which passes close to the village of Toddington. Following Icknield Way signs without thought I accidentally went a little way up this alternative, but as it seemed longer my knee voted that we returned to the main route. I crossed the M1 motorway, lines of cars speeding into or out of London, then crossed the railway. Five electrified lines, two for fast trains to and from the north, and the remainder for slower more local ones.

Crossing M1 Motorway.

Towards the end of my day, I regained the higher ground and some decent views where not obscured by trees. The last section of the route, around Sharpenhoe Clappers, was highly contorted. There was a pair of tall aerials which I saw from all angles. My path was following the edge of a plateau, above steep, wooded slopes, along the top of valley sides, in and out, as they cut into the higher ground. I found it difficult to maintain a sense of direction. Finally I arrived at Streatley, the second village with this name on my trip so far. My self catering chalet for the night was on the south side. All was dark as I arrived by the light of my head torch. 

Wendover to Whipsnade: Greater Ridgeway Day 16

My achievement today was completing the Ridgeway National Trail.

Hale House, my Bed & Breakfast was a "Passivhaus", a house designed so that no heating was required. In response to my query, the informative owner explained that the towel rails were the only source of heat. Thanks to thick insulation and triple glazed windows it was warm even today, on a cold, January morning. To keep the air fresh without losing heat, warm air from the bathrooms and kitchen was driven outside through a heat exchanger, which used the warmth of the stale air being expelled to heat the fresh air being brought into the house. To clean the air it was passed through a filter to remove particulate pollution, so better than the outside air!

So informed and replete with an excellent breakfast (including homemade jam) I began my day's walk. Much of it was through woodland, mainly beech, crossing several hills. Particularly attractive was a "ride" through trees on the high ground above the town of Tring. Weather was dry but features in the distance were affected by a misty greyness. Being Saturday, many people were out for a walk or jog, with their girlfriends, families, children, dogs or horses. This made it difficult to have a discrete "wee" as I always seemed to be followed.

Ridgeway through woods above Tring.

A few kilometres before I reached it I thought I could see Ivinghoe Beacon, a grass covered promontory, standing proud above the lower land to the north of it, and the end of the Ridgeway National Trail. Maybe it was more than a few kilometres as it seemed to take a while to reach it. First I had to cross a few hills, rather more hills than I had expected. After a final steep climb in muddy boots I reached Ivinghoe Beacon and the plaque marking the end of this National Trail. The view was extensive but I did not stay long as it was exposed to a cold wind, besides, only a greying whippet seemed interested at my momentous arrival. I dropped down to a lower, more sheltered area to enjoy a snack.

Summit of Ivinghoe Beacon

Over the last day or two I had been encountering signs for the Icknield Way, which in places followed the Ridgeway. I now switched to this route to continue my trek across England. Waymarks included a drawing of a stone hammer, a reference to the stone age origins of the Icknield Way. Less popular than the Ridgeway, fewer people were on the track. Two men I encountered had backpacks of a size that indicated they had been camping. One told me they were trying out their equipment. They wild camped in a wood last night and were "toasty warm". Evidently the equipment past the test.

After passing the disappointingly modern house of "Hog Hall", the village of Dagnall and numerous golfers I reached a long section of straight path beside a very high fence. At first I found the fence forbidding, thinking it had some sinister purpose, enclosing a prison or the grounds of some criminal organisation. Then I realised it was the boundary fence of Whipsnade Zoo, the country arm of London Zoo. The high fence was to keep animals in (and non-paying guests out). I peered through the fence looking for lions or kangaroos but all I could see was tussocky grass. It was not much further to my inn for the night, and again the dreaded problem for the muddy walker of pale coloured carpets.