Today’s little slice of exploration saw me visit somewhere I have passed countless times over the years, but never stopped, often on my way to join the hordes at Lyme Regis. The obvious draw of seeing the family name attached to a castle was matched equally with curiosity about what lay just beyond the tree line. It is also worth noting that my inner child finds it incredibly amusing to go anywhere with ‘Bottom’ in the title. With that in mind, the car was pointed towards Dorset as we appeared blessed again by a day that promised blue skies and gentle spring warmth.
As ever, there was also an element of emotional benefit to be gained from the trip. This wander aimed to make a snap decision and stick to it. Far too often, I will spend so much time researching something or where to go that the list acts to either confuse or trouble me. Decisions become harder to make as the possibilities grow and the doubts begin to creep in. It is classic procrastination and a sure-fire signal that my anxious mind is trying to shoehorn its way into my consciousness. This is something that has most definitely gotten worse as I’ve grown older. It can be incredibly hard to battle that part of me that is increasingly pragmatic and cautious, knowing full well that I’ve still got parts of my brain screaming at me to be more carefree and to go with the flow. It can be tiring and instrumental in sapping the motivation to do anything. Now, I have read extensively about this and the numerous strategies that can be implemented to conquer it. What works for one, though, won’t necessarily work for another, so I am not about to start slipping into advice mode. For me, I have realised that the best antidote to this ‘farting about’ and being indecisive is to rip the plaster off and be spontaneous. To offer two fingers up to the dithering and indecision by limiting my choices to the first one that comes to mind, and then seeing how things pan out.
It felt good to pull off the road and watch the train of coast-bound vehicles continue on their merry way towards an achingly full car park, followed by the inevitable stress-inducing game of looking for a space. The obligatory bumpy track tested the car’s suspension to its max before the small and sparsely populated car park allowed us to pick a spot at will. It was walking boots territory today, which was further backed up by my insistence that we would most definitely encounter snakes en route. This went down like a lead balloon with my partner, with her giving firm assurances that it would be me going first through any narrow sections on the walk. To be fair, I am not a big fan of the slippery little buggers myself. Nevertheless, the thought of seeing an Adder on its home turf did offer a slight tingle of sweaty-palmed anticipation.
As with all these Iron Age Hill forts, there is often very little real evidence of physical remains beyond the banks and ditches that can be observed. This meant there was no disappointment in failing to discover any signs of a fallen fortress within the area. Instead, a broad enclosure gave a sense of space and perspective to how this land must have once supported quite a sizeable community. Well-trodden footpaths crossed the site and steadily drew us towards the trig point, nestled near a group of trees. As a lover of maps and navigation, it was a treat to tick off another trig point and grab a picture. ‘Trig Bagging’ has built quite a following in the UK, with many more dedicated enthusiasts than me on a quest to claim as many as possible. They do bring a great point of focus, and often a reason to go to certain places that might otherwise be overlooked. Whereas many trigs will normally be the point that presents the view beyond, this one was more hidden and saved the enormity of what lay beyond the trees until later.
The cropped grassland continued for another hundred metres or so, maintaining an unwillingness to reveal its secret until the last moment. What transpired was further clarification that you don’t have to be at the top of a mountain to benefit from a view that stops you in your tracks. Realising that we were standing on top of a steep escarpment, the sight of the Marshwood Vale triumphantly made its presence known, unfolding in front of us.
This is a landscape that is bookmarked with literary heritage. Thomas Hardy and Geoffrey Household spring immediately to mind, with it not being too hard to conjure images from classic novels that would have been set before my eyes. It is reassuring that the canvas has remained untouched and Dorset’s National Landscape ( previously AONB) has not succumbed to the scars of progress. Strolling along the ridge, we stop regularly to take it all in. The striking yellow heather framed the view, offering a fantastic contrast between the rich greens and watery blue sky.
The path continued seamlessly along a small stretch of the Liberty Way. Ignoring the temptation to climb Coney’s Castle to our left, the view changed as a sloped coombe came into sight, with the sea visible on a hazy horizon. Fishpond Bottom presented itself like a Geography teacher’s dream, with a glance at the OS map offering a whole host of features worthy of any field trip. The pastured valley, closed at one end, has created a beautifully curved natural amphitheatre. A string of pylons clamber clumsily over the void here, like some form of mechanical intruder. However, they soon melt from my attention and blend into the background. Having strolled through a working farm yard, we followed our noses ( quite literally) downhill towards an inconspicuous stone bridge. This crosses a fast-running stream that owes its origins to the bowl of land above us, collecting further tributaries as it winds its way down to Charmouth, some four miles away. The climb up the other side required some hands-on knees exertion. Although the wildflowers, warm sun and timeless scenery all mean this was done without a sense of urgency.
A quiet country lane, so typical of this area, permits us to look back on this tucked-away idyll before heading up and away. The hedgerows and trees stretch their waking yawns, with birdsong the overriding sound. It is at this point that the willingness to be spontaneous and go with it hits home the most. It affirms the notion that some of the best times can come when you least expect them. We feel lucky to be here, even if luck didn’t particularly have a part to play.
Skirting the edge of Wootton Hill Woods, we head through the shaded peace of predominantly beech woodland. The avenue at one point brings mind’s eye images of how this might look in Autumn, with a colour chart of reds and auburns. Indeed, it is probably that sense of the changing seasons that feels so connecting to be part of today.
The final stretch looped us back to Lambert’s Castle enclosure, completing a walk that was only 3.5 miles in length, but seemed so much further in terms of the richness it produced. With the car park in view, a rustle in the heather captured our attention. On cue, not one but two of the elusive adders made their presence known as a fleeting flicker of movement across the path. I would have loved a photo, but had to make do with the laughs that ensued from the shrill scream and dash for safety that resulted from the encounter.
The wander only required a suitable full stop. This was obligingly received at the Old Inn, nestled in the pretty village of Hawkchurch, just up the road. A pint and a packet of crisps in a pub garden will forever remain one of life’s simple pleasures. Maybe that was today’s reward for letting my feet do the talking and allowing myself to embrace the freedom gained by not overthinking. Mission accomplished.
Wonderful place to explore spontaneously. It’s years since we’ve been but I remember the thrill of coming across the view. Think we ate our picnic there too. To be honest all you need is the correct map, correct clothes for the weather and some sustenance. In our safe world far more will go right than wrong. Keep being spontaneous and slightly under planned 😉
p.s. it’s gorse not yellow heather, smells like coconut suntan lotion