Today’s little slice of exploration took me somewhere I have driven past countless times on the way to Lyme Regis but never stopped to see. The lure of a castle sharing my family name, paired with the childish delight of visiting anywhere with “Bottom” in the title, was enough to point the car towards Dorset on a day promising blue skies and gentle spring warmth.
There was also an emotional motive. When I spend too long researching where to go, the list becomes paralysing. Options multiply, doubts creep in, and my anxious mind begins its familiar whispering. It is something that has undoubtedly worsened with age, that tug between the cautious, pragmatic part of me and the part still longing to be carefree. It can be exhausting and often drains the motivation to do anything at all. I have read plenty about strategies to counter this, although what works for one person rarely works for another. For me, the best antidote is simply to be spontaneous. Pick the first idea, commit to it, and let the day unfold without interference.
Pulling off the road felt like a small victory as the stream of coast‑bound cars continued towards their achingly overcrowded car parks. 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. 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. I am not exactly fond of them either, although the thought of spotting an adder did bring a flicker of anticipation.
Iron Age hill forts rarely offer much beyond banks and ditches, so there was no disappointment in finding only the broad enclosure. Even so, the space carried a sense of how a sizeable community might once have lived here, the land still holding the faintest echo of its past. 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 and grab a picture. They do bring a great point of focus, giving 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. Hardy and Household spring immediately to mind, conjuring 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 has not succumbed to the scars of progress. The gorse glowed yellow against the greens and the watery spring sky, framing the valley with a painter’s confidence.
We followed a stretch of the Liberty Way and resisted the temptation of Coney’s Castle rising to our left. A sloped coombe appeared, the sea resting hazily on the horizon. Fishpond Bottom looked like a geography teacher’s dream, a perfect natural amphitheatre with pylons clambering awkwardly across it like mechanical intruders. They soon faded from notice as we wandered through a farmyard and down to a small stone bridge over a fast‑running stream gathering its tributaries on the way to Charmouth. The climb up the far side was steep but softened by wildflowers, warm sun and scenery that felt as though it had barely changed in centuries.
A quiet country lane allowed us to look back on the hidden valley before leading us towards Wootton Hill Woods. The hedgerows were waking from winter, birdsong threading through the stillness. It was one of those moments where spontaneity felt entirely vindicated, a reminder that some of the best days arrive unplanned when you simply give yourself permission to go.
The beech woodland offered cool shade, the path forming a gentle avenue. I could not help imagining how it would blaze with reds and auburns come autumn. There is something grounding about noticing the seasons shifting around you, a reminder that time moves whether you are ready or not. Today, the fresh greens and soft light felt like an invitation to slow down and breathe a little deeper.
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 thick gorse 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 witnessing the shrill scream and dash for safety that resulted from the encounter.
The wander needed a fitting full stop, which arrived in the form of the Old Inn in Hawkchurch. A pint and a packet of crisps in a pub garden remains one of life’s simplest pleasures. Perhaps that was today’s reward for letting my feet do the talking and refusing to overthink. 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 😉
It helps to prove how special Dorset remains, despite the rural gentrification that has taken place over the years. So much out there to still find.