Waking with a nagging head was the reward for enjoying England’s last-gasp win against France in the Six Nations the previous night. Fortunately, this was accompanied by bright winter sunshine beaming through the bedroom window. On further inspection, a scene of crisp frost and watery blue skies meant it would be foolish not to get out and make the most of it.
Part of my ingrained inner workings has always centred around the weather. A fact that has, for many years, had a direct impact on my mood, motivation, and ability to function. If the sun is shining outside, I find it nearly impossible to stay indoors or concentrate. Conversely, if it is gloomy or wet, it can govern my day to a point where my sense of drive or purpose is totally undermined. This is something that I do not like about myself. It can be both debilitating and futile in terms of making the most of things. A real glass-half-empty way of living. I mean, what is the point of trying to look at a long-term weather forecast, just because you are doing something in two weeks’ time? It acts like a slow-motion anxiety car crash. Noting day-to-day predicted changes in the percentage risk of rain and comparing different websites to find the most optimistic forecast, are the types of nonsensical activities that I have needed to irradicate from my way of being. I suppose because modern life allows us to gather information so easily, this habit-forming behaviour can be damaging without even noticing it. There is absolutely nothing I can do about the weather, so why worry about it or the impact it may have on my plans? ‘Control the controllable’ has become a mantra that I am working hard to live by. It is early days but I am already benefiting from it. Indeed, part of my aim going forward is to wander and blog when the weather is bad. To embrace the rain, wind, and fog, rather than allow it to affect me negatively.
Bearing all that in mind, today remained one of those winter treats. Cold yes, but still and inviting. A chance to clear the head and explore an area nearby that wears the seasons like an ever-changing coat.
The land that surrounds Langport is synonymous with flooding. It is an accepted part of how the local area functions and has evolved over the centuries. There is a somewhat questionable school of thought that Somerset got its name from being a ‘Land of the Summer People.’ In as much that the area is only habitable during certain times of the year. Even so, The Somerset Levels and Moors cover an area of some 160,000 acres, being split in two by the Polden Hills. Before being drained, much of the land was under a shallow, brackish sea in winter and was marshland in the summer. Drainage inevitably began with the Romans and was restarted at various times throughout history. What remains today is a fragile landscape that is pumped and managed by both rivers and manmade drains that extend to form long straight channels of water across an area that rarely rises above sea level. Recent years have seen what seems to be a never-ending battle to hold back the control that water has over this land. Climate change is the easiest finger to point for this, although aided by a shrinking pot of finances to maintain the defenses sufficiently is an uncomfortable truth that lies alongside. It is a place that feels ancient in its skin. Where nature is allowed to take over and have its own way for large parts of the year. For these reasons alone, it draws me back time and time again. Yes, it can be bleak, but that is part of its endearing quality. Today, however, the sun and water produced a temporary canvas that felt both inspiring and serine in equal measure.
The River Parrett has been embraced in this area. Not only does it play a vital role in ferrying water out towards the Bristol Channel, but it has become an attraction for those seeking to use the river for leisure and downtime. When Covid struck we all had to live by a different set of rules. As a result, our local inland waterways became more popular than ever. Balmy weather (and a lack of flights) led to the unforeseen existence of the ‘Costa del Riverbank’ across the country. Never before had our rivers, streams, and lakes been more popular, as kingfishers and mallards made way for inflatable flamingos and a veritable armada of stand-up paddleboarders. Those days have thankfully moved on, but the local council who had a little bit of initiative and vision decided that placing pontoons on stretches of the river would remain a draw to the town. Health and safety for once not gone mad. Only in winter are the pontoons removed, leaving the area to once more be fallow and calm.
Parking at the top of the old town, Langport’s sense of being an island on the Levels became clear. The viewpoint from the church coupled with glimpses down narrow alleyways drew the eyes and feet toward the land below. The atmosphere today was hard to describe. The vast expanses of water cast not just beautiful reflections but also seemed to soften any sounds. The result was a sense of solitude that echoed the silence and permitted entry.
It certainly wasn’t shockingly early, nevertheless, few people were here this morning. Those also around seemed respectful of the peace that controlled the scene. I aimed to follow the footpath as best I could on both sides of the River Parrett, winding its way to Mulchelney a couple of miles upstream. Through the town and onto the open parkland at the quaintly named ‘Cocklemoor’, the path ran alongside the river and into open countryside. Happy as ever to be running free and searching for mud, the dog took the lead. It certainly did not take long to confirm my suspicions that anything above the waterline would not necessarily be easy on the foot. This would be a walk that revelled in its ability to cake from head to toe. Nature’s treadmill.
The following four miles were nothing short of therapy. Despite the encroaching cloud cover that brought a chill that tickled the bones, I was transported to a place that offered the opportunity to watch and contemplate in equal measure. Swans had reclaimed the fields, gliding with elegance and stealthy menace. Patrons of this newly forged land. The banks of the Parrett are built in such a way that forms a bermed causeway between the two bodies of water. This allowed us to navigate our way toward Muchelney which sat silhouetted across the fetch of this inland sea.
Arriving in Muchelney allowed for some firmer ground underfoot and the chance to have a mooch around. The most notable landmark here is the 13th-century Muchelney Abbey, which was once a Benedictine monastery. The abbey is now in ruins, but visitors can still explore the remains of the church, cloisters, and other buildings that are under the stewardship of English Heritage. The somewhat eerie quiet remained as I did a short lap of the village and noted the abandoned cars that lined the flooded road connecting Langport. A sense of history radiates from this place, with its physical disconnection from the surrounding area acting to exaggerate its distant importance. This was certainly an impressive halfway point but one that would be best explored further in warmer months along with a tour of the local cider farms. As the sun began to break through again, the path took us back towards the opposite bank of the river and the well-signed Parrett Trail.
Making my way through now familiar territory it was clear that my timing and willingness to climb out of my pit early had paid off. I had allowed myself the chance to experience the solitude that this scene required to truly appreciate it. As a result, I was less fussed to be joined by a string of dog-walking families and rambling Baby Boomers. Smiles and nods aplenty and the opportunity for the dog to sniff enough rear ends to satisfy curiosity, saw the slippery stroll back to Langport pass by without further need to drift into contemplation. The final approaches saw the local rowing club preparing to enter the water and an impressive pair of tandem canoeists making light work of efficiently cutting through the water.
Heading back into Langport itself and completing the loop, I pulled up a park bench to sit and watch the world go by for a while. The walk was a smidge over five miles, which I must admit felt further. No doubt accredited in part to the level of mud skating involved. However, with the sun still trying to warm my face and a pair of eyes eagerly sizing up the pork pie in my hand, today felt like nothing other than a little triumph. So often I find my mind racing, juggling thoughts and conjuring up lists of things that need immediate attention. It can be exhausting. Therefore, making the most of opportunities to clear my thoughts and allow myself to be in the moment is both valuable and important. With that in mind, this wander was another mini mission accomplished.
