Sadly this perfection was destroyed in the Great Storm of 1987. Most the Ring's trees were knocked over by the sheer force of the wind, or they snapped. It seemed marred forever. But new saplings were planted, and, in the 33 years since, they have somewhat restored the famous silhouette. It's not quite as it used to be, but it's definitely going to end up looking much as it once was, though I'll be lucky to see that in my lifetime.
You can read a lot about Chanctonbury Ring, including some interesting legends, at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chanctonbury_Ring. Apparently it's a 'place of power' in the occult sense, and it's unwise to spend the night there, unless you are a woman hoping to conceive. I'm sure there must be less scary way of getting pregnant.
I haven't many photos of Chanctonbury Ring in my archive. Partly this is because any taken in the 1990s are still trapped on prints that haven't yet been scanned. One day they will be, but I'm not embarking on that vast task just yet. I expect I have passing shots taken on an organised walk in 1992: my Photo Diary shows I took pictures at Chanctonbury on Sunday 16th August 1992, which would have been my first close encounter with the Ring. It doesn't say whether I specifically photographed the Ring and its trees, or just my fellow-ramblers. Perhaps I only took - or kept - the people shots.
I returned to the place only at long intervals. You can't get to Chanctonbury without significant personal effort. There is a car park at the foot of the South Downs, just off to the north-east, but this involves a stiff climb through muddy woods. More level approaches from, say, Washington, Findon, or Steyning Bowl mean a two- or three- mile trek. That's nothing, of course, to regular fit walkers; but a four- or six-mile round trip makes visiting Chanctonbury Ring rather a mission. So going there wasn't something I considered doing often, and until now my photographic record has been sparse.
I have these. The first two are from 2000, taken from Cissbury Ring to the south. Although it was thirteen years after the Great Storm, you can still see how ravaged the Ring looked, its smooth symmetry gone:
These next two shots were taken on New Year's Day in 2009. It was icy cold and dull. That's why I played around with the colour in the second shot, attempting the make a poor shot look more interesting.
The tree outline still looked untidy.
Chanctonbury appears in the background to this fanciful 2012 shot at Buncton church, away to the north, but that's as close as I ever came after 2009.
Until yesterday evening. It was going to be another good sunset, the evening was mild, and I was keen to get in a decent walk, all properly booted-up.
I hadn't hitherto tried walking on the South Downs during the lockdown, mainly because the 'official' car parks had been closed to discourage people gathering there and violating the social distancing rules, intentionally or not. But then I remembered that above Steyning (pronounced STENNING - another odd Sussex pronunciation), in fact overlooking a deep valley in the South Downs called Steyning Bowl, you could pull in at the side of the road. This wasn't by any means a main road. It merely struck across the Downs from Sompting to Steyning. But there were several places where you could safely park your car away from any passing traffic, and set off on a decent walk.
The next question was: How far was it? Could I keep 'local'?
Well, the spot where I intended to park Fiona was just within my 'ten-mile radius' from home. But any walk westwards would take me beyond that. On the other hand, such a walk would definitely be 'exercise', and potentially strenuous exercise at that. I wasn't committing myself to going all the way to Chanctonbury: I might turn south before then and do a triangular walk as an alternative. This map will make the footpath options clear. Click on it to see the detail. The small red car-shaped blob in the bottom right is where I parked Fiona. A circle of two miles radius, coloured pink inside, shows that Chanctonbury was slightly more than two miles away as the crow flies - a there-and-back hike of at least four miles. Mind you, that triangular walk to the south would be further.
The car journey there took me 25 minutes. With Fiona parked, and my boots on, I had a quick look at Steyning Bowl, rapidly getting filled with shadow. Then I set off up the gentle slope, to join the South Downs Way. After a few hundred yards, I looked back.
The sea was on the far horizon. It was a perfect evening for walking. Sunset was just before 8.00pm, and it was presently just gone 6.30pm. If I did firm up on going to Chanctonbury, I had to get there and back before nightfall. Four miles at three miles per hour - twenty minutes for each mile - yes, I should do it comfortably. And have time to explore the Ring.
I walked forwards with a light-hearted step, relishing the fresh air and wide views. I was really glad I had my Alt-Bergs on: the track was hard and flinty, and ordinary shoes would be no good at all. I was wearing a light orange top and black leggings, but also a brown fleece with 'fur' trim, which would no doubt have to come off as I warmed up (and it did), but would be badly needed later on, when the sun set and it got cooler and breezier.
And I had my stout stick. If I stumbled, or turned an ankle, I'd be glad of it as a support. But also to make dodgy men think twice. I'm always conscious that a woman on her own in a lonely spot is at some risk - a risk never to be wholly dismissed, even in broad daylight. I could use that stick to whack, clobber, poke, smash, and generally hurt any assailant. A friend once showed me how. It wasn't an iron bar, or a proper cudgel, but any man would know a stick like that could be damaging in determined hands.
Although I encountered nobody on foot like myself on the way to Chanctonbury, plenty of cyclists on mountain bikes came towards me, or passed me. All were ridden by fit young men, out for a sunset ride. Otherwise, the normally-busy South Downs Way was empty. That's the point of going out at sunset.
I came to a point where the Ring was now rather closer, only a mile off.
Ah, let's go for it.
And fifteen minutes later, I'd reached a gate, and there was a greensward, and there was the Ring, crowning the hill.
I felt so pleased to make it here, after a gap of eleven years. And in warm evening light too - so different from the last time. As I advanced towards the trees, two cyclists come up behind me, and then a single cyclist who overtook them. Lay figures are sometimes worth having in photos, to give a human touch and some sense of scale.
I walked slowly around the outside of the Ring. The single ditch that enclosed the somewhat higher centre, dug two or three millennia ago, was still deep in places. The slow-growing windswept trees made strange silhouettes here and there. Surely not one of them could date back to that first planting in 1760? But a few looked pretty old, bent, crooked and gnarled.
It felt great to enjoy a fine sunset in such a place - you can tell from my expression!
By the way, all the shots in this post were taken using my eleven-year-old Leica D-Lux 4 camera. It shows what 'old tech' can still do.
Here and there I spied decaying tree stumps. These must have been trees that snapped in half back in 1987, as the ferocious wind overwhelmed them.
The Ring was on the edge of a steep escarpment, and looked out northwards onto farmland studded with trees, and the houses of the well-off, all golden in the low sun.
It was more sheltered on the north side of the Ring: greener and less stark, the trees looking less battered.
But as I completed my circuit, it got rougher again, with the trees bent over, and fallen boughs that had come crashing down.
Having completed my circuit, I negotiated the ditch and struck off into the centre. Chanctonbury Ring was supposed to be a 'place of power' - would it have an 'atmosphere', especially as darkness wasn't far off?
I'm actually quite sensitive to atmospheres, but didn't feel any kind of brooding presence. Perhaps if there had been fewer saplings, and more thick-trunked creaking monarchs with groping branches, the interior of the Ring would have seemed rather less quiet and benign. There was supposed to be the remains of an ancient temple somewhere, but I couldn't find it. Rather a disappointment. A touch of mystery and magic would have been a bonus!
Even as it was, my time here was fast running out, and I'd soon have to leave. But one or two more sunset shots from inside the Ring first...
Right. Time to go, if I wanted to get back to Fiona in any kind of light. It was nigh on sunset already. I put on my fleece jacket and set forth at a brisk pace. Two miles to go; forty minutes' walk. And it was 7.50pm now. But I couldn't help looking back, to catch the sun sinking ever closer to the horizon, and the sky getting ever darker. Distant cows roamed into view. They must seek the shelter of the Ring at night.
It wasn't yet quite as dark as those shots suggest - I haven't applied any exposure correction - but there was no further time to waste. Although I kept up a cracking pace, the South Downs Way seemed to go on and on without end. I felt very glad that I had my stick!
And then I saw an old Ordnance Survey triangulation pillar off in the field to my right, and knew there wasn't far to go. I reached Fiona at 8.30pm, by now in semi-darkness.
It was a lonely business, getting my boots off in the scary twilight. But soon I was in the driving seat, locked in, the engine running and dipped beams on. South to the A27, and thence home. The journey took me twenty-five minutes, along an almost-empty dual carriageway. So bizarre to see it this bare of traffic! But that's the lockdown for you.
I wondered why police cars weren't chasing me to enquire why I was out after dark. But I didn't see one. I might of course have been doing a mid-evening shop. Or conceivably returning from some workplace, either as an employee or as a volunteer. How nice it will be when the restrictions are relaxed, and no explanations need to be kept in mind! But I think it will not be before the end of May.
