As you can see, I don't try to achieve staggering feats of fitness by greatly exceeding 10,000 steps. I think regularity of effort is more important. It helps that after a whole day cooped up - apart from driving off to do some early-morning shopping three times a week - I am very keen to get out of doors. Fortunately the evenings have been dry for a couple of weeks now. But I'd brave a gentle pitter-patter of rain. I have my green hooded rain coat to protect me!
If I drive somewhere, I always try to park Fiona not more than ten miles away, even if my walk takes me a little further onward. And there's now a few favourite destinations where I can park Fiona safely and develop some walks from that spot. I can return again and again, and have a different walk each time.
One of these spots is Upper Beeding and Bramber, two villages on the River Arun that are separated only by the river, without any other kind of gap between them. Essentially they are one village, although I'm certain that the local residents wouldn't say so, and would correct me on that! Both have a fine riverside walk to the north and south. Bramber folk take the west bank; Beeding denizens the east bank. There's really nothing to choose between these riverside walks, except that if you set out at sunset, and you decide on the east (Beeding) bank, you see the sun setting on the river water, which is photographically better.
And so a few days back I stepped forth on the east bank, and duly got the river-reflections I was hoping for. Actually, I saw that it was a very pleasant place to walk, and I kicked myself for never coming here before, not in all the thirty-one years I've lived in Sussex. Oh, I've driven along the A283 road that parallels the river a hundred times, but had never thought of walking along the river bank itself. Well, discovering fresh local places to walk in is one of the silver linings to this pandemic!
I also discovered that after a mile or so there was a modern footbridge that took the South Downs Way over the river. I must have seen it last back in 1992, when I walked the SDW as part of a group. I noticed that close to the bridge was a lay-by where one could park. And if you did, you could go across the bridge and then through to the hamlet of Botolphs, and strike up the hill towards Steyning Bowl (where I began my Chanctonbury Ring walk).
However, I decided that once I got to the top, I would go south and then east to Coombes, before turning north again to Botolphs, and thence back to this bridge and the car park.
A map or two will make this clear. Click on them to enlarge them.
So the Downs beckoned. But the quaint little churches at Botolphs and Coombes also had their own allure for the photo junkie. I promised myself that, although it would be closed and locked while the pandemic lasted, I would revisit Botolphs church and churchyard before tackling Annington Hill. Hopefully it would all be lit up by the setting sun.
This was two evenings ago. I'm afraid it didn't go to plan. I made the mistake of cooking a meal before going out, which meant a delayed departure. The sun was getting distinctly low as I drove off. Along the way, at Fulking, the sun made a pretty scene, lighting up the clouds...
...but I knew that I'd have to abandon thoughts of a Downs walk that evening. There wasn't enough daylight left. So just Botolphs church then, and perhaps a quick look at the other church at Coombes.
The River Arun is tidal in these parts and the tide was low. But there was enough water to satisfy the little Leica. So this from the bridge:
I've exposed for the sky, and not corrected the picture to bring out foreground shadow detail. But I think it looks best just as the Leica took it.
Walking on, I saw a man with a woman. He was trying to take a picture of something in the adjacent field. He had a big camera with a long lens attached, all on a stout tripod. Both were enthralled with what they were looking at. I walked closer, and (still two metres away, of course) whispered to them, asking what they were studying. 'The little bunnies!' said the woman, and now I could see lots of innocent little baby rabbits nibbling their hearts out, although ready to run into the greenery at a second's notice. It was the evening for bunnies - I saw dozens during my walk, recklessly tame in the main. Well, they tolerated my close presence with nary a tremor.
I was only briefly on the South Downs Way. At Botolphs, I turned off onto the minor road that led south to Coombes, and beyond that to Lancing College and Old Shoreham. The sun was about to set over the Downs.
Soon the churchyard came into view. Opposite was a big field, containing some odd-looking sheep. They were piebald, that is, they had brown patches on their white fleece. These were the breed known as Jacob, originally reared to look ornamental, but nowadays prized for their variegated wool used in hand-spinning and hand-knitting. The rams have long curly-whirly horns, sometimes more than two. The ewes have much shorter horns. It was obvious that they were ewes, as they were tending and suckling their lambs, but the shorter horns would have been the giveaway.
They didn't like me being there. They looked hurt and offended, and made a tremendous racket. I don't speak Sheep but it sounded like 'Watch out! Another of those bloody humans!' or noises to that effect.
I opened the churchyard gate and had a quick walk around Botolphs church.
Locked and inaccessible it might be just now, but inside at least one of the ceiling lights was lit.
I walked on towards Coombes. The Jacob sheep gave me a sour look, and spat on the ground as I left them behind. No Christmas Card for me, then.
Getting to Coombes involved walking up a rise and then down into a dip. I got to the top, but then had to admit that the light was fading too much. Never mind. I could easily come again. But I'd best turn around and head back to Fiona. It would still have been a decent walk.
On the way, I had to pass the sheep again. I was expecting angry roarings from them, and perhaps threats. It's a scary sight when a sheep rears up on her hind legs and bares her fangs in displeasure. They always go for the throat, you know.
But a curious change of mood had taken place. It was as if during the half-hour since they'd last seen me they had been discussing what they thought of me, and had come to the conclusion that I was All Right and a Good Thing. So their bleatings were soft and cooing, like doves in love, and not harsh and rasping. Indeed, they now seemed very, very eager to have my company. They began to move towards me.
Suddenly all these ewes broke into a run. If I had been on their side of the fence, they might well have knocked me off my feet.
Of course, this was delightful. I paused and spoke to them. Instantly they turned up the volume and bleated as if pleading for me to stay. I wondered why they had taken to me so much. They couldn't possibly be mistaking me for the farmer or shepherd. Was it my woolly cardigan? The one I'd bought at Pitlochry in Scotland back in 2017? Did they think I was a big ewe? The Queen of the Ewes? Well, fancy that. I accepted their homage, of course, as one must.
The bleating was getting louder and louder, though. This might get embarrassing. Time to make a regal departure. I sashayed northwards. They sashayed northwards too. I edged further along, with a nonchalant do-si-do. They edged further along too, also with a nonchalant do-si-do. They weren't going to give me up.
What to do? I bade a very firm farewell to my loyal subjects and blew them a kiss. The kiss was a mistake. They pressed even harder against the fence, frantic not to lose me now. I resolutely walked away, but one ewe (who had a yearning look on her face) would not be forsworn, and stayed with me as long as she could.
Why these sheep had such a change of heart is a mystery to me. Dare I return next week, and see whether they'd remember me? Would the more athletic ewes fling themselves through the air, in a bid to get close and personal?
These and many other tantalising questions may have to be passed over. But I might go back, just to see what a sheep's powers of recall are really like.
