For our final spring adventure, we had saved one of our very favourite walks, starting from a woodland car park, just outside the small village of Cripps Corner. We intentionally set off later than normal, aiming to catch the best of the day’s weather, so crossed the road and onto a woodland rise to start the walk at just after half-eleven. The blue sky kept threatening to appear as we made our way through the trees, the path muddier underfoot than last year thanks to the soggy spring. A small footpath appeared on the left at the bottom of the ride, which led us away through dense undergrowth, past a spot where the very ghost of garlic still wafted on the woodland air – a final wave farewell until next year.
Arriving at the day’s long road section, we soon pulled over to reorganize ourselves as the warm, sunny day the forecast had promised arrived. Jumpers off and sun cream on, we continued along the quiet country lane, passing a few fields of lambs which all now looked noticeably chunky. Turning right back into the fields, we wandered through a hilltop meadow with views of the countryside all around. The route took us past a series of quiet cottages down rough tracks, before sloping upward through another large meadow, on the edge of a woodland. This stretch, aside from being pretty, is most notable for Beth having a pee last time. No such interlude necessary on this occasion, we made our way uphill and found ourselves crossing through a gate to an auspicious spot – the location of my absolute favourite way marker. With excitement, I walked confidently to the tree on which the way marker in question pointed out into the sunny meadow from which we’d come. And lo, disaster – the way marker was gone! Almost, anyway. A tiny portion of the marker remained nailed resolutely in place, as the only mark that it had ever existed – bummer.
Passing a sapling growing from the top of a fence post (you go lil tree!), we moved on along the edge of the woodland, we began to feel peckish, and remembered commenting last time how the hillside meadow would have been the perfect lunch spot. Guess it will have to be third time lucky, and we instead carried on into the woods and somehow managed to end up sitting on the exact, small log on which we had perched previously. After this we crossed the road and made our way along a slightly squelchy and overgrown path through the remainder of the woods, where we spotted a fox running through the undergrowth in front of us. Eventually we came back out into the open and entered the village of Staplecross. In the middle of the village is a pub called the Cross Inn, where we sat outside in the sun and watched the world go by over a couple of pints.
Setting off again, we ended up making the same mistake as last time, following a footpath marker down a driveway that led to precisely nowhere, before turning around and carrying on down the road to look for the correct route. Path found and we made our way out into the countryside, walking happily through a series of sunny, thick meadows of glowing buttercups. A simple, pleasant late May afternoon in East Sussex – what could possibly go wrong?
It was at this point, as we made our way up a farm track, that a herd of cows appeared in a field to our left, through which the day’s walk was set to lead us. “Those cows seem interested in us,” commented Beth. And so they were, staring straight at us, even from a distance. As we made our way into the field, I noted the electric fence (hopefully on) which created a strip of land for the footpath between it and the barbed wire fence on the other side. Walking steadily through the field, the cows continued to stare. Heart rates increased when we spotted a handful of calves amongst them – cows are notoriously protective of their young. A couple of protective mothers began mooing in our direction and worse, as the herd began to migrate toward us, I spotted a significantly beefier, more muscular individual amongst them – a bull. No warning signs I would like to add, and as the mooing mothers walked protectively toward us, I encouraged Beth to keep her eyes on the gate at the field’s edge as I monitored the cows coming ever closer on our right. The angry mooing continued and the cows drew nearer and nearer, and we were both relieved when we finally reached the security of the gate. We promptly made our way through and closed it sharply behind us, before turning to face the cattle, now just behind us. The large mothers had followed us all the way to the corner of the paddock, where they continued to yell, determined to see us off for good. The large bull, meanwhile, was stood at the back of the herd, absent-mindedly scratching his solid head on a telegraph pole, seemingly nowhere near as bothered by our presence as the mums, massive testis swinging freely in the sunshine.
Turning away from the cows who continued to watch us go, I couldn’t help but glance behind us to check they weren’t somehow still following for some time after. In complete contrast, the meadow beyond was beautiful. Colourful, peaceful and full of insects quietly going about their business, these two extremes in such short spaces sat starkly alongside one another. The calm of the meadow was highly comforting for our still-thumping hearts (of either excitement or fear, depending on which of us you were!). The sudden burst of contrasting feelings was in many ways the perfect metaphor for life – a high on which I was riding for the rest of the day.
After coming out at a road and putting the farm behind, we eventually crossed into the day’s next patch of woodland, where we continued to talk about all things cattle, and Beth even accidentally admitted that the whole thing had been ‘exciting’ after all – progress! Coming back out into the open to another wide swathe of fast-growing meadow, we made our way over a crest and halted when we spotted a herd of deer happily grazing amongst the warm long grass. They must be here often as we had seen some last time too, and on this occasion they only ran a little away when they spotted us, being happy to remain amongst the shade at the edge of the field and watch us pass through whilst munching away, rather than running away entirely.
Also in this field lives one of our very favourite trees, a mighty old oak sitting solitarily beneath the blue sky. We made sure we paused beneath its limbs and placed our hands on its bark, before continuing on our way, leaving the oak and the deer behind us to live in peace until the next time we come to say hi. As we walked toward the edge of the meadow, we picked up a row of large concrete blocks, known as ‘Dragon’s Teeth’ – anti-tank devices from WW2. Crossing the road for the final time that day, we made our way through a small vineyard and into the continuing yellow meadows beyond, where we spotted a few more, larger deer in the distance. The route then left the fields behind as it returned to the woods for the last blast of the day. The path steadily slopes uphill through the green trees pretty much all the way back to where the car faithfully awaited us, finally finishing at 4.30pm.
This route is fantastic and is absolutely one of our favourites. It is varied, a good length in a lovely area of the weald with a nice little pub in the middle and has lots of aspects throughout which feel extra special – what more could we want? Would 100% recommend, and the original route was provided by High Weald Walks. However, they have since taken it down, so instead we have mapped it out (see below).
And so, with that, ends spring 2024 – and what a brilliant time we’ve had! Despite turning out to be one of the wettest springs on record, we certainly got lucky with our Sundays, cramming in twelve walks over thirteen weekends, with 91 miles of footpath disappearing beneath our boots. Having started with the highs of the Hartfield walk, Sundays came and went as we watched new life blooming all about us, eventually giving way to full meadows and luscious green canopies of summer. The glow of the bluebell, the scent of the wild garlic, the cry of the newborn lamb, all gone for another year. Now with the heat of the new season upon us, we can relax in the knowledge that we made the most of each and every moment with which spring presented us, as we eagerly await its colourful return next year.
Matthew G. Huggins 