We awoke to a heavily misty morning out the window. This might not have been weather we had been hoping for, but you know what? It’s still March, which in my mind means one thing: Spring!
Following what has been a very damp and, for us, low-mileage winter, the prospect of our favourite season’s return is a welcome one. This year we planned to kick things off the same way as the last, with a “Walk Through Time” around Sissinghurst and Cranbrook. It is one of the longer ones, and I was very excited to once again get some solid mileage beneath our boots. Beth meanwhile, was excited to encounter the goose whom we met on this walk last year.
We made sure to leave in good time for this one. Yet, no sooner had we left the house, closed the door and opened the boot, did we encounter our first disaster. The last time we had worn our walking boots was a few weeks ago, on the Avebury Circular. As you may recall, that particular walk was notably soggy. When we returned to the car, we had taken our wet boots off and put them in the box, put the lid on and drove home. When we arrived a couple of hours later, we got out and promptly went indoors after a busy weekend. Flash forward to this morning, when I double-checked the boots before heading out. I opened the box. It was only at this moment, did we realise our mistake. The boots, which had been forgotten until now, were still damp and in a visible state. Beyond that, Beth’s had even cultured some kind of white mould, which had also began to spread to the insides of my own. They were wet, smelly and unwearable. Acting fast to save the day, we jumped in the car and headed down into Maidstone. We waited outside Mountain Warehouse for the moment its doors opened, walking in explaining that we had had a “boot-emergency”. So, rather unexpectedly, the day had turned into a new boot day! We both picked up a brand-new pair (something we had planned to do in the near future anyway), and would be breaking them in straight away, with a 10 mile baptism of fire – this may be considered unwise. Following this delay, we had to adapt the plan further. The Sissinghurst grounds close at four o’clock, and this false start meant that time would be tight for us to get around. After a quick discussion, we agreed the best option was to park up in Cranbrook and begin the circular from that point instead. So, having set-off for a half past ten start from Sissinghurst, we eventually arrived for a half past eleven start from Cranbrook! Yet start we did. Maybe in the wrong place. Maybe at the wrong time. But at last, Spring could begin.
We put our new boots on and headed down Cranbrook High Street. Beth’s looked really cool and colourful – I must admit, I had slight boot envy. Mine meanwhile were comfortable enough, but I was immediately aware of them. The backs were moving quite freely against the back of my ankles, and my big toes did feel slightly squished in. They weren’t uncomfortable, but I knew they would need some breaking in. We walked through the daffodil-lined churchyard and on into the awaiting countryside. The mist still hadn’t lifted, and as it was almost midday, it very much suggested that it wasn’t going to (and sure enough, it didn’t). However, there was still a spattering of early spring flowers to see, adding welcome colour to the day. This stretch directly between Cranbrook and Sissinghurst is relatively short, about a mile maybe, and half an hour after starting we arrived in the village. The thing is with this route, when starting with the intended point of Sissinghurst Castle, Sissinghurst itself offers one of our favourite Pubs, The Milk House, as a welcome treat toward the very end of the walk. Well, there it was before us, one mile into the ten. I just wasn’t prepared to let it pass however, so in we went for what must be the earliest pub stop on our walks to date. Despite the mist, it was not a cold day, so we sat out in the quiet garden. It might not have been a classic pub garden drink-sipping day, and we may not have “earnt it”, but those first gulps of Spring Cider were wonderfully refreshing none-the-less, and a taste of the months ahead. We returned to our feet and continued. Beth had consumed just the right amount of alcohol (almost a whole half a pint!) to get philosophical, so for a while we enjoyed discussing the mysteries of life and the universe. About half an hour and one mile later, we found Sissinghurst Castle appearing before us. The day was already upside down, so we decided to throw caution to the wind and stop for our second beverage of the day. One hour down, and we had two miles and two drink stops under our belt – whoops! However, this was where the one for one hit rate would come to an end. As we left Sissinghurst, we now faced and unbroken eight-mile stint before we returned to Cranbrook. This would be the real test of us and our new boots.
We diligently followed the Walk Through Time way markers through the countryside and were pleased to soon find leaves of Wild Garlic growing at the side of the road – welcome back old friend. We made good progress, even finding the spinal cord of some long-dead beast in a field. Last year we had managed to go slightly wrong during these first couple of miles out from Sissinghurst, and despite my efforts, we managed to go wrong in the same bit again, although this time in a different way – I am sure next time will be third time lucky. Much of this route is woodland, and plenty of green leaves were springing up through the fallen leaves. However, there was also plenty of wet mud still around, more than there had been last year. This was a good test for the new boots, which had been advertised as “EXTREME”. They were undoubtedly well-insulated, as both our feet had been toasty almost immediately (in fact I think I might have to purchase some more light-weight ones when things start to warm up). However, as we made our way through a stretch with several patches of unavoidable mud, our boots were more than up to the task. No water entered our boots then, or indeed at all for the rest of the day. If our old boots had been in usable condition that morning, we would both have had wet socks for large stretches of this walk. Following our late start, we had decided to go for a correspondingly late lunch, not wanting to have eight miles still to go after using up our rations. However, by about half past two, we were both hungry. We walked through another stretch of trees, a stream tickling somewhere below with patches of Wild Garlic climbing up the high bank to meet us, as we looked out for likely spots. We eventually came across a small stick-shelter with a couple of logs placed outside as seats, and decided that this would be the spot for us. We perched ourselves down and ate, grateful for the efforts of the shelter’s unknown creator.
We stood up. As is often the case, we found that our brief stop was just enough time for our legs to stiffen up and require re-warming as we got going. However, the larger problem on this occasion was that the stop had also allowed our feet to relax. We walked on, and it quickly became apparent that our new boots suddenly felt less comfortable than they had done before lunch. The backs of my ankles were beginning to feel a little more irritated, and my big toes feeling rather disagreeable too. We continued to put one foot in front of the other as we settled back in and waited for the fuel of lunch to kick in. I think it was about twenty minutes later as we made our way up the side of a slightly rising field, pausing for a breath, when we both realised that we were perhaps a little out of practice, following the wet winter. Fortunately, whilst this walk is long, it is not exactly strenuous, with plenty of flat walking, and we only had two miles or so to go. This last portion would also include the walk’s most famous resident, and indeed as we made our way along a path beside a garden, we heard a familiar, loud and insistent squawking. The guard-goose came waddling into sight, large feather jutting out at an awkward angle, clearly out of place, as it marched all the way up to the fence. There it continued to shout at us as we admired him. As Beth continued he followed closely behind, disregarding me completely; we suspect that he saw the goose which happened to be on the front of Beth’s jumper. From there, it was the last mile march straight back into Cranbrook. By now, both of our feet were ready for the end, and my soles were feeling every step. The countryside gave way to houses, and we walked back through the daffodil avenue past the church, back up the High Street and finally arrived gratefully back at the car. We both took our new boots off with a sigh and headed home. When we got back, Beth thought it would be funny to play The Last Post as I threw the old, mouldy boots away. This made Beth sad.
Whilst this was perhaps not the relaxing, sunny romp to start spring that we had envisioned, it was certainly memorable! This remains a good route, and I am sure that our new boots will be all-broken in soon enough.
Matthew G. Huggins 