A milestone has been achieved; following the undertaking of this walk, Beth and I have officially blogged one-hundred walks! In that time, we have walked together over seven-hundred miles, shared thousands of perfect countryside moments meant just for us, and watched the seasons come and go and come and go, and come and go again. These days remain our happiest times, and for our hundredth walk, we would be returning to a route we have blogged twice previously, and one of the very first that made us fall in love with walking; Matfield.
On this occasion, following an “Egg Surprise” (which turned out to be an egg-based quesadilla right at the last second of its creation), we found ourselves parking up beside the Matfield green unusually early, a little before half past eight in the morning. As we drove over, the mist of the early morning began to clear and by the time we set off, the sun had started to burn through, and blue skies could be seen above. The oh-so-familiar route quickly took us away from the village across farmland. Everything was quiet, apart from the birds, who sung sweetly. We made our way through grass still wet with morning dew, as we passed ewes yet to rise and still sleeping lambs. All was still, all was peaceful.
The early patches of woodland were still dotted with plenty of colour, yet we didn’t need to look particularly closely to see that the bluebells had well-and truly began to dry up, and the undergrowth was beginning to take-over as summer started to make its approach. I also managed to slip on a plank of wood, which was very slippery following the previous night’s downpour. Aside from this, the first part of the walk went without drama, as we passed through orchards on the verge of juicy apples, and stretches of glowing green trees. We were pleased to find one of the routes bridges had been fixed up, although we found the farm shop where we bought ice-cream last time to be closed for renovations, as the cool of early morning quickly faded to be replaced by heat.
All was going smoothly, until we were making our way past Kent College. As we walked through the series of sheep fields that sit in front, where they were gathered mostly beneath the trees, the air echoed with a handful of bleats. Beth suddenly picked up that one distant bleat in particular seemed very much more urgent than the others. It came from away down the bottom of the field. Abandoning the path, we headed off to investigate. At first, we thought all we’d stumbled on was a particularly silly lamb. Stood near the fence, and seemingly shouting at a fallen tree, it looked at us as we approached and ran plonking away toward a sheep we assumed was it’s mother when we got too close. However, as we turned back toward the path, I stopped. I listened carefully, for what I thought I’d heard. Moments later, came another, second bleating. I turned back toward the fence. In the undergrowth beyond, suddenly appeared a full-grown ewe, shouting. The lamb responded, shouting back, and suddenly it was clear what was going on. And so the rescue attempt began. I gave Beth the bag and clambered over the fence to join the ewe. My plan had been to get behind her, and either try and catch her or force her to jump back over somewhere. However, she was particularly flighty, and I did not get the chance to get into my desired position, before she legged it and disappeared into the tree’s along the fenceline, the lamb on the other side in hot pursuit. Cursing to myself, I began the pursuit. The pair vanished, and as I clambered through the thick undergrowth, I could find no sign of either. I soon came across a large bog, and feared they had run themselves in, but fortunately I could find no sign of them there either. Eventually I found a spot on the fence where some wool was attached to the barbed wire, and clambered back over. Neither ewe nor lamb were present, as I scanned the woodland which made up this secretive corner of their field. I carefully made my way over the boggy ground and through a hidden glade of Wild Garlic, and again back over the fence to retrace my steps in case I had missed them or they had reemerged. No such luck, so I returned to roughly where I had left Beth to rejoin her. She confirmed that she had not seen them reappear into the field to rejoin the flock. I was fearing that they were in trouble somewhere, however moments later, as we made our way back around the trees toward the footpath, we saw in the next field over two lonely sheep. They could only be our missing ewe and lamb, and I felt very relieved! I can only assume that what had happened was the ewe had indeed found a spot to jump back over (probably where the wool was) and the two had then again continued to panic and somehow made it over/through the fence dividing the two fields, resulting in their unexpected appearance before us. In a way, this was actually what I had intended, if not quite in the manner (nor location) I planned. Aside from staring at the rest of their flocking with some longing, they seemed quite happy. They grazed their way through the luscious meadow they suddenly had all to themselves as they waited for the farmer to come and reunite them. Satisfied, we left them to it.
After all the running round, I was hot and sticky. Fortunately, the route then enters woodland, so I at least got some shady respite. We paused for a drink of water. Due to our lack of meal deal, we only had the one bottle between us, which at this moment we realised had been an error, and that we could probably have done with two – rookie mistake, not worthy of a pair of veterans of a hundred walks! We made our way beneath the trees and through a great, cascading grove of fragrant wild garlic, before coming out the other side, walking past our previous lunch spots without stopping. Beth was most upset to come across a section of orchard which had been cut down since our most recent visit a few months ago, which is quite understandable, but fortunately a good chunk remained untouched. We passed through a field a glowing rape, which grew so high and thick that in places the footpath seemed to almost disappear. The plants were also still wet, so Beth smartly sent me ahead with raised arms to soak up the worst of the moisture. She then followed, arms also raised above her head.
We descended through a sunny pasture past the rotting remains of a fox (nice), and entered a small bluebell woodland at the bottom. As we began to climb again on the other side, we emerged into a couple of fields which have consistently been home to lambs over the years, and today was no different. We may not have been having lunch, but we did stop at another of our spots for some sweets and a chance to appreciate them. After this, we left the large stretches of farmland behind for the day, crossing the road, passed two very loud, barking spaniels and entered what we refer to as the Jurassic Park woods, which were still a bit muddy underfoot. Coming out the other side, we said hello to a pair of cows relaxing in the shade, one of which was being rather vocal. We crossed a stream into a small nature reserve, which really marks the beginning of the end of the walk. From here it’s a gentle climb back to the outskirts of Matfield. Just before returning to the little lanes and cottages, the route takes you past a *caravan site*. This has never been an issue, however this time it was particularly *caravany*. Loads of rubbish had been dumped out the back along the edge of the path, which smelt bad. There were also two very loud, angry sounding dogs just the other side of the fence, which did not feel very welcoming – we pondered whether there might be an alternative route back into the village for next time. This was only a couple of minutes of an otherwise perfect morning however, and we made out way back past the green to the car only a little more than three hours after we had started – on other Sundays, we may have only just been beginning at this time! We then jumped in the car and headed to the pub for lunch and pints with our friends.
Beth was particularly vocal about how much she loved this route as we walked; I can only agree. We fell in love with its constantly changing nature and beautiful Kentish High Weald countryside. At seven miles, it sits at just about our ideal length – not too long, and not too short – and for years has been almost on our doorstep and has been one of our closest routes both when we were based in Lamberhurst and East Farleigh. This is by far one of our most walked routes, and I see no reason as to why that should change anytime soon. It sits proudly amongst our pre-blog walks, makes up three of the first hundred blogged and will certainly find its place amongst the second, as we continue our adventure together.
Matthew G. Huggins 