Day Eighteen

Saturday 15 January 2011 – Gloucester to Longhope

Today's theme was mostly mud. After the big freeze before and after Christmas, the temperature had risen to double figures, above average, so there was no frozen ground. There was, however, lots of water. The area had had heavy rainfall in the previous week, with more to come. But not today. Despite the lowering skies, and a total absence of blue, the clouds which threatened rain at any minute rolled across and rained elsewhere.

From Gloucester Station I made my way through the shopping centre to the docks entrance, turning off at the last minute to take bridges over, firstly, the dock outlet, and then the East Channel of the Severn. I was then on an island between the two channels. I followed the East Channel downstream. Despite being a few hundred yards from the centre of a bustling city, here it was quiet and peaceful. This artificial island is mostly fields, although a big electricity station loomed over to my right and power cables criss-crossed the sky. The tower of the cathedral had to jostle with pylons for attention.

At a point marked on the map as Lower Parting, the two channels of the river meet and flow powerfully away towards the sea. I was now walking upstream alongside the wider Western Channel, eventually crossing the river to reach the A40. Thankfully, I was able to leave the main road within a few hundred yards. I had to cross the road, but was helped by some traffic lights (not there for my benefit, rather to allow right-turning traffic to reach the farm shop opposite).

A farm track also served as a cycle route and footpath. I was intent on following the Wysis Way, a route designed to link the Wye at Monmouth with the Thames in Gloucestershire (Wysis, Wye to Isis – geddit?). The printed guide and the website only describe the route from West to East, ignoring nuisances who insist on walking in the other direction. But luckily for me the Way is marked on the OS map, and is also (rather sketchily) signed and way-marked.

Over Farm, to my left, has diversified by designating one of its barns as a party barn – birthday parties this way. No business today, though. The section of the sign for the name of the birthday girl or boy was empty.

At Lassington Wood, I started to climb the side of the Leadon Valley. This River Leadon has put on weight since Christmas. On the map it is thin, but on the ground it is very fat, sprawled widely over its flood plain, gorged on recent rainwater. Trees were standing with their feet and much more in the water. The path skirted the uninteresting houses of Highnam, before heading across fields to Lassington, a hamlet with a few houses, the tower remaining from a church, a “big house” and a farm. A blue plastic-clad building, perhaps formerly a barn, was being done up. Several men were lifting a new beam into place.

A mile further up the valley of the swollen Leadon, Rudford is a hamlet with a whole church and, curiously, a cottage right next to it. The curious aspect is that each of the two has its own bell-tower. A seat between the two buildings provided a convenient lunch spot. Then I walked for a while along what was obviously a former railway, now just a wide grassy area between embankments. Ex-railways were to be a feature of the next few days' walking.

Then field paths took me to the village of Tibberton, of which I saw next to nothing. The Wysis Way uses a short stretch of quiet road to find an alley between houses and the church, passing Tibberton Court, to get back into the country. For a little while, I couldn't be sure I was on the right footpath – there was a generous selection, but with ungenerous signing. Soon I recognised the configuration on the ground, reproduced on the OS map. This was just as well – this part of the route was along a string of field paths with few defining features, One hedge or ditch looks much like another.

At Byfords Farm I met a splendid Gloucester Old Spot sow, who completely ignored me as she worked her way along the fence in search of a good scratching-post. Another mile of field paths led to the oddly-named Glasshouse, and then to a climb into Newent Woods. On the first part of the climb I met a man banging fence posts into the ground. I asked him whether there was a danger that, in this soft ground, the posts would just keep sinking into the ground. He laughed. ”That's right. But this is the time to do it. A couple of weeks back the ground was too hard.” He held tightly to a small yappy dog as I carried on upwards.

At first the path was very muddy and slippery, then better drainage came into play, and I was walking on a carpet of pine needles and leaf-mulch, a very nice surface. The climb was not very steep, but this was the first real hill of the day, and the harbinger of more interesting country to come. Emerging from the woods, I passed the reassuring sight of a National Trust sign as I climbed again on to May Hill. They are rather proud of May Hill around here, and rightly so. On its top is a large clump of trees planted for one of Queen Victoria's jubilees, and all the usual claims are made for the number of counties you can see – between 7 and 12, apparently. Not today, you couldn't. The general gloom was intensified now that there were more hills, with valleys between them to trap the mist. I could just make out the Severn to the South East, but the Welsh mountains were well beyond available visibility.

My path fell steeply from the summit of May Hill, joining a minor road to reach the unlovely A40 again. My overnight stay was at a pub just couple of hundred yards along the road.