The River Blythe in Winter

 

“I’m going for a walk…..”

This is the simple statemented I made to Hazel, my wife, mid-morning, Sunday 31^st January 2021.

My intention was to walk down to Barston Ford to see if the River Blythe had caused the ford to live up to its name and to take some photos. The ford is about two miles from home so, if I had turned around immediately I would have completed a pleasant four mile Sunday morning stroll; except that I don’t stroll, I walk like I drive – enough said to those who know me.

When I got to the ford I found that the surrounding fields were flooded but the river hadn’t covered the road. I took a few photos with my phone camera -

Having taken the photos common sense should have told me to retrace my steps and head for home. But for reasons I cannot explain I decided to take the public footpath that goes across the fields, often running alongside the river. It is a favourite walk of mine in the Summer but in these conditions in ordinary shoes? I don’t think so! But on I went, realising with every step that it wasn’t a good idea. Here is a photo of one of the better parts of the footpath

And here is a section of the path running close to the river -

I knew where I was going because, as I have said, I have walked this path before. I would soon be coming to a footbridge across the river. However, this is what confronted me -

You can see the handrail along the submerged path, then, the path continuing the other side of the water channel. At the top of the photo you can see the footbridge.

So, any sensible person would have swallowed their pride and retreated but not me. I entered the field on the left to see if I could circumnavigate the water channel. I discovered that the channel was in fact the end of a deep ditch between two fields that was now filled with water.

I found a plank laid across the ditch that other travellers had used to cross the ditch. Unfortunately the plank was not lodged onto the bank closest to me, it was floating and when I placed my foot on it it sank. So, I couldn’t use it in that state. Then I saw another robust plank near by with dimensions of 8ins x 2ins and about five feet long. I dragged it, with difficulty, and placed over the existing plank. Bingo! A perfectly suitable bridge. All I had to do now was walk across the field to the footbridge.

But horror of horrors, when I got there I was confronted with a second deep channel of water, about three feet wide, between the footpath and the steps leading to the footbridge. What am I going to do now I thought. My first instinct was to try to find another plank of wood to bridge the gap. I found a discarded fence post, round on one side and flat on the other. I aimed one end at the first step but it fell short and the fence post floated away on the current. Despair!

I retraced my steps to see what else I could find, then, most unexpectedly, I heard voices. A young family, mum, dad and a boy and girl aged about ten and eight, appeared on the other side of the first channel, near the handrail. I greeted them and suggested that this was probably the end of the trail particularly as there was an even deeper channel in front of the footbridge. They didn’t even acknowledge my presence let alone my warning/advice. They were not deterred. Mum, who was wearing knee length leatherette boots, encouraged the boy to get on her back and grabbing the handrail waded across the channel to where I was standing. She did the same with the girl. I don’t really know what she had achieved because her husband was stuck on the other side, he was only wearing walking boots so couldn’t wade across.

I accompanied mum and the children to the channel in front of the footbridge steps and the mother had to agree that the width and depth of that channel made it impassible. The little girl suggested that we should find some twigs to bridge the gap. Her mother and I, in union, said that we needed something more substantial than twigs. Nevertheless, we set about looking for something suitable. A forlorn quest, in my view, because I had already undertaken a search.

Earlier, I had mentioned to the lady that I had built a bridge (I always like to “big things up”) across the ditch in the adjacent field. She now asked me, “where is the bridge that you made?”. I guess the reason why she asked was because she didn’t fancy carrying the children through the first channel of water again. I guided her and the children to my improvised bridge, in doing so I realised that we could use the plank that I had utilised to bridge the ditch to do the same at the footbridge. By coincidence, the man was in the field the other side of the ditch where my bridge was. After he had walked across I told him to pick up the other end of the plank because we were going to use it at the footbridge.

We all trudged across the field, the heavy plank carried between the father and me, towards the footbridge. Once there we placed the plank between the bank and the second step, well clear of the water. The lady went across first followed by me. So, the formerly uncommunicative family, had been able to complete their morning walk thanks to a little ingenuity from yours truly. Unfortunately, I was so caught up in the moment that I wasn’t able to take photos of the last part of the expedition. I hope that my word picture suffices.

The last photo I took was of this clump of snowdrops, of which there were many, these were the ones most open -

That just shows you what can happen on a simple Sunday morning walk taken in Winter.

I ended up covering at least six miles.

Nick