South Downs Way days 3 and 4 - Southease to Amberley

[nigheandonn]

Sunday - Southease to Truleigh Hill

Sunday in England - not something I'm keen on, as I can never get my head around the idea of only being able to buy things between 10 and 4 - and if I'm in England at all, it's generally to do something which will keep me in the wilds for all that time. This was definitely one of those days - 20 miles to the next hostel, and for at least the first 15 I would hardly pass by a house, never mind a shop.

The frustration of trying to sort this all out the night before - and the chaos of the night before that, and the heat - had driven me to announce that I hated England in general - I had thought that either Lewes, one stop up the line, or Newhaven, one stop down the line, must be big enough to have a small shop open in the morning, but no, and it took quite a bit of plotting to work out that the train went on to Seaford and that Seaford had a co-op.

So a quick out and back, and a slightly later start than originally planned - I did allow, in England's defence, that Scotland would have had the shops but possibly not the early Sunday morning trains!

Southease station

I was getting to know the little level crossing quite well, but I now passed over it for the last time and went on over the River Ouse - which seemed to be referred to everywhere as the Sussex Ouse, just in case anyone thought the Ouse from York had decided to come for a visit. A bit more substantial looking than the Cuckmere, but very severely embanked.

River Ouse

The little church in Southease village has a round tower, one of only three in Sussex and only five outside a main cluster in East Anglia and Essex - quite striking looking.

Southease church

The edge of the south Downs takes a great leap north here - a little patch of it has somehow become cut off as the hill behind Lewes, and then the main line of downs swings up to meet it - so for the first part of the day I would be heading roughly north before turning west again.

At the junction for the oddly isolated village of Telscombe the route left the road behind and headed down a farm track instead, before turning uphill through farmland to pass a little cluster of houses at the top. As well as all the various routes marked on the map I had now apparently met something called the Greenwich meridian trail, so I was still a long way east.

Up here were more fields, with a very solid track, and the soil that was never quite the right colour.

Crossing fields

I was finding that I did quite often forget that I wasn't in a foreign country - the shapes of the buildings were different, and the things that grew, and the soil itself, all of which was just like being abroad, and up here there were no signs to be in a different language anyway. (And then I would forget that I wasn't in the north and be surprised when people acted differently, although I know that southerners stand out by acting slightly differently when they're in the north.)

Kingston was down below me now, with its windmill behind it, but the path ignored all the ways down to it and made a series of angles round a valley to run down past a little patch of woodland to the tunnel under the railway.

Under the railway

The A27 was my first big landmark of the day - more than 6 of my 20 miles done - but it was also noisy and dirty looking and got in the way - something quite apart from the downs.

The A27

I had vaguely hoped for a shop where a campsite was marked on the map, or at least an excuse to sit down, but no, and instead I pushed on slowly up the slope to the next patch of woodland, where I found a good place for a rest in the shade and a late elevenses on a fallen tree trunk.

A short but steep descent on the other side of the wood, where I met some people struggling up with bikes, and then I was back on to a long slow rise, up towards the main northern edge.

Climbing slowly

Now I was finally back on the classic route, up above a steep edge with the villages of the Weald spread out in the haze below me, and back onto a hard white track - at first I'd liked them, as easy walking, but by now I was welcoming anything a bit softer on the feet.

The track led on past the ponds and college buildings of Plumpton down below, and a track heading off to a series of farms to the south, and then became more of a path, with plenty of good grass to walk on, to head up to the carpark at Ditchling Beacon, where it suddenly became hectically busy - it was the weekend, so there had always been people about, but not like this!

Approaching Ditchling Beacon

Most of the people didn't seem interested in going further than the car park and the ice cream van, however, and the trig point once again just had a trickle of people going past - a perfectly acceptable spot for a late lunch.

I was quite satisfied with my progress so far - 5 and a half hours for 12 miles wasn't exactly quick, but I'd definitely broken the back of the day, and the same speed would take me on to something like a 7pm finish.

Ditchling Beacon summit

It's a deceptive summit - from the trig point it's obvious that the highest point is in a field of rough grass behind, and from the field it's obvious that it isn't - anyway, I was punished for any trespassing by tearing a hole in my trousers while trying to take a shortcut back.

I was getting used to dew ponds, but there were two very pretty ones on the next section, one with two sentinel trees and one with surrounding gorse bushes, and neither with a great ring of concrete.

Dewpond

There was a little cluster of landmarks along here - not far from the Beacon I crossed from East Sussex into West Sussex at the Keymer post.

(It had taken me a day or two to be certain that I was in Sussex at all, because I'd never known where it was before, but I'd got it figured out now and was quite proud of my improved geography!)

Keymer post

Another mile or so along and I was at the Jack and Jill windmills, a short detour from the path - although the white one, which actually looks like a windmill, was all wrapped up for repairs.

Jack and Jill

I was coming down again now, past a farm where a man was moving horses about and over a main road to climb up through the village of Pyecombe. I wasn't supposed to be stopping until I stopped for a proper rest at Saddlescombe over the next hill, but a bench at the top of the street was irresistable, at least for a little while

My feet were really suffering by now - not the rubbed away sore of bogs and wet feet, but a mix of the pounding on hard paths and I think swelling in the heat, so that I was looking forward to a rest, and to the end of the day.

The church here had a sign saying that it was the shepherd's church, and a shepherd's crook on its gate. It also had a sign up saying that it was open for toilets, which was a very welcome thing - I think it was getting money from the national park to make its toilets (and its kettle and teabags) available to walkers, which seems like a very good idea which should happen more often.

Pyecombe church

Pyecombe is only a tiny piece of countryside squeezed between two roads, so I was soon back down and crossing a bigger road, this time on a kind of slip road bridge. I'd lost the edge, which was doing an odd wiggle southwards again, so the next hill was just a hill - up and over to Saddlescombe a mile and a half away, and lost in a cloudy haze.

Saddlescombe

One reason I'd chosen Saddlescombe as the resting point was that there was supposed to be a tearoom there, but as it was well after 5 it was almost certainly closed - but as I came down to the kind of courtyard place where it was I saw that the signs were still out at the gate, an 'open' one and a menu, so went in and asked for a cup of tea, only to be told that they couldn't do that because they'd closed at 5. I said sorry and pointed out that I had only come in because they had their open sign out, but I got the impression it was a bit unreasonable to expect them not to say that they were open when they weren't!

So I had my rest under a tree on the other side of the road instead, and I was remaking my plans, too - one of the problems with Truleigh Hill, apart from being just a mile or two too far from Southease, was that the nearest pub was a mile or so away at the bottom of the hill, but it now looked like I was going to pass the pub at the Devil's Dyke, three miles or so short of the hostel, at about the right time to eat dinner and go on with the last of the light.

One last hill, up a path between bushes, but with a road running oddly up above me - mostly it couldn't be seen from the path, but it was there, and a golf course beyond it, so that I'd gone quite suddenly from emptiness to civilisation.

For a long time there was little to be seen of the great valley of the Devil's Dyke, but as I got nearer to the top the path opened out and it was all visible below me.

The Devil's Dyke

The pub was a short detour away around the head of the valley, back on the edge with a view north, although most of the view was lost in the haze. It was quite busy, and I eventually resorted to asking them what food they *did* have, but the pie I settled on was very tasty, although it wouldn't have been on my original shortlist.

By the time I came out the sunset colours were in the sky, although the sun was still a good bit above the distant line of hills, but with a white track to follow I was never likely to get lost, even if it had been much darker - on towards a collection of masts, over two small rises and round the back of a third to where a worn track came up from below, and on past the masts to the hostel, where a bonfire outside was making a wonderful smell.

Sunset skies

I was told I was welcome to come outside and join the staff, who were taking advantage of a quiet night to have a gathering, but I was really quite happy to curl up inside and eat cake and rest my feet.

Monday - Truleigh Hill to Amberley (to Littlehampton)

It's quite unusual to start a day of walking at the top of a hill rather than the bottom, but that was where I was, setting off downhill into the valley of the Adur, another great break in the line of the downs.

The weather wasn't really up to the standard of the previous few days, but it was dry enough, and as I didn't have nearly so far to go I could have a slow start and rest my feet a bit.

A road leads up to the hostel from this side which I followed until it turned away, and a track led more directly down into the valley.

Downhill

A surprisingly industrial looking place, this, with factory buildings and a big chimney, and a main road with a confusing crossing - you should go over into a long layby, but the signs don't point that way.

River Adur

Still, that didn't last long, and a footbridge brought me over the river onto the minor road through Botolphs, more of a cluster of houses than a village but with a tiny pretty church - another place which had been a much more important river port once upon a time.

Botolphs church

With barely enough houses for one village they were divided between two, and as the road led round I was suddenly in Annington instead, with some nice solid old houses.

Where the track came out on the hillside it climbed steadily between a large number of pigs, all behind almost invisible fences - a change from ubiquitous sheep and occasional cows, but I was quite glad to be away from them. Beyond the pigs the track climbed on to meet a road and turn along the edge of a field where there were some benches looking out over a steep valley and back to yesterday's edges - a nice spot for an elevenses break.

From the road I was almost back on the northern edge, and followed it along to Chanctonbury ring, one of the great landmarks of the downs.

Chanctonbury Ring

It's all much newer than I had realised - more Georgian folly than ancient monument - which helps to explain why the great storm was such a tragedy, if it took the original trees, rather than one set from the generations. The marks of the storm are there to be seen, but the new trees are growing well, and it must be useful to have trees of different ages to keep it going for the future.

Coming down into the next valley I had a choice of routes - a plain road crossing, or a detour through the village to cross by a footbridge. The guidebook warned strongly against trying to cross the road, but I don't think it was that that decided me so much as the fact that it seemed a long time since I'd passed through even a decent sized village, and I wanted to see some houses, and maybe drink a cup of tea.

The main road was busy enough, but could not possibly have been as dangerous as the minor road down to the village, which had no pavement and often no verge, and seemed to be regularly used as a high speed shortcut. Still, I got my prowl around, and although the shop seemed to have gone, if there ever really was one, the pub gave me my cup of tea and a rest.

Then it was on past the church and some interesting looking houses to the next uphill, a slow pull up by woodland and onto the open top of the hill.

I had lost my Weald view, with the path generally running just south of the highest ground, but instead I had a view over lower hills down to the faint line of the sea - I'd been quite excited earlier on to realise that I was looking out to the Isle of Wight in the distance.

The next rise had another of the named signposts, this one the Chantry post - it's always nice when the signposts start to show your destination.

A broad track led on, back to the northern edge with views up to Leith Hill in the north, and over the broad valley of the Arun.

I came past some sheep with nice patterned noses, but they kept turning away when I tried to take their picture, and then came steeply downhill to where a calf had somehow got out of its field and was wandering about - which wouldn't have bothered me except that I seemed to frighten it so much that it was throwing itself against the fence in a way that looked like it must hurt, although I made as wide a loop round as I could. So I was wandering off to look for someone to tell when I met a runner who said that it was often out and always got back in again, and the farmer didn't seem bothered.

So I left it to its fate and went on down - Amberley village was down below me on the right, but I was heading for the station to take the train down to the hostel at Littlehampton and a day off by the seaside, and turned left at the junction where I met the road.

I had just a nice time for dinner at the pub by the station before getting the last train that would get me to the hostel by 9, having learnt my lesson - and then down in the dark to the luxury of a dorm to myself and the oddly unmistakable sound of ropes hitting on masts in the wind, although I knew I hadn't reached the sea.