We drive to Lyndhurst, New Forest and stop at the information station hopping to get a trail map. Having to pay 80p to park a car for five minutes - in my book is a rip- off- but I suppose the parking ticket would be more costly and they are heavily patrolled; this bit reminds me of Jim Thorpe (for all my Pennsylvanian followers).
We stroll into the visitor centre. Maps cost ₤2.50. Here's where you get some cheeky, free advice. Take a picture of the map with your camera or phone (whatever you kids are using these days) then the map becomes free of charge and you've just helped save another tree! PS. Do be discreet during this process, you don't want to get thrown out of the information centre before you've even started your trip.
So back to the car, map in hand with a general direction of a trail we want to hike, but what kind of adventure would it be without first getting a wee bit lost? We leave town with a compass and head in the northern direction of the trail we want. However we are going south (says the co-pilot = me). I believe I also announced that a compass only works with a map which I don't have currently. So I would kindly like to point out at this time that it is NOT my fault we are "misdirected". Once I seize control of the map, we redirect ourselves happy as larks toward the trail head (I use this term loosely- as there are no obvious starting points on any trail that I've been on so far in England) in hopes to find the pond we set out to explore.
[Side note: We never find "the pond". We find THE SWAMP but no "pond". Never mind I'm getting ahead of my story].
I would also like to suggest when you find a map for use; do make sure it has a scale on it- else your traipsing off to some God forsaken pond 18 miles away- clueless how long this little voyage will take.
Some where between a village called Emery Down and Stoney Cross we come to a dead end. Again, not my fault, I did warn the driver the road ends at a major highway allowing left turns only with no way across it except to hop the guard rails. No worries mate! We'll park at the picnic spot up the road a ways and wander.
Oh boy, Could we??!?
We park the car in a car park (if you're English) parking lot if not. I've been gracious in my description of the "car park" which is basically a patch of dirt under some trees. My mate hops out of the car eager to start this
Before me in the car all I see is mud and I refuse to get out. *Long sigh* Pull it together. This will be fun!
"Okay, all mighty hiker, which direction?", asks I.
My friend, noting my sarcasm, points in the direction straight ahead.
"But there are no trees for miiiiiiiiles", I whine.
He just shakes his head and walks off. What kind of forest is New Forest?!? So now we're stomping around in a muddy field set off to find this "pond". Keep in mind mud is slippery and we're moving downhill across a field to the trees. No worries here- no slip ups. I have managed with my banged up knees to reach the forest with no mud on me and without eating it!!!
Downed leaves cover the floor (again, if you're English; ground if not) and you can't see exactly what you're walking on until you begin to sink. And sink you will because this particular part of the forest is a S-W-A-M-P-! But I'm a clever bird and have discovered the careful use of downed tree branches thrown in lines to make a "bridge" of logs to hop across the swampy mess.This is an old forest and it's full of old trees. I find a giant tree some 500 years+ old and climb into one of its lower branches perched like the Cheshire cat. I am now watching a six year old (who I thought was a 36 year old) play in the miry trenches whilst throwing sticks and rocks into the stream flowing by. This is where I learned to play Pooh Stix (a game for explaining at another time. As this blog has already droned on...Oh, you're still here? Good. Thanks for tagging along).
But the boy is done with this part of the forest and wants to continue exploring the rest of the bog. Grrr...so back to the log laying bridges. At this point I notice the ferns even gave up growing in the marshy ground and have taken to growing high above tree branches.
We cross the road and get to the other side (now I know why the chicken did it... to avoid mud and sticker bushes!!) We sit and have a nice picnic lunch in a forest (not a swamp) but it's getting cold and the sun is beginning to set. The vote is to head back to the car and declare this wee grand adventure over. But wait there are two votes, one to take the noisy (but safe) road back to the car park and one to follow the ponies (who are actually in town because I haven't seen one damn pony in the forest/swamp all day--now who's smarter??!). So we follow the "pony trail" up the hill to the car park. Only the pony trail is pony mucky muck and I now have mud sludge inside my sneakers and up to my thigh. I'm tired, cold and muddy. There's more mud on my jeans than I actually weigh at this point. And O, I'm having fun. Right. There are no words to explain my ferocity. This trip is officially over, I take the lead and head back to the car with both pant legs rolled up clear to my knees to avoid more mud on my jeans, and the soft, wet squish with every placement of my foot from my trainers heard. I spoke not a word to my friend but got back in the car; took my nice new -now brown - walking shoes off and discovered my white sport socks are the new colour clay. I've heard that a mud mask is good for your complexion, but what about your feet??
Until next time,
Miss Susie Sunshine
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