Skip to main content

Walking the National Forest Way (with a two year break)

Remember when it was lockdown and we were all stuck in our houses for months on end? Well, way back then I hatched a plan of walking the National Forest Way as a family project. I ordered the map, downloaded the route guides, and we did the first section in 2021: Yoxall to the National Memorial Arboretum (Stage 12).

The photos tell me it was a beautiful April day - I was wearing shorts! The 5-mile route was pleasant, across fields and through scraps of woodland, then hopping over the Trent and Mersey Canal into the village of Alrewas. After that we had a hair-raising walk along a pavement right next to the A38 dual carriageway, with cars zipping past at 70mph, but fortunately that was a very short section before we turned off towards the National Memorial Arboretum. Of course we had to celebrate with an ice cream - why else would we finish at the Arboretum instead of starting there? 

Smaller boys! Lockdown haircuts!

At the finishing point


A well-deserved treat

There followed a very. long. gap. The next part of the route didn't look that exciting, to be honest; it had been a bit of a hassle parking a car at each end so as to be able to do a one-way walk; and the rest of the family weren't quite as interested in this project as I was.

But the idea never quite went away, so in April this year I dusted off the OS map and realised I could make the next few sections into some nice loops, thus removing the need for two cars. Of course, this meant I couldn't get quite as far along the trail in one go, but that didn't matter.

So, almost two years after walking Stage 12, I set out from Yoxall again, this time heading north for Stage 11. The route was mostly country lanes and fields - not too exciting, but enlivened by a beautiful wood full of daffodils. It had been raining hard so I was glad for wellies. I was also glad that the fords en route came with footbridges; the streams were running too fast for me to attempt them, even in waterproof boots. I had a snack at the picnic area at Jackson's Bank (my turnaround point) and made it back to Yoxall for lunch.


Setting off from Yoxall

Daffodils in Woodmill woods


One of the two fords

The second half of this section took me from Jackson's Bank to the tiny village of Rangemore. It was a gorgeous Easter Saturday with tons of sunshine. Graham and the boys had gone to see the racing at Donington Park, so I had plenty of walking time. The wood near the car park was full of families, but after that first half-mile I hardly saw another person. I disturbed a few pheasants, though!

Jackson's Bank (owned by the Duchy of Lancaster)

First bluebells I've seen this year

NFW waymarkers

There was a regular hum of light aircraft taking off from Tatenhill Airfield. The path ran alongside the airfield, then around St George's Park National Football Centre. Rangemore was quiet, but someone had thoughtfully provided a picnic bench in a square of woodland next to the church. After lunch, I retraced my steps for a mile or so, then ducked onto the Cross Britain Way for a short section. It took me through a very pretty woodland. Then I headed across some fields, with enormous views south, and back to my starting point.

The dome of the National Football Centre

Lunch break!

National Forest in progress

It may well take another two years to reach Beacon Hill - the eastern end of the National Forest Way. But I'm planning out the next few stages, so watch this space. I may even bring the family along on some of it, too.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...

Birmingham: Temples to many things

Birmingham's cathedral is overshadowed by more modern temples: the mirrored swirls of New Street train station; the dotted bulge of the Selfridges store; the lacy blocks of the library; the pillars and pediments of the museum and art gallery. Museum and town hall Next to all these, Birmingham Cathedral, in its square of dusty grass, isolated from the main flow of shopping and travel, seems less like a dominant building and more like a minor chapel. It turns out the unpretentiousness is deliberate. St Philip's Church was built in 1715 when the worshipping population of Birmingham had outgrown the medieval constraints of St Martin in the Bullring . Birmingham remained part of the Diocese of Worcester until 1905, when Charles Gore pushed for the creation of a new diocese and became its first bishop. Seeing the depth of need in the city, he decided to convert St Philip's to a cathedral rather than spend money on a grand new building. Birmingham Cathedral had to be restored afte...

Southwell Minster, Newark-on-Trent, and a pilgrim cellist

You may remember that I recently mentioned people doing weird and wonderful things. Well, I found another one. Last year, Kenneth Wilson visited all 42 English cathedrals. On a bike. With a cello. It was a cargo bike; the whole setup, cello and all, weighed about 50 kg; and he mostly managed a rate of one cathedral per day, with occasional rest days and train journeys where absolutely necessary. That's a lot of cycling. Of course, he wrote a book about it, and when I found out he was on the schedule at Newark Book Festival, I had to go. It also provided the perfect excuse to visit Southwell Minster. Newark-on-Trent feels like it is in the depths of the Nottinghamshire countryside, but it isn't actually hard to get to, I thought as I buzzed along the dual carriageways of the A50, A453, A52 and A46 on a sunny Sunday morning. All along the route, the grass stood bleached and crispy, scorched by the summer heat.  Newark Castle with crispy grass The author event was at the National...