Solo Waywarding: notes and reflections

In July 2023 I began walking the South Downs Way by myself, East to West, and, at the time of writing this post I'm just over halfway, having walked from Eastbourne to Amberley over four days. 

Setting out: 100 miles to go

I haven't always been someone who enjoys solo walking. Or perhaps I have and just didn't know it. It has tended to be a companionable thing, rather than an end in itself. Especially during lockdown, when it became a legitimate way of meeting a friend in the open air when other forms of socialising were largely forbidden. 

In fact, when I think about it, I haven't done very many solo walks at all. I have disappeared off to climb Arthur's Seat a couple of times when I've been in Edinburgh. As a child I'd very occasionally wander off through countryside to the millpond with sketchpad and notebook. And I went to Mount Sturgeon by myself once or twice on free weekends when I was living in Hamilton, Australia. But I suppose, it just didn't occur to me as a thing to do, and even as a woman in the 21st century I probably had some lingering concerns about the safety of a woman walking alone.

That is, until I was inspired by Kerri Andrews' book Wanderers: A History of Women Walking and the way in which she draws attention to a notion of the contemplative spaces created by the rhythms of walking through considering the importance of walking to ten different women. The book suggests a link between walking, creativity and sense of self, things that I'd already begun to notice on my walks with Strictly Lady Lloyd. At that point, SLL and I were probably half way through walking the South Downs Way from West to East. And the seed was sown: perhaps I could walk it by myself, in the opposite direction. 

I picked a week at the end of July and parked my campervan, O'Bama, on a pitch at Norman's Bay. As I arrived at the campsite, the heavens opened. It was a sign of what was to come.

Waiting to park up at Norman's Bay campsite

There is no point in lamenting the summer of 2023 that never arrived. I could have picked almost any week and encountered rain. Much of July was a washout. Thus, I waited for an hour or so for the worst of the rain to pass and took a train to Eastbourne. It was a journey of about twenty minutes or so, costing £5.20 one way. 

I was excited to set out by myself, but this first leg, from Eastbourne to Alfriston via Jevington, didn't begin until quite late in the afternoon by the time I'd got settled at the campsite and navigated from the train station to the start of the South Downs Way itself. The rain was persistent and the signage, right from the start, was confusing. The path split in the first 100 yards or so without any helpful marker.

One path became two before I'd left Eastbourne

My directional confidence wasn't exactly increased by an upended sign early on, either. I'd ordered a helpful OS map which, unhelpfully, had not arrived by the time I departed, so I was reliant on a guidebook with hand-drawn maps. 

Not helping my directional confidence

After the initial excitement, a couple of miles in, I tried to unpick why I was doing it at all. But walking by myself meant much greater opportunity to observe and absorb.

Fluffy white rabbit bottoms  kept disappearing into the undergrowth ahead of me. And, quite spectacularly in the early evening, I encountered a pair of goldfinches. I decided that each day I would include, Sesame Street style, what today's walk had been brought to me by. So, that first stretch was slug-filled, and dominated by fireweed and rabbits. Oh, and a stand-off with some blackfaced Suffolk sheep by Wilmington. That's a guess at the breed with the help of the internet.

Sheep at Wilmington

Solo walking is very different from walking with a friend and idling away the hours in trifling chitchat, or setting the world to rights. Initially, I think I didn't quite know what to 'do' with myself while I was walking. I spent a lot of time clock and mile-watching, but I understood quite quickly that I needed to learn simply to 'be'. 

Yet to master the art of the selfie

My walk was damp but my spirits weren't, and I made good time to Alfriston with a quick stop for a snack on a bench in Jevington. I know only too well how infreqent a bench is, so I've made it something of a rule never to walk past one on the South Downs Way.

I was intrigued by the mock blue-plaque that I passed by. Jevington, it transpires, has quite the claim to fame in declaring itself the birthplace of Banoffi Pie. The revelation made my squashed chocolate biscuit look a little bit inadequate.

And, thankfully, I had my 'support team' of Hearth-Father ready to pick me up in Alfriston. I was very pleased with my successful navigation of a first solo leg.

A well-earned pint in Ye Olde Smugglers Inne at Alfriston

Ye Olde Smugglers Inne

But already by the second day, I loved the feeling of waking up to adventure. Of not knowing quite what the day would bring. There was a rough plan, of course; aiming to end up at a particular destination, or to see how far I could go. But what sights, experiences and deviations I might encounter along the way were unknown and often predictable.

Norman's Bay station in the sunshine (which I didn't see until Day 3)

On day two, for example, I arrived at Berwick train station, understanding this to be the closest train station to Alfriston to resume my journey. A short taxi ride to take me to Alfriston, I thought. The station master (mistress) furnished me with two numbers. But no. The first told me that there would be a two-hour wait; the second that there would be a £22 pre-payment charge to cover the call-out cost from Eastbourne. I wasn't prepared to pay that, so set out to walk. 2.8 miles would be unfortunate to add on to my day's tally, and it wasn't nice fighting the traffic without pavement, but it was better than the first two options. I scribbled 'Alfriston' in big letters on my notepad, and stuck my thumb out, just in case. 

A delightful chap called Pancho stopped after about 15 minutes. He was making a delivery in Alfriston in his white van. It's about thirty years since I last hitch-hiked, and it did look like a murder-bus, but Pancho looked like a good-hearted soul so I took the risk and hopped in. He saved me two miles - and had memories of wildcamping on the Downs as a teenager. We parted company at the carpark in Alfriston, me safely unmurdered. I hope he made his delivery successfully. 

I stopped for coffee, served with rose petals at the historic Badger's Teahouse, and found a brief, unexpected pocket of sunshine in the garden. 

Coffee and journalling at Badger's Tearooms

I know it to be 'historic' because a man was sweeping up after the previous day's rain. He told me that the building dated from 1510 and had been a village bakery until 1933. Henry VIII ascended to the throne in 1509 and Da Vinci died in 1514, he also told me, for colourful context. He showed me the old wall in the grounds, that had been part of the original, larger market square in Alfriston, and revealed that Alfriston received its Market Charter in 1403 which 'elevated it above the other local villages commercially.'

A brief pocket or sunshine

I brought up the notion of smugglers, thinking of the hostelry in which I'd enjoyed the previous evening's pint, and he explained that Alfristong had a wharf, and that Cuckmere Haven was unique in not having a settlement close by, which made it a safer option for smugglers avoiding the threat of being caught in more built-up areas. 

Preparing for my history lesson

My tearoom guide was also keen to point out the sarcen stone at the front of the building, and the intersecting leylines on the property. My table sat just to the side. I'm hoping that will give me positive energies for the rest of the trip. So in spite of my early start, my South Downs Way walk proper didn't begin until nearly 11am, after hitchiking and a history lesson. 

After three hours of walking through lighter showers, I began encountering more persistently inclement weather. I had two proper soakings but dried out in the breeze between them. Or almost dried out; my feet didn't have a chance, especially not after starting out with still-wet boots after yesterday. I employed Holly Worton's (author of Alone on the South Downs Way) trick of sock-swapping at every stop. This is an excellent hack, though does leave one with socks flapping about like lunatic flags on the side of one's rucksack. Like me, she has made the journey twice.

Woman of the Wheat. Like Children of the Corn, only more menacing.

I enjoyed revisiting places already traversed. The landscape comes into sharper focus in my memory. I'd hoped to visit Monk's House, home of Virginia Woolf, only just off the trail. It's been a good few years since my last visit, but a quick Google revealed that it's only open Thursday to Saturday and anyway requires pre-booking. So, that rather made my mind up to press on to Kingston. That meant covering more miles (good), but I'd rather built myself up to the idea of visiting after seeing the wonderful ' Woolf starter packs' all wrapped up at the rather marvellous Much Ado About Books shop earlier in the day. Instead I had to content myself with fields of wheat. 

A very South Downs Way view

I enjoyed a rest stop at Firle Beacon, for a quick flapping sock change. It was another moment  spotted with rain, but nothing like the double-drenching I'd received in the morning. The views were spectacular, but it's funny how you notice such different things travelling a known route in a different direction. 

5 Seconds of Summer

Lunch was at YHA Southease. I sat outside, the glimpses of blue sky filling me with optimism. I quickly had to decamp inside when the rains came once more. Unfortunately for the other diners I was barefoot while taking a sock-rest. 

I always suffer with a bit of a post-lunch, but I must have gone much slower than usual in the afternoon because I seemed to be a good way from Kingston at my planned time of 4pm. There were some slightly apologetic phone calls with the support team (Hearth Father) as I tried to work out where the hell I was and get off the right track from the Downs. 

There was also some comedic irony in the fact that Hearth Father had the OS map to refer to (it having finally arrived in the post at home in the morning, four days later than scheduled), while the walker on the hills had no such map and limited telephone reception. I eventually made it down, not too far off course, skipping down a steep bridleway much faster than I might have done if I wasn't so behind schedule. I certainly wouldn't be clambering back up it at that kind of pace. Disaster averted; he met me in Swanborough. The descent points are very close, so it turns out that I wasn't as far off as I thought, and I planned to resume at Kingston. A very pleasant pint of Spitfire in the Juggs had been well-earned. 

United with my map