The path soon narrows and here the hedgerows are less well maintained; they are taller but gappy and, whereas the previous hedge acted as a stock-proof fence, here a rusting iron fence runs behind the row of hawthorn that can no longer serve that purpose. I can’t help but look at it from a hedge-layer’s viewpoint, considering how best to restore it to its former glory. The trees are tall enough, without being too tall, and the gaps are easily bridgeable. It is noticeable that there are far fewer birds here and these are mostly wood pigeons. But so few hedges are traditionally maintained these day – too time consuming and too costly.
It is not long before the path passes the end of the 300m hedgerow we planted in the freezing conditions of December 2008 and the field where in the following we searched for an elusive dewpond, finding only a rubbish pit. Just thinking about it brings a smile to my face. I peer over the fence but I can’t make out the site.
A skylark takes to the air, poring force a burbling stream of golden song that immediately soothes the mind and lifts the soul. Is there a more beautiful sound in the whole of the countryside? I could stay and listen to it for hours, especially on a day like today.
Looking west along the Downs the sky is brighter and the miles and miles of rolling fields stretch away towards the next peak, making me even more determined to take on a far longer walk.
It is like a huge natural amphitheatre, with steep sweeping sides that drop away sharply to the wildflower meadow below that in the summer will be covered in yellows and reds and purples that will all pale in comparison to the sea of ox-eye daisies, thousands upon thousands of them all rippling gently in the breeze. The steep sides of the bowl, which were carved out when the ground thawed at the end of the last ice age, are well-known to me as for the number of times I have trudged up and down, removing scrub and dozens upon dozens of sacks of ragwort – but more of that particular pleasure another time. It is a hugely impressive site and the view and tranquillity are worth the journey alone. Covered in snow it would make for a fairly hair-raising toboggan run – fortunately there is a long run-out along the flat before encountering a rather solid fence. Rabbits nibble at the edge of the scrub, never far away from a bolt-hole. A quick look up at the intruder reveals me to be of no threat and they continue their feasting.
One of the great attractions of the North Downs is its variety of habitats. One moment you are walking between thick hedgerows, exploding with birds, then you are walking beside paddocks of ponies and horses or through wildflower meadows before passing through farms with grazing sheep or ploughed fields where wheat, barley, oats, linseed or rapeseed will cover the land in the coming months. A pair of towering trees stand sentinel in the exposed landscape on a strip of grass that denotes the boundary between two fields.
This is as far as I intend to go for today. It’s time to retrace my steps and head for home.
As I reach the point at which I will turn away from the North Downs, I stop to take one more look along the rolling hillside and the downland that stretches away into the distance. Sheep graze in a scene that has been played out across pastoral England for centuries. A kestrel, wings outstretched to catch the air, hovers above the field beyond the hedge. The walk that started in sunshine beneath a blue sky end in sunshine beneath a blue sky, beneath which is endless green divided by hedgerows and crisscrossed by footpaths and bridleways. March and the promise of spring has come to the North Downs. It is the perfect view with which to end my walk.