Hike report - 1976

The first weekend of 1976 had gales, floods, rain and snow, with a very cold night following a bright sunny Saturday. Well, that was the weekend the Service Team chose for their annual winter assault on the English countryside!

Peter collected Graham at the unearthly hour of 6am on the 3rd January and took the scenic route; roads blocked by fallen trees and hoardings etc., to Phil’s house in West Drayton, and thence to Marlow. Just over Marlow Bridge we noticed that a small fire of dry leaves was spreading on the pavement – the high winds whipping the flames up to a terrifying 6 inches! Hurriedly recalling what we had learnt on the Fireman’s Badge Course several years earlier, we dived out of the car and ruined our freshly polished boots in treading out the fire. By 8am that morning, the 1976 Winter Hike began, with a trip to the public conveniences.

Then we headed west, through a new housing estate not shown on the map (a fine start). Here the chaos caused by the wind was highlighted by a ridge tile, half embedded in someone’s front lawn, about eight feet from it’s source on the bungalow roof. We plodded on regardless, eventually finding our way to the banks of the River Thames.

By this time the sky was clear and the sun was shining, although the wind was still cold and strong. Along the edge of the river the path was cluttered with debris from fallen trees and branches. We were also a little concerned that, despite knowing we were on a public footpath, someone had been erecting ‘private keep out’ notices along our route. Having decided it was a bit cold for swimming we just carried on.

At Temple Lock the footpath crossed the river but we wanted to stay on the north side. As a result we headed north and then west before we were able to get back to the river at Medmenham. We reached Mill End at about 10.30am, found a convenient bus shelter and had a sandwich break.

Having partaken we continued on towards our pre-arranged lunchtime venue. This involved crossing the first major obstacle – a hill. In the next mile and a quarter the ground rose four hundred feet through wind devastated beech woods. Once on the top, as you may have guessed, we headed down the other side (250ft in under half a mile!) into the village of Stonor where we stopped for lunch and a game of billiards.

During the afternoon we proceeded in a westerly direction (uphill again) for a further mile before turning south which, when we knew where we were going, was our direction for the rest of the day. Afternoons don’t last long at this time of year and by 5pm we were pitching camp on the village green of Shepherds Green ‘By the light of the Silvery Moon’.

By the time we had cooked and eaten our beef curry and rice, which according to the packets should have served six, it was getting decidedly nippy and we adjourned to the ‘Green Tree’ for the rest of the evening.

This ended at 8pm when the strain of the early start began to tell on us poor old souls (aged 25) and we went off to bed. We awoke refreshed by two hours or so sleep at 8am next morning by which time the snow was just beginning to settle and the tents were white.

At 9.30am having completed breakfast and campsite demolition, we departed. The snow had now warmed to a steady but irritating drizzle that was to continue all morning while we walked by road and footpath first to Henley and then three and a half miles beyond to the ‘Black Boy’ where we stopped for lunch.

After lunch we found that it was no longer drizzling – it was pouring down, and continued to do so all the way back to the haven of Peter’s car at Marlow. The only incident of note during this period occurred at Bisham where a car, seemingly deliberately, went through a large puddle alongside, sending a sheet of water all over us. Phil suggested that that was not a pleasant thing to do (or words to that effect) and we continued dripping on our way.

Eventually the car started and we headed for home, wet to the skin, now convinced that one hike a year is not sufficient to keep us fit enough to do one hike a year. Aching limbs after 25 miles forced us to decide not to enter the Dalesman Walk, as if the thought had in fact ever crossed our minds.