Rotherfield & Saxonbury Hill hike - where water flows uphill

A Condensed Movie of the walk

There are some days that deserve our full attention when the frost of early morning has moved over and allowed the sun to illuminate the local landscape... and this was it. The blue sky christened our arrival outside Rotherfield Village Hall as the four of us laced our boots and harnessed our backpacks into position.

It was a repeat of the same hike completed by a different group of us last year, although there was a plan to find there way through the maze of woodland paths during the final phase of the walk.

But more of that later. We were ready to head along the first short distance from the car park towards the first footpath, passing a steep set of steps into Rotherfield Bowls Club, which was signposted to our right. The path was actually marked as Chant Lane. There was a notice to say it was closed to vehicles and couldn't really understand how vehicles could even contemplate driving down a narrow, steep very muddy track that was extremely uneven. We carefully picked our route along the path which after descending for several hundred yards then climbed again. The sun was glistening through the trees that overhung the lane which then came out beside a farm and a row of cottages. 

The instructions informed us that we were to turn left through a gate and walk down a narrow path that led us several interesting properties, cutting across drives and into the next field we continued along the marked path. Once section that we crossed was in the most northern part of the old Cuckoo railway line that we'd walked last week.

The sun had caused much birdsong to be heard as we walked and realised that the first signs of spring may be closer that we had thought. The path led us through more fields and finally came out on to what appeared to be a very small village green, bordered on 2 sides by roads. A small bench took pride of place at the top hedge and pondered whether any local games of cricket may have been played on there or even the Sussex game of Stoolball. The grass however was long and in need of a committed groundsman if it were ever to return to its former glory. Well that's if our ideas held any worth or value.

We were back walking along the next quiet lane passing the quintessential image of thatched cottages and looking out for our next landmark. Bricklayers Lane was our next turning and again, traversed beside large wooded area that were illuminated by the sunshine. We had to make a few hurried moves to the verge as large 4x4 vehicles came through with a glancing hand gesture that gave us small recompense for our efforts to avoid being hit.

Regardless, we were not to be put off and continued down the hill where a collection of small streams collected and flowed under the road. The steep climb the other side was a quick reminder of just how hilly this area was.

We were now at the edge of the wood to our right which was our cue to take a left onto another signposted footpath. But no sooner had we started walking along this path, a motorcyclist came passed us... Presumably this footpath was open to vehicles. In truth though, the footpath was also a drive to few houses that took in the views of the elevated position. A worker was leaning against a gate as we arrived at one of the houses and acknowledged us. He appeared to have been erecting a fence as his post hammer was close to hand.

We continued for a little further uphill and finally arrived at the highest point of the walk. As we turned left we looked south west over the top of the freshly trimmed hedge and realised how far we could see. In the distance was Crowborough on the horizon. The entire vista was a sharp reminder of what rewards there could be for the effort to walk out into the countryside. We steadily walked down along the lane known as Danegate. A steady pace was necessary as on some parts of the road there were patches of sludge and ice which at this altitude was refusing to melt despite the sunshine.

Speaking of which the clouds had started to gather more during the past half hour and the breeze had gathered strength. There was no threat of rain though, but thought it timely to stop at a bench and take an opportunity to compare snacks and flask content. In fact the added bonus was a slice of freshly baked pecan and cranberry cake which was just the energy lifter we needed to cope with the final section of the walk.

As we were about set off down the next bridleway, a quad bike drove gingerly past us and the rider gave a hearty 'good morning'. No sign of a bale of hay or a border collie riding pillion though. We never saw him again, but assumed he'd found his way, as we were about to, and find the bottom of the hill where a foord awaited us. On first sight from a distance there was no sign of there being a footbridge that enabled us to traverse the stream without getting wet. But despite the footbridge 2 of us decided upon testing out the waterproof claim of our gortex shone boots. Apart from a dribble of water that must have crept in via the lace eyelet, we crossed with our saturation status intact.

Once again, because this was a stream, we were at the bottom of a hill which meant only one thing afterwards... Upwards via a twisting footpath which was clearly defined. We arrived at the top where a road and several cars were parked. We crossed and entered through a gate which welcomed us into another wood known as Big Millhole wood.

The car owners were clearly dog owners as we saw a couple people coming up through the wood from the direction in which we were heading. Several footpath junctions and we navigated out way once again to the bottom of the valley where the same disused railway line (Cuckoo Line) once was.

We carefully stepped through the gate and under the bridge that supported the line old track above our head. The other side was a well constructed bridge that gave us safe and clean passage to the wooded area through which we needed to walk through to find our way to the road.

The network of footpaths were becoming more confusing and once we'd crossed over the road to find the continuation of the same path, the signposting became more scarce and caused some confusion about which was the best way. The directions we had printed out had become useless to our means and our sense of direction and compass in hand were become dependant on our charm offensive to asking a lady with a 3 legged dog for assistance. She pointed in the complete opposite direction to where we thought we needed. She admitted that this had been a different route for her and she wasn't too certain about the best way she was going to be repatriated with her car.

We bid our farewells and hoped the 3 legs of the dog as well as her 2, would manage to get her back home.

In the meantime, we started to look for any possible signs that might help us get back on track. There was a strange woodpecker sound above our heads. He was probably communicating with other wildlife that there were some hikers lost. The bracken and broken branches on the ground tested our resolve, but we found a sign which led us onto  open land with a protected fenced path through which previous walkers had caused the track to be very muddy and slippery. Our attempts to walk with legs apart, trying to maintain our dignity as well as balance, made it look like we had an allergy to mud. We almost came to grief on a couple of occasions but we arrived at a stile over which we climbed onto slightly better terrain even though there was just as much mud churned up by what appeared to be more quad bikes.

A couple more fields and we were heading back down the lane and joining the original lane toward the village hall.

The car was in exactly the same place, and after our 7 mile hilly circuit we travelled home.

Annual Cuckoo Trail Pilgrimage (return ticket)

Its Friday 13th and the weather forecast influenced  our decision today as we wanted to preserve a cross-coutry hike across potentially muddy fields for a better day. With grey clouds and just a glimmer of sun shining through some light clouds, the four of us gathered in the car park opposite Hellingly's historical pub, the Golden Martlett, although no pints had pulled there since a fire swept through the building over 20 years ago and remains as a shell having had little attention since.
We were about to embark on what is likely to become an annual 'fall back' pilgrimage along the old railway track that used to connect Eastbourne to Tunbridge Wells (via Heathfield and Mayfield) which was a branch line that left south of Eridge. The line was closed north of Hailsham on 14th June 1965. The line was one of the nationally unprofitable links in the eyes of Dr Beeching and was therefore doomed to close.

Our pace was steady and purposeful as we ran the gauntlet over the first mile with our canine company through several packs of dogs with their owners, walking back in the opposite direction.
The breeze was occasionally sharpening up however to our advantage the clouds were parting every so often and allowed the sun to shine down.
The trail had a steady ascent toward Horam. Sheep in nearby fields watched from a safe distance as we walked passed with weathered moss decorated benches. There were distant sounds of woodpeckers making familiar drilling noises to impress their nest making ability.
Just small signs of spring were evident. Fresh buds on nearby bushes and scenes of ploughed fields being prepared for planting. Thats not to say it could still turn cold and a late fall of snow could scupper and chance of early crops.

Nevertheless, the remains of Horam train station came into sight after passing through a small complex of houses. Signs for the nearby Wessons cafe was almost tempting after reading the diagram of the trail that started at Heathfield and showed distances south to Eastbourne. It seemed like at least another 3 miles (or was it 2.5 miles?) until we would get to Heathfield.
We exchanged glances of encouragement and continued under the bridge and started a slightly steeper incline.

We'd seen no cyclist until now. Two came past us looking a little weary and worn by the effect of the hill. We were at least pacing ourselves for the final mile or so and we exchanged pleasantries as they continued uphill. The clouds were gathering and it had darkened as though it could deluge at any minute. zipping up our raincoats, we prepared however without cause to, as no rain fell.
There was a growing number of dog walkers again as we were getting nearer to Heathfield. Some diverted their gaze with both us and the dogs we had with us. There seemed to be some coded language that we were not privy to.

Down into a short track and up the other side we arrived at Ghyll Road where a new housing estate had taking up the fields that once had accompanied the trail. Imagining the sights that once would have been seen from the windows of the trains that pulled into Heathfield station, there would now be unrecognisable changes for the passengers.
So we stood on the kerbside and decided that as we'd virtually arrived on the outskirts of Heathfield, the need to further into the town centre was a high priority and what we later found out we'd already walked over 5 miles, we were well on the limits of what we needed to be walking in one go and at such a pace. We agreed to retrace our steps downhill and set up our snacks and flasks on a picnic table a short distance back along the trail.

The rest was earned, but couldn't be too long. There was still the threat of rain in the air, so after our flasks had been emptied and healthy nutty bars and bananas had been consumed, we latched on our back-packs and started the descent to Horam.

We observed the rustic sight of an old BMX track with death defying jumps and ramps made from earth that if moved by hand, must have taken several months to construct. We considered bringing our bikes the next time and give it a try, but soon dismissed the idea as being inconsiderate to those younger than us who would benefit from such exercise.

We were making good progress and arrived back at Horam station and again examined the map that informed us of the miles we had left to walk. We needed to set some targets especially as the rain that was well overdue now could fall at any time.

We marched on with semi-empty stomachs and kept a meaningful pace of what felt like close to 4 mph. There was no turning back, as the sheep once again kept their distance from the trail. The clouds were gathering ahead and we once again saw an increase of dog walkers who were hardly dressed adequately for the deluge we were about to experience.

A few spots of rain soon turned into a full downpour and those not wearing raincoats had to quickly don them and make an even hurried walk back to the car park at Hellingly and complete our 10.6 mile hike.

Windy walk for the Sisters

There'd been a lull in post Christmas walks although a few of us did get out last week and make an impressive walk along Eastbourne Prom from Holywell to the Water Treatment plant and return, which amounted to a 7 mile round walk.

This week however caused us to turn our attention to getting back to stomping on the turf of the Downs. A depleted walk-force (by 2) saw us congregate in the a National Trust car park at Crowlink, with our sights set on walking westward along the remaining  four Sisters of the iconic south coast feature.

The forecast was for a bright sunny yet windy north easterly wind whipping the temperature to almost sub zero conditions.

We headed down through the small hamlet of Crowlink and stopped to observe the house and gallery belonging to Grayson Perry.

The ground was hard and holding the frost from previous nights of cold temperatures, however for a few early patches there were signs of some small muddy areas.

We entered a field in which there were 2 determined cows who were making an impression on the neighbouring hedge, looking for some sustenance during the cold morning sun. We gave them a wide birth, not wishing to disturb their concentration on attempts to strip any greenery from the bush.

We were soon heading diagonally upwards to ascend the summit of the fourth Sister. The sea came into view and we looked back towards Bell Tout lighthouse and admired the view as the sun glistened on the choppy waters below.

We found our way carefully down the hill on the coastal path section of the South Downs Way. No sooner were we at the bottom, we were striding upwards again and conquered the next sister only to once again choose our best chalky track downwards again. Our confidence in staying upright was being tested, but we eventually arrived at the signpost which overlooked the Exceat where the meandering River Cuckmere flowed into the English Channel.

The sun behind us, we soaked up the amazing vista and all agreed it was one of the best views in the South East. The view from the opposite side is a much sought after view by Japaneses tourists who it appears are familiar with the view as one of the most used wallpaper views on computers.

We made our way down the side of the hill towards the track which would eventually led us to the road. The grass track down the hill did take a couple of us by surprise as the hard slippery surface coupled with the camber of the hillside had caused bodies to tumble to the ground.

We'd soon got back into our stride though as we were back on the solid concrete track to the Visitors Centre which was closed, although the convenience was opened for our convenience.

The steep hill awaited us, but at least the reward of a couple wooden benches awaited us and allowed us to take 10 minute to have a small snack and pour a hot beverage from our flasks. 

A young man with a large rucksack approached us to ask us which way to go to see the cliffs... He appeared to be a disorientated person from the orient.

A steep descent down a series of poorly spaced steps awaitd us on the other side of the hill upon which we'd just sat and admired more incredible views. 

We were now entering Friston Forest and followed the straight track between the crowdd network of tall timber spires commonly referred to as tress in this area. We reached a junction of tracks and footpaths and decided to walk back up the steep track, which at a higher level, had been designed for mountain bikes... Earth had been turned into jumps and banked corners between gaps in the trees. The canopy of semi fallen pine trees creaked as we swiftly walked beneath them. Eventually we were on the top track that ran near to the main road where we could occasionally catch glimpses of cars passing along it.

After another 15 minutes we'd arrived at the road junction and crossed over the road to head back to the car park. 

The walk had taken just under 3 hours and we'd completed just over 6 miles.