Day 14 Report and Photos

I'll get the bad news out of the way first; I didn't make it to Epping. But on the way, I got lost, got muddy, got lost again, got rained on, got offered help by a concerned stranger, got to know how much people hate backpackers on sight, and had an absolute blast.

I got up at eight, packed my backpack with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, my guidebook, a rainslicker, my phone, iPod, keys, and neckpurse, and set out. Notice how I don't mention a water bottle, map, or compass. It was the perfect weather for rambling: overcast, damp, a little cold. 'Rambling,' by the way, is one of the British national pastimes; it entails going out on a walk through the countryside, aided by one of the best innovations any country has ever produced: the 'right to roam' law. What this means is that the public may walk without charge or censure on moorland, downland, established pathways and bridleways, and through fields belonging to private owners. In a nutshell, as long as you avoid tromping through someone's back garden and don't mess with their livestock or crops, you can go more or less where you wish. It's a wonderful thing, right up there with the UK's incredible implementation of mass transport, and is only one of the many reasons I've fallen in love with this country.

My original plan, as detailed by the Walking in Britain book I purchased, was to get off at Chingford so that the normally fifteen-mile hike from Manor Park in London to the village of Epping would be curtailed to eight miles. However, there is no Tube stop for Chingford, and so I elected instead to get off at Leytonstone, rendering the journey a respectable twelve miles. Leytonstone, like all suburbs of London, was horrid in comparison to the city, featuring nothing but row after row of rundown town homes and apartment blocks, tired-looking people and gray so-called pubs. I wandered into Leytonstone and ducked into a Primark (something like a Forever 21 in the States, but cheaper) to use their restroom. However, the security guard, who seemed to hate me for being a grubby backpacker more than being a grubby American, informed me that there was no bathroom in the Primark. For anybody. No, not even the employees, who apparently have bladders of steel listed on their resumes. I suppose he thought I'd try to take a bath or something in their sink, even though I looked perfectly respectable and was wearing nice clothing free of holes, smells, or mysterious stains.

Grumbling, I left the Primark and continued my search for the Green Man Roundabout. A semi-helpful employee at the 24-hour McDonald's pointed me towards the Roundabout, where I asked a passerby walking her dog to point me in the direction of the next landmark, Hollow Pond. When I explained that I was hiking to Epping, she tried to dissuade me, no matter how much I explained that yes, I knew that Epping was far away; yes, I knew there was a bus that could take me; no, I didn't need directions to the bus station; yes, I knew what I was doing. Mostly.

The mostly is because there are two methods of hiking. The 'right' way, practiced by most hikers, is to be trained in the use of a compass and to possess Ordinance Survey maps which detail every last rock, tree, and path in the area of interest. The 'wrong' way, or my way, follows four basic steps.

1) Set off in direction towards landmark. Have no idea what actual way you're going in relation to the compass, but know that it's generally right.
2) Wander happily for thirty minutes or so, becoming distracted by berries, birds, fungi: the woodland in general. Realize you have no concrete idea of where, exactly, you are in relation to the aforementioned landmark.
3) Do not panic. Being lost only gives you an opportunity for exploration.
4) After a period of exploration, happen upon a map or a kind passerby who can point you in the direction of the landmark. Repeat sequence, starting with Step 1.

Miraculously, this actually works to get you to where you need to go, and I found myself traipsing through Epping Forest with little to no idea of where I really was and not actually caring one bit. Mostly this was because the forest was festooned with wild blackberries, which made a perfect complement to my sandwiches. The ground was muddy wherever I walked, but I didn't care; I was just happy to be out in the woods by myself, close to civilization (once in a while the divine silence of the woods would be broken by the screech of truck tires) and yet very far away. The forest was green, leafy, and cool, and I found myself wanting to stay there forever and becoming incredibly irritated when civilization, in the form of other people or the noise of cars, intruded upon my solitude. Anyway, after a bracing hike of five hours and about three to four miles across the flats and woods, I was forced to turn back before reaching Epping. However, it was a lovely experience regardless, and I can say for sure that I have caught the hiking bug for good, and I am going to go hiking again, no matter how much my leg muscles protest. Which they are doing now with a vengeance.

And now the pictures.

There is a semi-good reason for the 'beware cattle' warning on the Epping Forest sign. In 1882, Queen Victoria granted the use of Epping Forest to the British people in perpetuity. These uses included grazing one's cattle on it, as well as collecting firewood, although that right is rarely taken advantage of in modern England. Commoners, defined as people who live in a Forest county and own at least a half acre of land, have the right to 'one faggot (or bundle, for the Americans out there) of driftwood or dead wood per adult per day,' and in the summer months can graze their cattle there. Unfortunately for me, I didn't see any cattle; lots of ravens, though, and several people walking their dogs.

This is a picture of Leyton Flats, which is an area of grassland outside Leytonstone leading into the forest areas. Inside Leyton Flats are several ponds; Eagle's Pond, which is one of them, was used as a swimming pool in the Sixties, although nobody could ever figure out how to clean the water enough to make it decent, and so in the Eighties the pond was filled in and returned to the forest.

A very small pond I happened upon while wandering lost. It's located next to a preparatory school, and thus the air was filled with the screaming of children, but when you can't hear the noise and can only see the picture, it looks quite peaceful.

Wild blackberry bushes were littered everywhere along the path, and so I foraged for blackberries as I walked. They were delicious, as only unexpected things can be.


The point where I stopped and turned back, but the road stretched on regardless. Someday I want to return and try again. Being an English major, and thus quite pretentious, I leave you with the words of a man who knew the joys of a good ramble through English countryside:

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
- J.R.R. Tolkien