A Hobbit’s Tale! Day 7 🐾

Left Goring by train, after posting some cards and then visiting the seafront and my grandparents’ stone at the St Mary’s churchyard.

Caught a connection train at Ford station, and then arrived back in Amberley late in the afternoon. So after nearly a day and a half rest, we picked up the South Downs Way at the same point we left it.

And it was a pretty tough welcome back! The climb out from Amberley is a steep one up to what is quite aptly called Amberley Mount. From here we stopped to admire the views back the way we had come across the vale of the Arun river. Looking at the wide river vale now, it occurred to me that (including resting and detours) we had taken nearly two whole days to walk across it!

But after traffic and noise, and people and trains, it now felt good to be back up among the the solitude of the hills again — with crystal clear views back westward along the curved spine of the Downs as far as Buster Hill from four days ago, with its tall mast tower just visible on the edge of sight. 
South and to our right, the sea. And to our left the hills fell away, with the dark wooded lowlands of The Weald lapping at their feet. 
Beyond this, the faint blue suggestion of more hills, which (I’m literally only guessing at this point) could be the beginnings of the North Downs above Guildford.

A couple of hours hard walking and we reached where the A24 cuts its angry way through the hills. And here we had another long, steady decline down to where the SDW crosses this road at Washington. 
Once over, the Way climbs very steeply again, up to a place called Chanctonbury Hill.

It’s a pretty brutal climb with this weight on my back. 
And rather than follow the SDW as it winds around the side of the slope at a much friendlier gradient, I stubbornly hauled my pack up the steepest chalk-pitted face of the hill. 
Partly as this was the way we’d make the climb as kids with our uncle, and partly because it was the most direct route up — first to the Chanctonbury dew pond where Sméagol could take a long drink, and so help to conserve the water I’m carrying for us, and then on to the Chanctonbury Ring.

This is one of the highest and most remote spots of the Downs, and also the site of an Iron Age hill fort, where you can still follow the circular moat around the uppermost crown of the hill. The place is characterised now by a ring of ancient beech trees. And if legend is to be believed it’s also said to be haunted… so a good choice to make this our camp for the night!

The first time we can really say we’ve camped out in the wild this trip. Not another human for miles. I don’t know about any ghosts, but there’s the odd noise of night creatures, and the timeless sound of sea wind through beech leaves to fall asleep to!