A date in the Downs
A three-woman #hack1000miles band pull off 30-odd miles in the South Downs, despite some wobbly ‘which-way?’ moments and a poor sense of direction. Rebecca Butler tells their story
NAVIGATING A SWING BRIDGE while riding is a personal horsey first. Two days into a three-rider hack along the South Downs Way, we’re facing a swing bridge over River Ouse. “It looks OK,” I think, and my 24-year-old veteran Oscar steps on confidently. About half way across though, the wind picks up and railings start to clatter. Our three horses — Maria Standen on Angelina and Annie Rowland on Red — cannon to a halt and Oscar, understandably, suddenly doesn’t want to go forward any further. He and his pals promptly switch into reverse gear. Sensing this situation could become worse if we don’t act quickly, we dismount and proceed on foot, our steeds faithfully following behind. This grade II-listed swing bridge was built in 1880 and its swing span once permitted the passage of masted vessels. However, it
has been fixed in this closed position since 1988 at the request of parliament to prevent large boats sailing further up river. It’s certainly an unusual one to cross with horses in tow, but we reach the other side safely and continue on. We arrive at Southease Halt railway crossing soon after, and that’s followed by another bridge, this one over the A26, but both are a piece of cake by comparison. The latter feels odd underfoot with its wooden slats, but our ponies are not phased. Annie and I have ridden together for around 17 years. On many a ride we’ve fantasised about riding the South Downs Way, but have never managed to organise such an adventure — until now. It’s extraordinary what a huge amount of organising a ride like this requires. Where will we start? How will we get there? Where will we stay en route? What if we get lost? The South Downs National Trail is beautifully organised for walkers and cyclists, but we’re adding horses into the mix.
A slight hiccup
Our starting point is Three Greys Riding School in Pyecombe, where Maria once stabled a horse. There’s a hiccup before we’ve even passed the starting post as Annie faithfully follows her sat nav to Seaford, ending up on a housing estate and having to three-point turn her horse trailer to get out. She reroutes and our trio is reunited for take-off. We set out along a track to Clayton Hill, crossing the A273 and going up and over Pyecombe Golf Club, past Jack and Jill Windmills and on to the imposing Ditchling Beacon. The South Downs Way is magnificently signposted, even for three numpties like us. The going is perfect and we trot and canter along, chatting as we go. We meet cyclists, walkers and a couple of fellow riders, all of whom are friendly and smiling. The views are spectacular, as is the atmosphere, which is hard to convey in a few words and photos. From Ditchling Beacon, the highest point on the Downs some 648ft above sea level, we follow a high ridge towards Blackcap, travelling on the path known as Plumpton Plain. Blackcap fills 623 acres along the ridge
“The South Downs Way is magnificently signposted, even for three numpties like us”
of the South Downs, just west of the historic old town of Lewes. We take in the stunning views over The Weald to the north and across the dip-slope to the coast. The whole area is steeped in history with burial mounds, battle grounds and ancient trackways. Apparently, Simon de Montfort marched his army along this way in 1264 to fight Henry III’s men in the Battle of Lewes.
Just the tonic
We pass through Bunkershill Plantation and head towards the A27. Our path brings us out beside Housedean Farm on the old A road. We ride alongside the busy A27 for a time, before going steeply up above Newmarket Plain and, as we rise higher, we can clearly see the AMEX Stadium in Brighton on our right. The opportunity for a lunch break presents itself with lush grass for our horses to munch on as we tuck into the goodies in our saddlebags — plenty of food and drink, including a drop of alcohol. It doesn’t do to get dehydrated! Terrain changes from grassland to arable. We canter alongside far-reaching fields of vibrant yellow rape. We have a bit of a wobbly “which way?” moment at Kingston, where the bridleway sign points left to Lewes. Thankfully, we know the South Downs Way skirts past our B&B, and so that’s the direction we head in. Endurance riders cover enormous distances in a very short time. We travel just over 12 miles on our first day, and it takes around five hours. By the time we arrive in Rodmell, East Sussex, our horses are still fresh, but the same can’t be said for their riders, who have never been so glad to dismount. We sit on a low wall taking in the late afternoon sun and a spectacular view across the River Ouse and the Downs, gin and tonics in hand. (It turns out Annie’s stowed some of these in her backpack — good girl). The toilet is a compost loo in an outside shed and the eccentricity continues when I spot a rifle on the ground. It’s for rats, apparently. Ratty has taken up refuge under the greenhouse, and our host lies prone on the ground trying to catch the blighter. I realise that Red has managed to break
his reins — thank goodness we’re carrying headcollars and ropes. Our B&B host generously lends us a spare set on the proviso we return them when we collect our stuff in a few days’ time. It’s a deal.
A bad night’s sleep
The history we’re discovering is quite something. Rodmell village can be traced back to William the Conqueror and its church dates back to Saxon times. During the early 1900s, Virginia Woolf had a 17th-century country retreat here called Monk’s House. She lived and died in Rodmell, drowning in the river in 1941. I don’t sleep well, partly due to the amount of coffee consumed but also due to looking at the map and realising we will have to take the horses down a very steep hill on day two. I admit I’m a bit of a wuss about such things, and Oscar does trip when he isn’t concentrating. I solve my concern by getting off and leading him down the hill, which takes us towards Cricketing Bottom. Maria and Annie are much braver and ride down carefully, but believe me, it’s steep. Passing through a farmyard we track left over Piddinghoe Road to Southease. The latter is a charming hamlet, with gorgeous houses and postcard-friendly gardens. This is where we meet the aforementioned swing bridge, our first proper gulp moment. Safely through there, we find ourselves riding uphill again, towards a series of radio masts on top of Beddingham Hill. The sea comes into view on our right and a large metal building appears. We recognise this from the previous day, when we’d hazarded a guess that this peculiar building might be located in Eastbourne. Quite ridiculous, we realise, as Eastbourne is about 15 miles further east, on the other side of the hills. In front of us, in fact, is Newhaven’s incinerator plant and the harbour beyond. The going is still ideal, with plenty of tracks for trotting and cantering along. Walking is enjoyable too though, as it enables us to take in the views and discuss locations, listen to skylarks, look out for butterflies and try to identify wild flowers. We’ve been blessed with glorious weather. Some wind, but bright sunshine until, of course, the minute we need to look at our map. The heavens open — not conducive to reading off paper.
Saved by a bay
We make a mutual decision to follow the bridlepath sign into Friston Forest, which covers more than 2,000 acres. Sadly, though, none of us is blessed with the best sense of direction. We feel like we’re travelling in the right direction though, and so we march on. At a crossroads, we meet two chaps on foot. “Which way to Butchers Hole?” we ask hopefully. Their answer is another question — do we have GPS or the ordnance survey map on our phones? No. They point us in the direction of where we want to go, or at least we think they do, until we find ourselves riding back out of the forest and suddenly losing confidence in where we’re heading. Oh dear. This is one of our more ‘lost’ moments and we cagily update our waiting other halves with confirmation that we’re on our way. We choose not to elaborate about not knowing where we are at this particular moment in time. A canter across an undulating field brings into view a man on a bay Thoroughbred riding away from us. This is an opportunity we can’t miss. We holler to get his attention and it works — he heads back to us and we explain our plight. In a broad Irish accent, he instructs us to follow him. We speed up considerably, following him expectantly up and down, and around trees, as he says things like “I think this is right”. We come out onto
some gallops where he informs us we seem like “three forward-going ladies — follow me.” And so we do, at a gallop. (By this time I’m flapping). Eventually, the man pulls up and points towards a dense bank of trees. Nerves fail me and we bid our knight in shining armour thank you and goodbye, making our own way in the direction he advises. Oscar is rather enjoying the experience and when he feels the turf beneath his feet he grows three feet and prances along. There are sighs of relief and huge smiles all round when we turn a corner and our trailers and family come into view — albeit a good hour later than planned. As we prepare for home, our B&B host calls. Apparently said man has been in touch to see if we got home OK. So kind — it’s a shame we’ll never be able to thank him personally. It transpires that when recording the postcode of our final destination — Butchers Hole car park — I’d written the last letter as a T, but it should have been an L. Oops.