Cotswold - A Land That Calls to Walkers

Hiking one day earlier.

The bus ride to Stow-on-the-Wold was a 24 minute bus ride from Morton-

Setting off on a hike.

in-Marsh, their home base in the Cotswolds, and cost only £1.60 a piece. As the day was much too wet and snowy for early spring they were especially happy they purchased waterproof hiking shoes two days prior. They began their seven mile hike in downtown Stow-on-the-Wold, taking the foot path south through farm country trails to the tiny municipality of Icomb, before turning southwest to the larger town of Bourton-on-the-Water.

Could it be Canada?

“Can I help you?” asked a resident of the town out walking his dogs. He could see Rob and Beth reading the instructions of their trail map as the snow fell in big thick flakes all around. After giving some directional advice, he pointed to the muddy tracks where they needed to begin. “Locals call that path ‘Beverly Hills’ since 

Ridge view

it’s so bumpy and muddy. I don’t’ think any local will be hiking it in this weather though… but I guess tourists would. Don’t expect to stop in Icomb. There are no pubs there. Really there is nothing other then a phone booth, I guess.”
As they trudged along they commented about the beautiful fresh snowfall

 that blanketed the limbs of trees as well as coated the muddied path which provided a stepping layer preventing them from sinking into underlying mud. Although the path was still messy they were thankful that the trail contained less mud than the ones they trekked on the day prior. 

Hiking the trails in the Cotswolds was a pleasant experience even when their map directions had some degree of vague instructions: 'Pass through a farmer's gate and veer slightly right toward an old oak in the distance.’ or ‘Look for a semicircular house and take the road leading off down left’. 

As they tramped along they were treated to farming landscapes of open 

Sheepish Stares

fields where iconic black-faced English sheep grazed. There were plow-turned fields bordered by hedgerows which provided navigation trailheads and some protection from the northern winds. Once they were directed through a farmhouse property where they passed an open barn filled with fifty or so sheep that stared blankly in frozen silence as they passed. When they reached the summit of the Icomb ridge they at last saw the panoramic view of the surrounding farm country to the east and the lower lying village of Icomb to the south. At this point Rob followed the map trail instructions that led down to Icomb and ignored the heavier 

Thatched roofed houses seen
  on the previous day.

travelled trail with dozens of tracks that beckoned them on trails leading westward. 

As they ascended the ridge into Icomb they walked through a pretty village filled with yellow stone houses, some with traditional thatched roofs and manicured gardens of cedars and hedges. The few wood pigeons that flew about and the distant grazing of sheep with their bounding spring lambs in the surrounding fields provided the only activity in this sleepy village. As warned they saw no pub, no store, and only one red British phone booth in town. They continued to follow the map instructions through the town and up a ridge for a mile through freshly plowed fields with a snow layer that made the journey less mucky. As 

A travelled trail

they walked Rob questioned his route choice, partly due to the unspoiled trail which indicated seldom use, and partly due to the sloppiness of the trail itself. Beth not worried about his guiding decision continued slugging along while admiring the English geography.

Mud hopscotch

When they met once again with a heavily trampled trail leading west to Bourton-on-the-Water they both felt a sense of accomplishment in their ability to navigate through the spacious English countryside. That feeling however, was short lived as they needed to walk another two miles through very sodden fields and on sloppy muddy trails in protected meadowlands that favoured the English Welly boot more then the day hikers they wore. To navigate through the worst of the trails Rob took the lead by hopscotching his way from one lesser muddy patch to the next, while Beth followed in turn, which allowed her to avoid some of the unfortunate mistakes Rob made. This, of course, slowed their travel time, but reduced the sloppiness of the pants and shoes.

Can you taste the ale?

With the better part of daylight spent they, at last, completed their seven mile journey. They then traipsed toward the picturesque canal cutting through downtown Bourton-on-the-water and, in their typical English routine, found the most inviting pub in which to have a long awaited pint and to shake off another day on the trail: one hand-pulled ale for Beth and one cider for Rob.