Seizing the day at Avebury

It's 16 months since Son the Younger and I went for a walk around the wider landscape of Avebury, full of plans for where we might explore during the remainder of the new and exciting year that was 2020. It's no exaggeration to say that, given the nature of the intervening time, it feels more like 16 years. 

I'm not as convinced as the government that we're headed towards the sunlit uplands of no further lockdowns with no turning back, and so I was anxious to meet up with the part of my tribe based on the south coast while we could. We'd long mooted the idea of finding somewhere between Bristol and their location, and eventually settled on Avebury, which is much nearer to us than them, admittedly, but somewhere we could sit and picnic and wander and wonder. 

Plus, there was a new member of the tribe for the far-flung human contingent to meet. And vice-versa. Which seemed to go well. 

A quick recap - vast, sacred palimpsest of a landscape, with one large stone circle enclosing two smaller ones, enclosed by a ditch and an external bank, dating from the late Neolithic period, into which the village of Avebury encroached many centuries ago. 

The Church of St James, which is well worth visiting, dates from Anglo-Saxon times.

I'd hoped to walk along the paths on top of the banks for a good view of the landscape, but they were roped off due to erosion, so that will have to wait for another day, hopefully. Instead we explored the stones at eye level.

Cwtch also got to meet her first sheep, and was interested - and kept firmly on the end of a lead.

Obviously we had to visit the deservedly famous beeches near the eastern entrance on the outer ramparts of the henge, which always look like trees straight out of a storybook, and were vital in their new leaves. 

I like that their admirers tie ribbons around their specatcular roots as well as their branches.

And from this vantage point, we still got a bit of a bird's eye view - at least, a very low-flying one.

A low-flying dragonfly

Wildlife pond and the Church of St James

Away to me, Cwtch!

Just try it, young 'un!

Walking back to the distant past

Start as you mean to go on. Well, it is a new year and for a few days, you really mean it. To that end, Son the Younger, the dog and I got up early on Thursday and went for a walk around Avebury. 

It's hard to visit without encountering at least some of its famous stones ... 

... though this visit was more about the surrounding landscape, and we were soon heading up the Herepath (also known as Green Street) towards the ancient Ridgeway that is styled as 'Britain's oldest road' and runs from nearby West Kennett to Ivinghoe Beacon in Buckinghamshire.

First, though, a pause to pay homage to the celebrated beech trees near the eastern entrance on the outer ramparts of the henge. 

The climb to the Ridgeway was long but gentle, although we were glad the wind we were heading into was fresh rather than cold.

At the meeting of the ways, we paused and looked back at the way we'd come, as the first raven of the year croaked overhead.

Then along the ridge of hills ... 

... with views on either side over the chalky Wiltshire countryside.

As the track descended to the A4, we encountered a series of bronze age round barrows ... 

... and over the road,  the now obliterated henge known locally as The Sanctuary, and a further round barrow. 

We crossed the bridge over the chalk stream that is the infant River Kennet, very close to where the local Saxon lads fought, and were defeated by, the Vikings, led by Svein Forkbeard. 

Then we passed through their village, East Kennett, now home to picturesque and doubtless hellishly expensive houses and strikingly coloured winter vegetation.

Our route then took us back across the Kennet ... 

... down very muddy lanes ... 

... and around the edges of fields with views to the mysterious prehistoric mound that is Silbury Hill. 

What was it for? We just don't know.

But before we got any closer, it was time to head up the hill to visit West Kennet long barrow. 

As long barrows go, it's big and high, so instead of squeezing and crawling, you can walk inside and wander about in the different chambers.

At one point all I could see was the tip of Ted's tail, like a magic wand waving in the dark. 

Silbury Hill from the top of the barrow

The Kennet was evidently running faster and higher than usual, as our next crossing place was flooded and we had to pick our way over. Not much of a problem for me in my walking boots; pretty uncomfy for Son the Younger in his 11 year old trainers ... 

... so instead of paying closer attention to the Hill, we squelched back along the river to Avebury. 

Then home, vowing to return, more adequately shod, sooner rather than later.