"Each step forward has a sacred meaning of its own"   Sri Chinmoy

Edge of Bristol to Edge of Bath 20 Mile Hike - 7 June 2025 - England

Having recalibrated my goals for the year to hiking (with the Across Wales Walk my big target event for the year) rather than running or triathlon, I wanted to get some kind of "epic" in on the weekend just after my birthday. Last year's birthday treat was pushing myself to my limits on a Half Ironman, so this was going to be a very different experience - a long exploration of the english countryside and as much of a physical challenge as I could risk with my dodgy calf (a long standing niggle I was trying to shake off) and dodgy energy levels (while completing a course of treatment to get my immune system back to full strength). Doctor Huang was fine with me walking, but needless to say I didn't mention I'd be walking for around 8 hours. After all she didn't need all the details.

Another goal for the day was to make use of the excellent birthday bus pass that I had got thanks to our regional mayor. Free bus travel for the month of your birthday? Yes please. So, the day began with a haul across Bristol on the 75 from Filton to Hartcliffe, seeing the city from all angles in the summer rain. After weeks of dry and hot weather this weekend was when things broke down and the atlantic fronts rolled in - but I was sure it wouldn't be as bad as the weather apps were telling me. They are always pessimistic.

On the bus I revised my Long Song sections and enjoyed immersing myself in the cityscape. Once off the bus at Bishport Road I found my way to the trailhead, between houses, an opening from the grey world into the green world, with a path leading up a grassy slope to the ridge that runs along the south side of Bristol, neatly packing the city into a saucer around the confluence of its two rivers. Lightweight waterproof on I started the ascent, soon to be rewarded with lovely views over the swaying grasses and wild flowers to my adopted city, still having a morning snooze under a veil of summer cloud.

Up on the ridge I headed east, soon coming to the ramparts of Maes Knoll, a pretty impressive hill fort overlooking Bristol to one side and Chew Valley to the other. A kestrel was hovering in the stiff breeze that swept up from the valley and I got closer than I have ever been to one of these beautiful birds lost in the one-pointedness of hunting. I video'd it and sent it to Koklia who was stuck at home for now but going to meet me at the end of the journey in Bath.

Down from Maes Knoll I came out on lanes I knew from morning bike rides, around Norton Hawkfield and the awesomely named Norton Malreward, before coming back on to a trail that contoured around a low hill hanging over the lower part of the valley. Despite the on/off drizzle the colours were vibrant, so many shades of green and gold, subdued but beaufiful as the sky began to lighten a little (in my optimistic imagination at least).

 Coming into Stanton Drew I paused to get a shot of this field filled with ox-eye daisies, I could imagine them waiting patiently for the sun to come out later.

I was soon on the Two Rivers Way, following the Chew across fields towards Pensford, past the stones at Stanton Drew - amazingly little know when you think this is the second largest stone circle in England (after Avebury). I've hiked here before and got up close and personal with the monoliths so I didn't feel a need to break away from the path to do that again this time round. I had my mind firmly on navigating my way to Bath on what would soon be unfamiliar trails.

On the route to Pensford I saw a few other hikers, dog walkers, the occasional runner. The gorgeous valley scenery with its languid river was really nourishing for the soul, incredibly peaceful. From the neolithic stones the trail took me to the victorian wonder of the Pensford Viaduct, no without a purpose (as the railway is long gone) other than to impress travellers like me with its sheer size and powerful lines. It would have been a monstrous addition to the landscape when new but a century has been enough for it to settle into the valley and become a part of it, just like the stones and the old houses in Stanton and Pensford.

Hiding under the mighty viaduct was a cute stone bridge from an earlier era which took me over the Chew and into Pensford - the cafe claimed to be open according to a sign, but I couldn't find an open door on either side. Maybe I was too early? I crossed the A37 and broke into some unknown territory (as far as the trails are concerned) between Pensford and Publow. But not before grabbing a photo of a charming B-reg Mini. Is that 1965? Classic.

Sheep greeted me noisily as I crossed a rich, green meadow to Publow where I found a market and coffee morning was happening in the church. For my one pound entry fee I got a tea and biscuits to keep me going and a chance to meditate for a moment on the figure of Christ in stained glass. It's so easy to take these amazing churches for granted, with their incredible stonework and imposing towers, but I find them inspiring structures despite not being Christian. This one seemed very welcoming, though with more of a community hub feel than a place of worship on this particular morning.

After the church tea-break I followed the river further on, towards Compton Dando, on a trail that hugged the banks at times and climbed away from them now and again. There were other hikers around and the sky was lightening further. I passed an alpaca farm and saw some of these curious beasts galloping around in their paddock. They were all different colours, their long necks giving them an alien look, which I guess makes sense so far from their native country. You see them more and more now in Somerset and South Glos - Llamas too occasionally. 

Next came the start of my navigational challenges around Compton Dando, Stanton Prior and Dunkerton. This was outside my zone of familiarity and the OS map didn't always match reality on the ground. One path was entirely non-existent (I think the residents of local houses have made a big effort to hide it and keep it out of use as it pretty much goes through their gardens) so I detoured on lanes until I found a signed footpath into the fields. It was boggy in places despite the dry weeks leading up to my trek, but the poppies were glorious and there was not a soul around. Incredible serenity and a feeling of timeless solitude followed me over the fields. There were some incredible views over the rolling landscape and some exceptional oaks guarding the hedges. I was hoping at some stage in this walk to have that feeling of having sunk beneath the surface of the lanscape and merged with it - a sensation I have had on long Audax bike rides through the Welsh borders and trail runs in Wales, the Surrey Hills or the Cotswolds. A feeling like that had started the moment I encountered the kestrel up at Maes Knoll and it grew stronger as the miles passed. I was deep in numinous english countryside with that sense of timelessness that I love so much. A sort of dreamtime.

After Compton, a brief section of road then I came out at the foot of Stantonbury. The hill with its iron age earthwork was an easy climb, the top too wooded to offer much of a view back over the hills and valleys to Bristol. Once I had worked my way down through the trees to the south side I did get a nice expansive view out towards the country I was about to cross, leading me further south and then along another river valley to Bath. It was drizzling now, the jacket on ready just in case it got heavy. It soon did.

The gorgeous landscape was soon a challenging one as a deluge of rain swept in - it really started to hammer it down as I descended through the fields towards Stanton Prior, traversed some lanes and then began the climb up to Priston. Suddenly I was the only human around (not that I had seen many) and I wondered if the gear I had on was going to be equal to this intense downpour. Fortunately it was - the Montane jacket is really light but it proved ample armour against the elements. My decathlon sailing trousers did the trick too. 15 year old lightweight goretex boots weren't totally waterproof but close enough. I stayed warm and pretty much dry as the roads began to run like rivers. 

There was nothing remotely resembling a shop or cafe coming up when I searched my route on the phone and by now I was thinking a food stop would be wise - to sit out the worst of the storm and get some calories down me to ensure I didn't start to feel the cold. Priston saved me with The Ring o' Bells, an old pub that was serving food (waiting for a shooting party apparently). It was gourmet stuff - blue cheese and mushrooms on sourdough - but it tasted amazing. I washed it down with a zero beer and poured a hot chocolate into my flask for later. I didn't linger to meet the guys with guns, but soon got up and back out into rain that was by now slackening off slightly. The route was over some high ground then down on a hard-to-follow trail through a farmyard and a boggy field to Dunkerton. That part was slow going.  

Once at the village (only a hamlet really) I crossed the main road and trudged up the pavement on the other side to meet the Fosse Way - I was hoping for some authentic roman road here, with at least some of it dead straight, with all that incredible precision and purpose of the Romans - and maybe the domed agger of original stones. I was lucky enough to get both - at least I think some of the stone is original, just a little maybe.

Those great engineers had done an incredible job, though perhaps the Fosse was originally a more sinuous trail and they straightened it out? It used to be the border between the wild and the occupied halves of the country, a frontier marker as much as a road. I enjoyed walking it, gaining height steadily to emerge above Bath but on the southern side of a ridge so I had no views over the city. 

I fought my way through overgrown trails, joined a path that led towards the Avon and finally, after a good 8 hours of hiking, emerged at the Millennium Viewpoint. This was the goal of goals, the end of the road.  

All that remained was to enjoy the views down over the Avon and yet more lush, green, rolling land and then find my way into the city centre to meet up with Kokila. I walked a mile or two, crossing the Wansdyke (allegedly, just a hump in the ground really) and then strolling through a cotswold stone village with yet another glorious church. Then I remembered my birthday bus pass was valid here too so I hopped on a bus into town (the big student population probably helps ensure good bus coverage here) and found myself in the familiar centre of the Romano-British-Georgian-Regency-modern city of Bath. How many centuries can you cram into one sentence?

After a long rest and rehab lasting quite a few months, I was thrilled to have had such a great hike. Hopefully next year it will be another chance to celebrate my birthday with a race, a run, a triathlon maybe? This year walking was my limit but I took it to the limit by doing 20+ miles in that tough weather and enjoyed it like anything.

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