Petersfield to the Barrow Downs – Tom Bombadil please help

Great night in a guest house. I haven’t got a mattress with me so to not sleep on the cold ground was very nice. Good breakfast unall.

Today was a journey from Petersfield 5 miles to South Harting by road, up a tough climb to the top of the Downs and 10 miles along the humpback ridges. Then two more miles downhill and along the plain to Graffham campsite. A good 17 mile slog. But first step was a domestic exit from Petersfield.

Which led to a fair road walk to South Harting. Typified by this place.

And then a long, hard trek up a steep and narrow country road. To a vantage point looking back at South Harting in the neither cool nor warm spring haze.

The ridge switch-backed up and down along the 10 miles I was riding it. 


There was always a haze, stopping clear views beyond a limited horizon, but what could be seen was beautiful.

Then came a stronger cloud cover and fewer walkers and cyclists on the Way. As well as the Devil’s Jumps appearing in all their stark and historic glory. Ancient graves containing heads of tribes which pointed in a line directly to the point of the setting sun on midsummer’s day. 

Carrying on into the late afternoon the sun was strong, although it was about to fight a losing battle. Is this a line of hawthorn blossom, or summat else? 

From a vantage point above Cocking, and looking back westwards at the part of the Way I had already covered, I got this great snap.

The track disappeared into woods, with the cloud coming down, and the eerie screech of the occasional cock pheasant. And nobody around. Good. They’re either on bikes messing up the path, or they’re ignorant southern bedwetters who don’t return your greeting of ‘good afternoon’ and don’t look you in the eye. Hah! Sorry Mike and Lyons. They’re probably northerners down here on holiday or down to pinch your jobs.

This cock pheasant scooted off quickly.

And then more barrows. Don’t even think of what the Barrow Wight did to the hobbits!

Finally I reached my drop off point and made the long descent to Graffham, seen here across the chalky field.

And onward to the distant campsite. A welcome end to the walk. Luckily the local shop was still open and I picked up some Saint Agur blue cheese and tinned mackerel in white wine. Dinner fit for a king.

Night night my subjects.