I knew it was going to be a good day. On the approach to Fulmodeston a Red Kite hung above the road and then, with barely perceptible movement, flicked across to the wood and out of sight.
I’d picked a route around one particular path which ran through a wood. I’d often admired the wood as I’d driven along the road beside it in another part of life, but now, with the paper map in front of me, I could see a vaguely circular shape among the footpaths and mapped this into the Ordnance Survey app.
Wet weather had been forecast and this is where I come in. I want to lure you into walking in what would be perceived by some as ‘bad’ weather. I’ve always loved a wild weather and today, although not wild, was soaking wet with a strong wind. Waterproof boots and a waterproof coat and this doesn’t really matter at all but the payoff for being out in it is huge.
We had explored the ruins of the chapel of St John the Baptist and had crossed a wide open field of sunflowers, now just nodding brown seed heads with the odd flash of yellow, when the sky had begun to darken. By the time we had entered the path to the wood the rain was coming down hard.
We both stopped walking and just listened. The wind was shushing through the canopy of the leaves overhead and the rain ticktocked down onto the path. You could smell the earthiness mingled with the rain and felt part of the wood itself.
There’s something about being outdoors in ‘bad’ weather that forces you to become part of the landscape. You are no longer a bystander, just walking along a path, but you are something on that path that is being treated the same as the trees. Your awareness of being outdoors heightens and you feel the breaks in the hedges as the wind whips through them, you notice the dying tree as there are no leaves to stop the rain.
The shape of the path becomes different as puddles form and water begins to run and your senses tune in to the patterns around you.
We moved off the main path and into a sunken ditch to eat our lunch. It was much nicer than it sounded. The trees were larger off the path and the bank slipped down quite steeply, cutting off the worst of the wind. We each found a fairly dry bit of log to sit on and sunk down into the woodland floor. The lower you drop, the quieter the weather. Moss surrounded us, a vibrant green and as soft as the coat of a retriever. There was no sound expect the patter of the rain, diffused through the leaves and the movement of the wood itself.
Later, back on the path and crossing open wetland the rain was coming down hard.
Long grass whips around your ankles and pulls a little at your boots. Wild flowers were still blooming and we stopped and ate blackberries as we walked. I never feel more alive than when out in the wind and rain. It has no respect for anything and you just have to go along with it. With the right coat and boots it will not kill you. However you are not the same person that ends the walk as you were at the beginning. You are much more alive. Much more in tune with the wildlife and you have become part of the landscape. Trust me.
Norfolk Notes 