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Solitude

Only another hundred feet to go!

I was reading an online journal by an American photographer last week who said that one of the great secrets of coming to England was the fact that, with very little effort, you could quickly find yourself far from civilisation. I've always regarded this to be true, in the same way as the expression, "you can lose yourself in France," has always been obvious. I feel that one of the reasons why in Britain some people feel an overwhelming sense of overcrowding is because they lack the will or the wit to get out of their car and use their legs. Too many people see having a car as a 'right' and insist that car=freedom.

Of course the car is important, particularly in a country where uttering the expression "integrated public transport system," seems to be heard as "I've just shagged your wife and teenage daughter." But the car shouldn't be the beginning and end of an escape route it should just be the beginning.

Chapman's Pool in Dorset is a magical place. It's magical because few people go there, it takes effort but boy is it worth it. To get there you must first drive to the village of Worth Matravers, itself five miles from Swanage - and incidentally the place this week where outraged villagers daubed the words 'Get Out' in white paint on a new 'second-homes' development. You pass through Worth and drive another mile and a half until you reach the end of what can be described as a road and then bump down a track that consists entirely of compacted Purbeck stone until you reach a car park. From there it's a further walk of three quarters of a mile until you reach the edge of Emmett's Hill - it is here that those with a sense of adventure and those with a sense of the ridiculous part ways. The adventurous take the next part of the South West Coast Path up Houns-Tout cliff.

You begin the descent to Chapman's Pool down a series of steps, like most of the steps across coastal Dorset these weren't designed using the classic Romano-Greco measurements which are found in houses across Europe. These were designed primarily to protect the landscape at its weakest points, so instead of having a comfortable one step between them you might find yourself taking two or three steps or in some cases half a step. The steps take you down a drop of around eighty feet, left and right until you reach the private track that allows fishermen access to the huts at the Pool itself. You can continue the descent down a track that forms part of the local farmers land and you have to negotiate a large steel farm gate. The ground yesterday was dry for most of the walk, back in January I slid a fair way down the path as it had turned to mud after a weeks rain. The total climb from the point at the top of the cliff where you decide whether or not to visit Chapman's Pool or go east to St.Aldhems Head or west towards Kimmeridge is four hundred feet - something you will become all too aware of on the return journey.

When you reach the end of the path you find yourself sharing the scenery with half a dozen fishing huts - that's it. You have this corner of England to yourself, I spent three hours yesterday morning here with only the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore for company. There was a fishing boat off the coast but this didn't venture within a quarter of a mile of me. Although it's called Chapman's Pool it is in fact a small cove, a beach on one side and fishing huts on the other, cowering beneath the 400 feet high cliffs.

Solitude in such a small dose is exhilarating but under less favourable weather conditions could also be foolhardy - there's no mobile telephone reception down in the cove and whilst I carry a safety whistle around my neck whenever I go walking, I'm not sure it would be heard in the old lighthouse keepers cottagers and mile and a half to the east and several hundred feet above me.

Solitude can also be scary, you only have your own thoughts for company and you find yourself doing things be reflex without thought, clambering over rocks, walking across seaweed covered ledges - all with the intention of getting that 'perfect' shot.

There is of course one huge irony about finding myself at Chapman's Pool yesterday morning and having this part of the Jurassic Coast to myself - I shouldn't have been there in the first place! I went out with the intention of going to Arish Mell, a small cove between Worbarrow and Mupe Bays. You can't actually go on the beach at Arish Mell because it remains covered with Army ordnance from the Lulworth Ranges within whose jurisdiction it lays, you can however walk around the fringes, like a small child who can only stand and stare through the sweet shop window. Anyway at just after 6:30 a.m I reached the first Army Ranges information board at Wareham and discovered that Tyneham Village and Warbarrow Bay were closed for the weekend, yes I know I should have checked before leaving home but I had checked a few weeks ago and apparently misread the dates.

Anyway I wanted to return to Chapman's Pool at some point this Spring and I'm glad and fortunate to have chosen to return there yesterday on such a wonderful morning. Sometimes solitude comes along unexpectedly and its all the better for it.