I finished work for the weekend at noon and decided to take advantage of the temporarily warm and sunny weather by walking to the river Chelmer, a mile or so to the north, where I could follow the towpath west into Chelmsford past Chelmer Village. This is one of my favourite local walks, taking in some fairly rural areas in close proximity to the built-up residential sprawl of the town, the river flowing through fields and small patches of woodland on it's route away from the town. Being so close to the residential areas and major roads this is not true wild and unspoilt countryside, but look past that and you find a beautiful river to walk beside.
Heading for Sandon from Great Baddow along The Bringey and then north to Sandford Mill Road I walked past Manor Farm and the large fields sprouting to my right and then down into the hollow where the quaint old cottages lay just before the offshoot of the waterway that was the original course of the River Chelmer. In the 1790s the river was made navigable by barges to allow the passage of trade between Chelmsford and Maldon and the little loop of the river here was bypassed, leaving a quiet place lined with cricket-bat willows and crossed by a footbridge. Sandford Mill and the Corporation Waterworks buildings stand on the north bank, remnants of the past, and around are large trees and dense undergrowth alive with birds, the yaffling of Green Woodpeckers heard off to the north-west, raising a smile.
I took the right-hand road to Sandford Lock, the left also leading to the river but crossing over Bundock's bridge. I paused on the bridge at the lock, taking in the view along the river then walking on past the moored narrowboats, stopping to watch a Wren in the undergrowth beside the towpath. Crossing the road at Bundock's bridge I reached where the offshoot of the river begins. There at the top of the trees a number of Fieldfares were calling, burbling and chattering amongst themselves but taking flight at my approach. Onwards past gathering Magpies and a singing Robin at a small spinney I was then surrounded by calling Great Tits and Long-tailed Tits in the willows around me. Then, past the trees and into open fields, I could look left towards Great Baddow in the distance, the tall WW2 RADAR tower at West Hanningfield Road, the bulk of the flats at the Vineyards, the training tower of the Fire Station and the spire of St Marys Church.
As I walked on, patches of reeds appearing along the banks, the sound of the distant traffic grew and with it came a sound of utmost beauty, a soaring, complex, heart-aching melody that resonated of summer days and the buzz of insects on a warm breeze... Skylark! Almost hard to believe, that the Skylark could still be here after the cold dark winter, the snows and ice so fresh in my memory it seems as though I was dreaming. The warmth and the sun was fading though, and so was the song, but I knew that now the chill was only temporary, that spring was taking hold and that the cold would give way to the sun again soon, that winter was not set to retake the land again, at least not just yet. The song rose and fell as the breeze blew it's notes this way and that, then fell to silence.
And so with a little more spring, quite literally, in my step I forged on along the track, a Wren tick, ticking it's alarm call from the water's edge and a Moorhen calling, unfeasibly loud, from it's hiding place beneath a low tree. Across the fields a flock of birds swirled high in the sky, silhouettes against the sky while far below I espied a Kestrel, hovering in place above a meadow. Down, down it fell until it was out of sight amongst the grasses. A pause and then it rose again, to perch in the branches of a nearby tree. I turned to walk on, past bullrushes and reeds, stalking Moorhens on the far bank of the river, a cloud of gulls in the air far to the south, where the reservoirs lay, a Mute Swan powering eastwards, neck out straight, wings rowing powerfully against the air.
Here I approached Barnes Mill and Lock, horses in the paddocks wearing warm coats against the cold that still might be, while Jackdaws and Woodpigeons passed overhead and Long-tailed Tits called from the bushes. I leant on the railings of the footbridge, looking along the river towards town and then back east for a moment before I took the path away from the river to Chelmer Village and back to the urban reality.
I took the right-hand road to Sandford Lock, the left also leading to the river but crossing over Bundock's bridge. I paused on the bridge at the lock, taking in the view along the river then walking on past the moored narrowboats, stopping to watch a Wren in the undergrowth beside the towpath. Crossing the road at Bundock's bridge I reached where the offshoot of the river begins. There at the top of the trees a number of Fieldfares were calling, burbling and chattering amongst themselves but taking flight at my approach. Onwards past gathering Magpies and a singing Robin at a small spinney I was then surrounded by calling Great Tits and Long-tailed Tits in the willows around me. Then, past the trees and into open fields, I could look left towards Great Baddow in the distance, the tall WW2 RADAR tower at West Hanningfield Road, the bulk of the flats at the Vineyards, the training tower of the Fire Station and the spire of St Marys Church.
As I walked on, patches of reeds appearing along the banks, the sound of the distant traffic grew and with it came a sound of utmost beauty, a soaring, complex, heart-aching melody that resonated of summer days and the buzz of insects on a warm breeze... Skylark! Almost hard to believe, that the Skylark could still be here after the cold dark winter, the snows and ice so fresh in my memory it seems as though I was dreaming. The warmth and the sun was fading though, and so was the song, but I knew that now the chill was only temporary, that spring was taking hold and that the cold would give way to the sun again soon, that winter was not set to retake the land again, at least not just yet. The song rose and fell as the breeze blew it's notes this way and that, then fell to silence.
And so with a little more spring, quite literally, in my step I forged on along the track, a Wren tick, ticking it's alarm call from the water's edge and a Moorhen calling, unfeasibly loud, from it's hiding place beneath a low tree. Across the fields a flock of birds swirled high in the sky, silhouettes against the sky while far below I espied a Kestrel, hovering in place above a meadow. Down, down it fell until it was out of sight amongst the grasses. A pause and then it rose again, to perch in the branches of a nearby tree. I turned to walk on, past bullrushes and reeds, stalking Moorhens on the far bank of the river, a cloud of gulls in the air far to the south, where the reservoirs lay, a Mute Swan powering eastwards, neck out straight, wings rowing powerfully against the air.
Here I approached Barnes Mill and Lock, horses in the paddocks wearing warm coats against the cold that still might be, while Jackdaws and Woodpigeons passed overhead and Long-tailed Tits called from the bushes. I leant on the railings of the footbridge, looking along the river towards town and then back east for a moment before I took the path away from the river to Chelmer Village and back to the urban reality.
On the River Chelmer
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