A Walk With Trees
A Walk With Trees
I belong to a Women’s Walking Group. In fact, I lead the group on our lovely walks. We meet once a fortnight, on a Sunday morning and aim to ramble about for two or three hours around the West Watford area, weather permitting. Occasionally we go a little further afield, depending on the goodwill of those with cars to offer and arrange lifts.
However, this Sunday 16th February, we met up outside the West Watford Community Centre in Harwoods Road a little earlier than usual and headed off towards Cassiobury Park where we were meeting up with two or three other members in order to join a walk with someone from the Middlesex and Herts Wildlife Trust. We were also joined by one of the Council’s Park Rangers. We then discovered that unlike ourselves, who had booked places on the walk, many people had simply turned up, encouraged by a notice in the Watford Observer which didn’t mention booking and which meant that about 30 or 40 people set off from the rustic bridge over the River Gade, where the willows were looking fabulous in what could only be described as Spring sunshine. Trying to avoid the cross-country runners coming the other way, we gathered on the other side of the bridge for our first tree stop. The walk and talk was basically an introduction to our native trees, how to identify them and some interesting facts about each species and the first one we were introduced to was the Alder. Rob, our leader, was obviously a big fan of trees and extremely knowledgeable and threw in several facts other than those simply related to the identification of the tree, its catkins, its pollination, what soil it liked (it’s often one of the first trees, along with the Birch, to grow on reclaimed or waste ground) etc., etc. so that we also learned something of its place in Mythology.
Keeping to one side, we negotiated the ‘Iron Bridge’ over the Grand Union Canal, with the runners still coming at us from the other direction and then dodged across the path to the lovely open space beneath the beech trees, where we received more interesting facts about – yes, you guessed it, beech trees. Then it was a walk up Lime Avenue, where we learned that dendrochronology had been carried out on some of the trees and many were found to date back to 1672, while the northern section was replanted sometime in the 18th or 19th century. The Lime Tree has nothing to do with the citrus fruit and is/was also known as the Linden tree. They are hermaphroditic, having perfect flowers, both male and female. They’re also one of the trees you see Mistletoe growing on.
From the avenue, we picked our way over a carpet of dead leaves, twigs and a few bramble roots to be confronted by the most wonderful, clearly ancient tree. It was a Sweet Chestnut and was calculated to be about 400 years old. How many times over the years have we walked up that avenue to Whippendell Woods and not noticed this worthy specimen of treehood? Its shape, we were told, was probably because at one time it stood in open space and was able to grow outward horizontally. Now many of its branches are withered and twisted and stripped of bark, not to mention truncated, yet it is still heroic in stature. As there were a number of kids on the walk with their parents, Rob, our leader and tree expert, got them to take part in an exercise to calculate the girth of the tree by producing a tape measure. We were all asked to take a guess, with the winner assured of receiving a cake! It turned out to be about 15 metres. I had over-estimated and said 21. Nevertheless, a 15 metre girth is a noteworthy size! Due facts imparted and photos taken, we strolled on over the golf course and along to the top of the hill that is generally accepted as the boundary to Whippendell Woods.
Standing back to survey the woodland around us, it was easy to see how many people were actually on the walk and while the kids messed about with sticks in the undergrowth, clambering over fallen logs and generally having a good time, Rob gave us a few geological facts about the area. The reason why Whippendell Woods where we stood remained so notably dry after all the rains and storms we had had, was because of the gravel. While much of Hertfordshire is clay, the south west of the county, especially the Chilterns is chalk and gravel; hence the water drains away fairly quickly. At this point, one of the group (I believe it was Laurie Elvin who had given a couple of talks to the West Watford History Group and who is extremely knowledgeable about Cassiobury and Watford’s industrial heritage) gave us an extra insight into the geology of the area after someone asked where the name “Whippendell” came from. He explained that its present name probably comes from the Anglo Saxon “Wippa denu”, meaning “Wippa’s valley” or possibly “Wipp’s dale” and that the surrounding geology was a result of glacial deposits of gravel, therefore, a river down in the dell (the Wipp?) would drain away very quickly and hence remain dry. There was a brief discussion about all the geology of the land between Watford and the Thames before we moved on.
Assimilating all this acquired knowledge, we headed down the slope to view the area of saplings to the right. Asked why this patch looked the way it did, Rob said it was down to mismanagement – that someone had obviously planted the area with all good intentions, but then for some reason it had been left and not managed properly – mismanagement of woodland being a topic close to his heart, as we soon found out!
Down in the dell, we turned left and headed off in the direction of Rousebarn Lane. By this time the group was quite strung out and those of us dawdling at the back or busy taking photos, missed some of what Rob was saying, but it was such a glorious day, it didn’t seem to matter. Despite the glacial gravel deposits we did come across some rather large, awkward patches of mud and then we found the path completely blocked by a fallen beech tree. The kids treated it as just another plaything, while some of the more agile members of the group hopped over and under the branches with little difficulty and others of a more senior age (one of our walking group is 80!) or of lesser agility, cleared the obstacle with more care and less speed. Once we reached Rousebarn Lane, we turned left and had to negotiate more mud. One young mum who had pushed a buggy the whole way round suddenly found the mud too much, so I sent her on a quick detour down the lane itself but then once back with the group was confronted – as we all were – with a rather steep hill which would take us back up to the golf course and then down to the canal and the bridge from where we had started. Well, chivalry isn’t yet dead and a kind-hearted gentleman offered to push the buggy (containing a sleeping tot) up the hill for her while mum herself piggy-backed her daughter all the way up and her little boy walked with the rest of us.
Very soon, with just one or two stops more, we found ourselves back at the rustic bridge and people quickly began to drift away. I took a couple of minutes to fill in a survey for the park ranger (feedback for the Council) and then picked up a card from Rob with website and email addresses on as he said he was heading up a dawn chorus walk next and was also looking for volunteers. Will have to check that out.
The women of our walking group decided to head straight off, but with hunger pangs gnawing, I made for the kiosk and had a burger and a coffee. By this time the park was heaving with people – and dogs (too many dogs). I basked in the sunshine for a while before wandering slowly homeward along the Gade. Detouring over one of the bridges to take some reflection shots of trees, I then found my way cut off by a large pond of water near the watercress beds. Legs aching by now, I couldn’t be bothered to retrace my steps so waded in. It was ankle deep and I walked the rest of the way home with squelching boots. It didn’t matter much. It had been a good day. There were even crocuses out in the grass near the railway bridge. What a difference a bit of sunshine makes.
