Chapter 3: Rules of Engagement
After another three months of plague-enforced house arrest, I actually found myself getting quite comfortable inside my own four walls, and a little unwilling to emerge. If the trigpointing bug wasn’t so strong, I might have stayed shut in for a lot longer. This silly little pastime is actually quite addictive, though, so on Easter Sunday, I eased myself slowly into the outside world once more. Wanting to thank the Easter Bunny for the very generous quantity of egg-shaped chocolate with which I had been gifted (I am also addicted to confectionary – to an extent which is quite frightening), I headed out to possibly the UK’s most famous rabbit warren and enjoyed a stunning springtime view from S1680 Watership Down. The sun was out; the uphill walk was fairly moderate; the field carrying the trig was devoid of crops; and I was actually surprised to see a small procession of walkers queuing up to hop the fence and beat a clear and well-trodden path to the pillar – evidently taking selfies beside concrete blocks is a thing normal people do, too. Watership Down was one of the minority of pillars for which bagging was not a solitary pursuit (and looking out over the valley from the top of the hill, it wasn’t difficult to see why). Sad to say, though, whilst I saw an abundance of humans, I did not lay eyes on a single long-eared cotton-tailed rodent. My Easter spirit was renewed, however, by the footpath to S1681 Cottingtons Hill a short distance up the road, which led through a field of lambs gambolling about in the sun. The pillar at this location is in a sorry state, having been decapitated, uprooted from its field, and dumped at an alarmingly diagonal angle in a thorny hedgerow. I imagine it would have been a lot harder to get to in the summer, when everything is in full bloom. After a couple more local pillars, I ended this mini-trigspedition with a wildly optimistic attempt at S5552 Highbury, located in a paddock behind a housing estate in Shinfield, and which was one of the closest pillars to my home address. A large double gate between two houses blocked off a short road which I assumed would lead directly to the trigpoint. I’d driven past it a couple of times before, but always found the gates closed. But if at first you don’t succeed, as my grandmother used to sing, try, try, try again… and this time they were open. I was quite keen to bag this one, partly due to it being so very local, partly because there were comparatively few photos or useful logs for it on Trigpointing UK, and partly because it would finish a nicely satisfactory run of five consecutive pillars on my spreadsheet. (This last reason would become increasingly significant in determining where I would travel to in the future. I have ONMLKJIHGFECD, which is a bit like OCD but with no gaps.) I parked and walked through the gates. The road came to an abrupt end. There were paddocks, but they were defined by electric fences, and frustratingly, I did not have eyes on the pillar. For the first time in my trigsploits, though, the landowner did have eyes on me, and as I turned to leave, he approached and politely challenged me. I have always dreaded this moment – I generally swerve the pillars where my presence is clearly unwelcome, and I am simply not comfortable in confrontations. Trigpointing appeals because it enables me to avoid people, not meet them. And now I found myself trapped and forced to explain that my hobby was looking at near-identical blocks of concrete to a normal person! I apologised and asked if I’d wandered onto his property, and then just came out with it: am I right in thinking you have an Ordnance Survey triangulation pillar in your paddock? The gentleman was charm personified, and offered to escort me to it if I wished. Sigh of relief. I gabbled a hasty explanation as I was led under the fences to the pillar, obscured from the road by a large tree. He asked me a couple of basic questions, but otherwise let me get on with the serious business of selfie-taking and bracket-photographing, and I thanked him profusely and left. No shouts, no threats, no GOMLs*… no sign I was even unwelcome, actually. He just politely enquired why I was there, and could he help me. What a really lovely chap. I don’t know what I was so worried about.
Well, actually I do. Just not from personal experience (and long may that continue). The Trigpointing UK website is peppered with comments about encounters with hostile and unreasonable landowners who – quite rightly – take a very dim view of trespassers. And I have an unwavering policy when I read such a comment. If one appears in the log for a pillar I’m planning to visit, I cross it off my list immediately. I refer you to the title of this document: concrete chasing is fun. Why would I deliberately make it not fun, either for me or those I trespass against? I have read about landowners who live in fear of thieves, or who are justifiably aggrieved by fly-tippers, or who are protective of their livestock or the wildlife that lives on their property, and even some who have turned their pillars into memorials for departed loved ones - I know of at least two pillars which double up as gravestones; I have no intention of visiting either. I have also read about a handful of landowners who are just unreasonable bastards, too, but they’re the very small minority, and in any case, if they wish to be unpleasant towards unwanted intruders, that’s their prerogative. I have no wish to upset anyone; I certainly have no wish to bring the trigpointing community into disrepute; and I would be mortified if my visit to a pillar resulted in extra security measures being taken, or worse, said pillar being destroyed. And yes, that has actually happened to someone, too. I have rules, and I think they are all common sense, really:
Rule One: If a sign clearly and explicitly says Keep Out or words to that effect, Thou Shalt Not Pass.
Rule Two: If I am asked to leave, I will apologise and do so immediately and without argument, and I will not return.
Rule Three: I will leave only footprints and take only photographs.
At time of writing, I’ve only had to adhere to Rule Two once, and that conversation, while firm, was all very civil and polite.
S4066 Solsbury Hill was very much on my radar at this time for reasons that had nothing to do with Peter Gabriel and everything to do with a report that its pillar had been toppled and thrown down the side of the hill on which it resided. I started to make a plan to pay it a visit to confirm this report (no photos had been provided), but before I could get my act together, another bagger confirmed that the report was false, and that the pillar was still in its customary place right on the very edge of the hill. Hurrah. But a pillar on a big famous hill that had been immortalised in song? That needed visiting, and it turns out there were a dozen other pillars encircling Bath which all looked gettable, too. So that was my next destination sorted.
I often find that the first pillar on a trigspedition dictates the tone of the day. Fortunately, that wasn’t true for S3218 Tolldown Reservoir. The pillar itself is just inside the edge of a wood, and was all overgrown with vegetation at the time of my visit. It was easy enough to locate, as it sits just outside a mast compound. The images of the approach road on Google Maps were a few years old, but clearly showed a decent size car park which, coupled with the knowledge of the pillar’s exact location and that a path led directly to it, should have made for a trouble free bag. Let’s just check the logs on the website to make sure… Oh. My. Word. How can I put this? Tolldown Reservoir has A Reputation, and it’s nothing to do with trigpointing. I braced myself for unpleasantness, and went for it regardless. On arrival, the approach road had been blocked off, and the car park closed, but there was a layby beside the dual carriageway that I could pull into instead, so I did. There were a couple of other cars there, both with their drivers inside them. From the moment I opened my car door, I did my best to look brisk and purposeful. I strode up the pathway at a pace (my natural walking pace is actually quite fast to begin with), holding my phone in my hand, and periodically talking loudly into it as if I’m here on some sort of official business. On entering the wood, I expressed my disgust for people who drop litter (of which there was much, and of a very revealing nature which only enforced the aforementioned Reputation), before heading towards the pillar. I crouched down to take the bare minimum number of photos, all of which were as closely cropped as I could manage. And then I left sharply in much the same manner. Some more cars had pulled into the layby, and one or two of their occupants had started to get out. I actively ignored them, got back into my own vehicle, started the engine, and breathed a tremendous sigh of relief as I left, grateful for an incident-free and successful trig bag at a notorious dogging site. Other trigpointers have seen a lot more than pillars at this location.
Bath itself left me breathless, partly because it is a very beautiful city indeed, but mostly because it’s very bloody steep. There’s a reason it’s surrounded by trigpoints. S2572 Hanging Hill offered me a stunning view as I walked the footpath along its edge. S4022 Kelston Round Hill was an absolutely knackering climb, but also had an expansive and very scenic view from the bridleway down across the city, and an exceptional 270° one from its summit, where I encountered a lovely local lady called Debbie who was also a trigpointer, albeit one who had only just started. We had a chat whilst I got my breath back, and I directed her to the Facebook interest group. At time of writing, she remains the only fellow trigpointer I have encountered in real life. Back down the hill, and I continued along the footpath in the opposite direction, across an absolutely vertiginous sheep field, to S3217 Weston, which sat at the end of a short right turn along the path. S3230 Twerton Hill was on a large mound in the middle of a park by a housing estate. It had been painted to look like a spacehopper, and beside it was a lovely young couple who proceeded to tell me that this was their special place when they were courting. Oh Lord, perhaps Tolldown has set the tone after all… S3220 Bannerdown disappointed me by being in a lovely little park which had been liberally decorated by bags of dog mess in the branches of the trees. No excuse, people. S2486 Wadswick was an easy fieldside bag, but a diversion across the other side of the field revealed a surprisingly concealed and out-of-the-way monument to a fallen explorer. And in the middle of all this was Solsbury Hill, around which parking opportunities are few and far between, but a small side road near a footpath provided me with a spot from which I could avoid a considerable chunk of the climb. I was still worn out before I was even halfway up, though, not least because I’d already yomped up Kelston that day, and my legs were aching terribly. But it was absolutely worth the effort, as the view from this precariously sited pillar on the very edge of the daisy-strewn embankment was absolutely superlative. I sat down and just took it all in for about half an hour, partly to get my breath back, but mostly just glorying in the incredible sight of a particularly beautiful patch of England. This is why I do it. They should write songs about places like this… oh wait, they already have. What could possibly top it?
Well, actually I do. Just not from personal experience (and long may that continue). The Trigpointing UK website is peppered with comments about encounters with hostile and unreasonable landowners who – quite rightly – take a very dim view of trespassers. And I have an unwavering policy when I read such a comment. If one appears in the log for a pillar I’m planning to visit, I cross it off my list immediately. I refer you to the title of this document: concrete chasing is fun. Why would I deliberately make it not fun, either for me or those I trespass against? I have read about landowners who live in fear of thieves, or who are justifiably aggrieved by fly-tippers, or who are protective of their livestock or the wildlife that lives on their property, and even some who have turned their pillars into memorials for departed loved ones - I know of at least two pillars which double up as gravestones; I have no intention of visiting either. I have also read about a handful of landowners who are just unreasonable bastards, too, but they’re the very small minority, and in any case, if they wish to be unpleasant towards unwanted intruders, that’s their prerogative. I have no wish to upset anyone; I certainly have no wish to bring the trigpointing community into disrepute; and I would be mortified if my visit to a pillar resulted in extra security measures being taken, or worse, said pillar being destroyed. And yes, that has actually happened to someone, too. I have rules, and I think they are all common sense, really:
Rule One: If a sign clearly and explicitly says Keep Out or words to that effect, Thou Shalt Not Pass.
Rule Two: If I am asked to leave, I will apologise and do so immediately and without argument, and I will not return.
Rule Three: I will leave only footprints and take only photographs.
At time of writing, I’ve only had to adhere to Rule Two once, and that conversation, while firm, was all very civil and polite.
S4066 Solsbury Hill was very much on my radar at this time for reasons that had nothing to do with Peter Gabriel and everything to do with a report that its pillar had been toppled and thrown down the side of the hill on which it resided. I started to make a plan to pay it a visit to confirm this report (no photos had been provided), but before I could get my act together, another bagger confirmed that the report was false, and that the pillar was still in its customary place right on the very edge of the hill. Hurrah. But a pillar on a big famous hill that had been immortalised in song? That needed visiting, and it turns out there were a dozen other pillars encircling Bath which all looked gettable, too. So that was my next destination sorted.
I often find that the first pillar on a trigspedition dictates the tone of the day. Fortunately, that wasn’t true for S3218 Tolldown Reservoir. The pillar itself is just inside the edge of a wood, and was all overgrown with vegetation at the time of my visit. It was easy enough to locate, as it sits just outside a mast compound. The images of the approach road on Google Maps were a few years old, but clearly showed a decent size car park which, coupled with the knowledge of the pillar’s exact location and that a path led directly to it, should have made for a trouble free bag. Let’s just check the logs on the website to make sure… Oh. My. Word. How can I put this? Tolldown Reservoir has A Reputation, and it’s nothing to do with trigpointing. I braced myself for unpleasantness, and went for it regardless. On arrival, the approach road had been blocked off, and the car park closed, but there was a layby beside the dual carriageway that I could pull into instead, so I did. There were a couple of other cars there, both with their drivers inside them. From the moment I opened my car door, I did my best to look brisk and purposeful. I strode up the pathway at a pace (my natural walking pace is actually quite fast to begin with), holding my phone in my hand, and periodically talking loudly into it as if I’m here on some sort of official business. On entering the wood, I expressed my disgust for people who drop litter (of which there was much, and of a very revealing nature which only enforced the aforementioned Reputation), before heading towards the pillar. I crouched down to take the bare minimum number of photos, all of which were as closely cropped as I could manage. And then I left sharply in much the same manner. Some more cars had pulled into the layby, and one or two of their occupants had started to get out. I actively ignored them, got back into my own vehicle, started the engine, and breathed a tremendous sigh of relief as I left, grateful for an incident-free and successful trig bag at a notorious dogging site. Other trigpointers have seen a lot more than pillars at this location.
Bath itself left me breathless, partly because it is a very beautiful city indeed, but mostly because it’s very bloody steep. There’s a reason it’s surrounded by trigpoints. S2572 Hanging Hill offered me a stunning view as I walked the footpath along its edge. S4022 Kelston Round Hill was an absolutely knackering climb, but also had an expansive and very scenic view from the bridleway down across the city, and an exceptional 270° one from its summit, where I encountered a lovely local lady called Debbie who was also a trigpointer, albeit one who had only just started. We had a chat whilst I got my breath back, and I directed her to the Facebook interest group. At time of writing, she remains the only fellow trigpointer I have encountered in real life. Back down the hill, and I continued along the footpath in the opposite direction, across an absolutely vertiginous sheep field, to S3217 Weston, which sat at the end of a short right turn along the path. S3230 Twerton Hill was on a large mound in the middle of a park by a housing estate. It had been painted to look like a spacehopper, and beside it was a lovely young couple who proceeded to tell me that this was their special place when they were courting. Oh Lord, perhaps Tolldown has set the tone after all… S3220 Bannerdown disappointed me by being in a lovely little park which had been liberally decorated by bags of dog mess in the branches of the trees. No excuse, people. S2486 Wadswick was an easy fieldside bag, but a diversion across the other side of the field revealed a surprisingly concealed and out-of-the-way monument to a fallen explorer. And in the middle of all this was Solsbury Hill, around which parking opportunities are few and far between, but a small side road near a footpath provided me with a spot from which I could avoid a considerable chunk of the climb. I was still worn out before I was even halfway up, though, not least because I’d already yomped up Kelston that day, and my legs were aching terribly. But it was absolutely worth the effort, as the view from this precariously sited pillar on the very edge of the daisy-strewn embankment was absolutely superlative. I sat down and just took it all in for about half an hour, partly to get my breath back, but mostly just glorying in the incredible sight of a particularly beautiful patch of England. This is why I do it. They should write songs about places like this… oh wait, they already have. What could possibly top it?
* GOML = Get Orf Moi Laaand!
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