Chapter 15: Britain's Ferns

It wasn’t a particularly exciting trigpoint.  I’d tried to work out a route that would put one of the more spectacular pillars on my shortlist in third place, but ultimately the distinction of being my 600th trig fell to S6075 Wool Camp – an unassuming little roadsider perched atop a small thistly mound.  It wasn’t a particularly pleasant pillar to bag, either, with my ankles being scratched by the spiky greenery underfoot, and the constant noise of the cars tearing past made it difficult to record my now-traditional commemorative video.  Nor was it an easy trig to park near, with No Parking signs adorning the convenient wide road entrance a few metres down; and it didn’t even offer a view of any description.  But then, my 500th pillar wasn’t especially pleasant or notable either, and it’s not as if my return to beautiful Dorset, in the middle of the July 2025 heatwave, was entirely devoid of highlights…

…like that pillar’s similarly-named numerical neighbour, S6076 Woolsbarrow Camp, for instance: free car park; decent-but-not-tiring uphill walk through a scenic woodland; glorious and expansive 360° view from the top of a steep-sided plateau… this is what we want.  Or S1505 Coringdon:  nice big shaded layby opposite a PROW; beautiful chalky hills with well-defined tracks; shallow climb that runs diagonally up a steep cliffside; a completely amazing view all the way out to sea from the pillar itself… okay, this particular pillar is very much an ex-trig, having suffered the ignominy of being stripped of its bracket and spider before being thrown halfway down a hill (the consequence of too many entitled trigpointers antagonising the landowner, sad to say), but it’s still very much worth a visit for the landscape alone (and even more so if it just happens to complete a run of six consecutrigs on your spreadsheet!).

I was hoping S2541 Gore Heath would be a highlight, with its attractive woodland setting and its unusual green paint job.  Sadly, the inconsiderate parking of another visitor had left it difficult for me to pull in to a layby that would otherwise have been more than large enough to accommodate four or five vehicles, without completely blocking the offending motorist in, so what should have been a pleasant and leisurely stroll around a particularly pretty location ended up being a bit of a sweaty rush, as I was keen to return to my trusty motor as quickly as I could.

Even though I’ve been there before, it was very tempting to pay Corfe Castle another visit whilst I bagged S2580 Knowle Hill on the ridge a few hundred metres to the west.  The pillar had a pretty fine view where it was, but my best pictures from that location were taken on the way back to the car park, where the castle ruins loomed large over the chalky footpath.   However, I resisted the temptation to explore the attraction again, as I had an appointment with the ferns at East Creech, in pursuit of which I set off down a terrifyingly narrow hillside road towards one of the most frighteningly acute hairpin bends I’ve ever negotiated.  I’d thought when I reviewed this location on Google Streetview the day before, that my biggest problem in accessing S2588 Creech Barrow would be thrashing my way through the woodland, as the footpath that runs from the roadside layby into the woods at the base of the hill looked like it had been completely overrun by the local flora.  In actual fact, the entrance into the wood was easily discernible, as was the path – narrow and winding though it may have been – all the way through the trees.  And then the trees came to an end, and the path led up the hill… apparently.  I found myself staring in awe at a vast quantity of ferns which came up at least to my waist, and in parts up to my shoulders.  I have never seen so many ferns, nor such large ones.  The faintest of trails could be made out at my feet, leading vaguely in the direction of uphill, but beyond about a metre or so, I could not tell where this path (if it could be called a path) would lead me.  Other than through the ferns.  Not for the first time, I felt like Indiana Jones hacking through the foliage, questing for my prize.  But the ferns on this hill were friendly enough – they didn’t conceal any thistles, and they weren’t intertwined with any brambles, and it never really felt like the hack-and-slash that such mad escapades usually descend into, but instead more like wading through a sea of lush green leaves… albeit a sea whose bed was covered in entangling roots trying to trip me up at every turn.  I caught myself smiling widely as I proceeded – this overgrown hillside was actually fun to climb!  Ultimately, the ferns petered out as I reached the dips and ridges of the cratered summit, atop which was… a massive great concrete bench for me to lie down on for a few minutes and recover my breath.  Thank you, whoever put that there!  Oh yeah, and there was a trigpoint up there, too, and it didn’t half have a view.  To the north, that view even took in things that weren’t ferns, but I wasn’t heading that way.  I looked back from whence I’d come.  There was a path between all those ferns, I’m sure of it…  I wonder where it’s gone?  To the south and back towards the road, there was no indication of any paths or trails – just an all-enveloping blanket of ferns, ferns, ferns.  When the time came to descend again, the fact that I did pick up the path I came up by was nothing short of miraculous…
 
August 2025, and a lengthy drive at silly o’clock in the morning saw me arrive at the far side of the New Forest, where S6318 Hangerberry Hill set the tone perfectly for my second trigspedition into Wales, being on a hill in a field full of noisy sheep.  Before crossing the border, though, I’d made a plan to bag a couple of particularly enjoyable English hill-toppers first.  The village of Staunton, technically in England by a couple of hundred metres, sits to the east of a steep wooded ridge, where a narrow footpath winds up the hill from a private road, following a mossy drystone wall through the trees.  As I picked my way over the roots and stones that littered the upwards trail, I could see the wall had clearly been constructed to keep ramblers from falling down a lot of tight-packed contours on the other side, which was rather unnerving as I knew that S6974 Buckstone was on the vertical side of the wall rather than the footpath side.  I needn’t have worried, really – a pair of gates, one either side of the trig, allowed access into a small clearing between a reservoir and the Buck Stone itself (it’s basically a big ol’ stone slab precariously perched at the summit – I have no idea how it got there), in which the pillar sits beside the wall, with what appears to be the base for a flagpole squatting a couple of metres away.  For enthusiasts of odd-shaped rocks and concrete lumps, this location has much to offer!  In the golden light of the early morning sunrise, and at the height of summer with all the greenery at its most verdant, this little clearing is a beautiful haven of peace, with a far-reaching view just discernible through the branches that surround the Buck Stone.  There’s also a handy bench beside the footpath, just across the wall from the trig, for the weary hill-climber to rest on.  The narrow, uneven, and uphill nature of the footpath meant the last thing I expected to see emerging through the trees was a horserider, but lo and behold, the local cavalry had arrived just in time to see me take my usual trigpoint selfies.  Pulling up beside the gate, I offered to open it for her, as the handle looked far too low for her to reach, but with practised skill, she’d stretched all the way down and unlatched it before I was even halfway there, before disappearing into the wood again as quickly and quietly as she’d arrived.  I looked around to see exactly where the track was big enough to accommodate a horse in the first place, but was still none the wiser by the time I left.
 
I crossed the border into Monmouthshire on my way to Little Doward, and then crossed it back into Herefordshire about five minutes later, as this magnificent hill also resides a very short distance into England.  Served by a convenient free car park, multiple trails of varying width and steepness wend their way through the substantial wooded hillside to the fort at the summit.  I chose the easiest route and took the widest track which zig zags its way gently upwards.  It’s very difficult to lose your way here so long as you keep ascending.  Ultimately, all paths lead to the top, and the woods give way to a vast expanse of ferns which stretch all the way across a wide plateau, which provided a magnificent autumnal sight as I caught my breath at the top.  S7014 Little Doward sits on the edge of a rampart at the edge of the forest beside a small cairn of stones, and is much-loved by the hillfort’s residents… a small herd of about half a dozen Belted Galloways, who were butting it and vigorously rubbing up against it when I arrived.  Not wanting to be butted or vigorously rubbed myself, I kept my distance and passed the time of day with a passing dog walker.  “What brings you up here without a dog?”  I looked down at my Trig Point Addicted t-shirt by way of an explanation, and then across to the pillar still being molested by its bovine admirers.  “Oh don’t mind the Belties – they’re friendly enough!”  A little too much for me, though, so I enjoyed the view for a while longer until they got bored with the trigpoint and wandered off into the ferns.
 
Doubling back across the border, S7208 Longhill Wood became my first Welsh pillar outside the Gower Peninsula.  A substantial trek to the top of the hill saw me passing a farm before trudging up a fallow field to a woodland path that zig-zagged and doubled back to a hidden trail to the summit, where yet more ferns surrounded and almost engulfed a fly-infested pillar.  Despite having a view which would only appeal to fans of plantlife, the slightly hidden nature of this trig, plus the variety of paths that led to it made it a fun (albeit sweaty) bag, and the walk back down offered some fine views of Welsh hills and valleys once I’d emerged from the woodland section.
 
And then I met Steve.  As a rule, I am a solitary trigpointer who likes to enjoy the countryside and the concrete without company, and if accessing a trig requires interacting with people, I’ll generally give it a swerve.  But my route took me directly past S6976 Coed Cefn Court, in the garden of a rustic farmhouse opposite a nice big layby, and the logs on Trigpointing UK testified to the good nature and hospitality of the owner, so for once I took the plunge, pulled over, and approached his front door.  I was greeted by a friendly dog before I could knock, followed by Steve himself who emerged from the side of the house.  And what I thought would be a brief five-minute intrusion on his day turned into an extremely chatty and enjoyable encounter, as he showed off the pillar, his chicken coops, the large scaffolding tower next to the trig, his communication equipment, the renovations to his house, the view from his garden, and his extensive knowledge of the local area.  Knowing I had another eleven pillars to attempt before sundown, I was keen to get going, but I couldn’t not stay to chat to this fascinating, inviting, generous, enthusiastic and quirky individual, who was so very keen to give this passing random stranger a proper, whole-hearted Welsh welcome, and before I knew it, an hour had passed in a blink, and it was the best hour of my whole day.  Perhaps I shouldn’t be so reticent to approach people in future trigspeditions - who knows?  Although something tells me I struck gold here - I don’t expect to encounter anyone quite like Steve again. 
 
With a massive grin, I returned to my car and pointed her in the direction of some twisty single-track backroads that made me vow never to take the piss out of Somerset’s rural road network again.  The early afternoon was filled with some very scenic meanderings down a succession of narrow and unkempt farmland lanes that put that county’s roads firmly in the shade.  I found myself praying hard for the solitude that attracts me to this hobby - I really didn’t want to come face to face with any oncoming traffic, because I genuinely had no idea how I’d get past anything larger than a bicycle.  S6447 The Grove (Wernrheolydd), S6972 Llansantffraed, S6445 Fair View (Abergavenny), and S6405 The Llech were all field-edge hedge-hiders; and S6443 Bryn Deri and S7261 Campston Hill were both in the middle of roadside fields – all easily accessed and quickly bagged, but all hidden deep in the most obscure corners of Wales and served by the twistiest single-track trails I’ve ever driven down.  It was with some relief that I crossed the border back into Hertfordshire and back onto some proper A-roads once more…
 
…or so I thought.  

S6247 Gwern-y-Cae Field has a name that looks like it belongs in Wales, and is another pillar in a fieldside hedge alongside a minor road.  It’s fortunate that it’s not down a major one, I thought, as I pulled up in the centre of the road and stuck on my headlights and hazards.  They say it’s lemmings who have a tendency towards suicide, though personally I’m not convinced it isn’t hedgehogs.  Having blocked the road to stop anyone passing, I picked up a page of my typed out directions and coaxed the prickly little critter mooching about in the middle of the tarmac onto it.  Poor thing was only a baby, although I’m not aware their road sense improves with age.  He reluctantly clambered on board, and careful not to touch him, I carried him on my piece of A4 and deposited him in the hedge beside the road.  It took him less than ten seconds to wander back out into the road again, so I repeated the procedure, gently telling him off as I did, and this time walked up the road a bit and a few metres into a wood before letting him loose.  Dopey buggers.  It’s a wonder they’re not extinct.
 
I expected S7008 Cae Tack to be an enjoyable highlight of the afternoon, as it sits at the top of a large round hill with a moderate gradient, and is criss-crossed with easily discernible footpaths.  My uncharacteristic optimism met defeat before I’d even reached it, when I discovered the main road out of nearby Ewyas Harold had been closed, forcing me to improvise a detour down a very lengthy single-track back road whose numerous twists and turns and generous smattering of pot-holes made me wish I was back in rural Wales.  Because at least in Wales I barely encountered any traffic - here, I faced a constant stream of large SUVs devouring the bends and the bumps at the sort of speed which even I considered alarming (I am generally not shy when it comes to flooring my accelerator).  I proceeded with extra caution as a result, keen to avoid an accident if only because I had no idea how to pronounce the name of the village should I need to call the AA.  Eventually finding a way to my originally intended route, I pulled in at the edge of an extraordinarily wide farm entrance and proceeded to yomp up the hill.  At which point I decided that the good folk of Ewyas Harold must be short of stature but with legs that come up to my shoulders, because no other explanation can make sense of the half-dozen or so stiles which allowed access into the successive fields that divided the north slope of the hill.  Each in turn had a horizontal plank nailed to the second bar of the fence, somewhat above knee-height, requiring considerable stretching and contorting to get over – especially when coupled with the low-hanging branches that needed to be ducked under at the same point.  I’ve scaled barbed wire fences with less difficulty than Cae Tack’s stiles.  And whilst the pillar itself was a fine upstanding example of its kind, it looked out only on a ring of trees which made for a disappointing view for a hilltopper.  So with a sigh of resignation, I took some underwhelming photos and braced myself for tackling the stiles and the backroads in the other direction.
 
By contrast, I expected S6407 Cot Farm to give me a confrontation, as it sits in the corner of a private sheepfield overlooked by a large farmhouse, but ultimately I was unobserved by anything with fewer than four legs, and the pillar proved to be a swift and easy bag.  Reaching the pillar, though, involved navigating yet another narrow single-track road which veered sharply up and left at the brink of a steep incline, before leading down a glorified driveway to a cattlegrid that opened up on a wide piece of concrete hardstanding that serves as the northern and uppermost entrance to Ewyas Harold Common.  One day, I’ll return to explore the Common properly.  On this day, though, I was delighted to be greeted by half a dozen small ponies, cheerfully munching on the ferns and the hedges, and completely unfazed by either me or my car.  These cute and adorable creatures were quite happy to pose for photos, and are evidently very used to two-legged idiots wandering across their Common.  And the late afternoon view across this particularly beautiful stretch of hillside was absolutely stunning – from the Common if not from the trig. 
 
The day came to an end with a pair of tree-squatters.  After a quick and trouble-free visit to S6379 Cockyard Tump (neither in a yard nor surrounded by chickens, but instead sat beneath a mighty Oak on a small hill), the final port of call on this trip was a white-painted woodland-dweller near the sleepy village of Little Birch.  I was careful to avoid a prowling moggie who - not wanting to be outdone by a hedgehog for bloody-minded-stupidity - had also decided that the middle of the main road was a good place to take a walk.  Between stubborn cats, vocal sheep, suicidal hedgehogs, indolent ponies, and concrete-obsessed cattle, it had been quite the day for encountering the UK’s most moronic mammals.  Parking up beside Little Birch Village Hall (and leaving the required small donation), I found one of the many paths into the wood with no problem, and ventured forth into the trees, directions in hand.  Hang on, how many turnings and crossroads have I just passed?  There shouldn’t have been one there – I haven’t walked 200m yet!  Please don’t be another Fern Down Common…  With rapidly decreasing confidence, I pored over my directions, so carefully compiled from Streetmaps and Google.  Right at the crossroads, then a left…  but there’s no paths off to the left – just a massive wall of ferns and brambles…  down a dip, and there’s a crossroads over there, so let’s walk up the left turn there and hope that the path starts going up again, because if I’m going downhill, I’m going the wrong way…  Hopelessly lost, I picked an uphill trail alongside another massive bank of ferns and just hoped all roads led to the top.  The wood was on an extremely gentle slope indeed, and never felt like it was a hill.  The ground rose up and a short distance ahead the ferns came to an end – I was already starting to see over the top of them.  The trail opened up into a clearing – where do I go from here?  I looked at the onward paths – none seemed to lead up any further.  I turned around…  and there was S6380 Aconbury Camp, clear as day in its coat of white paint.  Sixteenth and final pillar for the day, and just in time, too, because it’s not far off sunset and it’ll start getting dark in a few minutes.  I took my photos and called home to let my long-suffering trigpoint-widow know when to expect me back.  It had been a good day.  Real Life was gearing up to stop me bagging for the next couple of months, but I was happy that this trip had been such a memorable one, and that it had ended in such a beautiful and verdant clearing.  With no idea when or where I’d bag my next pillar, I bid the Aconbury Camp trig adieu, and headed back down into the ferns…
 
…wait a minute…
 
…which way leads me out of here?...
 
 
 
…anyone?...