Ivinghoe Beacon to Dunstable.

An early breakfast is rushed, which is a shame, as there is a great choice. But I want to catch the 8 am bus to Ivinghoe to stay ahead of the rain, due at three. Waiting at the bus stop, I have doubts that it will arrive, the bus that is. I mark time kicking conkers along the pavement. Is Autumn in the air?

However, the bus shows up 10 minutes late and rattles along to where I alight at the base of Ivinghoe Beacon. I step straight onto a flint chalk path for a couple of hundred feet of ascent to the summit.

An early morning twitcher lists the birds he has already seen this morning. I’ll be lucky if I spot a fraction of his impressive tally. 

I immediately notice the rich flora that the chalk brings. Knapweed, Marjoram, Scabious, Harebell, Toadflax, Eyebright, Wild Carrot, for starters.   One little plant I don’t recognise is  Red Bartsia, partially a parasite on the roots of grasses, apparently.

The summit is the site of a Bronze Age hill fort, which I can’t make out, but the degraded tumulus at the summit is more obvious.

What a beautiful morning to be up here with views all around, most of which I don’t recognise. If I had looked more carefully to the east, I would have seen the White Lion on the hills below Whipsnade Zoo.

Paths radiate in all directions over the downs. I follow the Ridgeway Path southwards to a stone marking the start of the Icknield Way. Really, they are both the same, part of The Great Chalk Way. There appears to be a multitude of interesting tracks running southwards over the commons to Berkhamsted.  The Chiltern Way makes use of them, one for another day.

I go north east on the open chalk downs. I come across the Icknield Way waymark roundel for the first time.

The path then winds its way through beautiful beech and oak woods, which are part of the extensive NT Ashridge Estate.

After a very steep section, I emerge near a farm and follow open ground and then a lane down to a road.  There are views back to Ivinghoe Beacon. Another twitcher is watching the House Martins swooping across the fields. I can hear their chatter.

Dagnall is a small hamlet with a pub and a strange-looking ecumenical church almost on the roundabout.

The road is soon left on a fenced-in track up to the next down. A red kite flies overhead, mobbed by crows. I’m unable to catch the action on my phone. Suddenly, I’m deposited in a golf course. An unpleasant crossing of several fairways is best forgotten.

I escape only to come up against the outer fence of Whipsnade Zoo. All thoughts of marching alongside elephants and lions disappear when I realise how far away the animals are. I think I spot some camel humps in the distance. 

I can’t really go wrong here. 

Whipsnade village consists of a few houses around a village green. And an interesting church, hidden away, which I divert to for a lunch stop.

The church tower is the oldest part, dating back to the sixteenth century. The west door has been retained since the 14th century from an earlier church. The bricks in the tower are thought to have been made from local clays—some of the earliest bricks ever made after the Roman occupation.

The central part of the building is Georgian. The chancel is Victorian.

There is some ancient and modern graffiti inside the tower.

I follow the signs to the Tree Cathedral, planted after the Great War to outline a church. On the ground, it isn’t easy to visualise the effect, but there are some stunning trees.

I could have spent the afternoon in the Zoo along with hundreds of others, judging from the car park.

An old flinty track climbs back up onto the downs.

Slowly, I gain height with the glider base in the combe below.

The weather is holding up, and I can take in all the distant views. I don’t manage a photo of the gliders being towed up.

More people appear as the Chilterns Gateway Centre comes into view. Kite flying is the order of the day in the stiff breeze up here.

The queue in the cafe is forever, but I need a coffee with a view back to Invinghoe Beacon.

Onwards, high above the valley. I come to the Five Knolls, neolithic burial mounds, being destroyed by mountain bikers.

At the bottom, I reach busy Dunstable and arrive at my overnight pub before the rain.

A colourful crowd is drinking the afternoon away. My room is cramped, with no window to speak of. All the floorboards creak, and there is no soundproofing. The bar isn’t somewhere I would drink, never mind dine, so I visit the local convenience store for supplies.  Some contrast to last night.

*