Tagged: landscape
I didn't really intend to record my walk today, but once I was out and about I couldn't really resist taking some pictures. The sun was lovely, but it was cold...
"He liked to take a walk on a Saturday afternoon with Flora for his companion, across the bridge, pausing there to look leftwards at the spreading city far below, the tangled waterways, the warehouses, the ships, the medley of houses and trees lifted to the heights of Upper Radstowe, and on the right where the gorge narrowed, to see the river sluggishly making for the Channel between banks of glistening mud on which was reflected, now and then, the white swoop of the gulls; or, at high tide, to hear the hooting of a siren and watch the ship coming slowly round the bend. It was a scene of which he did not tire for it was never twice alike. The form, the opaqueness, the colour or absence of clouds had their way with it, darkening or lightening the trees on the farther cliff and the splashes of red and yellow rock on the nearer one."
— E.H. Young, Chatterton Square, 1949
The International Grotto Directory website says:
Prince’s Lane might have been one of the original ancient tracks from Hotwells to Clifton, in the Avon Gorge. The site later formed part of Rownham Woods which comprised some thirteen acres. By the end of the 18th century and the early 19th century, the Society of Merchant Venturers granted to Samuel Powell a building lease, for The Colonnade (1786), St. Vincent’s Parade (1790), Prince’s Buildings (1796), and Rock House. Rock House is generally considered to be the oldest surviving building associated with the Hotwell (see Chapter 20). John Power conveyed part of the woods to William Watts for the construction of Windsor Terrace (1790-1808).
The above development of the Avon Gorge cleared Rownham Woods, and created a triangle of land on the north side of the gorge, that became enclosed as a result, by Mansion Houses, whose garden walls all entered on to Prince’s Lane. The Lane started at the bottom of the gorge, at the base rock of Windsor Terrace, and came out half way up Sion Hill. It is clearly shown as a public footpath, dotted with trees, in Ashmead’s map of 1828. Some of the gardens were quite steep in parts and therefore, had to be terraced, because of the gradient of the gorge.
I've passed Prince's Lane literally thousands of times in my life, every time I've walked past the Avon Gorge Hotel, which itself started (in 1898) as the Grand Clifton Spa and Hydropathic Institution and pumped water up from the Hot Well for its hydropathic treatments. I've never actually ventured down it until today, or at least nothing like as far down it as I did this afternoon—I may have poked my head around the back of the hotel to see the original pump rooms at some point in the past.
This was a great wander, though it does very much feel like a private road, and frankly I may have been pushing my luck a bit by winding my way between the astoundingly big back gardens of the houses of some presumably very wealthy Cliftonites, but I felt vaguely justified in exploring the history of one of the oldest footpaths in my part of Bristol...
One of the oldest paths from Clifton to Hotwells, though there's sadly no way through to the Hotwell Road from about the halfway point now. Apparently it was rather charming in its day, and I could sense some of that history as soon as I got away from modern traffic and street furniture and further into the woodland.
Which included a literal "local", the Pump House, to try out their shop/deli/cafe. A flat white, some apples and a New York Deli toastie. Eleven quid, mind, but the Pump House was never a cheap pub...
I enjoyed the fog, and wandering down a few more out-of-the-way back alleys and what-have-you on the Hotwell Road.
I'm thinking of getting up early and going for a morning walk tomorrow, weather-depending, but at the moment my motivation to do things like this seems to be much strong in the evenings when I'm just thinking about it rather than in the morning when I actually have to do it. But it's going to be cold, and low tide is quite early, so there's always a chance of getting some footage of the hot well actually being visibly hot; you never know...
I decided to explore the Freeland Place car park briefly today. As expected it's basically just a car park, though at least it links up with Hinton Lane at the bottom so I didn't have to retrace my steps.
From the article I was reading to accompany yesterday's Prince's Lane wander:
"In the 1970s, access to Prince’s Lane from Hotwell Road was walled off, and a gate was put in the wall on Hinton Lane, which was locked and prevented people from using it."
I think this is likely to be that gate. It's certainly close to the most likely path for Prince's Lane to shimmy between the back gardens of St Vincent's Parade and the back gardens of Windsor Terrace to emerge from the Clifton hillside onto Hinton Lane, anyway.
Tempted by a hopeful repeat of yesterday's weather, I got up early this morning and went for a short walk up into Clifton Village, around Observatory Hill, back down the Zig Zag and home. Instead of beautiful and mysterious fog and crisp freezing brightness I got some murk and slight dampness which included witnessing a road-raging van driver and finding that it still wasn't cold enough for the hot well to be even gently steaming when I got down there. I've still never seen it steaming, but I've been told it does, on colder days.
A Bristol tradition. Not quite sure what I was focusing on here, but it was early and dark and I quite like the picture anyway.
There are a few traditional vantage points for snapping the suspension bridge from Observatory Hill
...and another rock slide in the background. Also, just on the left in the wall at the back there may be a bricked-up opening; a geological field trip guide I found says:
In the back wall is a bricked-up adit, presumably representing the entrance to a former iron ore or lead mine.
I may have to go back and take another snap of that.
It surprises me that any of this is still vertical at all, but the end still seems to be standing quite proud.
Went for a wander with my friend Lisa—the current lockdown rules seem to be that one local walk for exercise per day with a maximum of one person not in one's "bubble" is fine—up to the University of Bristol area right at the edge of my one-mile perimeter to see the Jeppe Hein Mirror Maze, among other things. On the way we mused about Merchant Venturers, the slave and tobacco trades, and dating in the time of Covid.
Not many people know there's a giant reservoir in the middle of Clifton. I found a fascinating tidbit in 'To Keep Open and Unenclosed':
The Management of Durdham down since 1861, by Gerry Nichols, that also explains why the toilets and changing rooms on Durdham down are where they are (right next to the giant water tower):
Bristol Water Works Company (BWW) was incorporated by Act of Parliament in 1846 and its first engineering works included three service reservoirs: Bedminster Down for the area south of the River Avon; Victoria Reservoir at Oakfield Road for the lower areas north of the Avon; and the Durdham Down Reservoir for the higher districts. The water flowed from the Barrow Reservoir to Oakfield Road by gravity where there was a pump driven by a steam engine to raise the water to the Downs level. Land was purchased from the Lords of the Manor of Henbury for the Durdham Down Reservoir free of any covenants or restrictions on building. As noted above, the requirement in the 1861 Act for the Downs to be 'open and unenclosed' has always been interpreted as a ban on permanent buildings on the Downs. Thus BWW land has been used for public toilets (1893) and Dressing Rooms (1932 and 1994) to avoid challenges under the 1861 Act.
The thing I came here to see was disappointingly small, frankly, but the effect of walking through it was pretty interesting.
The Cantock Steps annoyed me from the get-go. Walking down them it was apparently they'd not been designed by anyone with an anounce of anthropometric sense, and it's pleasant to find that someone else hates them enough for the same reason that they wrote this diatribe about them.
A raggedy wander with my friend Lisa, picking up a few stray streets and venturing only briefly onto Whiteladies Road, where it was too damn busy, given the current pandemic. We retreated fairly quickly. Found a couple of interesting back alleys, and got a very pointed "can I help you?" from a man who was working in his garage in one of the rather run-down garage areas behind some posh houses, and clearly didn't want us just wandering around there.
I'm absolutely fascinated by this sinkhole in the Canynge Square garden. I'm not sure why. But every time I'm there there's normally another rubbernecker or three, so perhaps I can take solace in that.
Presumably people were getting to what looked like the end of the road without finding number 23 and getting confused. I can see how that could happen.
This is Lime Walk, a well-known path through St Andrew's Churchyard.
A lot of people call it Birdcage Walk now, and I think that's even on Google Maps, which just goes to show that places are called what people call them. The original Birdcage Walk is just opposite, running across the centre of Victoria Square, and I think it might even still have a sign up with its name on. But something that just looks as Birdcage Walk-ey as this is likely to claim the name in the long run, I'd've thought.
A quick jaunt to Clifton Village to grab a birthday coffee and cake (courgette, lime & pistachio, thanks for asking) from Twelve, and rubberneck at the demolition of the block that used to house the WH Smith, among other things. I remember the Havana Cafe, Mail Boxes Etc (for those who wanted a Clifton postcode without living there?) and others.
I wonder if the bit about it being closed for one day a year is a non-sequitur, or whether there's actually some legal requirement to close the garden every now and again to maintain its private status.
I started this wander with my "support bubble" Sarah and Vik, after Sarah texted me to say "SNOW!" We parted ways on the towpath and I headed up into the bit of Leigh Woods that's not actually the woods—the village-like part in between Leigh Woods and Ashton Court, where I'd noticed on a map a church I'd not seen before. I found St Mary the Virgin and quite a few other things I'd never experienced, despite having walked nearby them many, many times over many years, including a castellated Victorian water tower that's been turned into a house...
I just nipped out to post a blood test (not Covid-related) and check that my car was okay, because I've not driven it for weeks. I was just going to walk up to Clifton Village, but I spotted the opportunity to re-park the car on my street rather than up the hill around the corner where it was, so instead I got in, intending just to move a hundred metres, but it turned over slowly before it started, and then warned me that the battery was very low and I should go for a long drive to recharge it.
So, I did my best, zipping up the A4018 to the motorway junction and back again, dropping off my blood at a postbox along the way, and while I did that, it started snowing. I noticed it was low tide, too, so when I got back home I headed back out again, this time on foot and with a camera so I could see if I could find any evidence of the Hot Well steaming.
I saw not a single sign of the Hot Well steaming, but it was quite a nice quick outing and I enjoyed my brief walk in the snow. Iike Hinton Lane, too, and while it's all old ground I was re-treading, I did at least get a picture or two with a bit of snow and some of the cold winter atmosphere of the trip, I think.
Went down to see if I could see it steaming. No dice. I really want to clear the spring of all that junk every time I see it, but I have no means to do it, let alone the knowledge and wisdom to know if it might do more harm than good...
I just wanted to get some exercise, really, so I set out to knock off the lower bit of Jacobs Wells Road that I'd not managed to walk up yet. I set the new signboard that the community association had had erected as my destination, after reading about it on their blog.
As it turned out, I couldn't even read it, as the building that houses the actual Jacob's Well had water flooding out onto the pavement. I wonder if it was actual Jacob's Well water? Have the soles of my walking shoes been mystically blessed now?
You can't see much of the flood in the photos I snapped, but I did shoot a little video, too. Ed on Twitter said:
I spoke to the seller at the time with a view to buying it - I mentioned an old friend who grew up nearby remembers it flooding regularly. He swore blind my friend was wrong.
