A walk on the wild side

Our walk today was full of adventure and alas, injury. It started off marvelously, great weather, with the Sun set in a clear blue sky, superb views and great walking; it was set to be a challenging walk 15 or 16 miles up and down the Purbeck hills. We started with a scented walk through the ramson filled Norden Wood, rising up the steep path to the top of Knowle Hill, whereupon after stealing some views we disappearing down the other side into the lush green expanse of the Corfe valley; through which we followed a meandering path through field and over stream, past old stone buildings in a landscape soaked in history, before beginning our climb up on to the coastal ridge, which was an effort in the midday Sun, though a rewarding one; now along the windswept ridge over looking Encombe and out to Houns Tout, where we rested and took lunch. After a welcomed break we set off down to South Gwyle and Egmont Falls, then off towards Kimmeridge along the undulating coastal path, after a while we turned inland and up the steep and arduous hillside to Swyre Head. From here we could just see the crest of Norden Wood beyond the ridge of Knowle Hill, still some miles off in the distance; so, without further ado we headed back down into the Corfe valley.

And that's where our walk got a bit tricky. About 10.5 miles in to our walk, following a footpath, we crossed into a field of what turned out to be young bulls, they were a ways over in the field and didn't appear to pose a problem; so we continued walking and talking. A couple of the young bulls began to walk slowly in our direction, no problem, they stopped, we carried on; I told my walking companion not worry. Then from the rear of the herd a young bull charged, head down and at full speed towards me, his charge brought the rest of the now excited herd with him; I shouted run! Well, run, and a few expletives if I'm honest. We bolted towards the field boundary, the young bulls hard on our heals, they weren't going to stop; I was proper scared. We reached the boundary, with its barbed wire fence, with the beast right upon us; I tried to leap the barbed wire, getting one foot on the top wire, flinging myself forward, letting gravity and motion finish the job. I was over, I was upside down but over, with the young bulls straining against the barbed wire. I checked myself, nothing broken, although I'd acquired some nasty and lengthy barb cuts from boot line to buttocks, which were bleeding; I was covered in scratches and had numerous Blackthorns protruding from my hands and arms, bruised knees, not to mention 100% stinging nettle coverage on all exposed parts of me. For what we'd dived into was a 3-4m wide, 5m deep rivulet channel choked with bramble, thorn and nettle. I laid back and laughed. My laugh was premature though; I'd not come off worst; I couldn't say how my companion made it over as he was about 10m or so from me at this point and was complaining of ankle pain. We were now stuck though, we couldn't reenter the field, the young bulls wanted to fight us and the other direction was as before mentioned meters of spiky thicket. In the end, I had to throw my rucksack onto the brambles and nettles, fall on it, push myself up, move my rucksack forward a bit and do the same again, inching my way forward; finally I was out and able to help my chum out into the field. Indeed he hadn't fared well, his ankle was swollen and he couldn't bear weight on it; bummer, we were still some miles from the car and there was no way he'd be able to walk it. So, I cut him a staff from a nearby Hazel stool and slowly we made it, after some time, to a point with vehicular access; here I gave him a couple of pain killers and left him, telling him I'd be an hour or so. 

I set off towards the car, still some miles ahead. Due to the nature of our situation I dispensed with the planned route and sought a more direct route; through the Corfe valley, up over and down the other side of Knowle Hill; I made it back to car in good time. Now off to collect the wounded party; I found him slumped in the entrance of a field looking pasty after having 'whited out' from the pain and shock. After x-rays at A&E it transpired he'd suffered a nasty spiral fracture and would be in plaster and out of the game for several weeks.  And the moral of this tale, well, there are two; firstly, it's a reminder of how quickly situations can change when out hiking and secondly, don't trust cows, they can be bastards.