Day 308: Portsmouth to Southampton

The Highlands must wait. At the end of January, I discovered a small lump above my groin. There was no time for a scan before our trip to New Zealand, and the GP was not unduly concerned, so I continued to hike and put up with the occasional twinge. A recent scan showed a couple of small hernias, as expected and not unusual for a man my age. The operation is straightforward, if you can get one. Of course, the GP suggested waiting to see if it worsened, but once I explained my remote solo hiking lifestyle, she was happy to refer me to a surgeon for a pre-op consultation this week. Prompt NHS appointments are gold dust, so the May Scotland trip is cancelled, freeing time to complete a gap in the English Coast Path, Portsmouth to Lymington, a section unloved by coastal walkers.

HMS Queen Elizabeth is well camouflaged in the grey sea and sky. Why do I get the first damp day after two weeks of glorious sunshine?

A short ferry crossing to the marinas and naval yards at Gosport.

Beyond the thicket of yacht masts in the marina, an old submarine sits in the Royal Navy Submarine Museum, accessible for an extortionate £37 entry fee. I make do with the exhibits outside, including the conning tower of HMS E17. Launched in 1915, it ran aground off the Dutch coast on 6 January 1916, and the crew were taken as prisoners-of-war. Not the stuff of an Alistair MacLean novel.

The Globe Probe diving bell was last used to salvage HMS Coventry, sunk during the Falklands War in 1982.

Poking my head in, that’s as far as I’m going. Imagine being cramped in there, 1,500 feet deep.

The path to Fort Gilkicker, part of the 60-mile Solent Way, is fenced off, although I don’t bother to read the signs. Two workmen sitting in a white van give me a long look. Further along the main road, a rough track through the trees brings me out on a private golf course on the other side of the fence. An Isle of Wight ferry disappears behind the perimeter fence of Fort Monckton, one of the Palmerston forts built in the late 19th century in fear of a French invasion, now housing a training centre for the intelligence services.

Oh oh! A large digger blocks the road ahead.

“You can’t come down here!”

I’d hoped to flank any obstacles, but the golf course is busy on both sides. While I ponder my options, a workman approaches in the opposite direction from the van I passed earlier. A big man, as wide as he is tall. An angry, red-faced man.

“Do you want to be killed by a digger? This is a building site. Get out!”

Do they have high-speed silent diggers that can mow you down? I want to look theatrically over my shoulder, but it’s best not to stoke a fuming giant, especially when you’re in the wrong. However, given his rudeness, I stand there and continue to assess my options, and finally, he stomps off.

It reminds me of a recent encounter between Bridget, one of our Norwegian Forest Cats and a magpie. Now she is a serious predator: birds, mice, voles, rats and even a rabbit dragged through the cat flap and left sitting headless in the hall like something from a horror movie. The magpies have a nest near the house, and one of the parents flew down to the patio and hopped at Bridget, chattering away. She turned away nonchalantly, tail high and slowly sauntered into the house.

“I’m not scared, just not bothered.”

That is me now, slowly retreating into the trees, tail between my legs.

The alternative route, a pathless main road, is less pleasant but finally brings me to the sea and shingle. Although gunfire echoes across the Browndown Military Training Area, the red flags are furled.

Imagine meeting this on a night hike.

Shingle and concrete promenades take me back to the early days of my coastal journey. An imitation Banksy pops up at Fareham.

A pleasant green clifftop section offers a welcome change before returning to the shingle. It’s not exactly a Detectorists idyll, but I like the backdrop.

There’s a break in the rain long enough to sit and eat. A dog walker passes. A small piece of bacon falls from my sandwich, and the small dog, a good 100 yards away, comes snuffling back down the shingle, ignoring futile calls from the owner. He ferrets out the morsel at my feet, despite hastily trying to cover it with stones. Growling, he’s not to be thwarted. I can’t stop laughing. He’s such a tiny, fearsome thing. Then I apologise to the owner for making him walk back to collect the errant hound.

There’s beauty in the bleakest of surroundings.

Dial for Ferry says a chalkboard next to a lurid pink waiting hut on the bank of the River Hamble. The last crossing time of 4 pm is unhelpfully overwritten with 3 pm, so I’m picked up with only 20 minutes to spare, her Red Ensign flying proudly.

The sun appears for a pretty section under the oaks on Hamble Common.

The rain returns — on and off with the waterproof jacket. Heavy industry and oil terminals line both banks of Southampton Water.

A day of contrasts. One moment skirting the high fences of an oil terminal, the next wandering through the leafy expanse of Royal Victoria Country Park. Only the chapel remains of what was once the largest military hospital in the Victorian Empire. The rain hammers down. Thunder and lightning. Time to find cover, although I can’t resist one more photo.

Someone has the right idea, sheltering in the cricket pavilion. I resist the foolish temptation to shelter under an isolated tree and dash for the woods.

I’m uneasy passing through Centenary Quay, a new waterfront development. The unsympathetic planners have maximised the number of units and minimised the open space, filled with car parks and concrete. A gang of masked teenagers cycle round in the shadows between the tall buildings. The sun comes out when I cross the Itchen Bridge and reflects off the tallest block in the development.

Twenty-three miles of concrete and shingle make for a tired hiker, blissfully slumping into a chair in The Platform, my CAMRA guide choice. Beer never tastes so good as that first pint after a long hike.

Leaving the pub for a 30-minute walk to the train station, I drag my weary legs for one last detour down to the docks to admire a fiery red sunset. It’s been an interesting and enjoyable walk despite the challenging weather.

Date of walk: Wednesday 21 May 2025.

Walk distance: 23 miles.

Total distance: 5,067 miles.