Seasonal Strolls 2026

Walking around the bottom of the Hill, a young mastiff appears out of the low sunshine, much bigger than our two, and quite lively. The owners are just behind, sounding a bit concerned, but I assure them that my Goldies are laid back, although I think that they are a little wary of such a big boisterous pup, and we move on, climbing the Hill, looking down the frozen slope below. The final few metres are steep, and I slip where wet ground has frozen, but stay on my feet.

A couple without a dog are admiring the view at the top of the Hill and a man with a small dog on a lead is seated on a rock a short distance away. I put ours on a lead, since not everyone, especially people without their own dog, appreciates enthusiastic greetings from two muddy Golden Retrievers. In fact, the couple are happy to say hello to the dogs before they walk hand-in-hand back down the Hill.

 It is just as well that Sam and Ellie are on leads, since as soon as the small dog spies my two it begins to bark loudly and aggressively. I’m sure that my two would have stayed clear, even if off lead. I greet the owner, before stopping briefly to admire the view myself – the landscape around us is wet, very wet, with flooded fields in all directions.

I carefully descend the Hill, staying on rough grass as the dogs confidently run and play around me. With Four-Paw-Drive, they are not going to slide uncontrollably down the frozen ground. The track from the Hill down to the road is thawing in the sun, and the dogs begin to get muddy, as they have been after every walk for weeks. In an attempt at mud-minimisation I choose not to cross the road to walk on the Glebe – the path to the entrance gate is ankle-deep in liquid mud. Instead we walk down to the village along the tree-lined top path, returning along the lower path, where we a greeted by a cheerful group of crocuses, one of several growing between the two paths.

Another small but promising sign that Spring is on the horizon – a tiny first leaf on a Hawthorn bush at the bottom of Croft Hill. Just the one leaf, hardly the “sheen of green” that will appear on hawthorn hedges in a few weeks, as each branch is covered in buds and newly emerged leaves, a coating of powdery green over the underlying bark of the branches beneath.

A large flock of crows, a “Murder” of carrion crows, sits in the trees around the quarry edge, all but a few casually flapping away as we approach, to circle lazily around us and settle back into the bare branches behind us. Although there a lot of crows around the quarry, it is unusual to see so many gathered together in the highest branches of just two or three high trees. We usually see them circling below in the quarry, or higher in the sky, mobbing birds of prey.

Ahead of us we see a dog-walker approach in the distance, and as we get closer my two dogs recognise the dog as a fellow Golden Retriever. The three dogs crouch on the ground, tails wagging, before they rush towards each other, running together in circles – Goldies always seem to recognise each other, and are enthusiastic in their greetings. Unusually the owner was not so enthusiastic, and after a brief nod and smile continued on, calling his dog, without the usual chat between owners of the same breed. A couple of minutes later we meet Collie Bryn and his owner, regulars on our routes, and we stop to chat, the usual topic between dog walkers at this time of the year – weather and mud.

We descend through the woods, mostly birches, with views of the river and flooded fields visible below through the bare trunks and branches. Between the silvery bark of the trees the woodland floor dominated by tired looking brambles, and much more verdant green moss, thriving on lower tree trunks and path-side rocks. This slope faces north, the ground damp, allowing cushions of mosses to thrive. During the drought and heat of last summer, the moss dried to a green-tinged brown, but moss is resilient, and now the soft green growth almost fluoresces in the shade of the woodland.

Emerging from the trees onto open grass, I see that the path below is flooded, the water edged with mud. I decide to ascend the grassy slope back to the upper path, seeing another regular dog walker, striding along the edge with his walking stick, his Border Terrier at his heels. We are not yet within hailing distance to greet him, and in any case, Sam has decided to sit on the grassy slope behind us, just admiring the view. I call him to me, and we climb up to the higher drier path. We don’t avoid the mud completely – the slope back down to the bottom of Croft Hill is slippery with liquid mud, although not deep. The dogs, very sensibly, manage to keep to the edge, staying reasonably clean.

Bright sunshine and blue sky, and so it is surprising that other walkers are few and far between. We walk onto the bottom of Croft Hill, the breeze rattling the branches of young birch trees that line the path. Up the muddy incline onto the quarry edge path, gradually ascending and enjoying the clear views. A lone walker emerges from the grassy slope above the lower path. I suspect that she has decided to join the higher path to avoid the worst of the deep mud at the bottom of the slope. My “Good Morning” as I keep the dogs close is greeted with a wave.

Our descent is also along a muddy path, although merely slippery rather than semi-liquid, the path following the quarry fence until we cut down through woods to the river. I put the dogs on leads – this is a favourite swimming spot for them in warmer weather, but today the water will be too cold, especially as they will be wet for a while before we get home.

The next few hundred metres is not pretty, the path sandwiched between the Leicester-Birmingham railway and quarry buildings, the route lined with steel fencing. Locals are still grateful for this route, created by the quarry a few years ago. Until the path was constructed there was no way of circuiting the quarry from the local village, and despite its urban appearance, the route is popular with local dog walkers, a convenient 3 mile circular walk from the village, with the option of climbing Croft Hill.

The path eventually leaves the railway, twisting up a short ramp to join the quarry access road, a fence separating walkers from the quarry lorries that rumble past on weekdays. This is only a short stretch before we reach steps down to the village recreation ground, but it is along the short narrow path beside the quarry road that we meet our first dog walkers, three groups, one after another, and we have to pass close, constrained by the fence – luckily all dogs are friendly, and merely want to “meet and greet”.

Crossing the recreation ground we eventually get the old village, originally a cluster of terraced quarry-workers houses huddled around what was then the quarry entrance. Now this road is a quiet cul-de-sac, the terraced houses supplemented by larger houses of various ages. At the end of the road we pass the pub, my local, and then the village church, where we turn to follow the track along the lane back home. At last, I see what has been reported elsewhere for a week or so – wild snowdrops, the first true sign that spring is on the horizon.

When folk in town fancy the idea of moving to a nice place in the countryside, with all those bracing country walks, they probably haven’t visited the countryside in January. In January much of the countryside can be described in one word. Mud. Pastureland squelches underfoot. Arable land becomes claggy, wet soil transferring onto boots if one strays from the path onto young crops maybe to avoid pools of brown water across footpaths. And as for the footpaths themselves, at best they are slick with mud, but anywhere well-trodden, such as gateways or stiles, the ground is a quagmire.

Today my wife has to take her car to a local garage for a service, and she drops me and the dogs at the next village, so we can walk back home via the scenic route. We set off along a disused railway, now a popular dog walking route, two miles of tree-lined compressed stone path, serviced with regular dog waste bins, and access points into the adjacent housing estate.  We leave the surfaced route after half a mile, climbing over a high stile, fortunately with a gap beneath for dogs, to follow a footpath across fields back to our Lane. Sam promptly runs off among adjacent trees, glad to be back on grass, but returns when whistled.

We walk past a farm and follow a field edge path to a gate into an open field. Having often walked this route over Summer I am not concerned about warning signs about a bull, or cows and calves. There has never been a bull in this field, and cows, when in residence, have never been accompanied by calves. Many years ago, we followed a footpath through a field with cows and calves, and were chased, the cows not all intimidated by shouts or being hit with a stick. We escaped into a neighbouring garden – a retired farmer in the garden saw the situation and shouted us over. Our dog at the time, a German Shepherd, was able to outrun the cows, and joined us. Without the gardener, we would have been trampled. Today the fields on our route are all empty of livestock.

The gateways along the route are all flooded, but easily passable in wellies. Some gates are surrounded by deep liquid mud, passable but the going along these few metres is not easy.

We finally reach a road, and cross to the end of a bridleway that will lead to the fields behind our home. Whole stretches are ankle deep in mud. The dogs sensible hug the narrow edges beneath the hedgerows, but this isn’t an option for me, and wading through the porridge-like consistency is hard work, with the potential to end up on my back for an unplanned mud bath. Along one of these semi-liquid paths we meet a couple with a large Rhodesian Ridgeback on a lead. I manage to get my two on a lead, as they explain that their dog gets very excited when meeting others. We agree that this area is not the best for dogs to play in, or even “meet and greet” on lead, with the potential for dogs to pull owners onto their faces in the mud.

For various reasons it’s going to be short walk today, just a circuit of the Sheep Field. As we walk down the field track behind our home a Great White Egret takes off from a riverside rough land area in front of us. For several years this area was cultivated, but thanks to regular flooding the landowner has given up trying to grow crops, and the area has been allowed to “rewild”. At present the area is flooded, with marshy areas around the perimeter, and we often see the egret and a local heron standing in the water. I expect the egret to circle and either fly away from us over the Sheep Field, or settle back onto the marsh, but instead it flies over us before turning and landing further along the river.

We cross the river bridge  into the Sheep Field. Thanks to last week’s snowmelt followed by a couple of days of heavy rain the ground squelches beneath my wellies, and the dogs run through pools of water. The track through the grass left by the sheep when last in residence is a rivulet of standing water.

Following the edge of the field, a gate post sprouts a bunch of ivy, what is left after the overgrown gate and fences were cleared earlier in the year to allow access into the field by sheep, driven from the farm across the fields. Two days ago, on a frosty morning, I looked over the gate into the field beyond, watching half a dozen hares chasing each other around the field. Today I just see one solitary hare grazing, before splash back across the field to cross back over the river bridge.

I decide to look out for any early signs of spring but only find those signs of nature that are part of the winter’s scene. At the top of our Lane ivy grows thickly over a hedge and out into the narrow verge, forcing walkers onto the road. The dense shiny dark green climber has produced masses of dark berries, welcome food for larger birds, such as blackbirds and thrushes, who cannot take advantage of hanging feeders in nearby gardens.

We had a particularly abundant crop of sloes this year, the berry of the Blackthorn shrub. Locals have picked what they need for sloe gin, or, in the case of one lady who I meet on Croft Hill, to make fruit tea, the sloes infused with other berries and herbs. Birds have had three months to feed on the sloes, but still the Blackthorne bushes bordering paths and fields bear a lot of the berries, now frosted and so technically at their best for Sloe Gin. I, like most people who make Sloe Gin, pick in October, before birds strip the bushes, at least in normal years, and then “frost” the berries in the freezer.

Rosehips, the berries of wild dog rose shrubs, are less abundant, but still quite common among the tangled hedges around the quarry. These berries, full of vitamins, can be used to make jelly, syrup or fruit tea, although I haven’t tried any of these recipes.

Hazel catkins dangle from large shrubs that border the lower path down from the Hill to the bottom gate onto the Lane. Hazel bears male and female catkins on the same plant, those fluttering in the wind, resembling tiny wriggling lambs’ tails being the female. No insects at this time of the year – the catkins rely on wind to distribute pollen.

Elder leaves have already emerged, always one of the first shrubs to do so. At time of the year the shrub is barely noticeable but is summer it will produce the showy white umbrellas of blossom, which some collect to make elderberry wine or cordial.

As expected yesterday, and forgotten, thawing snow melt has created large pools of water in a soggy Sheep Field, and so instead of crossing the bridge into the field, we turn right along the field edge track. The ground is frozen, the remaining snow crunching underfoot. The adjacent ditch has overflowed onto the track in places, before freezing, and the ice already broken by earlier walkers.

Emerging onto Croft Hill, the original “Old Hill” the path up is as icy as it has been for a few days, but today the overlying frozen snow gives grip as we climb. Two runners come up from behind and pass us, heading for the top. The dogs ignore them – they have long learned that runners do not stop to give them a fuss and a treat. The runners continue upwards and disappear through the line of bushes that grow below the Trig point at the top of the Hill.

Another wintery walk in bright sunshine. Thanks to a logs delivery, it is a later then usual dog walk, and in consequent we meet dogs who we don’t usually come across, plus at least one regular. A boxer comes towards us, and since it is on lead I call my two to put them on lead, as required by dog walkers’ etiquette. The owners of the boxer shout out to reassure me that I don’t need to – their pooch is just not very good at “recall” – returning when called. We chat, and the boxer, just 9 months old, is released to run around with Sam, since if I call Sam, then the boxer will follow. Cockapoo Freddie arrives, and we all chat while dogs play, but an approaching lurcher on a lead persuades the others to continue up to the Lane while we go to meet the lurcher,  only on lead because, as you would expect, the sight of any rabbit, hare or pheasant would result in the lurcher disappearing in hot pursuit.

We cross the road to walk up the steep and rutted track up the side of the “New Hill”, this track usually muddy and so mostly avoided at this time of the year, but today frozen, as the path climbs between the wintery-bare shrubs and grasses on the side of the hill. At the top we meet a family, Mum, Dad and young daughter. Mum and Dad are keen to say hello to Sam and Ellie, the daughter less so, despite sharing her name with Ellie, and I hang on to the dogs collars to prevent an over enthusiastic greeting to Ellie the daughter, who is shorter than pooch-Ellie would be if she chose to jump up to give a hug.

As we approach the top, I see a young couple sitting close together on the rocks around the Trig Point, looking out across the view of South Leicestershire. I put both dogs on lead – the couple will not want their shared time together enjoying the wintery scene interrupted by two bouncy and over friendly Golden Retrievers. The girl comments than my dogs are cute. She wouldn’t be saying that if she was being mugged by Sam trying to give her a hug.  We continue down the Hill and back home. I have logs to stack.

 We cross the road to follow a private lane leading to a bridleway. A man in a high-viz coat is bending down by his car at the top of the lane, and I wonder if all is is well, but he explains that he always stops here to feed a robin that sometimes lands on his hand – the robin flew into the hedge as we approached. He usually drives down the lane and along the bridleway in his car, not a 4×4, to take food, and today containers of water, to a field where his daughter keeps horses. I’ve not met him before, but I knew from other dog walkers that this was a daily event. Today he decided that the bridleway is too slippery for his car, and he has dropped off the horse supplies at the bottom of the lane. I meet his owner coming along the bridleway pushing a wheelbarrow to collect the supplies. We stop to chat – she rents three fields, using just one at a time so that she can move the horses around to prevent the ground from being churned up. The current field is muddy by the gate, but mud free beneath trees at the back – they will stay there for the time being

We return through Croft Glebe and do an extra circuit when we meet a friend and her two lurchers. At least we meet the owner – the dogs are running circuits around the Glebe. We leave the lurchers and cross back over road to continue back up track towards home, meeting mongrel pooch Pebble and her Mum. We happily chat about our respective Christmas days, in both of our cases the day dominated by keeping Mothers-in-Law happy. Having caught up with the local gossip me and my two continue on the path, noting that Hazel catkins have appeared alongside the path. We skirt around the bottom of Croft Hill rather than attempt another slippery ascent, and head for home.

We have lost the bitter easterly wind and so, despite thick mist under a slate-grey it actually feels relatively mild despite the temperature still hovering above zero. I start this morning’s walk by climbing up Croft Hill, hoping that yesterday ice has thawed sufficiently to allow my boots to grip, unlike yesterday. The ice has not thawed, but I manage to climb to the top before walking back down safely through the grass on the far side. We continue down towards the village, meeting a regular dog walker with a pair of Foxhounds. Since they are both on leads, I put my two on a lead, despite knowing that the Foxhounds are friendly – they on lead because off lead they would probably pick up a scent and be gone, following the scent deaf to the cried of their owner calling them back.

We pass the horses, waiting patiently behind the field gate for their breakfast. They neigh at us, expecting to be served, but are disappointed as we continue past. The dogs totally ignore the horses. A friend must put her spaniel on a lead when passing. There are often carrots in the field, and her dog is able to squeeze beneath the gate and steal them for a morning snack – my friend worries that her dog may be trampled beneath substantial hooves.

I start to ascend Croft Hill, but in these drier more open windswept surroundings there is no mud. Instead, the well-worn path is a sheet of ice over the track. I am back in wellies after a few days of wearing walking boots over frosty ground, and it difficult for my wellies to grip the ice, despite Vibram soles, and I walk on the rough grass to the side of the path. The hill is steeper on the far side, where I usually drop back down, and so halfway up I opted to cut across the grassy hillside back to the kissing-gate at the top of our Lane.

The ground has been frozen for a few days, and it has been a delight returning home with clean mud-free dogs, requiring just a wipe of paws with a towel before we could come inside into the warmth. Today the temperature was a degree or so above freezing, and he result is mud over ice, barely a centimetre or so of mud, but enough to splash onto the dogs, spraying up legs and under bellies. They will need a brief hose down when we get home

A month or so ago, from the top of Croft Hill, I noticed that there was a lot of sheep across the landscape, more than usual. In winter cattle are often brought indoors, but sheep are left outside, even, around here, when lambing, since their lighter weight is less likely to damage damp pasture. But then most fields were emptied of sheep. Maybe there was a seasonal increase of price and demand for lamb. Sheep are starting to appear again in some fields, possibly pregnant ewes prior to lambing – too early to tell.

Before we emerge from the enclosed trackways back onto turf tracks beside arable fields we pass a small stream, usually an opportunity for the dogs to have a dip and swim, but not today. Far too cold for paddling.

After 3 days of hard frost (-5C at sunrise) I decide to walk a route that is usually almost impassable at this time of year, thanks to deep squelchy mud. But to today we walk over the white-frosty ruts across the mud at several places along the paths, after first walking along the turf of the field track behind our home, past the old barn, noting a buzzard and heron flying low ahead. With thick gloves to be removed before raising the camera, it is not a day for wildlife photography, and I just appreciated watching both in flight, one gracefully gliding, the other languidly flapping.

It is the paths beyond the sheep that are notoriously muddy throughout winter, bridleways accessible by horse riders and mountain bikers – we don’t often come across either, but it doesn’t need many hooves or tyres to churn up the wet surfaces. But today the paths were a delight, solid, if bumpy, ground, the paths meandering between sparkling hedgerows.

And so back home along the frosty field tracks which are more regular and familiar routes at this time of the year. We may not have had the dump of snow experienced elsewhere in the UK after the last day or so, just an overnight sprinkling here, but it has been a glorious winter walk under a deep blue sky, a peaceful walk – no other dog walkers out and about on our route today