Why Kissing Gates and Cow Fields?

Four hundred metres from my house; is a gate, a kissing gate.

If you are a city dweller, or are unfamiliar with this breed of gate, follow this link and see the picture below. 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kissing_gate

Beyond that gate is a grass path. That grass path leads to a small footbridge surrounded by trees. Beyond that bridge, is a whole world of enjoyment and beauty. Kind of like Narnia, only real. And without lions…

 The path follows the River Gipping in the form of the Gipping Walk public footpath. The first thing you encounter as you emerge from the trees is a large quarry pit, now known as ‘B’ Pit (A Pit is located further up river) which is preserved by the local angling association. I have never seen a fish pulled from this lake, but you will often see a couple of men dressed head to toe in camouflage, smoking, reading or sleeping and most likely wondering “who is that weirdo running round in circles?!”

 To my delight, the lake measures a fraction over 2 kilometres in circumference, making it the perfect location to perform kilometre interval reps, albeit with one kilometre being slightly longer than the other. The path around the lake is very quiet but for the occasional dog walker, meaning less obstructions whilst running at pace. It is also entirely made of grass or dirt and this is kinder on the body than pounding tarmac. I also find it makes beneficial the transition to the sure footedness of road/track running.

 If you continue to follow the original path beside the gipping, you will pass beneath a railway bridge, accommodating the main line between Norwich and London, leading onto another two sets of kissing gates. Following these gates, you cross an old stone bridge, deafened by a small lock running below, before being channelled between two houses and a rustic red brick wall, being deposited back on the riverside where the path continues largely unobstructed through to yet more lakes at the small Suffolk town of Needham Market. All that stands in your way is more of those pesky gates, and the occasional style as you pass through fields of various ownership.

 After running alongside the noisy “Shamford Lock”, and below an iron bridge housing access to a quarry, you find yourself in the corner of a field home to thirty or so rather curious cows. The grassy pasture stretches into the distance on your left, as you find the river continuing its course to your right. Only an electric fence and a steep bank separating you from the gently flowing water making its tentative voyage to Ipswich, Felixstowe and ultimately, the North Sea.

 It was whilst running through this field, on separate occasions that I witnessed the most romantic thing I have seen whilst exercising, and experienced the comical misfortune that gives inspiration to the title of this blog.

 The first occurrence sums up the beauty of the Suffolk countryside, and why I feel so lucky to live in the East Anglian flatlands.

 One weekday afternoon, whilst enjoying an easy jaunt along the edge of said field, I noticed movement amongst the herd of cows gathered over to my left. Out of the crowd of black and white cattle, emerged two fluttering magpies, pursued by a crafty fox looking for lunch. I had to stop and observe, appreciating fully that I was the only person in the whole wide world witnessing this terrific sight.

I am pleased to report that the magpies escaped unscathed and lived on to steal a lifetimes worth of shiny stuff and be greeted by superstitious onlookers. The whereabouts of Mr Fox remains unknown.

 The second occasion to which I have eluded had happened earlier in the same year, fortunately on a summer evening. You will understand why I say fortunately shortly…

After entering the field, as I had numerous times before by way of the usual gate, the path was followed hand railing the field’s edge. I had noticed that the cows were grazing a little further down the field in this instance, but opted to plough on regardless towards the exit gate in the opposite corner of the field.

 Upon approaching the herd, instead of adopting the common cattle behaviour of “legging it”, they stood firm, and a couple of brave bovine stepped out and began approaching the corner to which I was heading. I HAD BEEN CUT OFF!! I still attribute the fact that they started moving en mass towards me to the fact that I was dressed in black shorts and white shirt, a look I no longer sport.

There was no way I could continue on my way, nor could I outrun the cows to whence I came. They move remarkably well for something weighing between one and two tonnes. I was forced to hurdle the electric fence which halted the advance, but allowed for a close up look of what a cows face really looks like.

The division of the fence gave me some confidence and with a stick, found on the river bank, was able to strike the fence in the hope of intimidating the now complete herd, allowing my escape. I was met with a grunt, which according to Google Translate, is cow for “is that all you got, skinny?!”

Moving along the river bank with the hope of re-entering the field and reaching the entry gate proved hopeless as every human movement was met with a mirrored manoeuvre by the tormentors. There were two ways to get off this river bank, and the dry option was now out of bounds. Shoes off and in I went to the surprisingly frigid water and onto the slimy, stony river bed.

At six foot 3 inches tall, I have, as you can imagine, very long legs, which proved a great help as I waded down the river treading carefully, water now engulfing my waistband. The cows continued to follow, not content with forcing me into the flow, they were going to ensure this imposter stayed off their patch entirely, and duly stalked along mocking me as I continued under a small disused footbridge to safety where I was able to clamber up the bank. Shoes and feet were re united and so began the drying off procedure on the two mile return run home, much to the amusement of my dad Tim, as I bowled around the corner, still wet, very muddy and beaming a big toothy grin from ear to ear!

 To this day I run at warp speed through that field, even if it is empty. The adjoining field is now also home to an even fiercer collection of creatures.

I am sure they were just being inquisitive and were more intimidated by me than I (should have been) of them, but being approached by twenty tonnes of cattle, I became very very concerned!

 Since that fateful day, I have enjoyed several fine cuts of steak and feel no remorse at enjoying Every.Single.Bite. (Apologies to any vegetarian/vegan readers :D )

And now you see, the inspiration behind the title of this blog:

                Kissing Gates, punctuating my favourite running routes, and;

                Cow Fields, scaring the bejeesus out of me since 2011

No aminals were harmed in the making of this blog, the cows had a good laugh, although the fox did go hungry...