The Cotswold Round solo hiking adventure

Setting out on your first solo hiking adventure can be both exciting and intimidating. Frankie shows us how setting off with her Soloist tent she completed the Cotswold Round in 9 days.

A tale of my first solo multi-day hike and wild camping adventure, a 350km / 220miles (approx., depending which map or website you refer to) loop of the Cotswolds. Not a stranger to the great outdoors, having grown up on ponies and enjoyed a spell as an amateur jockey, I am now a hobbyist runner and hiker.  

I planned to do it in 10 days, with 6 more booked off work just in case. An hour after setting off from Bath on day one I decided I was going to do it in 9, and this is how I did.. 

Saturday

I got up to Bath racecourse on the bridle, making much lighter work of it than expected. A fellow walker stopped to share notes before my next climb, giving me great insight having started in Chipping Camden five days ago, and kindly waited to check I got through the field of horned cows safely. Friends joined me at Cold Ashton and kept me company for a few hours, wishing me luck on my way at Chipping Sodbury. 25km clocked for the day, calories loaded and hopeful for the next 15km.

Running low on water as I got to Alderley, a hamlet you’d expect in fairytales, and thankfully a tap in the churchyard. Water bladder refilled, evening meal soaked and an electrolyte tablet in my late lunchtime spaghetti hoops tin. Final hill climb with a four leaf clover collected mid field, into the woods, and tent nestled down into a bed of wild garlic. Bass music echoing up into the trees to send me to sleep, and a screaming fox at 1.30am to wake me up - convenient as I needed a wee.

Sunday

A deer attempted a game of hide and seek behind the trees at 7am while I was packing down the tent, barking for attention as it shot up and down the hill, but sadly I was too keen to get on my way. Stocked up in Tesco, perfectly en route in Wotton on Edge, and by luck my items - kidney beans, chickpeas, bourbons, nuts, and a banana - came to exactly the value of my club card voucher. Another hill, past William Tyndedale and back down. It proved to be a day of just that, and indirect routes; the double back on the Stinchcombe Hill golf course was probably the most laughable, though glad of the club house disabled loo to give my face a wash.. by Haresfield Topograph and Haresfield Beacon I was no longer laughing, but either low on sugar or on tolerance of children screeching on their Sunday family walk. The AG1 sachet I had downed from a baked bean tin in King’s Stanley was not giving the mental energy boost I’d hoped for, nor the recent Dextrose tablet. Come 5 o clock and thoughts of pushing on past Painswick well ahead of revised 9 day schedule were squashed by common sense, and bourbons were cracked open (following a Y Foods bar - nutritious and tasty) while I rested on a cosy rock in the woods. 

Past the sign denoting 47 miles to Chipping Campden, 55 back to Bath.. over half way in two days, cracking. Time to rest the body for tomorrow, finding another bed of garlic by the brook for a convenient rinse of my clothes and cleanse of my feet before pitching up. In my head tomorrow was going to be a tough day as Cleeve Hill loomed ahead, but a quick play on Ride with GPS and it looked to be merely a warm up for the undulations of my planned day 4.

Monday

Condensation lined the tent, rooky error for not allowing some airflow. The morning frost probably hadn’t helped and explained why I was cold last night, a rarity. Tightening my girth on the first leg before breakfast, I bust half the clip on the waist strap of my bag.. trying to force it back with a penknife resulted in the bust bit of plastic snapping off into the leaves.. buggar, at least there is another half left that should work.. pulled to tighten.. bust that too.. a knot will do, not ideal. 

Weaving towards Cleeve Hill, the persistent wind was wicking away my optimism and any moisture from my lips - maybe lip balm was a better option than the sun cream enjoying the free ride in the side pocket of my bag -, and the commotion of the A417 Missing Link road works drilled through any constructive thoughts I’d been hoping for. Neck buff up around my ears to stop the wind blowing my brain about too much, Cleeve Hill became a reality and it felt good to reach the top, looking over the land of hopes and dreams.. or the home of National Hunt racing - Cheltenham Racecourse; a view I’ve wondered about many a time before. Cafe closed for the day, but snuck into the golf course club house just before closing to replenish my water needs. A little more walking to somewhere a bit quieter, another bed of garlic, and more deer calling in the middle of the night. 

Tuesday

Blissful dunkelflaute as I was awed by the architecture in Winchcombe, through the fields to Stanton where it outdid itself again. Then came the undulations and an intermittent breeze, my body temperature reminding me of a Katy Perry song.

Broadway was like a show, after hours of seeing many more sheep than people I was quite overwhelmed by the flurry of activity and tourists snapping up the scene. A glance at the tower as I reached the top with an American family, who were bewildered as to why the deer had such long hair and big heads (cow-deer, supposedly) and who granted my trip, “very cool”, before I swung left back down the hill. 

Arriving in Chipping Campden at 3.18pm on Tuesday (delayed by a water refill and food sort at the cemetery on the way in) having set off from Bath at 7.36am on Saturday deserved a pat of the back - if only my shoulders weren’t too stiff to give myself one. The Cotswold Way complete, but the journey ahead still long and the overall halfway point not yet reached. Onwards. 

Lost without the acorns, I found my way to Ebrington Hill in the headlong wind and threatening rain. I also found I was now in Warwickshire, in fact at the highest point of it. This felt like a long way from home, definitely up north. After the Cotswold Way, the Cotswold Link was like going from a 5 star hotel to a youth hostel - my thoughts as I crossed the Fosse Way and did my best tightrope walk along the curb to the next footpath turnoff, the passing traffic missing me by centimetres. Then the rain came and the temptation to knock on a door at one of the picturesque houses in Honington was hard to beat - the thought of being invited in for a warm meal/shower/bed, any of the above. I stuck my head down and told myself I’d walk all night if I had to.. now I knew the lack of sleep was really getting to me and I should soon find somewhere to pitch up. 

Phone on charge and some NYTs games to settle me down into my nest, a distraction from my fears of the unknown. Mum suggesting Monday plans over WhatsApp, she more certain of my ability to keep the pace up than I was. By 10pm it was time to sleep in the hope that the birds had all gone to bed and the deer aren’t so rampant in Warwickshire - BANG.. Panic flooded through my body; bird scarer or shotgun? Can they fire them this late? Silence. Better get some sleep before the next one… half an hour before the deer started barking.. then the wind really picked up and the trees began screeching above me, roll on sunrise.

Wednesday

Grateful to surface without being subject to a falling branch, my back up 6am alarm wasn’t necessary as I’d not slept since 4.20 and only partially prior to that. Layered up in all my clothes for ‘feels like -6’ but keeping the fire of determination lit in the 40+ mph winds, Banbury bound. At least it wasn’t raining, yet anyway. In a moment of desperation, after scrambling over a ploughed field and doubling back from a wrong turn, trains from Banbury to Bath were checked - no direct line, probably shouldn’t. 

A refresh in the Community Pavillion of Banbury’s People’s Park, just the Cross-Cotswold Pathway left to go. Thankfully I realised it passes behind a friend’s house in Chedworth - the perfect stop for night 6, subject to a few more KMs being clocked in the meantime. Like a bat out of hell I left Banbury, not even stopping to cash in another Tesco club card voucher, eager to get back to the trails. 

Map scouring left me two wild camping options but 10km apart - the risk being that the second wouldn’t be suitable and I’d be stuck with nowhere to go as the sunset. A friend had suggested it was acceptable to stay at camp sites so a quick search on Organic Maps and sure enough, next to my first option there one was; at £12 a night it was a no brainer and I pressed on the next hour to get there, excited for a peaceful night. Well, thankfully they had earplugs available because the neighbouring church bells go off every 15 minutes. 

Thursday

On the sixth chime of the church bell, it was time to get up and out the ice lined tent - the American lady was right about my “very cool” trip. The rising sun was glowing as I packed up, frozen socks and gloves hanging off my bag in the hope they’d defrost and dry. 

The MacMillan Way signs are sparse and it’s not the most loved route, an overgrown footpath found me cutting across a field much to the distaste of an elder lady walking her dog “on private land” - apologies madam I’ll be on my way, as she tutted at my lack of paper ordnance survey map. Adrenaline and anticipation of where to sleep tonight not being required, my body was realising it’s calorie deficit, hopeful for a pub meal this evening. 

Sheep herding wasn’t on the agenda, but can’t be unexpected in the English countryside, as I passed through a small holding where a man was sending his last two ewes to lamb unwillingly back out into the flock. He was humoured by my final destination, apparently not many passers by are heading for Bath. 

Greeted by Ted and Tommy - the dogs -, I arrived at my friend’s; the novelty of a second shower in as many days, and off to the pub as hoped for my first warm meal since Friday night, before crashing in the bottom bunk of the spare room. 

Friday

With no tent to pack down and coffee declined, I was well underway by 6am. I didn’t see another person for over 2 hours - lie ins to start the Easter weekend, mine would have to wait. Legs set to cruise control, amazingly looking forward to running again once I’d ditched the weight of my bag. 

Deer and hare dotted the landscape as I passed through the beautiful Bathurst Estate. Rain came earlier than promised; hood up, head down. Tuned into bird song, the breeze, a plane passing overhead, the commentary of a one day event across the field, rain beating on the back of my coat. A lost acorn sign post on the byway past Rodmarton, the familiarity filling me with glee as I strode on, slowing only to crawl under and scramble over fallen trees.

The rain picked up and seeped through my waterproofs, accompanied by howling wind. Now I was really questioning my decision to embark on this trip. But the only way to keep warm was to keep moving. The sight of other humans also enduring the weather as I crossed a golf course reminded me of my ex-boss, ‘there’s no such thing as the wrong weather, only the wrong clothing’; I powered on. 

Thankfully the route sign posts had become more frequent, as we all know how useful a wet iPhone screen is. The clock was ticking but before I knew it I was on the Kennet and Avon Canal path only 4km from Bath Abbey. My legs went up a gear, fuelled by last night’s pie and chips, my final bourbons from Sunday and the bacon rashers from Co Op in Sherston. By 8.26pm I was back at the Cotswold Way stone. And just like that, ten days became seven. It’s hard to believe it happened. 

Logistically the trip sounds simple, and in practice it really was. Mentally, well I wasn’t expecting that.