In the Mists: The Solent Way: Part Three

Portsmouth to Emsworth (16 miles)

It's some time since we last visited the Solent Way, the footpath that traverses a fairly diverse stretch of the coastline of southern England, so a two-post special dealing with two sections of the trail seems in order. This time, we're going to finish off the eastern end, from Portsmouth to Emsworth. I've put together a map of the route here.

It was not a particularly bright sort of day when I set out, the kind that suggests rain is moderately likely but may hold off long enough to avoid serious drenching, and presents the dilemma of whether to take the light raincoat or the serious monsoon-proof ski one that will end up being needless extra weight for most of the day. Happily, the journey by rail from nearby Bitterne station is one I was looking forward to, not so much for the landscape (brief glimpse of the river, bland suburbia, trees, River Hamble, some fields, nearly a coastal view, dirty suburbia, city) but because I used to make this journey on several memorable occasions in order to get to the Isle of Wight. This was for the Boys' Brigade Solent region summer jamboree-outing-thing (it wasn't called that really), a fun-filled day on the Isle of Wight involving building sandcastles and games such as trying to knock down piles of tin cans with a sandbag. The railway has changed a bit since then, not least with the withdrawal of the old slam-door rolling stock (and 'Please - shut the door!' notices) but also because it's no longer possible to go direct from Bitterne to Portsmouth Harbour on the hourly train without a change at Portsmouth and Southsea, a good-looking but strange split-level construction with the raised through tracks under a canopy, looking rather like the older elevated stations in Berlin. Trundling out of the other end along the viaduct takes us past the Guildhall and two parks, a shopping centre and into the harbour station. Portsmouth Harbour is a curious construction, for upon exiting the building one realises that it is actually a pier held up by wooden piles, with the sea lapping underneath the trains. There's HMS Warrior and the entrance to the historic dockyard, the masts of HMS Victory and the grey turrets of modern warships further inside, and the Gosport ferry still trundling across the harbour as when I came over last time.

The route of the Solent Way is a little vague (for which read 'completely and mercilessly unwaymarked') through the city, as paths often are in large conurbations, so I adopt the general principle of keeping as close to the shoreline as possible. This involves going under the railway and being carried along in a crowd to Gunwharf Quays, the shopping mall which was visible from the train. It's unusual in being open rather than a monolithic chamber like Southampton's effort, with shops arranged in 'streets' on the site and a large expanse of waterfront beyond. Here was at the base of the Spinnaker Tower, Portsmouth's landmark sail-like white pillar, observation levels glazed between the upper ribs. I'd been up it some years ago on a better day than today (there's a glass floor to titillate the nervous) and, as on the last outing, intended to use it as a yardstick to see how far I'd come. Setting off past what was surely an 'if you need to ask the price, you can't afford it' category of ocean-going motor yacht (and we mean it, the thing was bigger than most ships sailing to America in the fifteenth century) I passed by a sunken pond which was being used as a boating lake for children. If your little ones have ever dreamed of piloting a somewhat unconvincing six-foot replica of a Type 42 destroyer, this is the place to come.

Immediately to the side of the shopping centre were some modern apartments in a parallel avenue, with an equally contemporary glazed tower a short distance away, attempting to be a skyscraper. I spotted what seemed like a likely route onwards to the right, which took me between blocks and past the entrance to the Isle of Wight ferry terminal. Portsmouth's service, operated by WightLink, is shorter than Southampton's and more frequent, but is compromised by limited space both here and at Fishbourne on the island, where a river estuary in a village is the only water deep enough to land a car ferry. The Portsmouth berth is tucked between two promontories and necessitates a sharp turn to access the landing ramp, both factors which limit the size of the vessels. Still, traffic seemed to be healthy - at least judging by the length of time it took me to cross the access road. Next door is the home of a maritime activity one does not most readily associate with Portsmouth: fishing. Yes, the town has a modest fishing fleet, almost all decorated blue with unique rust areas and mostly concerned with the Solent's oyster and clam stocks. The boats are moored in an inlet to the side of the ferry port (using the same harbour entrance) which I walked along the edge of to reach the spit known as Portsmouth Point. Classical music aficionados (that's most of my readership, then) will most readily associate this place with the jaunty overture composed by William Walton in 1925, which is quite appropriate given the history of the area. Also known as Spice Island, it was the oldest port area in the town and handled a swift trade in imported goods, sailors on leave and all the paraphernalia necessary for these articles to flourish. Although it's today an estate-agent's Christmas list, the character of the promontory has been pretty well preserved as the eighteenth-century, and the pubs are the same as the two depicted in the famous cartoon of the town. (It's also the very start/end of the A3, should you ever need to know that for a pub quiz).

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Doubling back past all the pubs and finally pointing eastwards brought me to another notable feature of Portsmouth's history - the town walls. They're not quite as unique as Southampton's but just as extensive, enclosing public parks that were once the site of gun emplacements and parade grounds, and you can climb over most of the towers and promenades on top. There are various other points of interest along the way including a half-ruined church as a memorial to the armed forces and a view back across the harbour mouth to Gosport, as well as all the marine traffic steaming in and out. The Isle of Wight ferries mentioned earlier were the most numerous in this respect, but there was also a huge cross-channel ferry bound for Spain (I know this because it was the exact vessel my family sailed on a year ago) and a multitude of yachts. A little further along is Clarence Pier, which is a somewhat creative use of the term given that the 'pier' is little more than a funfair on some decking, reaching only a few yards out over the water.

Trade didn't seem particularly brisk despite this being a public holiday, with only the minority of the cars on the Sky Ways coaster containing any screaming patrons and most of the carousels at standstill, owners stood around looking bored. Next to the funfair is another 'ride' of sorts - the Southsea hoverport. This is one end of the only commercial hovercraft service in the UK, which in combination with a bus service to the station manages to maintain a trade in zipping across to the island every half-hour on an 'air-cushion vehicle'. I stood on the shingle next to the ramp eating a sandwich but couldn't yet see the craft promised on the arrivals board. My patience was eventually rewarded when I spotted a small area of spray several hundred yards out, closer observation picking out the flashing beacon light and then the blue and red superstructure.

Another clear indication a hovercraft is approaching is the considerable noise of the twin engines as the thing flies at you across the waves, not really braking at all until the last moment when the thing theatrically drives up the beach, flinging spray everywhere, and rolls to a halt by pointing the jet thrusters in the opposite direction. The skirts then deflate as the fans power down and staff push a set of aircraft steps up to the doors. I must get round to travelling on this thing...

Moving along the shoreline opposite Southsea Common come more attractions: the D-Day Museum complete with 360" cinema and the Overlord Embroidery, which is intended to compliment to Bayeux Tapestry; the Pyramids swimming pool (you guessed it, it's in the shape of said cuboid, 80's plastic looking just a bit in need of refurbishment) and Southsea Castle, which dates back to Tudor times, although not the black-and-white lighthouse. I happened to look back here and see that steaming out of port was a huge grey warship, which I was later able to identify by its markings as HMS Daring, a new destroyer. I presumed it was off to the Indian Ocean, either as support for the war in Afghanistan or else fighting Somali pirates, but the reality may have been more mundane, just a training exercise or official visit. It swept past, as much as several thousand tonnes of vessel can sweep past, and headed down the side of the Island.

Once Southsea Pier has been passed (more plasticky sideshows, but at least a proper pier) the shore becomes less interesting, shingle and hardy grasses on one side and apartments on the other, and presently the path has to turn off altogether to avoid a fort at the mouth of the bay. We now have to start heading north up the other side of the peninsula (technically an island, but only by virtue of the small channel cutting across the top) to get round Langstone Harbour, which is the tidal area cutting Hayling Island off from Portsea and the mainland.

The ten minutes it takes to walk between one shore and the other do not sufficiently convey the contrast between them. The broad shingle beach is left behind to traverse a park (nice tree-lined path, not-so-nice blocks of flats) and suburban residential streets before the Way rejoins the shore just next to a pub. Now the sea is in a shallow natural harbour between Portsea and Hayling Island, full of sandbanks and mud and all sorts of submarine features that the Coastguard would prefer you didn't get stuck in. The boating culture has changed from car ferries and warships to moored yachts and small fishing vessels, including further down the road the small passenger ferry across the harbour mouth to Hayling Island. I now have to walk all the way back up the side of Portsea Island, cross a road bridge at the top and briefly traverse a narrow waterside path by the A27 and A3M, which is not particularly interesting territory, the mud flats of Langstone Harbour to one side and marsh beds to the other with a skyline of flats, industrial units and scrubby plants. At one point I have to backtrack and divert along a parallel driveway to avoid mud pools on a grassy path, such is the proximity to the water. The road bridge, one of only two fully accessible entry points to the island (the others are a motorway and a railway) is windy indeed, being positioned over an open channel of water. It's then half a mile walking along the precariously narrow harbour wall, sans railings, until one reaches Farlington Marshes.

On the map, this area looks like an annoyance, two miles going round the edge of a peninsula to end up only slightly further down the path from where you started. It actually provides a fairly diverting change of scenery, an open landscape more like the flats of Norfolk or the Netherlands, with a sunken wetland at the centre and a path going round the edge on the sea dyke. Wading birds dip at the pools and reeds, or flock overhead, and even the noise of the motorway is lost to the fresh sea breezes. The area was also used a decoy for German bombing raids in WWII, by blacking out Portsmouth and putting lights on the peninsula in order to fool pilots they were aiming at the city. All this must offer some great photo opportunities given great patience, a good lens and a sunset, but none of these were forthcoming at the current moment. It is at about this point on a long walk - ten, eleven miles - when things start to get a bit achy and one has to force oneself to have a break and drink more, especially given my pace and the wind around here. I could just make out in the distance the arch of the Hayling Island bridge, and tried to estimate the distance to it, reckoning if I could get there in 1 hour that would be achievable and would be sufficient motivation to get to the end and not cop out at one of the nearby stations. Looking the other way, Spinnaker Tower was a distant needle, appearing as far away as it had been at Lee-on Solent on the last leg.

The path now reaches the edge of Havant and takes on a rhombus-shaped detour that actually is genuinely annoying; up a dirty creek, over a road bridge and along the road past various industrial yards, through some woods and past a cement works to arrive twenty minutes later only a short way across the creek where this sentence started. Thankfully, from this point onwards it's a pretty straight line to the Hayling Island bridge road across some more shingle and marshes. The next signpost, stating that Emsworth is a mere two miles away (which I don't believe) happens to sit on the path of a long-gone railway to the island, now a cycle track Actually, there still remain the stumps of the bridge that carried the 'Hayling Billy' across the strait parallel to the road bridge, which is not too unpleasing a construction either. At the other side of the Hayling road are some old-looking buildings including what was obviously once a windmill, and a duckpond. Fairly desirable area, this. A little further on is a curious section of footpath so far unique on my travels - one which is only accessible at low tide. It traverses the shingle in front of a sea wall and as a result the ground cover is an expanse of damp pebbles rather than real footpath, although I had been fortunate to have arrived here when the tide was ages away. Hopping back onto terra firma takes one through a graveyard and some fields before a last bit of expensive real-estate seafront.

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By the time I arrived in Emsworth the sun was out - isn't that nice? The town has a curved harbour wall around an area known as the mill pond which is wide enough to serve as a promenade, with little information panels about the history of the town (mostly relating to fishing and boats). The exact end point of the Solent Way is a little vague as the waymarking finishes before the promenade, so I chose the little information hut (a pleasant Victorian civic construction with a tiled roof, I should add, not some plastic horror) as the very eastern terminus, only a few yards inside Hampshire . One could easily continue walking from this point, for the Wayfarer's Walk and Staunton Way to the north and the Sussex Border Path to the east join here, and the E9 coastal path continues on to Dover via the South Downs. I, however, had done seventeen miles already and headed for the station with the eastern half of the trail completed. Next time, the forest.