This walk was back-to-back from last Friday, and I felt it. I don’t think I appreciate the time and energy it takes to run these walks - from the organisation, the planning, the comms, marketing and logistics, not to mention the physical energy required for me to take the long drive down, lead the walk and then drive home again. As a natural introvert, I tend to need to keep the day before clear so I can build up energy reserves and then leave the following day clear to recharge. Once a month, this is a delight and a bit of an adventure. When it’s back-to-back weeks, it can feel heavy. And this stretch at the moment is four walks across six weeks. The next one is in two weeks time.

That said, I love the walks themselves, and the more challenging times are par for the course - the shadow from the light, the night following the day. It gives us perspective and allows us to appreciate the parts we do love even more.

Jonathan couldn’t make this walk due to family reasons, so there were five of us, with one person joining us for a short stretch during the lunchtime section, who was a regular on the walk but couldn’t make the full 7 miles.

Goring is such a beautiful town, and the trees lining the river are stunning, starting ever so gently to change colour for the autumn. There was a tongue-in-cheek disappointment at the start of this walk as it felt like we had time-travelled back to June in the heat, it was 24 degrees, a good 10 degrees warmer than in recent weeks and the disappointment was that we had hoped that autumn would have brought out the vibrant colours in the leaves of the trees but alas, many were doing what nature does best and working at its own pace.

The coaching question at the start of this week’s walk was:

“We’re a few days away from the autumn equinox - the point of balance between day and night, light and dark.
What’s feeling in balance for you right now, and what isn’t?
And what signs might nature offer to help you with that balance?”

This walk felt really different from the other walks for many reasons. Firstly, the heat of the sun as we walked, but with conkers and acorns underfoot, felt like a strange juxtaposition. This year is a mast year—where the trees all communicate to produce an abundance of seeds to ensure the survival of their species.

Another difference was the elevation we took into a seemingly small wood, a good few metres above the river on our right-hand side, with different tree species than you would normally find beside a river, an incline that I hadn’t expected, stunning dappled light through the trees and a really different experience. It made us stop in our tracks multiple times to take it all in. It brought mountain bikers sharing our track too, racing through the small forest-like areas, taking advantage of the mounds the tree roots create along the path and the narrow undulating trail.

There was plenty to notice in the landscape too. As we climbed through the wooded area, we passed a number of tree trunks that had been cut and left where they’d fallen—likely storm damage from a while back. What stood out was how much life they were still supporting. Some were sprouting impressive fungi from their tops and sides, reminding us that even when something looks like it’s come to the end of its purpose, it might still be playing a vital role. Just because something no longer has roots or a water source doesn’t mean it’s finished. It was a quiet reminder not to judge too quickly what’s still valuable.

We saw our usual red kites overhead, some dragonflies darting across the path, and more ladybirds than we’ve noticed on any of the previous walks. There were a few swans too, some heads-down, feet-up, rummaging for food under the still surface, and others bobbing happily along in the mucky wake of a passing boat, totally unbothered.

On the opposite bank, we spotted a small retreat taking place, with tents and tipis set up along the water’s edge. A few people had taken to the river for a swim to cool down in the heat, making the most of the last of the summer warmth while it lasted.

We didn’t actually see the river much on this section. There was a big expanse at Whitchurch where we met our fellow walker, with big green spaces beside the river reminding me of the section when we stopped for lunch at Henley back in June where we walked along the river, as well as the start, which was stunning. But there were a few diversions away from the river on this stretch and areas where the growth on the banks obscured it from view. When we re-joined it at Whitchurch, I was struck by how much wider it looked. A small detail you don’t tend to notice as you follow it gradually.

We stopped in the shade of the church at Whitchurch for lunch, finding a bench in the church grounds, beneath an oak tree overflowing with acorns. The shade was a welcome break from the heat of the sun and the elevated climb.

The coaching conversations benefitted from the elevated perspective on this walk, and as we were an odd number, even the person who ended up walking solo for the coaching stretch did some self-coaching with the aid of one of the coaching cards—the red kite who is always present on our walks.

We held our usual closing reflection circle on a small piece of grass on a housing estate where we had a car parked to transport us back to the starting point. There was a sense of clarity that people felt they had gained on the walk. For me, the early diversion on the path that hadn’t been expected was a reminder to me - as a structured planner - that sometimes we encounter obstacles or challenges that can’t be planned for. And having the flexibility when planning to accommodate this was a reminder that we can’t plan “balance”. I reflected that being well-resourced was the element that allowed me to embrace challenges and obstacles and be more flexible. The more tired or under-resourced I am, the more rigid my approach and outlook.

This walk took us a lot longer than usual for a variety of reasons, and it had a different feel to it. The same lovely conversations and connection with nature, but perhaps the disconnection from the river, the different landscapes, and the heat in autumn made it feel a bit out of character from our normal walks, not better or worse, just different. And it was probably the latest we have ever finished a walk - 5 pm - which left me anxious about my drive home, but it was actually a gift as it meant I missed the rush hour traffic on the M5/M6 and sailed home without the usual traffic jams. That said, it was still 9 pm by the time I arrived home, and I went straight to bed I was so tired.

We have two weeks until our next walk, now on Friday, 3rd October, following which our walks will then be monthly until next May. Which, as the contrary being I am (a word my mum often uses to describe me!), I know I will miss the familiarity of the people who join us, the depth of the conversations, and the river itself.

If you'd like to join us on our Source to Sea journey, you can find the latest schedule and link to book here.