A Year on the North Lancing Bridleway; monthly archive
April on the North Lancing Bridleway | Andy Brook Blogs
April Fools' Day has passed, but nature seems to have played a lingering trick upon us. While other parts of the South have basked in the warmth of 18°C or 19°C, here on the slopes of West Sussex, we remain stubbornly several degrees below. With a few years of observation under my belt, I find myself reflecting that this has been one of the most disappointing, weather-wise, starts to a Spring in recent memory. We were teased by a "faux Spring" of four days or so a couple of weeks back, but generally, the seasonal shifts have been challenging.
It has been a challenge for Mother Nature, too. My butterfly sightings along the North Lancing Bridleway have been notably low, and the usually industrious, humming drone of Bumble Bees has been a rare solo performance rather than the familiar orchestral background. As a Universal Gardener, I recognize this "fallow time"—that period where growth feels suspended, waiting for a harmony between light and warmth that hasn't quite arrived.
But today, the air is bright and dry, and that can only be good. The Bridleway has finally shed the gaunt, skeletal look of Winter and embraced the greening of Spring. Bluebells and Wild Garlic flowers now carpet the floor, while the fresh burst of leaves on shrubs and trees provides a new texture to the landscape. There is a sense of community returning, too; people are out walking the path again, perhaps, like me, regularly enjoying its ever-changing persona.
Reaching the northern end of the path brings a moment of Ekphrastic reflection. Those of a certain age will remember the Great Storm of '87—a monster that wrought destruction across Southern England. I recall reading that only the felling of Oaks for Henry VIII claimed more wood. Near the junction where the public footpath splits toward Cissbury Ring or down past Lancing College to the River Adur, the scars of that night remain. Yet, many of these trees stood firm against the gale, acting as a living shield to "protect" the Bridleway.
As I walk past these ancient sentinels, I find myself thinking of the rhythm of the year. In just eleven weeks, we will reach Midsummer Day. In the Music Room, we learn that the space between the notes is as important as the melody itself; perhaps this cold, slow April is simply the breath before the great crescendo of Summer.
March on the North Lancing Bridleway | Andy Brook Blogs
Life on the edge of the South Downs often presents a shift in perspective when the seasons turn. While March winds may bring April showers, today the bright, mild days have given way to a heavy damp and fog as I walk the bridleway. In these nature observations, I’ve noticed the fog acts as a physical boundary, closing off the aural experience except for the most local emanations—the best of which is the rhythmic drumming of a Woodpecker nearby.
Plant growth is well underway now, evidenced by the emerging Bluebells and Three-Cornered Leek (Garlic). There is a lush green pulse to the Nettle and Elderberry growth, while Spurge—a garden escapee—makes a splendid architectural sight against the grey mist.
The heavy winter rains have eroded the centre of the path towards Manor Park, revealing the stones and flints that underpin everything. These are the "bones" of our landscape, a reminder of the ancient community stories that have traveled this same chalky route for centuries.
While I have seen Brimstones, Whites, and Bumble Bees elsewhere, I have not spotted any along this stretch so far this year. Yet, the stillness of the fog provides its own reward. No matter how busy the day is or how heavy the weight of world events, I always stop here. My philosophical reflections lead me to one conclusion: to truly experience all that Nature gives, you must first be still. In this space, we become grounded.
February on the North Lancing Bridleway | Andy Brook Blogs
I’ve decided to do something a bit different for 2026: a Sussex nature diary documenting my monthly walks along the North Lancing Bridleway. It’s a path I know inside out, sitting just west of McIntyres Field and tucked above Manor Park.
I’m usually here twice a day. Over the next year, I want to document the seasonal changes of this landscape, from the local wildlife to those small, unexpected details you only notice when you’re really looking.
It’s mid-February now, and because the winter has been so mild and wet, the Lancing flora feels 'forward.' Spring is impatient; I’ve already spotted Violets peeking out and the first leaves of Lords and Ladies. There are even some Summer Snowflakes—garden escapes—joining the wilder plants.
One of the best things about the bare winter trees is seeing the 'bones' of the path. I’ve been studying the ancient flint wall; covered in beautiful lichen and framed by thick ivy, it makes the history of this Sussex coast path feel very present.
Standing there, I wonder how many journeys started on this exact patch? It’s just that sort of place."
The First Pulse
Ancient flint wrapped in ivy’s green hold,
Where violets wake before the frost is old.
I walk the rhythm of the rider’s ghost,
A daily guest upon this Sussex coast,
Where every journey finds its quiet start.
