Like walkers on the trails, summer is a boom period for wildlife. In June, the foxgloves will be flowering everywhere, but especially on poorer soils. On grasslands, orchids of many types will be coming into bloom, so be careful where you walk. Honeysuckle and elder will be flowering in the hedgerows, and all of these plants will attract more and more insects. This is ideal for swallows, swifts and house martins during daylight and bats at dusk, all of whom will be feeding young. At the coast, the cliff tops will be bright with ox-eye daisy flowers and the sound of sea birds feeding young in their nests. In July, sand dunes will be abundant with flowering plants. Fields of corn will be maturing, providing homes for mice and rabbits. Verges and hedgerows will be full of nettles and blooming buddleia, attracting butterflies and other insects. The first of the summer visiting birds, like the cuckoo, will also be departing, and our resident birds will be quieter, making it easier to hear the likes of the song thrush and — if you’re lucky — the skylark. August is great for coastal walks, with rock pools alive with anemones, crabs, fish and shrimps. If you are on heath land, look for reptiles warming themselves on rocks. Birds will be enjoying the blackberries and elderberries, and waders will be returning to estuaries to feed before migrating. On country verges, lords and ladies will be showing bright red in the strong sunshine, and on the moors you could also find the first of this season’s bilberries. Phil Pickin

In over 30 years of countryside campaigning, I can’t recall a subject that has divided public opinion as much as renewable energy and, in particular, wind-farm development. Organisations once considered to be close allies in environmental-protection campaigns have become the opposition. WWF and Friends of the Earth are pro wind turbines wherever they’re built, and they’re joined by the RSPB, which supports wind farms anywhere other than on its own reserves. Such a crass comment from an organisation with the environmental legacy of the RSPB is surprising, and deeply disappointing.

Many people ask about the Ramblers’ perspective and some assume we want a blanket ban on on-shore wind-farm developments. That is not the case. There’s no doubt, however, that many members are concerned at the impact on the landscape, not to mention our tourist industry, because of the sheer scale of the proposals – turbines the height of the Forth Rail Bridge and even higher interconnector grid lines. Having seen report after report and spoken to scientists and energy experts, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are only two types of people who really support the idea of large-scale on-shore wind-farm projects: those who are likely to make money out of them and the green hotheads who see burgeoning numbers of wind farms as a political statement in support of their cause.

But, while they appear to offer high-profile evidence of action against global warming, real reforms offering real solutions fall prey to industry lobbying and electoral expediency. It is becoming increasingly evident that the headlong rush to build new turbines is fuelled more by heavy subsidies than clear thinking, threatening the integrity of wild land but having little effect on global warming. Indeed, turbines operate, on average, at only 30 per cent of capacity and require a conventionally powered back-up facility – which, ironically, creates carbon emissions. Nevertheless, like it or not, wind power is here to stay, so there is now an urgent need to minimise the fall-out. Wherever possible, turbines should be located either in landscapes already containing a substantial built element or in off-shore areas out of sight of unspoilt coastlines.

In all cases, an environmental impact assessment is an essential first step. While I, and a growing army of others, oppose wind-farm industrialisation in our wild land areas, I would argue passionately that the Government is not doing enough to tackle the issue of climate change. Recent figures suggest reductions in CO2 emissions are well below target, and the reasons for this are not hard to find: lack of enforcement for codes of practice on building insulation, an absence of coherent policy on energy generation or usage, insufficient incentives for energy saving, and a one-horse renewables programme that pushes large-scale wind farms to the virtual exclusion of other sources, such as tidal power and biomass. Associated with the development of new energy sources is the renewal and expansion of the National Grid. The proposed Beauly-Denny powerline upgrade will run from near Inverness through Scotland’s scenic heartland – some of our wildest and most remote countryside, with equally contentious lines proposed for northern England.

I’d argue that long-distance transmission from the north of Scotland should be either via sub-sea cables or upgrading the existing routes that pass through agricultural land near the east coast. We have a tremendous opportunity to make our country a leader in energy conservation and environmentally acceptable renewable-energy generation. But that should never happen at the expense of losing our reputation as having some of the most outstanding wild land in Europe. The two can work together – but only if there is a political will and a change in the current subsidy-driven renewables industry.

Cameron McNeish is Vice President of Ramblers Scotland and editor of TGO magazine

Tell your friends you’re going walking in the Caucasus and you might receive a quizzical look. Inform them that you will be hiking through a country that does not even officially exist, and you can expect serious disbelief. But the Janapar Trail in Nagorno-Karabakh is just that: a meandering 190km/119-mile route through the mountains of a breakaway republic that is currently recognised by no-one but its residents. With a name derived from three languages – Russian (‘Nagorno’, meaning mountainous), Turkish (‘Kara’, meaning black) and Persian (‘bakh’, meaning garden) – Nagorno-Karabakh is one of those ‘frozen conflicts’ left over from the collapse of the Soviet Union. Despite its declared independence, it’s officially a part of neighbouring Azerbaijan, where its sovereignty is a huge bone of contention. Fortunately, there has been no fighting here since the early 1990s and it is perfectly safe to visit.

Challengingly remote

Set up in 2006 to boost tourism in the region, the Janapar Trail is a newly established long-distance route for experienced hikers. Beginning in the north around Dadivank and finishing at Hadrut in the south, the trail is waymarked for much of its length with a distinctive ‘footprint’ logo and is not especially physically demanding. But a remote region such as this presents its own challenges and an adventurous spirit is as important as strong legs and trekking experience. Atolerance of vodka is a bonus, as is any scrap of Russian, Turkish or Armenian that you can muster. The trail can be conveniently split up into day hikes between villages, where it is usually possible to stay with a local family. Camping is another possibility, although wolves are said to be present and campers should take sensible precautions. It’s also perfectly feasible to walk short sections of the route or make day hikes from Stepanakert, the Karabakh capital. My time was limited, so I decided to sample two shortish sections of the trail. I took a marshrutka (minibus) from Stepanakert to Dadivank – a village that has one of the largest monasteries in the country. Like most Armenian churches, the monastery is strewn with khachkars – carved memorial stones that commemorate the passing of souls. After a quick look, I head out on the trail, heading southeast. This section, to the village of Vaghuhas, was easy walking, following a road along the north bank of the Tartar River. There was almost no traffic and already it felt as if I had the place to myself. I passed by the settlement of Charektar before reaching a village called Getavan, just beyond the point where the Tartar Valley widens into a floodplain. Here, I left the road and river behind as the trail crossed an ancient bridge to climb steeply to Vaghuhas.

Silent forest, vocal officials

The trail became somewhat tougher the next day as it undulated over forested hills before descending to the village of Vank. Mist swirled around the hilltops like smoke from a fire. Periodically, a bird of prey would sweep across the sky, looking for a thermal to ride. The silence, as the saying goes, was deafening. Entering the upper reaches of the village, I encountered a bit of old-school Soviet-style suspicion. A battered van screeched to a halt and one of its occupants demanded my ‘dokumenti’. As my casually dressed inquisitor had nothing about his appearance that suggested officialdom, I thought I’d turn the situation on its head and asked for his. He fumbled for his identity card, driving his friend into hysterics of laughter. Having grumpily retracted the demand for identification, the pair laughed and shook my hand, perhaps in sneaking admiration of my cheek. Vank is an unusual place. Thanks to the largesse of Levon Hairapetian, a Moscowbased lumber baron born in the village, Vank has far more facilities than most communities in these parts. There’s a well-equipped school and – most remarkably – a hotel in the shape of an ocean liner. The Hotel Eklektika (known as the ‘Titanik’) is one of the most surreal sites you’re ever likely to see.

Remnants of war

I took the marshrutka to Stepanakert the next morning, and, from there, I took another to Shushi. There’s a huge new cathedral but many of the town’s historic buildings languish in disrepair. Ruined mosques and churches bear witness to Shushi’s previously mixed population. But when conflict broke out in 1992, it was used as a base for the Azerbaijan army – hence the extensive war damage. From Shushi, the Janapar Trail twisted steeply down through Karintak – a village situated beneath near-vertical cliffs – before looping north along the narrow Karkar Canyon, which is undoubtedly one of the most spectacular sections of the trail. I passed the ruined village of Hunot, with its wooden bridge and waterfall, before an ancient stone bridge marks the point where the trail climbs up from the river to reach the village of Mkhitarishen. I spent the night here, then continued along the trail, looping steeply south once more. Then, zigzagging east through rolling hills and fields, I eventually arrived at the ancient fort village of Avetaranots. My final stage to Karmir Shuka skirted the village of Skhtorashen, where an enormous plane tree purported to be over 2,000 years old, grows. Returning to Stepanakert before daybreak the next morning, I watched the sun come up over the mountains as the marshrutka climbed up past Shushi. Little-known this trail may be, but the experiences of the last few days had imprinted this black mountain garden indelibly on my mind.

Time/Distance: It takes 10–14 days to walk all 190km/119 miles of the trail. Individual sections of varying difficulty range between 10–22km/6–14 miles.

Travel to: Stepanakert can be reached by flying to Yerevan in Armenia, then taking the daily minibus – around 8 hours.

Travel around: Infrequent minibuses connect Stepanakert with villages along the trail.

Guidebooks: Armenia with Nagorno Karabagh by Nicholas Holding (£14.99, Bradt Travel Guides, ISBN: 978 1841621630) has useful information on Nagorno-Karabakh. A Russian and/or Armenian phrasebook is invaluable.

Maps and further info: www.janapar.org

Decades in the making

Job done, then? Not a bit of it. The Peak District National Park was up and running by 1951, and another eight Parks quickly followed. But, says Ruth Chambers of the Campaign for National Parks (CNP), “the South Downs were rejected in 1956 on the grounds that their recreational value had been ‘considerably reduced by extensive cultivation’ during the Second World War.” The Government’s attentions moved on. England and Wales now boasted nine national parks, and The Broads gained similar status in 1989. But the calls to deliver on all 12 of Hobhouse’s original recommendations were never completely silenced, and the South Downs Campaign (SDC) was launched by a coalition of pressure groups in 1990. The Ramblers joined a few months later, and the SDC grew steadily under its chairman Robin Crane to include more than 150 national, regional and local organisations. Chris Todd takes up the story: “In 1995, Brighton Council tried to sell off its vast downland estate, bought a century earlier to protect the town’s landscape and water supply. There was a massive public outcry and the sale of the Downs was stopped, but the Council’s actions highlighted what was at stake. We thought that the Downs were safe – and they weren’t! ” The affair was a wake-up call for campaigners, and a local farmer sparked renewed pressure for a national park by ploughing up protected downland at Offham, near Lewes, during the 1997 General Election campaign. Two years later, Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott announced the creation of national parks for the New Forest and the South Downs as a Millennium gift to the nation. After more than half a century, it seemed that the Hobhouse Committee’s list would be completed at last.

A series of challenges

Over in the New Forest, the National Park took shape fairly swiftly, and the designation order was confirmed during the last few days of the South Downs inquiry. But then, just to liven things up, the owners of Hinton Park challenged the inclusion of their estate in the National Park. The High Court upheld the owners’ case that the land was not open for informal outdoor recreation – a key purpose of national parks – and quashed the designation of Hinton Park. The decision threatened the whole legal basis of every national park created since the 1950s. The Government acted swiftly to clarify the law, but a new crisis for the South Downs was already taking shape. Delayed by the Hinton Park case, the Inspector’s report was finally published in July 2007. Within its pages lay a recommendation to exclude the Western Weald, an area that enclosed nearly a quarter of the proposed National Park. “The Western Weald was part of a much larger Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, ” says Ramblers campaigns co-ordinator David Murray. “If left outside the National Park, some areas could have lost their existing protection, creating a threat to this exceptional landscape.” The SDC went into overdrive. “The Inspector had based his recommendations on the findings of his landscape assessor, ” says David. “But the assessor’s conclusion that the Wealden landscape wasn’t compatible with a downland National Park was, quite simply, mistaken.” The Inspector also judged that recreation in the Western Weald would be seriously affected by the A3 dual carriageway and the towns of Petersfield and Liss. At a re-opened public inquiry in spring 2008, the SDC produced a sentence-bysentence demolition of the landscape assessor’s findings. Meanwhile, the Ramblers worked closely with the SDC on recreational issues. Interviews with Ramblers members and other countryside users showed their enthusiasm for the Wealden countryside, and helped to refute the Inspector’s conclusions about recreation in the Western Weald. After the Inquiry, the SDC co-ordinated a massive publicity campaign to press home the arguments. Members of the public bombarded the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs with some 20,000 picture postcards, and CPRE President Bill Bryson delivered a giant postcard signed by leading SDC supporters, including Ramblers President Floella Benjamin.

The perfect campaign

And so, 80 years after that first ‘memo’ to the Prime Minister, and 60 years after the National Parks and Access to the Countryside Act received Royal Assent, the Environment Secretary Hilary Benn finally gave the go-ahead for the South Downs to become England’s tenth national park. David Murray reflects on what has been achieved: “The campaign couldn’t really have been much better. It’s a tribute to Chris Todd and our partners in the SDC, who’ve worked really well together as a group. There will be more public consultation on six small additional areas – but with 99% of the boundary secure, we look forward to the Government’s final confirmation as quickly as possible.” The decision comes at a time of widespread disquiet about creeping development in and around the South Downs. Besides headline-grabbing schemes such as the Glyndebourne wind turbine, pressure for new housing and associated infrastructure throughout the South East is a serious concern. The cumulative effect of many smaller, local changes also dilutes the character of the area. Without the strong protection of a national park, the Downs could easily suffer ‘death by a thousand cuts’.

Source of inspiration

Official designations and long years of campaigning in stuffy committee rooms are a stark contrast to the fresh air and freedom of the Downs. From the soaring white cliffs of the Seven Sisters near Eastbourne to the wooded Wealden countryside and meandering Hampshire chalk streams, these glorious landscapes have inspired generations of writers, artists and naturalists. For this is the landscape of the Bloomsbury Group of writers, painters and intellectuals, who met regularly at Charleston Farmhouse in the shadow of Firle Beacon in the early 20th century. And of the Reverend Gilbert White, who, in 1789, published his classic Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne from his home at The Wakes, sheltered beneath the famous beech hangers that inspired so much of his work. And it is the landscape of Jane Austen, who wrote Emma, Mansfield Park and Persuasion at Chawton Cottage, near Alton. Today, these literary landmarks are open for you to visit. Each one stands close to a long-distance walking route, set in a landscape that’s finally secure after decades of campaigning by dedicated Ramblers volunteers and their SDC partners. And today, says David Murray, “we need the South Downs National Park more than ever, because so many people now live in the South East of England. That’s why we’re so ecstatic – the new Park will give millions of people easy access to a sense of remoteness in this crowded region.”

Further information

South Downs Online is packed with information about planning your visit to the area, and offers practical advice on transport, accommodation and walking routes. The website Diamonds in the Landscape was established to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the National Parks and Access to the Countryside Act 1949. It’s an invaluable source of information, providing resources and details of special events happening in the Parks, Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty, National Trails and National Nature Reserves that the Act helped to create.

Game spotting at Kruger

The scrub and savannah of Kruger came as a bit of a shock after the sheer lushness of Swaziland’s hills and valleys. This is nature as ruled by the animals and there’s nothing preened or pampered about it, giving the park a somewhat dishevelled look. Looks, however, can be deceiving: Kruger is the undisputed jewel in the crown of South Africa’s national parks, with excellent game viewing. In 2008 it celebrated 110 years as a game reserve, making it one of the oldest on the continent. ‘The entire park has 4,500 beds and 2,500 staff, ’ William Mabasa, a spokesperson for Kruger, tells me. ‘We have a lot of visitors from all walks of life and the real challenge is to cater to all their different needs. We also keep poaching under control and enforce the compulsory park speed limit of 50km per hour. ’ He remains positive about the future popularity of the park. With the recent removal of the border fences between neighbouring Zimbabwe and Mozambique, the animals are free to roam the national parks of all three countries. And roam they do. Driving into the park, we spotted elephant, lion, buffalo, giraffe and crocodile – all within a few minutes of each other. Kruger covers some two million hectares, but walking within its borders is restricted to designated trails with a qualified guide, so we had a chance to rest our legs after the 13km and 8km (8- and 5-mile) hikes in Swaziland on a couple of game drives. As we set out from Skukuza camp in the southern part of the park, expectations were high after the splendid displays we’d been greeted by on arrival. And despite a somewhat slow start, we were not disappointed. Soon the calls of ‘Hippo on the right! ’ and ‘Rhino on the left! ’ were ringing out and our wonderful driver, Elmon, seemed to have a knack for finding the best places for wildlife spotting. He was to have his patience sorely tested over the next few days with our constant calls for him to ‘stop and go back a bit’, but he remained cheerful and helpful throughout, even doing his best to teach me some handy Zulu, too.

Waterfalls and hippos

No rambler can sit still on a bus for too long without wanting to don their boots and take to the hills. So from Kruger we headed for Hippo Hollow, a country estate near the town of Hazyview, just outside the park. Unfortunately, the town lives up to the name and the area is often covered in thick cloud and mist. But the frisky and frolicking hippos more than make up for any problems with the weather – you can view them from the estate’s restaurant in the mornings and evenings, adding a certain something to breakfasts and dinners. Anna Maria Espsäter encounters big game, enchanting waterfalls and wide-open spaces in South Africa’s northernmost territory Hazyview is in the province of Mpumalanga, where we were spending a week. It’s a lush fruitgrowing area with plenty of wonderful hiking opportunities, such as the 14km/9-mile Loerie Trail. Starting steeply, the trail runs through native forest, with creepers and lianas adding a jungle feel to the upward climb to Bridal Veil waterfalls. Continuing up and up, far above the tree line, the path passes several waterfalls, all gushing over the cliff face. I counted four in all and concluded that either there were four brides, or the first one got hitched on multiple occasions. We picnicked with gorgeous views over the valley, and the rain held off until we were safely back at Hippo Hollow – then it really tipped down, encouraging a chorus from the aforementioned smug hippos wallowing in the Sabie River right on our doorsteps. In the end I had to smile: who could blame them for revelling in this beautiful place, whatever the weather? Walk the world and help the work of the Ramblers, too. Ramblers Worldwide Holidays’ charitable trust is a major contributor to the Ramblers.

The 17-day Trails of the Old Transvaal tour with Ramblers Worldwide Holidays starts from £1,966 per person, including flights, half-board accommodation, local transport and guides. Call  ✆ 01707 331133 or visit www.ramblersholidays.co.uk to book now.

The 95-mile stretch of rough, rocky and staggeringly diverse coast from the Exe Estuary in Devon to Poole Harbour in Dorset – known as the Jurassic Coast – was designated the UK’s first World Heritage Site in 2002 because ‘it represents a geological walk through time’. Its unparalleled natural features are the result of great subterranean upheavals, exposing 185million years of rocks from the period when dinosaurs roamed the earth. This provides a visual feast for ramblers – the cliff walls vary in shape, colour and formation, and psychedelic pink and yellow plants carpet the ground. The excellently marked and maintained South West Coast Path, which stretches the entire way, makes exploring on foot easier, too. Brian Panton, West Dorset Ramblers’ area footpath secretary and trustee of the South West Coast Path Association, says: “It’s stunning. Walking the path, I can see the rock change at my side: from grey limestone at Purbeck, to white chalk between Kimmeridge and Whitenothe, then to gravel and sand at Golden Cap. It’s difficult to pick a favourite stretch, but I do love walking the path between Lulworth Cove and Kimmeridge*. I can see St Aldhelm’s Head jutting out into the sea; to my left are the great swatches of heather and gorse of the heathland; and if I turn, I’ll see the bay curling out to Portland Bill. I’ve spent 30 years walking on this stretch of coast, and now I spend time campaigning for coastal access. I’ve got so much pleasure from this unique and dramatic landscape, I want my grandchildren to experience that too.”

Click on the small image on the left to see Brian’s full field guide to the Jurassic Coast

*Note that Lulworth Cove to Kimmeridge is partially closed for much of the year. For opening times, visit www.mod.uk
For more on the area, visit the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site website or contact the West Dorset Ramblers: ✆ 01308 863081, www.dorset-ramblers.co.uk

What triggered your love of the outdoors? I had an idyllic countryside childhood in Berkshire — we spent all of our time out of the house! If you grow up that way, the outdoors is just in your blood. We walked a lot, too — if our friends lived across the fields, we just tramped across the fields to see them. One of my earliest memories is walking up Glastonbury Tor in Somerset. I remember feeling we were never going to get to the top, but we did, as you always do, and there is no better reward than the view from a summit.

Why does walking matter to you? The kind of rhythm you get into when you walk is very therapeutic. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I go walking with a scrambled head and then a light bulb comes on illuminating all the solutions, but afterwards everything seems to be back in perspective. The modern world is so invasive, but nature isn’t beaten yet! On a walk, you see the seasons changing around you, the migrating birds arriving, the first bluebells — there’s something very satisfying in witnessing that.

What do you make of the South Downs getting national park status? It’s very welcome news. We all know there are places in Britain that are just as beautiful that don’t have such status, but being recognised as a national park creates publicity and a wider understanding that an area is important. The Association of National Parks Authorities works hard to inform visitors about the place they are in. And, of course, the more parts of Britain that allow people access the better.

How does the UK compare with other parts of the world when it comes to beauty? There is this presumption that, to experience the greatest landscapes or staggering wildlife, you have to travel thousands of miles. But I’ve been all over the globe with this job and, hand on heart, there are places in Britain that can’t be bettered anywhere else in the world: the north coast of Cornwall, the Peak District, the west coast of Scotland… the list is endless. The British landscape is our little secret. Maybe we should shout about it a bit more!

Most nature programmes on television are fronted by men. Do you see yourself as a role model? No, I don’t see myself as a role model or a pioneer. But you’re right, it is staggering that, in 2009, outdoor broadcasting is still traditionally seen as the bastion of male presenters. I hope my presence among them encourages those people — and not just women — who may find the outdoors a little overwhelming to get out there and enjoy it. Some people wonder if it is safe to go into a wood or if they can go to a hide at a wildlife centre even if they don’t have binoculars or don’t know their birds. And I want them to know that of course they can — nature is there for everyone to enjoy!

You don’t have a science background. How has that influenced your approach to the complex issues you encounter in your work? I see myself as a translator. Because I come from a lay background, I really hope I can pass on my enthusiasm to others like me. I’m fascinated by science in a way I wasn’t at school, and now I don’t have to worry about getting 70% in an exam; I’m not afraid to ask about anything I don’t understand! The greatest privilege of my job is getting to meet people at the top of their field. Rocks can be sexy, but geologists are often bearded and wordy, so I will interrupt them and ask them to explain something again in simple terms. That’s not dumbing down, in my view— everyone has the right to have the world opened up for them, because there’s great satisfaction in accruing knowledge.

How did you manage to resist hitting Bill Oddie over the head with a saucepan after all the years co-presenting Springwatch with him?! People refuse to believe it, but I loved working with Bill. Yes, he talked over you and went off on massive tangents, but he is absolutely passionate about his subject. He is one of life’s great enthusiasts. I often felt like the head girl dragging him back to what we were supposed to be talking about!

Does anything irritate you about walking? The extremes of opinion you encounter. I dislike those walkers who are so militant they feel they can simply walk through a farmer’s corn just because the map says there is a footpath. Why not just go around the edge of the field? But equally, I find it incredibly annoying to be looking at a map with a path clearly marked and find my way blocked with barbed wire. I am sympathetic to both sides of the debate — yes, some farmers can be difficult, but they should be celebrated and encouraged, not reviled.

You’re a keen diver. How important is access to the coast in Britain? We’re not a big island but, even so, most people are disconnected from the sea. They tend to look at it as a big, cold stretch of water; they don’t see it as one of the greatest wildlife habitats we have — a big bucket of life. It’s a part of Britain that we should be immensely proud of, but we also need to be more aware of the damage we’re doing to it. Puffins are many people’s favourite birds, but we are in danger of losing them from our shores and islands altogether because of what we’re doing to the sea.

Does worrying about climate change keep you awake at night? To a certain extent, yes. Politicians aren’t brave enough to do what they should, and I think we’re approaching it all wrong — the more programmes and articles there are about it, the more disempowered and overwhelmed the public become. What worries me is that we will run out of time and that we’ll still only be talking about climate change as the poles melt…

Seabirds and shipwrecks

The island rises 120m/400ft above sea level and, ringed almost entirely by cliffs, it has a fortress-like feel from the sea. But once you land and stride up the steep road from the jetty, the gentle fields open out and Lundy takes on a more benign and welcoming character. The relatively flat, southern half of the island is predominantly pasture, incorporating Lundy’s village pub, shop, church and farm buildings. They’re all clustered along the island’s solitary road – an unmade track that traverses the island’s spine – as is most of the holiday accommodation. This ranges from a Regency building and an old lighthouse to a tiny fisherman’s cottage and a campsite. Wanting to orientate myself properly, I followed the track to the rise above the village and gazed out over what seemed like a very different island. Many years ago, three cross-island walls were constructed to divide the island into holdings. Beyond the Quarter Wall, the northern part of Lundy is a wild landscape of moorland and bare rock – like a miniature Dartmoor – evidently unpopulated and unexplored by the majority of visitors. There was clearly more to explore on foot than I thought. I’d been tipped off by a chap on the boat that if, as likely, Lundy’s church flag was fluttering wildly in one direction, it would indicate which shore would offer the more sheltered walk. The island’s east and west coasts are very different in character, and I began by tracing narrow paths along the more protected eastern side where, like Exmoor’s combes, the valleys seem to plunge straight down into the sea. Already there were reasons aplenty to dawdle: an overgrown quarry, where the Lundy Granite Company hewed out the rock in the 1860s; a peregrine falcon, patrolling the slopes; and a fisherman’s lookout, with expansive views of far-off South Wales. Back up to the flattish top and I crossed the island (eight minutes – I timed it!) to appreciate an altogether different scene. The west-facing coastline is all about thunderous cliffs and rocky headlands, wheeling sea birds and wrecked cargoes. Guillemots and puffins whizz in and out of the bays, while seals haul themselves out on dark rocks that, over the centuries, have claimed many unfortunate vessels. You can see for yourself what efforts were made to warn seafarers of Lundy’s dangers: the lighthouse built too high, so that it was often rendered fog-bound (but the view from the top of the 147 steps is superb) ; and the battery, perched precariously on a low clifftop, from where cannon would be fired as a navigational aid in bad weather.

Freedom to explore

Already I was getting the hang of Lundy: small in size, rich in attractions. But, as it has no public rights of way and is privately owned, could I legitimately walk anywhere I pleased? I tracked down Derek Green, the Landmark Trust’s manager on Lundy, for the official line. “You can go wherever you want on the island, ” he confirmed. “All we ask is that, in season, walkers keep to the paths and sheep tracks so as not to disturb ground-nesting birds such as wheatears and skylarks; and climbing on some cliff routes is restricted when the seabirds are nesting. We don’t lay down the law, but encourage an all-round responsible attitude to help protect Lundy’s precious wildlife. ” Derek explains another interesting aspect of visitor management on Lundy. “There are hardly any signs or noticeboards on the island,” he says. “We want people to go off and explore, and we’ve introduced a letterboxing initiative for families, in particular, to aid self-discovery.”

Balancing recreation and conservation is a delicate business on Lundy. Not only are there 44 scheduled Ancient Monuments on the island, including Bronze Age remains; most of Lundy is also a designated Site of Special Scientific Interest and Special Area of Conservation, and, in 1986, it also became Britain’s only Statutory Marine Nature Reserve. In 2003, a ‘No Take Zone’ was established in the seas around Lundy that bans not just fishing but the removal of any living thing, including coral. I was beginning to see why people call it special… Walkers, though, will inevitably revel in the birdlife. Around 140 different species are recorded on Lundy each year, including a number of rarities blown off course from the Atlantic. Up to 35 bird species nest on the island, helped by a recent five-year project to rid the islands of all its rats. Guillemots, razorbills and puffins have all benefited, and Manx shearwaters, in particular, have jumped from 150 pairs in 2001 to 560 in 2008. Spending all day out at sea, they come in to land only at night, nesting in underground burrows and making an eerie, caterwauling call that sounded, from my tent, as if some foul deed was being committed in the next field.

A curious time capsule

At the end of the day I retired to the Marisco Tavern, the island’s handsome pub, to enjoy a pint of Lundy Experience and find out why other people chose to come and walk on Lundy. For more than half of them, this was a repeat visit and for one family, it was their fifth year in a row. Another couple were celebrating their ruby wedding anniversary and marvelled at how uncomplicated it all was here. There are no cars or street lights, so it’s not just peaceful – the unpolluted night skies are free from artificial glow, too. Families let their children go off to play outdoors, safe in the knowledge that Lundy is car- and crime-free. All the holiday properties are simply furnished and none have TVs. The pub bans mobile phones and laptops and instead has a small lending library and a stock of traditional board games. As someone commented, it’s like stepping back into the 1950s. You notice, in particular, the sense of calm that descends when the day visitors leave the island on the 4pm boat. Indeed, one of the reasons for the successful balance between visitors and the island’s delicate natural environment is that there are finite places to stay (135 bed spaces, including the campsite), and this selflimitation helps retain the island’s special feel. And yet, for me, there’s a curious artificiality to it. There is no indigenous community on Lundy apart from a permanent staff of 26 people, brought over from the mainland to service the visitors. Wondering whether Lundy could sustain several days’ walking and still remain special, the next day I headed for the northernmost tip of the island, following the west-coast path above the breakers. In the late-summer, it is popular with climbers, for whom Lundy offers some of the most dramatic and unclimbed sea cliffs in Britain. For a whole morning, I saw no-one. Apart from a few feral goats and an inquisitive Soay sheep, I roamed the heather-topped tracks on my own, drinking in the views and, at one point, dropping down to inspect the North Lighthouse and keep a lookout for passing cetaceans. Lundy certainly offers scenic coastal walking – it’s just that it’s in miniature. And ultimately, size does matter. If you’re after distance, stick to the South West Coast Path. For sheer scale of wildness, look to the Scottish islands. But there’s much to be said for getting to know a small area intimately rather than a large place sparingly. Indeed, of all Britain’s offshore islands I’ve visited, Lundy is one of the most special and also one of the most contradictory. Remote and yet accessible, small in size and yet rich in appeal, it’s a time capsule that offers an escape from the hurly-burly of modern life. No wonder so many people go back there.

Click here for our full Routemaster walking guide to Lundy Island

More Information

Lundy Shore Office, The Quay, Bideford, Devon EX39 2LY ✆ 01271 863636, www.lundyisland.co.uk
To book Landmark Trust properties, call ✆ 01628 825925 or visit www.landmarktrust.org.uk

Where would you like to wake up on your perfect day? Franschhoek, near Stellenbosch, in South Africa. It has the most stunning landscape I’ve ever seen: all kinds of vegetation, vineyards and amazing flowers. The only thing is that I’m not really a fan of wine, so that aspect is wasted on me.

Where would you most like to go on holiday? There are so many places. I like mountains and lakes – and we’d need to throw in a log cabin and make it somewhere sunny.

Do you have a favourite walk? I like to do a lot of hiking, especially around the Peak and Lake Districts. I went there a lot in the army when I led expeditions. I just like to strike out in the fells. I’m really into rock climbing and I’ve been up Stanage Edge [in the Peak District]. Britain is definitely a place I want to explore more now that I have more time.

What’s your perfect evening out? It would have to be a Tina Turner concert.

Have your medals changed your life? I’m still the same person, though I’m more relaxed than I’ve ever been. Winning those medals is a weight off your shoulders. It was my dream to become an Olympic champion, the only thing I could ever think about.

How did you adapt to retirement? When I won my gold medals, I thought, ‘OK, now what?’ I realised I needed to rebuild my life. I’m lucky I’ve had lots of opportunities and the chance to balance my skills and priorities in a way I haven’t had to do before.

What’s been the best piece of advice you’ve been given? Never stop believing you can achieve what you want. A lot of people have skills and aspirations, but getting there is hard and it’s easy to give up.

What’s been your biggest sacrifice? I like lots of sports, particularly martial arts, but when I became a full-time athlete all that had to stop. Athletics became my life.

Any regrets? I don’t regret anything. I didn’t see as much of family and friends as I wanted but that’s changed now. There would be some things with training I would probably change if I did it all again but nothing else.

What are you most proud of in your life? It has to be the gold medals, but only in the sense that I’m proud that I believed I could do it. I kept going even during the bad times – and there were an awful lot of them.

Who are your heroes? Nelson Mandela – he’s just a god, to be honest. As a girl, I watched Sebastian Coe win at the Los Angeles Olympics and I was just caught by the fact that there he was at the pinnacle of his career. It was a fairy tale when he gave me my gold medal at Athens.

What did your army experience bring to your running? Confidence, discipline and a tough exterior. I had to deal with a lot of elite lads who gave me the ‘Who the hell are you?’ attitude when we met. I took a load of them off on a three mile hill run one day and said that if I beat them they’d have to do 5am training for three weeks. I bided my time at the back and passed them all near the finish line. I didn’t have any problems after that.

Could you ever be a couch potato? I’m a workaholic, but I need my holidays to refuel and I like to lounge around as much as anybody. I need that time to switch off and put things into perspective.

What are you up to now? I work with a range of charities and also have my own – the Dame Kelly Holmes Legacy Trust. The idea is to use retired sporting champions as mentors for people who may have encountered disadvantages. We try to make them realise they have more skills than they think.

Visit www.doublegold.co.uk to find out more about the trust’s work.