Cycling in the Fertile Fens

A flat endless horizon
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An abbreviated write-up published in Weekend Argus Travel 2006 by Karen Watkins

“It’s dangerous along these roads”. The man in the petrol station shook his head as I filled my bicycle tyres. “The roads may look straight but can suddenly turn. You could end up in a ditch”.

"You could end up in a ditch"

True enough. In the fens, the theory that the earth is flat is entirely believable. The Fens cover a vast rectangular area of reclaimed land west of The Wash from Cambridge to Boston, surely the strangest landscape in England. The Ordnance map shows a man-made landscape crisscrossed with precise geometry made up of ditches, dykes and drains with names dripping off to match - Floods Drain, Denver Sluice, South Holland Main Drain, Coromere, Froghall Farm and Car Dyke.

Windmills surrounded by rape (canola)
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Following the Fenland Cycle Trail, rivers and ditches replace hedges, with long straight cuts taking water to the sea. With 320km of rivers criss-crossing Fenland, natural and manmade, there’s probably nowhere else in England to cycle or walk beside so much moving water. Raised paths disappear into endless horizons above geometric fields stitched with winter wheat, sunflowers and vegetables. Woodland is sparse with most trees lining roads and villages such as the Deepings, historic settlements tangled through River Welland.

Bum-sore, next day I visited another fenland island by train passing through rippling wheat fields split by brimming dykes where gentle winds once blew cat’s paws across the waters. Endless horizons broken by a Gothic tower against a sky as black as Fenland peat - black gold of the area. Ely cathedral, known as The Giant Stone Ship of the Fens, lies at anchor on a low ridge, built by the Normans to commemorate the defeat of Hereward.

Not far from Ely is Wicken Fen Wetland Nature Reserve protecting over 538 hectares of surviving fenland. Negotiating off-road paths in the fens requires dogged determination and map-reading skills. I misjudged a lode (canal) but fortunately there was a bridge, although it was raised.

“It has a good name too,” said a fisherman. “Cock up bridge.”

Not much further I entered the reserve, relieved not to have acquired a puncture.

Wicken Fen is the oldest reserve in Britain, thanks to a group of Victorian entomologists who donated the land to the National Trust in 1899. Today, sedge and reed cutting are strictly carried out to encourage a huge diversity of flowers, insects and birds.

You may have formed the opinion that this is a flat, uninteresting barren land, void of life. But in reality it flows with milk and honey, the most fertile area in Britain, producing wheat, vegetables, fruit and flowers. In fact the fens are the largest producer of daffodils in the world. But as the world’s weather pattern changes and sea levels rise, the fens are beginning to disappear under water again. It’s estimated that by the year 2030 up to 400,000 hectares could be lost.

The petrol station man was right, one day I fell into a ditch, bicycle and all. Fortunately no one was there to see the deed.