The beech has begun to rust. An odd snowberry glows in the hedgerow between occasional bleeds of haw and rosehips. Dead cow parsley creaks, bone-like. The tortoiseshell butterflies have begun their annual migration from our garden into our house to hibernate, and often die on the low, black beams. The memory of the autumnal equinox is fading.
Leaves sound brittle in the south-westerly, and this, along with the pok of a calling blackbird, provides my dusk soundtrack as I walk. It’s almost sunset – a time that I, like almost every woman walking alone, am mindful of. Like most men, when the clocks go back this weekend, we will set out earlier. Unlike most men – as has been discussed on these pages – we don’t have the same freedom to navigate the darker hours alone (or, indeed, any hours).
I’ve been walking on my own in “the middle of nowhere” in Devon all my life. I’ve never feared being alone in the countryside; it’s when I’m not that I start to worry. Ever since I lived alone on Exmoor, I’ve been conscious that being alone in an isolated location simultaneously makes me more vulnerable to attack, while also decreasing the chances of this happening considerably.
Statistically, attacks are more likely to occur in a woman’s home than on a solitary walk, but the more I do to protect myself when out alone, the more freedom – adventure – I can permit myself. I never reveal the locations of my walks on social media, and what I do post, I post after the fact. I’ve learned some self-defence. I look around. I don’t wear headphones. Much to my frustration, I rarely walk solo at night. Nocturnal hours don’t necessarily bring more danger but, in terms of survival, we’re best adapted to daylight. There is an engrained world of predation that women consider, almost automatically, before even checking that we have our keys.
In the field beside me, a procession of Welsh black cattle lumbers. There’s horse chestnut leaf litter underfoot, alerting me to a man on the path behind me. I can’t help feeling on edge – nothing personal, just survival instinct. I turn and we both smile: “Hello!” He seems nice, but I hang back. Being followed by any man reduces, and usually eradicates, the enjoyment of a solitary stroll. It’s always a gift when men are mindful of this, whatever the time of day or night. I turn from the darkening path.
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