Dorset, England’s holloways an adventure

SYMONDSBURY, England — Dorset is one of England’s often overlooked gems: rolling countryside, ancient thatched-roof villages, the birthplace of 19th century novelist Thomas Hardy and a sea that breaks on a World Heritage Site coastline.

But if you ask me, the county’s most startling treasure is its least-known: holloways.

Holloways are paths sunk deep below ground level by centuries, perhaps millennia, of passing feet, cartwheels and livestock. Dorset conceals many within its bucolic folds. Long since abandoned as thoroughfares, and overgrown with brambles and bushes, they are often unknown to all but the very local.

One recent sunny Saturday afternoon, after getting directions from a bearded countryman, my family and I strode northwest out of the village of Symondsbury.

For some way our path was just an ordinary country lane but then the greenery thickened, the path twisted and everything changed.

Parallel walls of soft brown rock suddenly climbed above us forming a narrow gorge 20 feet high in places. It was if a giant finger had gouged the earth then left it to settle back as it may. Trees clung to the sides at astonishing angles as if frozen in the act of falling.

We stood stupefied in a green underworld. It was like being in a mythical landscape, utterly detached from reality. It was awe-inspiring and incredibly serene. I was sure the spell would break but nothing moved and no one else came.