It was a glorious late September morning, bright sunshine with an autumnal chill in the air, made more noticeable by the fact that I had the roof off the car as I drove to Bewdley. It was a struggle competing with impatient commuters and Kidderminster roadworks. I shall not go home via Kidderminster! It is only 15 miles from Worcester to Bewdley but it took me just over an hour to cover that distance. Thank God I don’t have to commute every day.

Parking at Bewdley station I paid my £3 for all day parking (what a bargain) and headed off down to the river. The early morning sun reflected off the white fronts of the individual houses on the opposite bank.

The first four miles or so follows the east bank of the river. Here the water is sluggish but quite clear. Swans and ducks spuddle about in the relatively shallow water. It is not always easy to stick close to the river, a fairly lengthy section being designated as private land. Above, ridges of trees rose from the river with early morning mist still clinging desperately to the tree tops but losing the battle against a warming sun.

Returning to the river bank much of the early part of the walk is through  woodland with occasional stretches of open fields, particularly around Trimpley Reservoirs, hidden behind a raised bank. Dropping down through trees to a shingle beach I was provided with glorious views of the river, glistening in the sunshine downstream and overshadowed by trees in the first throes of autumnal change. Now the water is less sluggish as it tumbles over little clusters of rocks, not big enough to call rapids or waterfalls but just enough to disturb the gentle flow and give a background sound of babbling water. The quacking of ducks sounding more like an over enthusiastic reaction to a joke rang out through the trees to let me know that there was plenty to see on the river. I was keen to see heron and perhaps the flash of colour from a kingfisher, but there were none, certainly on this first stretch of the river.

After nearly four miles I emerged out of the woodland to Upper Arley, a riverside hamlet of attractively expensive houses and a pub. Here a footbridge took me to the West Bank of the river and from now on the walk was largely across fields with less woodland. I was also now walking parallel with the Severn Valley Railway and ideally positioned for viewing any passing trains. I had heard none so far but as I continued my journey north I began to hear the hoot of a steam engine echoing in the valley. Eventually a sight from my childhood emerged, a classic steam engine pulling carriages over a bridge  and along a raised embankment. As it came by heads popped up from the river bank as fishermen were distracted from their hypnotic staring at bobbing floats to watch it pass.

Much of this stretch of the river between Bewdley and Bridgnorth has restricted fishing for the Birmingham Angling Association. Clearly not satisfied with their miles and miles of canals in Birmingham, they have to invade rural Worcestershire and Shropshire. Do you have to be a resident of Birmingham to be able to join? Judging by the accents I heard it would appear so. They were not a happy bunch. While they were enjoying the warm sunshine, the fish were not biting. Very few had employed their keep nets and I am convinced some had dozed off under the hypnotic bobbing of their floats.
Another one complaining about the good weather was the landlady of the Ship Inn at Stanley which I ducked into for a coffee (£1.85). When I suggested that this fine spell of weather may last another fortnight she bemoaned the fact that she would not be able to have a day off.

The route now not only stuck very closely to the river but also the railway was never very far away. Much of it was along the natural field margins and the river bank. A lot of the fields were laid to pasture or were now resting having been harvested. Tractors were out preparing for the next crop in the never ending cycle of plough, sow, nurture, harvest.

Eventually I saw a heron, and then, having seen one, I saw two more. The first was standing mid river on a sharp bend at one of those points where the water tumbled over a small ridge of stone, hoping to catch small fish caught up in the increased water flow and unable to escape the heron’s darting beak. The second I stumbled upon on my side of the river bank. Startled, it flew off before I could get my camera out. The third, clearly having no more luck than the fishermen, had given up and was standing some distance away in the middle of a field.

For the last couple of miles the river and the railway separated, the path choosing to follow the river on a sweeping bend. You could tell we were nearing Bridgnorth as the noise of traffic on the busy A442 travelled across from the other side of the river. On my side the path ran adjacent to the finest tilled fields I have ever seen. Any gardener would have been proud to have such finely worked soil.

Soon Bridgnorth came into view and the end of the walk was nigh. The path left the river on the edge of town and emerged onto the road beneath the viaduct carrying the A458. From there it was a short walk to the station. As I entered the station a train was just pulling out. I was in no great rush; I had covered the distance much quicker than I had anticipated and I needed a cup of tea. I had a little over an hour to wait. Although the Railwayman’s Arms sold not very appetising vending machine tea, the attractive array of real ale beers was too enticing. One has to re-hydrate after all, and what could possibly be more comforting than a pint of ale?

This was a river walk without any ups or downs and the River Severn, on our doorstep, provides lots of beautiful opportunities. It was delightful. When I walk it again in three weeks with a group, providing the weather is kind and the sun shines, the trees, and there are plenty of them, will be at their autumnal best.