Welham Green to Broxbourne

The opening weeks of 2026 have been, according to the Met Office, "exceptionally wet".  This is exceptional for the UK, so, wet.  In large parts of the west, rain has fallen every day in 2026, but in the south east we've had our fair share of the rain as well.  

By the end of today's walk, if felt like we'd probably had more than our fair share.

It was raining for our trek to the tube station, raining when we got to Kings Cross, raining during the train journey to Potters Bar, and raining while we sat on the rail replacement bus to Welham Green.  It was raining as we walked to a cafe on the outskirts of Welham, and raining as we trudged from the cafe through a sodden stream valley back to the line of the Countryway at Bulls Lane.  By now, we were about 3km in to the 21km day and at least two members of the group had wet feet, their boots having been either overtopped or quickly drenched.  

After passing the historic transmitting station at Bell Bar, we joined the Hertfordshire Way as it runs along a low ridge with the ground falling away to our right.  On decent paths this was interesting ground to cover, but later the track became very poor quality, the rain got even heavier, and the feeling moved further from enjoyment and towards endurance.  This is a stretch I'd love to walk again in good weather, preferably on a day with excellent visibility to enjoy the perspective from this 125m ridgeline.  

As we got to Newgate Street, we started to make plans for abandoning the walk by an escape to Bayford station.  On seeing the pub beneath the sign of the Crown, we felt there was no option but to enter, and we were greeted by friendly locals, two log fires and an expansive public bar which had plenty of room both for our sodden bodies and the various items of kit we took off and spread about the place to dry.  A few half-pints and a couple of bowls of chips later, the rain had stopped and it was time to leave our sanctuary.

Newly re-energised, we followed the path north out of the village through Ponsbourne Park and its stately home, now a hotel.  A squat brick building enmeshed in barbed wire revealed to us the presence below of the Ponsbourne railway tunnel.  After this, we hung a right off the road into a wonderful and large expanse of woodland.  This was criss-crossed by stream and river, with deep depressions and steep rises for each watercourse.  The paths were muddy and the brooks were very high after the day and month we'd had, and it was thoroughly enjoyable.  This is the Broxbourne Woods National Nature Reserve and we had it to ourselves on a day like this.

We emerged from the woodland to walk through the small hamlet of Wormley West End, a self-consciously paranoid type of place where every house has several CCTV cameras peering over their high fences at the public highway beyond.  The pub, "The Woodman and Olive" for some reason, was closed for a private function, but that was fine: we had the weather on our side and a pub at the end to aim for.  

After crossing a field which had been deliberately chewed up by earthmovers, with no provision made to make the footpath safe for walkers, we crossed an open field with the curious Baas Hall to our left. This II* listed building looks a little like Frankenstein changed careers to try his hand at architecture; it is distinctly of two different eras, with two thirds of the frontage in red brick and one third in weatherboarding.

Its curious name is shared with the hill behind it, where, as we got to the summit, it began to rain again. In the far distance, and in a curious orange glow, we could see the towers of the Docklands, but the rain was coming down heavier now than at any other point of the day and it was time to get moving. We squelched down through some playing fields and a strip of woodland to the New River, which we crossed and then walked alongside towards St. Augustine’s, Broxbourne. By the church we turned right down a little lane which felt like it had been barely touched in 200 years, with mews, farm-type buildings and a ruined watermill at the bottom of the hill. A couple more bridges, taking us first over the Lee Navigation and then over the Lea, and we arrived at our destination: The Crown, Broxbourne. I didn’t expect it to be as good as its namesake earlier in the day, but we were greeted by a “muddy boots and paws welcome” sign and, on entering, by a roaring fire and a big table just waiting for us.

In these parts, if a pub is named "The Crown", it's not to be passed by.