Just a few miles from where I grew up.
The bridge is called Stanley.
There isn’t a spectacular view.
“The Great Stanley Bridge” is really just a former railroad trestle
It is hard to romanticize a place, when you know that on the other side of the trees, are just muddy fields full of cabbages.
But it’s a nice, peaceful spot, away from any roads, accessible only by a walking path, down an old railway bed.
These little country railways didn’t have high embankments, and sometimes run through cuts, so you’re often walking a bit below the level of the fields — the trees and shrubs along it make a green tunnel, that’s pretty shady and pleasant on hot days, and out of the wind on cold days.
Same scene, a week later, and a bit later in the day