The meadow's on Lock-Down. Rusty's out pen-testing the perimeter — rattling gates and checking the electric fences after dark, torch in one hand, clipboard in the other. He says something's been walking the hedge line with him — older than the fences, and twice as patient. The bees are still out, tracing the same old figure-of-eight round the field, as if it was never going anywhere.
"PSST… the gate code's the one word that makes the old rocket blush."
"The Famous Five of the field, if you will — though there's been no lashings of ginger beer yet. And they're shy. Cameras make them nervous."
"Everything's better with friends — and even a field knows it. I've stood here thirty years and watched every season turn, and here's what I've learned: nothing stays forever. The blossom goes, the harvest goes, and one day the field itself may go. But a walk shared, a laugh at the stile, a creature met and remembered — that stays. So come, and bring your people. Enjoy her while you can, and carry the memory with you. It's the one thing they can't dig up."
The whole game in four steps. The long version is back on the last page.
Allow location & camera. Tap the button below and say yes to the permission prompts — the walk can't find the field without them.
Walk to the signposts. The map and compass point to the next one. The unfound signs glow — head for the glowing one.
Meet the creature & say "crikey!". Reach a signpost and the creature steps out. One tap snaps your sighting.
Find all five. Meet every creature, then it's the feast at the meadow. (A hidden sixth is watching, if you're curious.)
"No time to read? I've had thirty years and I still haven't finished. Follow the signs."
Rusty needs to know where the field is. The walk runs on your phone's GPS — without it, we'd just be guessing.
"I've been guessing for thirty years. I'd rather use the clever buttons."
On iOS: Settings → Privacy & Security → Location Services → Safari. On Android: Settings → Location.
Quick pre-flight — let's make sure the camera and the clever buttons are all awake.
"That's the field, right there in your camera. Tap when you're ready."
"Why not do your bit for the field? Write to your local MP — a letter, on paper, by snail mail. That's how we do things here. The post is in no hurry, and neither should you be. Pop 'the field' in the envelope, and I promise you'll make their day — MPs aren't used to being written to about anything that isn't potholes. Half the village writing about one meadow, and they'll feel properly popular. And keep an eye out for a very determined fly — he's been dodging the Pope's ghost since 1159, and he's a slippery little so-and-so."
The field unit's tune-up — what's awake, what's sulking, and how to wake it.
"Every button on this panel is for poking. Poke the ones that look greyed out — the field unit thrives on attention, and a good poke sorts out more than you'd think."
Location's blocked, so the walk can't find you.
"Something's stirring out there. Get a bit closer and it'll show itself."
"A picture's nice — but why not scroll down and grab your very own selfie with it out in the field? Don't forget to tag us, mind."
"Some claim badges they haven't earned — that's between them and the badgers. The ledger forgives, but it never forgets."
Save Our Fields is a community campaign to protect a historic meadow in Abbots Langley from development.
This field has been open meadow for over a thousand years. It's home to wildlife, a lung for the village, and a living link to the landscape that monks, farmers and one famously fly-slain Pope once walked.
This walk is run by SaveOurFields.com, in association with The Abbots Langley Association.
We can't promise the diggers won't win — but the field deserves to be seen and loved while it's here, and that part is up to us.
Share the safari — invite friends and family to take the walk.
Support the campaign — visit saveourfields.com to add your voice.
Talk about it — tell your neighbours why the field matters.
Ride it — the diggers mean lorries on the lanes and traffic on the quiet ways; a cyclist's objection counts.
Questions, comments, complaints, ideas? Send us a message
No accounts, no email, no fuss.
We collect no names, no emails, and no precise locations. Your walk is yours. The meadow keeps no record of you beyond what you choose to share.
GPS is used only to detect when you arrive at waypoints during the walk. Your exact position is never recorded or transmitted. When you reach a stop, we send a deliberately coarse position — rounded to roughly a kilometre — with an anonymous analytics event, so the field team can see, as a rough heatmap, where people tend to walk. Nothing finer than that is ever collected, and it's never tied to a name.
Camera is used only during AR sightings to show you the creatures. The camera feed is never recorded, stored, or sent anywhere. Photos you save never leave this device — they live in your phone's browser only, and there's a burn-the-photos button in the field journal.
"Poof! Gone — and between you and me, we've no time to look at our own photos, let alone anyone else's. The field unit's one camera is pointed at the badgers, not your camera roll. Your snaps stay on your phone — we'd never have it any other way.
P.S. — and if you ever delete your account or clear your photos, don't write to us asking for them back. We can't. They're gone. Seriously."
Field Ranger name (optional) — if you claim a name at the feast, we store a scrambled, unreversible hash of your secret word, not the word itself, and a public display name you chose. That's what powers the Roll of Honour and lets your badges follow you across devices. Forget me wipes it from the ledger at any time.
Analytics events (like "quest started" or "creature sighted") are sent anonymously to help us improve the walk. They contain no personal information. On the campaign website, our contact form runs its own meadow-made robot check — no Google scripts anywhere.
Everything else stays on your device in your browser's local storage. Clearing your browser data clears it.
"No accounts, no email, no tracking — and I mean it. I know what a 'free' app costs; I used to work for them. Your data's not going anywhere it isn't wanted here. You give me a name and a password, and all I keep is a scrambled whisper of it — ask me to forget you and I'll forget you. That's a promise, not a feature."
Read the full story — and the small print →
Questions, comments, complaints, ideas? Send us a message
Base map styled for Save Our Fields (a storybook parchment take on the village) and bundled into the app so it works offline. Map data © OpenStreetMap contributors (ODbL). Rendered with Leaflet.
The field unit's weather gauge is fed by Open-Meteo (CC BY 4.0) — a free, open weather API with no keys and no trackers, accurate enough to tell you whether to bring a coat. The meadow's coordinates are used, never yours.
Character, prop, scenery and badge artwork generated in-house with FLUX.1-dev (Black Forest Labs) via ComfyUI on our own GPU hardware, cut out with BiRefNet (Apache-2.0), and assembled with in-house Python tooling. Prompt-driven, non-commercial.
All field photographs by Chris Hurley.
Zilla Slab (display) by Mozilla. Nunito (body) by Vernon Adams. Permanent Marker (Rusty's notes) by Font Diner. Jim Nightshade (handwritten) by Astigmatic. DSEG7 (digital clock) by Keshikan. Black Ops One (field-unit stencil) by James Grieshaber.
All other SVG artwork and scene illustrations created for this project.
PWA icons designed for Save Our Fields.
Leaflet for the map, and D3-free, dependency-light vanilla JavaScript throughout — see the full list in the repository.
Species facts and photos in the Field Guide are drawn from open data — taxonomy and descriptions from Wikidata (CC0), UK occurrence from the NBN Atlas and GBIF (CC-BY), conservation status from the UK Biodiversity Action Plan (OGL), and photographs from Wikimedia Commons (CC0 / CC-BY). Per-species credits:
The farm that runs this walk does it on 9 kW of rooftop solar, banked in a Tesla Powerwall 3 — and when the sun's away, Octopus Energy keeps the lights on. Rusty's verdict: "I've stood here a thousand years and never needed a plug socket myself — but a company with eight arms on the cables clearly doesn't want the lights going out. Eight arms, and every one of them knows its job. I've only got the two, and I haven't dropped a thing since 1066. I like their thinking."
The quiet machinery behind this walk is looked after by people who've been doing it a long time and haven't dropped anything yet — OVH in the engine room, BunnyCDN on the gate, Ionos pointing the way, Let's Encrypt on the locks, BetterStack keeping watch, and rsync.net holding a spare copy of the ledger safe in the hills. Rusty's verdict: "I've seen a hundred schemes come and go in my time. These ones don't fall over."
"They tell me this whole walk was built over a few crazy days with OpenCode and DeepSeek Flash v4 doing the typing. I've no idea what that means — but if there's a glitch, blame them. If it's lovely, that's me."
The meadow's real wildlife — who you might actually meet out there. Open data, every photo credited.
How to ride the field's old ways, keep your bike happy, and lend the campaign a pair of strong legs.
The meadow itself is for feet — the wildflowers and the badgers never signed up for tyre tracks. But the old ways around her, a thousand years older than any of us, were made for wheels.
The honest bit: which path is which can change gate to gate. When the signposts aren't talking, check the signpost — or walk the bike a minute. Nobody minds.
Come by the quiet lanes rather than the busy roads — the field's worth the pretty way round. Lock up at St Lawrence Church or the marked entrances, and always through the frame and both wheels.
Before every ride, a quick once-over in the shape of the letter M:
When the bike needs more than a squeeze — the jobs worth learning:
Came off the bike? If it's serious, call 999 (or 112) — and check yourself over before you ride on. Keep your phone charged for the way home.
The data centre and the new homes mean more lorries on the lanes and more traffic on the quiet ways you ride. The Local Plan consultation decides where the line is drawn — and a cyclist's objection counts every bit as much as anyone's.
"I'm a scarecrow, not a mechanic. This is a nudge in the right direction, not a service manual — if you're ever unsure, take it to a bike shop and let a real human have a look. But ride the field while you can, and look after her. She's worth the trip."
"'Right,' said the badger, and reached for the clock. Sightings and score go; your badges stay put."
"I've got exactly one badge: 'Stays Where Put'. The weather stamped it, the blackbirds countersigned it, and a squirrel once used me as a postbox. It says 'Stays Where Put' because my joints and I have a binding contract."
The meadow asks: how well were you paying attention?