Cheddar to Clevedon: LEJoG Day 15

My day's walk began along the cliff tops of Cheddar Gorge, before a hike along the Mendip Hills. In the afternoon a long flat section much of it on cycle routes. 

I reluctantly left the luxury of the campsite at an early hour, too early for a coffee in Cheddar. Soon I was climbing around the edge of the famous Cheddar Gorge. The morning sun made the cliffs and trees beautiful, especially as the trees were just coming into bud, but I was disappointed not to find a good view down the gorge. The lookout tower was locked and elsewhere trees obscured the panorama. On the plus side, I did see the herd of goats and their kids that crop the grass on the cliffs. Tree filled valleys followed. Dry at first, higher up there was a stream which disappeared into the limestone rock and the extensive caves and potholes of the area. I was reminded of an earlier trip to Serbia. There the gorge I viewed in the morning light was the Iron Gates of the Danube, on a little bit larger scale than Cheddar Gorge. Serbia also had streams that disappeared into rocks, and appeared as rivers lower down.

On the cliff tops of Cheddar Gorge

One of the feral goats at Cheddar Gorge

Stream disappearing into the ground

Summit of Beacon Batch

My path climbed up onto moors with tussocks of straw coloured grass, with dark brown horses grazing on scarcer patches of short, green grass. Reaching Beacon Batch, at 325 metres the highest point on the Mendip hills, my route turned west along the range, passing through open moors, trees and farmland. Ramparts remaining from an old hill fort reminded me that on Christmas of 2019, in the golden era before the Coronavirus lockdowns, my siblings, spouses, nephews and I all climbed up to the same point. We had been spending the weekend celebrating in nearby Churchill. Today my way passed through the nearby village of Sandford, known as the home of Thatcher's Cider. I passed the factory and warehouse. The adjacent apple orchards supplying some if the fruit were all in glorious pink blossom. 

From Sandford I joined the Strawberry Line, a cycle track partly following the bed of an old railway. Straight and flat, edged with trees or green fields, popular with cyclists and those out walking, some with prams, others with dogs, it made for some fast walking. Where it briefly joined the road I was delighted to find a petrol station selling coffee (essential for my daily caffeine fix) and a chicken sandwich for lunch. The Strawberry Line ended at the train station at Yatton, where I stopped for a shandy at the pub opposite (in part to use the toilet as the cycle path was too busy and fenced in for discrete ablutions and the advertised station toilets I was targeting were inevitably closed).

The Strawberry Line.

My trip on the Stawberry Line was so successful I decided to continue on National Cycle Route number 26. A mistake, I had thought the unclassified road it subsequently followed would be quiet with little traffic, in this I was wrong. I should have followed the route recommended by my guidebook through fields. Stressed by cars moving by me at speed, I eventually took to a footpath through fields of dandelions, before picking up roads that delivered me to Warren Holiday Village. Although this was not the sort of place where people normally stay for just one night, they kindly rented me a spacious chalet for a most comfortable night.

Bridgewater to Cheddar: LEJoG Day 14

Today I crossed the Somerset Levels, a flat area between the Quantock and Mendip ranges of hills.

Bridgewater looked considerably more attractive this morning in the sunlight, compared to its drab, grey appearance in the drizzle last night. Red brick and painted buildings lined the streets and riverbank, benches and flowers in planters improved the atmosphere (as did a latte from Costa's). I left town through more modern housing crossing the railway line at the station and then the M5 motorway. The town is something of a transport hub.

Beside the River Parrett in Bridgewater

Following the guidebook I crossed the fields of the Somerset Levels, fields almost all used for hay or pasture, with grazing cows and sheep. Suffering intermittent flooding, a system of drains and pumping stations help keep them free of water. I passed one pumping station, a large red brick building. The level reached by the high spring tide was marked more than half way up the side of the building, which suggests without intervention the whole area would be under water for much of the time. As far as possible the guide tries to keep you on footpaths. I made a deviation at the village of Bawdrip, walking on a cycle path laid on the bed of a former railway line. Lined with greenery and a few interesting sculptures, I found it a preferable alternative to trying to find paths over fields, although I know some walkers find tarmac hard in the feet. Many cyclists were out, both on the cycle track and the quiet roads of the Levels, both racing and more leisurely types. Provided there was no wind, bicycling on the Levels must be an enjoyable activity.

A field in the Somerset Levels, spread with dandelions

Cheddar gorge cutting into the side of the Mendips

I continued on the paths and quiet lanes described in the guide, however my feet had gained multiple plasters covering growing blisters from the previous days' walking. So, where the guide had a big loop west near the end, I took a road route, although it did mean a kilometre and a half on a busy secondary road. Cars speeding past close to my elbow was a bit unnerving, although most drivers were more considerate it only takes one to kill you. The guide's westerly loop made sense given that the busy road appeared the only alternative. A set of temporary traffic lights around road works was part of my busy road section. However I walked the length of the alleged road works and there was nothing to be seen. I suspect the work had finished but there had been little effort to remove the cones and traffic controls as soon as possible. 

Arriving at the edge of Cheddar town, I noticed a tent pitched in a campsite. This would not normally surprise me, but due to their interpretation of Covid rules, all the campsites I had investigated for this trip were refusing tents. On checking at reception I discovered that they had just started taking tents, but showers are not allowed so they can comply with regulations in a way that was practical. My tent is now pitched and drying out, still wet from the rain yesterday. As the ground is flat, dry and the grass beautifully cut I am expecting a sound sleep tonight. Around me a collection of rabbits are helping to trim the grass, tame enough to do so while people are around but hopping away if you approach them too closely.

Later at the White Hart Inn, after struggling and failing to order online from my phone, the bar staff took pity on me and accepted my order in the traditional way. I ate rather too much, three courses, and two pints of "potholers" which had me burping all the way back to the tent. I had found it rather cold eating outside the Pub, in compliance with Covid rules, although the jovial groups of locals at the nearby tables seemed unaffected as they cheerily exchanged greetings and the latest news.

Roadwater to Bridgewater: LEJoG Day 13

Today the weather changed, the Quantock Hills were lost in a cloud of rain.

Sometime in the night I woke to the sound of rain on the tent. Wet weather continued for much of the day, to be expected in April which "brings the showers". I had been very fortunate having ten days of fine weather since starting my trip. Despite the rain being heavy at times, thankfully my waterproofs held up, my clothes underneath were more or less dry at the end of the day. Owing to the weather, I ate breakfast, cleaned my teeth, dressed and packed my rucksack all inside the restricted space of my tiny tent. The tent was the last thing to be stowed away and as it was very wet, I strapped it onto the outside of my rucksack, hoping it would not fall off or get tangled in or torn by brambles.

Leaving the tall pines among which I spent the night, I was soon in the village of Roadwater, exchanging comments on the weather, for the first of many times today, with a lady walking her inquisitive collie dog. The first third of my walk was to Bicknoller, a village at the base of the Quantock range of hills. My guidebook took me a complex route, keeping to fields as far as possible. Some of the early hills were higher than I expected, I suppose being the last of the hills of Exmoor National Park. Of note was the parkland around Nettlecombe Court, an Elizabethan country mansion with a church beside it.

At Bicknoller I visited the village shop, suitable adorned with a face covering. Unfortunately they were not selling cups of coffee at the moment but helped by the masked lady serving I bought a sausage roll and apple juice for a snack and ate them in the rain at a picnic table outside. As there was only one person allowed in the shop at the time (a Lockdown 3 Covid restriction according to a sign), people waited outside in the wet beside me, prepared with their face masks on.

From there it was a steep climb up a valley onto the Quantock hills. At the top I turned and followed the ridge over a succession of summits in the general grey mistiness. Initially it was moorland, the heather brown and looking dead at this time of year. Views were as if obscured by a wash of grey paint due to the inclement weather. 

View from the Quantocks

"The Drove" was a beech tree lined section of the route along the ridge, before another area of heather and gorse around Wills Neck, the highest peak of the Quantocks. Not that there was much of a view.

Coming down from the Quantocks the Guidebook took me a complex route through fields to reach the village of Enmore. This included a walk through a farm where the public footpath sign had been crudely broken off, and other footpath signs were missing although there were plenty of "private property" signs. I had the distinct impression I was not wanted, despite it being a Public Right of Way. (I later raised the issue with the publisher of my guidebook, its author subsequently pursued the matter with the local council). The general lack of footpath signs made me glad for a section of road walking. In general I do not find hiking across farmland that pleasant, especially when it includes walking through farmyards. I can understand why historic rights of way crossed farmyards, they were presumably used by people working at or visiting the farm, however in modern times when walking is a leisure activity it would probably be safer if paths avoided farmyards, where large machinery may be in motion and other hazards may exist.

After a rather muddy track and a some more quiet road, the final path into Bridgewater was beside a steam. Green fields took me almost to the centre of the town. While I was not sure my hotel was strictly following the requirements for "self contained" accommodation, the only type of accommodation permitted for tourists under the latest Covid rules, I was very appreciative of being given a dry room out of the rain.

Exehead to Roadwater: LEJoG Day 12

Today I finished my crossing of Exmoor.

The day began with a lengthy walk across the moors eventually reaching the highest point on Exmoor, Dunkery Beacon at 519 metres. At this time of year the reeds of the moors were a straw or brown colour, in contrast to the green, "improved" pasture in the distance, dotted with sheep. Today I passed horses, dark brown with their manes flopping over their large brown eyes in an alluring manner. Skylarks sung above me. Trees in the distance were bare of leaves. In places the path followed old field boundaries, marked by wide earth and stone ramparts. The summit, Dunkery Beacon, marked by earth mounds and a stone cairn, was popular, several people had walked up from the car park. From the top I could see across the Bristol Channel to the coast of Wales in the far distance, although not clearly enough to recognise any landmarks. A viewing table told me I should be to see as far as my home town of Cardiff. 

Horse on Exmoor, with better pasture in the distance

Leaving the Beacon the path led through a wooded valley resplendent with primrose and celandine, blackthorn blossom and ferns. The first green buds of spring were visible on the trees.

Primroses beside a woodland path.

Reaching Wheddon Cross, as I anticipated the "Rest and be Thankful Inn" was closed due to Coronavirus restrictions, however the nearby petrol station had a coffee machine and my lunch! Thanks to the enlightened parish council there were open toilets where I managed to fill up my water bottle (although a separate tap for the purpose would have made this easier, as it was I had to use my coffee cup to fill it as the toilet washbasins were too small to get my bottle under the tap). Many places along my route have had signs requesting donations, I felt the Parish council deserved one.

Approaching Churchtown

I was now in Somerset, my third county. My path continued along bare ridges of farmland before dropping into a valley by Churchtown. From there it was through woods above a stream to Kingsbridge. "The Royal Oak" pub was opposing the general trend in that it was open, at least for drinks sitting outside as per the rules, not food or accommodation. So despite the warm, welcoming log fire inside I enjoyed a delicious pint of bitter shandy with a bag of crisps outside at a table. I had wondered whether to make a long day of it and try for the moorlands of the Quantock Hills to camp tonight, but the timings did not allow it. I had been travelling relatively slowly today (3.1 kilometres per hour) despite the terrain not being too taxing. So I continued to some pinewoods I had identified in my planning and found a quiet spot to pitch, not too clogged with dead branches from tree thinning and fir cones, where I was unlikely to be seen from the nearby tracks. Now I am being pestered by tiny gnats.

Barnstaple to Exehead: LEJoG Day 11

Quite a different day today from recent walking on the South West Coast Path.  No coast! No up and downs, but also no dog walkers, day hikers or backpackers, and only one runner. Instead today was a gradual climb up a valley then through farmland to reach the moors of the Exmoor National Park.

I began by finishing my walk from the Cedars hotel into Barnstaple, mingling (but maintaining social distance) with mothers taking their children to school. Crossing the River Taw I searched the central streets of the town for some breakfast. Not wishing to waste time on a street to street search I inquired of a man with a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand, where I might also buy one. He directed me to the Barnstaple Bakery a short distance away. As I drank my coffee and ate my croissant and pain au chocolat on a bench by the church, a hungry robin jumped back and fore between my rucksack and my knee, hoping for a crumb, while a seagull and pigeon eyed me from a greater distance. 

Robin hoping for a crumb from my croissant

The way out of Barnstaple suggested by the Cicerone guidebook proved a good one. On leaving the centre it went through Pilton, an older suburb with a handsome historic building, maybe once a friary. Leaving housing and a hospital behind, the trail followed flower lined paths and minor roads through woodland and fields. 

One of the woodland parts of my walk after Barnstaple

Although there was a cold wind the sun, the bluebells, wild garlic and primroses made for a cheerful morning as I followed a small river upstream. At one point there was an old railway viaduct. Part of the Lynton and Barnstaple railway, closed in 1935, a team of enthusiasts are trying to reopen it.

Seeing the village store in Bratton Fleming was open I stopped for a cup of tea and flapjack. I did wonder on the significance of the green, rubber cacti on the tables outside. There were also assorted flamingos. To reach the next village there was quite a bit of road walking but also a section of footpath, indistinct in places, passing through a farm. Quite a number of "Private Property" and "CCTV Monitoring" signs were posted. They always make me feel unwelcome even if I am on a public "right of way". I hope they are aimed at rural criminals, stealing sheep and tractors, rather than harmless hikers like myself.

Lambs in a field with the moors of Exmoor on higher ground behind.

At Challacombe I had another cup of tea from the village shop. It was one of those places which provide many services for the local community - grocers, post office, book exchange, teas, hot pasties and village news. From there a bridle path took me along a ridge, through progressively poorer farmland, before turning up into moorland. The moors were predominantly clumps of reeds, straw brown at this time of year, with patches of green grass between which cattle and sheep were grazing on. As I walked towards the ridge I inadvertently started herding the black haired cows ahead of me, forcing me to make some sharp lateral deviations to get around them. The moors were surprisingly dry for April, although the old hoof marks, cutting deep into the ground, showed it could be very muddy when wet. After following the watershed for several kilometres I reached Exehead, source of the River Exe, an undistinguished point, which I thought sufficiently remote for me to camp for the night without upsetting anyone. Only a distant herd of deer and a few black cows were about, although earlier I had seen buzzards circling. I pitched my tent on a small patch of grass, and settling in realised I was in sight of a road, albeit a kilometre or so away. Don't suppose I will be noticed by the passing cars, and if I am, doubt they will care.

My pitch for the night on Exmoor

South West Coast Path: some thoughts and a rest day: LEJoG Day 10

The South West Coast Path is beautiful and very tough. Beautiful due to the swooping coastline, tough due to the many ascents and descents. Although never reaching more than a few hundred metres above sea level, the total height climbed each day, when all the individual climbs are added up, is as much as, or more than you would climb on an Alpine trek. I knew this before the present trip. Many years ago my wife and I walked the North Devon section of the Coast Path. My wife was not best pleased when I mistakenly thought the contours were in feet on the newly metrified maps, when they were actually in metres. Consequently our schedule was particularly gruelling. 

On this trip I have found the last three days particularly hard. Averaging just over 20 miles a day, with an average daily ascent of almost 1,500 metres, it is not a pace I can sustain, so today I have declared a rest day. A chance for my blistered feet to rest. I have been broadly keeping to the daily schedules in my Cicerone guidebook, but it has become increasingly clear that the author of the book is some superhuman  ironman who can sustain repeated days of 20 miles or more. However I have had limited opportunity to shorten the days due to the lack of accommodation. Under current Covid rules, most lodging is closed as it is not "self contained" and campsites are not taking tents to avoid shared toilets. So most of the time I am wild camping, however as it is technically illegal in England and Wales, to avoid upsetting people I pitch late as darkness is approaching and rise early. This means there is a long day available at this time of year for walking.

My rest day has been most enjoyable, in addition to resting my throbbing feet, I washed my clothes, caught up on my blog and done some shopping. This evening I also had dinner with an old friend who lived nearby (dinner was outside wrapped in our coats owing to Covid rules). I enjoy and prefer hiking alone, so I can set my own pace, but in the evenings I appreciate the opportunity of some company.

Barnstable marked the end of my walk along the South West Coast Path on this trip. There are alternative routes when hiking from Lands End to John o'Groats but they involve a lot of road walking and lack the scenery, quirky villages and history (notably the tin mines) of the South West Coast Path, which must rate as one of the best long distance trails in Britain if not the world.

Clovelly to Barnstaple: LEJoG Day 9

A long day of four parts: a bluebell wood, a rollercoaster up and down hills, across farmland to Bideford, and on the flat Tarka trail.

My tent survived the gusting wind of last night, despite manically flapping nylon is surprisingly strong and stayed intact. Answering a call of nature during the night I found the pegs holding firm and the moon red as it was finishing its journey across the sky. 

Morning walk through one of the many kissing gates

My approach to Clovelly was beside parkland of some stately home and by a wooden shelter carved with Angel's wings in the 19th century. Pheasants screeched and birds sang their morning choruses. Arriving at Clovelly at 7:30 am I found this "unspoilt" village and major tourist attraction did not open for a couple more hours, so I continued onwards on the Hobby Drive, a rough road through woods. The coast path continued through more woodland, full of primroses and bluebells, brightened by the morning sun, a major change from the treeless Cornish part of my trek.

A walk through a bluebell wood

Bucks Mills was a village, smaller but looking just as charming as Clovelly, with a small house associated with two artists. Too small for a café though. After the Peppercombe valley, the path left the woods and climbed up and down hills where they intersected the coast. I met a man who said "snap" on approaching as he had the same trekking poles and backpack as me, right down to the fanny bag. (For gear enthusiasts they were Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z poles, superlight, fixed length and ideal for long distance romps, and an Atom packs Mo Rucksack and "The Roos" fanny bag, Atom packs make lightweight rucksacks that actually fit you here in the UK). Another walker complained of the hills, and I had to agree, I was becoming tired, various parts of me were complaining and I still had a long way to go.

Just before Westward Ho! (the only place name in the UK with an exclamation mark) I turned off towards Bideford crossing a number of fields on footpaths. Bideford has streets of small, slightly old fashioned shops including I am glad to say a coffee shop where I gained my caffeine fix for the day.

Coffee and cake in Bideford

I crossed the Torridge on a multi arched stone bridge and proceeded up the Tarka trail. This was an old railway line, lovely and flat which my sore feet really appreciated. Also a cycle path I saw a number of bottoms of various shapes and sizes pass me, I had to keep to the side to avoid a bike colliding with me. I am never sure which side of a cycle track I should walk on, any ideas anyone? There were a few decaying ships by the banks of the river either abandoned or being renovated. After the village of Instow, the Tarka Trail borders marshes and reclaimed farmland. 

The Tarka Trail

I turned off to reach the Cedars hotel, where I have now enjoyed a meal, outside in accordance with Covid regulations. It is cold but busy, everyone is enjoying a Saturday night out, the ladies in their smartest finery which was often hidden behind insulated jackets.

Bude to Clovelly: LEJoG Day 8

A tiring but sunny day of many climbs and cliff top vistas.

Thankfully, the cattle stayed away from my tent last night, not eating or accidentally stepping on it. Blustery wind however, made it a struggle to safely pack it away. After the first climbs of the day I had a close view of the white satellite dishes and domes of the secret government listening post, searching the airwaves for terrorist plots and the like behind two high fences. 

GCHQ listening post.

Then it was into more, multiple, massive descents and ascents, up and down valleys, as I crossed from Cornwall to Devon. Somewhat remote there were no cafes for coffee in prospect for many miles, but the weather was sunny if breezy and it was dry. Some of the steeply sloping paths would be treacherous when wet and muddy, as reported by an earlier walker. It was a reason I had brought two trekking poles with me as they help provide balance on slippery terrain. In the event they were extremely useful for providing an extra "push" to get up the steep hills and to support my knees a little on descents. Part way up one hill I came across Ronald Duncan's hut. A playwright, poet and journalist, he used to write here. Now it is open during the day for walkers to rest and shelter from the weather. The visitor's book showed I was not the only one passing by on the way to John o'Groats this year. As the owner had been a poet I left a little ditty:

After so many climbs

My body pines

For some flat paths.

My wish was partly granted as there was a period without any large climbs. I also took an alternate route at one place, down a valley to avoid the strong wind on the cliff tops which was trying to unbalance me. The views of lines of cliffs continued to be magnificent, with the flat topped island of Lundy visible in the distance.

Hartland Quay had a restaurant which I was very pleased to find open for lunch. Unfortunately I had confused Hartland Quay with Hartland Point, so I had not walked as far as I had thought. The landlord told me the Point was another two and a half hours walk away (maybe a slight exaggeration). Still, I enjoyed the fish and chips although being outside due to Covid regulations and using disposable containers caused some difficulties. Erratic gusts of wind would suddenly lift any loose napkins, salt sachets and cardboard containers emptied of food into the air, and rapidly propel them across the ground, resulting in me and other customers running about trying to retrieve them. My slice of lemon was blown into a rucksack pocket and the little foil wrapped chocolate that came with my coffee completely disappeared. 

Hartland Quay is on the headland in the middle of the photo

Another long climb (towards the rising moon)

More painful ascents followed to Hartland Point (marked only by an aerial and a car park), then the going was a little more reasonable as I headed towards Clovelly. Time was moving on and I was tired. Unlike earlier parts of the coast path, on this section the trail went through fields beside the cliffs, or most recently through bluebell woods on steep slopes housing pheasants. Not wishing to upset any farmers or gamekeepers and unable to find any flat pitches in the woods I found it difficult to decide where to sleep. Eventually I chose a flat spot by a bench high above the sea. Unfortunately the breeze is pretty fresh and gusting, causing an alarming flapping of my tent. I am hoping it survives the night.

Boscastle to Bude: LEJoG Day 7

Another day of many climbs.

Overnight the wind had shook and flapped the thin nylon of my tent. As I tried to pack it away the gusting wind streamed it out like a flag and might have blown it away but for the peg I had left attached until I had it rolled up. Boscastle was another village with a harbour in a narrow valley. It was too early for the cafes to be open (and the youth hostel was not opening any time soon due to Covid regulations) but the toilets were available by the inevitable car park. As I sat in a cubicle I heard the sounds of another brushing their teeth and filling their water bottle. Another backpacking wild camper I correctly deduced. It was a young lady (I should add it was a unisex toilet). She was finishing platting her hair. Unlike on previous long-distance walks in the UK, I was seeing a number of wild campers, maybe it was because more conventional accommodation was closed or maybe it was just more popular. People such as Phoebe Smith and Abbie Barnes have encouraged women to give it a try.

Boscastle

There were some big climbs today of one or two hundred metres. At one place the path dropped down into an area of old land-slipped ground, well established with vegetation, before climbing up again. Rough steps and zig zag paths attempted to assist the walker and avoid erosion of the hillside caused by many footsteps climbing up and down the steep slopes. 

Going down

Going up the other side

Crackington Haven was my next little village in a narrow valley with a beach. I had to choose which of the two cafes to try for a bowl of soup and cake. After the Haven a considerable number of ascents and descents followed plus a small woodland area of stunted trees, the first since I started my walk at Land's End. Wind and salt spray make it difficult for trees to prosper. Even the blackthorn bushes were pushed sideways growing at a slant owing to the wind. Gorse seems to like the environment, most coastal hillsides are covered in its yellow flowers, although some east facing slopes are of grass and primroses. In places there were some good examples of "zig-zag" folding of the layers of rock forming the cliffs, the sort of thing found in geology textbook pictures.

Gorse covered slopes

Zig-zag folding

After some unpleasant "Private Property" signs I reached Widecombe and more refreshments by the sandy beach with the usual adverts for surfing classes. Bude was a few miles further. A larger town with a canal ending in a lock to the sea, making the town more distinctive than others on my walk. After passing a building called Bude Castle (closed) I left the seaside bars behind, continuing for a few miles to escape the outlying houses. A fellow out walking asked if I was camping? It seems commonly accepted on the South West Coast Path.

White satellite dishes and domes, a GCHQ listening post, stood on the skyline as I descended into a final valley. There looked a few nice camping spots. Shaggy, long horned cows (bulls on closer inspection) looked slightly threatening but paid me and my tent little attention. I am hoping it will stay that way, although I was reminded of an occasion long ago in the Canadian Rockies when the corner our tent was eaten by a pair of porcupines.

Rock to Boscastle: LEJoG Day 6

A day with some steep climbs and descents and a chance to see a film being made.

I started with granola and yogurt at the Pityme Inn, maybe tiring already of cooked breakfasts. Then I headed north to meet up with the coast path, by lanes and a footpath, through a caravan park and golf course. Today's section of coast path was punishing with many steep ascents and descents. Many were due to crossing valleys, but in places I thought the surveyors deliberately and needlessly took the path up and down the coastline where a more level path would have been possible. However maybe land ownership issues and historic rights of way were responsible. Overall my GPS claimed I had climbed a total of 1620 metres today, it certainly felt like it. The Cicerone guide took a different route to mine to avoid the Rock ferry and it might have been less strenuous. 

I reached Port Isaac at lunchtime when filming was in progress for a sequel to the film, "Fisherman's Friend". The narrow streets and harbour of this ancient village were also the setting for the "Doc Martin" TV series. I ordered a crab salad at a takeaway at the harbour and ate it on a bench watching the film crew do things. A man in a yellow gilet was directing people here and there, it all seemed rather haphazard and a lot of work to get a bit of film.

Port Isaac

Leaving the pottery shops, gift shops and galleries behind I headed up the hill to the Coop at the top of the village to buy some more day-to-day supplies, then continued on the rollercoaster of the coast path. Steps, held up by panels of slate or wood and metal stakes "helped" the various ascents and descents, however the drop of each step was often large making stepping down ungainly and hard on the knees. The irregular spacing and height of the steps made it difficult to achieve a rhythm as I climbed up and down. In places the path was beside a steep drop to the rocks and sea below, but nothing too vertiginous. 

The cliffs ahead, I started looking for the valleys that would need to be crossed.

A drone flew over me disturbing the sound of crashing waves and mewing gulls with its metallic buzz. A man coming up the path with his wife expressed a wish that he had brought his gun with him. The image in my mind of the little drone with its flashing lights being blasted out of the sky with shot gun pellets was curiously appealing. Elsewhere, "Kernow, No English" had been scratched on a sign by some Cornish nationalist (fortunately I am not English but Welsh or British). Passing ancient, little harbours with a few houses hidden in the folds of the land I stopped to pick up an ice cream and later a cold drink. The lady at the ice cream cart had been wary of showers. A little rain fell, not enough to put on my waterproofs but sufficient to raise the scent of the flowers that lined the path. A little before Tintagel, a couple of old slate quarries had been cut into the cliffs, a sign that the granite of Land's End had long since been replaced by more metamorphosed rocks. Towers of poorer quality rock had been left by the excavations. A man stood on the edge of a vertical drop. "Don't jump!" I cried, "Not a big enough drop" he replied. The 13th century castle at Tintagel was closed. A new bridge had been built since I was last here, spanning the chasm between the different parts of the medieval fortifications. I had hoped to reach Boscastle but due to the many climbs, I had been slow, well below my usual 4 km/hr. So as the sun was turning red, I picked a hollow (manmade for some reason) and pitched my tent, hoping I would not be noticed from a nearby house. 

Watergate Bay to Rock: LEJoG Day 5

A day of cliffs and sea stacks, beaches and bays before arriving in the busy, shop filled streets around Padstow harbour. 

Feeling somewhat unclean after a few nights wild camping, I made a quick decision to wash in the small stream beside my camping spot. Before I thought of how cold it was and whether an early morning jogger would pass I stripped and splashed water over all the sticky, sweaty, smelly parts of my body. A very brief performance I was soon dressed again and climbing out of my little valley. I left with some regret as it was an excellent camping spot with soft even turf, as good as any mattress.  Too often the rough grass is lumpy and tussocky, forcing you to adjust your sleeping position to match the shape of the ground.

Traditional herringbone dry stone wall

Sea stack

Green seas crashing onto the rocks

As I walked along the cliffs today the multiple sea stacks reminded me of the "12 Apostles", the much vaunted stacks in Australia. With the green foaming white waves crashing upon the rocky shore here, its caves and arches looked just as good, maybe better. Skylarks were singing. Pink thrift, yellow gorse and a multitude of flowers gave the early morning a gay atmosphere. There is little better than a morning walk before breakfast to make a coffee and croissant a heavenly treat, so I was delighted that I could purchase them (and an oaty apricot affair) at Porthcothan Bay Stores. Apologies to the lady with the Harrods bag for holding her up while the shop's staff kindly filled my platypus (this was basically a strong plastic bag to hold drinking water). A gentleman told me of a bench 10 minutes walk away where I enjoyed my breakfast overlooking the bay. A whippety dog was racing around the beach, kicking up sand, playing ball with his owner.

Reaching the sands of Constantine Bay, I headed inland to cut off two headlands. As I am walking from Land's End to John o'Groats, I did not feel the compunction to round every headland that I might if my objective was to hike the South West Coast Path. Walking across a clear, dry path through fields of green crops was also a pleasant way to reach the town of Padstow. Passing a church in the outskirts, I gave a few words of thanks inside, then wandered through the streets by the harbour, crowded with tourists, in search of some lunch. As I bought a crab sandwich and some cake, the lady serving warned me that the seagulls were particularly aggressive in their desire for your food (although I gained the impression they were more interested in people's fish and chips).

By Padstow harbour

Scavenging Seagull

Although purists would argue that you should not use ferries if you are to walk every step of the way to John o'Groats, I would disagree. Ferries over rivers are just rather mobile bridges, tracing their spans from one side to the other. So I donned my face mask and took the boat to the village of Rock on the other side of the river. I had earlier spotted an inn which was able to open to tourists under Covid regulations as it had self contained accommodation. I immediately booked but foolishly did not check exactly where it was. I discovered it was in a settlement called "Pityme" (why I wondered) 40 minutes walk in the wrong direction from the Rock. Worth it for a shower, beer and a chance wash some clothes.

Porthtowan to Watergate Bay: LEJoG Day 4

Cliffs, dunes, beaches and the urban sprawl of Newquay today.

Morning view from the South West Coast Path

Porthtowan

As has been typical of recent days, the morning wind was slight but icy cold. I walked down into Porthtowan, although only 7:00 am already the surfers were in the sea (in their wetsuits) while an aerobics group were exercising on the beach. A few steep ascents and descents later and I was at Trevaunance Cove, a small settlement with a lone surfer off the beach. The climb out was through a little hillside park with steep sets of steps. There were plenty of remains of the tin mining industry. The juxtaposition of this old industry with its spoil heaps, next to tourist facilities I found amusing. Today there would be many protests if industrial mining was allowed by a tourist resort, but the chimneys and pump houses of these old mines are now visitor attractions romanticized in photographs and literature. Later as I walked along the cliff tops I found more recent remains, which appeared associated with a World War II airstrip and an older explosive plant. 

Reaching Perranporth I tucked into a large, late breakfast at the Dolphin Café, egg, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, fried bread, baked beans, toast, typical English breakfast fare that you would never eat at home. With a heavy belly I walked up into the dunes. The many criss-crossing tracks made it difficult to know which was the coast path from the sparse waymarks. Some of guiding arrows were carved in blocks of rock, artistic maybe, but sometimes ambiguous. At a point soon after a holiday camp with lines of trailers, I determined from my GPS that the path moved down to the beach. Perranporth beach is a very long length of sand backed by dunes. Few people had reached the far end, where the coast path climbed over the cliffs onto the headland. Immediately on leaving the beach there was a pool, beneath an arch of rock. Very scenic, it looked like it was fed by water from an old mine working, its entrances  now isolated behind metal grating.

Perranporth beach

On top of the headland, above crumbling cliffs, there was some kind of military installation. Waves were surging into caves in the sea below. Rounding the headlands, Holywell Bay came into view with a chance of a Cornish cream tea at the Gull Rocks bar. After more dunes and a couple of headlands the path followed the tidal River Gannel until it reached a low bridge, low enough that it could be mistaken for a boardwalk. Fortunately, I had caught a low tide as otherwise it would be covered by water and a lengthy detour would be needed. The wooden "bridge" led to the outer limits of Newquay. I decided against following the official route of the South West Coast Path around a headland and instead walked straight to Newquay harbour. Having pick up some shopping I viewed the main street of the town and then headed up the coast. The town and its suburbs seemed to continue for some distance but eventually I shook off the buildings and after Wintergate Bay found a cosy spot to camp in a narrow valley by the sea.

I ate my tea watching the waves beak against the rocks, the sea green and dangerous, creating bright white foam as it spent itself on the ledges below me. Later a man climbed above the nearby cliffs. He spent a long time there, maybe drilling a hole. Curious I walked up towards him, but the slope was too steep and the grass too slippery above the cliffs for my liking so I gave up and retreated to the warmth of my tent, reading my kindle until it was dark.

St Ives to Porthtowan: LEJoG Day 3

A very different day from those preceding it, passing through a series of towns and villages as well as heaps of cliff top walking.

To keep warm in the cold of the early morning I started with five layers of clothing, but soon shed them as I walked into the rising sun, posies of primroses lining my path and a little boat collecting lobster or crab a little off the cliffs. As I approached St Ives a series of joggers bounded by, lycra clad. I saw many out for a run today, some looked like serious trail runners, others just feeling they should get some exercise. I reached the dog walkers at the beach of Porthmeor where on the sea, surfers bobbed hopefully on diminutive waves. 

St Ives

Water refill station

Breakfast was an egg and (rather tasty) sausage sandwich with coffee sitting on a bench on St Ives harbour side. Then I used the freshly cleaned toilets and topped up my water at the "Refill" station outside. This initiative to provide sources of drinking water, marked by a blue water drop symbol, are very welcome by the hiker and much to be encouraged, especially as they avoid the purchase of plastic bottles of water.

Leaving St Ives, the path trailed the tracks of the local branch line, crossing under and over the rails, passing houses and a few beaches. There was a long detour inland around the Hayle estuary, down one side and back up the other. After the town of Hayle itself, the coast path weaved up and down dunes, hard walking on the soft sand, tiring of it I dropped down to the beach. The surfers were having more success with riding the waves than I saw earlier. There were a lot of them, including youngsters attending a surf school, with wet suits and boards of many colours. Soft sand on the beach also proved an unsuitable surface to make fast progress on so I returned to the path in the dunes to reach Gwithian. Seeking a coffee and some sustenance I noticed signs for the "Jam Pot" advertising such delights. Unfortunately the notice failed to mention where the Jam Pot was located. I found the "Rockpool" but you needed to bag a table to order. Inevitably they were all full, as were the car parks, full of Sunday trippers and their families, eager to enjoy the sun and surf after months of Covid enforced isolation. Fortunately, a later café served me a vegan wrap with Halloumi cheese (!) and a coffee (God bless the busy staff). 

After looking for some neolithic barrows on the next headland I stopped at a seal viewing area. At first I could see no evidence of the creatures in the cove below the cliffs. Then a lady pointed out (very quietly as advised by the signs) two seals on the beach by the waterline. Their brown mottled colour made them easy to miss. The next section was relatively flat along the cliff tops among the gorse. Due to the nearby car parks, plenty of people were about. Then my relaxed walk was interrupted by a couple of steep valleys, the path dropping down steeply, then immediately climbing the other side with a few steps to aid the weary walker.

Steep ascents and descents into narrow valleys proved a feature of the South West Coast Path

Portreath was a busy little Cornish village with the usual car park, beach, a few pubs and an old harbour, this one with some old docks. I continued, looking out for a camping spot. A fellow backpacker had pitched in a sheltered spot in a valley near a fence enclosing Ministry of Defence land. I walked a little further and chose a spot by an old mine shaft (suitably capped by a concrete "hat") to spend the night. A little beyond was "Wheal Tye", remains of a tin mine from the 1920's, more concrete than the masonry of the previous century.  The day had been warm and sunny. I had spent much of it in my tee shirt, but as the sun approaches the horizon a cold wind is blowing and I have been progressively adding layers of clothing to keep warm.

St Just to St Ives: LEJoG Day 2

A day almost entirely on a winding path among boulders and gorse above the cliffs and foaming sea.

Before breakfast (provided in a box by a nearby bakery owing to Coronavirus restrictions on indoor dining) I had a walk around St Just. The main action was in a square by the hotel, which was surrounded by grey granite buildings housing a pub, a Coop, various other amenities, and an area where medieval mystery plays were once performed. On the tower of the nearby church, the flag was at half mast as today the funeral of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, husband of the queen will take place.

Leaving the streets and alleyways of the village I returned to the coast path. Cape Cornwall, a peninsula topped by a chimney was the first landmark. The chimney was once part of a mine. Along the next few kilometres there were the remains of many buildings associated with tin and copper mines. Chimneys and pump houses, built solidly of granite in the 19th century, dot the landscape. Two modern pitheads, built of steel, were also visible, one a heritage centre dedicated to Cornwall's rich mining history. There was also spoil heaps of discarded rocks, old mine shafts enclosed by walls, and frequent warnings of other, unmarked and open shafts.

Remains of tin mines

A long section of more remote coastline lacked any villages, unless you walked inland. Although there were a few small beaches, most of the coast was rocky, the land rising quickly from the sea to the higher, farmed plateau. The path wound around and over granite boulders among the gorse. Yesterday the flurries of white flowers were most distinctive, today yellows were the fashion, primroses, dandelions and celandine dotted with violets smothered the ground. An adder, slithered off the path into the undergrowth as I almost stepped on it. Helpful footbridges were provided across streams but in general the going was tough with many climbs as the path crossed valleys and rose up and down the coastline, at one time closer to the sea, at another on top of the plateau, next to green fields edged by stone walls.

Typical Cornish coastline

I wanted to camp close to St Ives without actually reaching it as none of its many Bed & Breakfasts were open owing no doubt to the Covid regulations. A fellow backpacker walking the coast path in the other direction warned the path near St Ives was rocky with few possibilities for pitching a tent. Consequently, seeing a flat, grassy area among the gorse I decided to stop and camp although still 3 miles from the town. My pitch was on a little headland behind an outcrop of rock. After a sunny day the skies were now overcast, the sun sending beams of light through distant clouds making pools of silver on the sea. I sat and watched the setting sun throw a narrow carpet of pink topped waves towards me. As it grew darker Cape Cornwall's lighthouse flashed at me periodically as the half moon rose in the sky.

Sunset on the coast before St Ives

Land's End to St Just: LEJoG Day 1

After a long train ride to Penzance I started on my hike along the South West Coast Path, among granite boulders, from Lands End to St Just, a small start on my much longer trek to John o'Groats.

I was surprised to find that there was a direct train from Cardiff to Penzance, convenient but rather slow. We stopped at every station but one on the line. Although much of the scenery was just a blur of  farmland, there was a section after Exeter where the rails followed the edge of the sea, so close that in a few places you could imagine you were actually gliding across the water. Three or four cruise ships were anchored off the coast, idle no doubt due to the Coronavirus. Truro looked attractive as we trundled past on a viaduct, the gothic spires a contrast to the surrounding houses.

Finally reaching Penzance, after a short wait at the station's taxi rank, I was on my way to Land's End. The driver commented that business had thankfully picked up since April 12th when people have finally been able to travel. At the collection of cafe's and shops at Land's End I bought my first Cornish pasty of the walk, chunky with veg and peppery. The famous signpost pointing to John o'Groats, 874 miles away was roped off with signs giving prices for being photographed with it. Not wanting a printed photo I photographed it from a distance and started on the South West Coast Path. Note that 874 miles is the most direct route to John O'Groats, using National Trails and local footpaths where possible it will take me maybe 1215 miles. The South West Coast Path, skirting the coasts of Dorset, Devon and Cornwall was the first of these National Trails, marked by an acorn symbol.

Famous signpost at Land's End

The path wound around the granite boulders (with large feldspar crystals) and steep slopes extending beneath me down to the sea.  At first it was cold in the wind but later it warmed up and I started shedding clothing, piling them up on various straps and pockets of my rucksack. Soon I reached the expanse of sand at Sennen Cove. Plenty of people were out enjoying the weather on the curved beach without it being too crowded. Surfers bobbed in the water, dogs were called and children asked questions of their parents. 

Sennen Cove

After the beaches there was some climbing over boulders as I tried to pick which path was the coast path, not always obvious. Signs warned about mine shafts you could fall down. I peered down one or two that were fenced off, and up some adits driven into the rock. Some slopes were sprinkled with white flowers of various kinds, more than I expected for mid April, bushes of bright yellow gorse enveloped others. The rocks of Lands End and its lighthouse a little out to sea became smaller as I continued up and down along the path.

Old mine shaft

Coast Path

I had managed to book some accommodation at St Just at the Wellington hotel. As the doors of the rooms opened into the backyard, there were no shared spaces so it met the current Covid regulations for England. On phoning the specified telephone number I was directed to my room in a contact-less manner, the key waiting in the door for me. In the village square outside, the pub had opened for outside table service and the fish and chip shop was doing a brisk trade. Although it was a little cold the pint of Tribute Ale tasted good, and the fish and chips were welcome even though I had only walked 11 kilometres today. I have been warned tomorrow's walk will be a little more strenuous...