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.
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.
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.
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.
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