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.
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.
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.
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.
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