The tide is high and Instow looks lovely surrounded by water, instead of mud, despite the dull weather. I have a long walk ahead, aiming to get beyond Barnstaple today.
Across the water I can see Appledore, where I walked yesterday. Continue reading
The tide is high and Instow looks lovely surrounded by water, instead of mud, despite the dull weather. I have a long walk ahead, aiming to get beyond Barnstaple today.
Across the water I can see Appledore, where I walked yesterday. Continue reading
The walk from Appledore to Bideford continues along a minor road that winds through an industrial area. Through gateways, I see wastelands of wharves, containers, shacks, cabins, skips. Sometimes I even get a glimpse of the water beyond.
I keep checking my map. Surely I must have missed the South West Coast Path. Am I really supposed to walk on this boring road through this industrial area? Continue reading
Westward Ho! looks nicer in the sunshine. The tide is low and there is a mass of rocky shore, with sand beyond.
There was a queue of elderly people waiting at the bus station in Barnstaple. I nearly got on the number 21A, but that would only take me as far as Appledore. When plain number 21 arrived, nobody in the queue moved. Strange. The bus was nearly empty and I bagged a prime seat (top deck, front row) but felt uneasy when we pulled away leaving everyone else behind. Did they know something I didn’t? Continue reading
Standing above Peppercombe, we should have a wonderful view along the coast, but we had to imagine it. Mist. Damn mist!
Looking at the grey beach below, I ask my husband if it is possible to walk along the shore, avoiding the ups and downs of the cliffs. It seems a long time since I walked along a beach, back in Bude. Continue reading
It is early and the visitors’ centre above Clovelly is closed. I walk down and find the stepped entrance to my secret, sunken, Wrinkleberry Lane. Next to the lane, a large gate marks the continuation of the South West Coast Path.
Constructed in the early 19th Century as a scenic carriage drive, The Hobby Drive is a three-mile track. It starts on the east side of Clovelly and winds around the coast, before joining the A39 a short distance to the west of Buck’s Mill. Continue reading
It is late afternoon when I leave the pub. Clovelly is set deep at the bottom of a north-facing valley and is being swallowed by dark shadows as the sun sinks lower in the sky. [The bad light makes photography disappointing and, later, I have to use photo-editing software to create usable images.]
The first thing I do is stroll to the end of the pier and look back across the little harbour and its pebble beach.
My husband stands outside the pub, bright in his yellow jacket. Continue reading
We arrive at Hartland Point and find the car park open and the kiosk manned. The attendant wants us to pay, but my husband is only dropping me off- and so we park on the road and I lace up my boots, grab my rucksack and prepare for another day of walking.
Several cars swing into the car park while I am doing this. Passengers for the helicopter trip over to Lundy Island. I see one woman with a rucksack and binoculars and, for a moment, I envy her and wish I was going too.
But I have walking to do. I add Lundy Island to my list of places to return to if and when I ever finish this round-the-coast walk. Continue reading
Today I plan to walk the short distance from Hartland Quay to Hartland Point, before lunch and a long journey home. Only 3 miles.
It is a glorious day. The car park at Hartland Quay is deserted, apart from a few chirpy birds. And plenty of DANGER signs. Continue reading
The valley of Marsland Mouth is remote and beautiful, with little tumbling waterfalls among green slopes. But the low sun creates problems with shadows and I am unable to take a decent photograph. Shame.
At 12:40pm, I cross the footbridge over the pretty stream and pass into Devon.
The climb up the far slope of the valley is as hard as I feared. Continue reading
I walk down the track from Morwenstow towards the sea, knowing I have 6 hours of good daylight in which to walk the 9 miles to Hartland Quay. I should make it easily, but I won’t have time for a pub lunch. In fact, there is nowhere to stop for lunch along this deserted stretch of coast.
The sun is slanting low across the yellow-green fields. The sea is the colour of slate. The sight of this weirdly coloured landscape is both stimulating and rather unnerving. Continue reading