The going gets tough
It's not a great start
to a day of walking when your legs are so stiff that it takes a
full minute to descend a short flight of stairs in a B&B. I could tell that things were
going to be tough Today.
After a very nice breakfast we reluctantly left the B&B, to be immediately greeted by a chilly wind blowing in from the sea and a slate-grey sky. The sort of sky that's got “it's going to rain all day” written all over it. Mind you, it hadn't started to rain yet, so things could be worse.
The first task of the day was to get out of Lynmouth, which required ascending a steep hill up to it's sister town of Lynton. The Victorians had thoughtfully installed a funicular railway up the hill to make this an easy task, but unfortunately it was closed when we arrived. This at least spared us from the dilemma of whether using the F.R was a cheat or not. In my mind it was just a ferry on rails, and as the use of ferries is permitted when walking the SWCP, using it would have been fine.
With the railway closed we had no option other than to walk. The footpath zigzagged it's way gently up the hill, crossing the rail track at various points via decorative little bridges. Once at the top the going was then thankfully flat for a while as we headed out of town on another Victorian initiative, the “North Walk”. Basically, a cliff-top tarmacked footpath that led to the Valley of the Rocks. Nice and easy going, although not overly kind on my aching feet.
After a very nice breakfast we reluctantly left the B&B, to be immediately greeted by a chilly wind blowing in from the sea and a slate-grey sky. The sort of sky that's got “it's going to rain all day” written all over it. Mind you, it hadn't started to rain yet, so things could be worse.
The first task of the day was to get out of Lynmouth, which required ascending a steep hill up to it's sister town of Lynton. The Victorians had thoughtfully installed a funicular railway up the hill to make this an easy task, but unfortunately it was closed when we arrived. This at least spared us from the dilemma of whether using the F.R was a cheat or not. In my mind it was just a ferry on rails, and as the use of ferries is permitted when walking the SWCP, using it would have been fine.
With the railway closed we had no option other than to walk. The footpath zigzagged it's way gently up the hill, crossing the rail track at various points via decorative little bridges. Once at the top the going was then thankfully flat for a while as we headed out of town on another Victorian initiative, the “North Walk”. Basically, a cliff-top tarmacked footpath that led to the Valley of the Rocks. Nice and easy going, although not overly kind on my aching feet.
The Valley of the Rocks
High North Devon cliffs. Spectacular footpath top-right.
Despite it's fame, the Valley of the Rocks isn't really much to write home about. Compared to other sections of the North Devon/Cornwall coastline it's not that spectacular, and I suspect it's only as famous as it is due to it's proximity to Lynton/Lynmouth. We did however see a couple of feral goats scrambling amongst the boulders that added some interest. From the V.O.T.R we took a toll road – thankfully free for pedestrians – and headed West.The rain had continued to hold off, but the going was tough on the road as it wound up and down the valley via a number of hairpin corners. Not very pleasant walking, but at least we didn't meet any cars. After a few miles we reached the final hairpin and left the road to rejoin the footpath.
The next section was very pleasant, being mainly a flat high level footpath through woodland. The cliffs along this section of coastline are the highest in England, and through occasional gaps in the trees we were treated to stunning views across the Bristol Channel to Wales.
After a while we found a bench and I decided that a quick stop was in order to assess the state of my feet, which had started to rub again. The results were not pleasant! The Compeed - a type of artificial skin that's used to heal blisters - on my heels had worn off, and as a result my blisters had got considerable worse. They were now about the size of 50p pieces, and had started to ooze some nasty looking gunge.
In the past it's fair to say that I've had issues with my feet. This as you can imagine plays havoc with long distance walking. On the plus side I'm unlikely to get conscripted into the Army any time soon. Over the years I've experimented with various sock configurations to try and resolve the problem. I've tried thin ones, thick ones, dual layer ones, two pairs – thin liner, thick outer – you name it I've tried it. I've even splashed out on specialist high tech socks that have supposedly had millions of pounds of research pumped into them, and proudly proclaim themselves to be guaranteed blister free. None have worked!
Sat on that bench with wrecked feet and still about 60% of the day's walking to do it was time for radical action. The solution – as is often the case – came from Dave. In the rucksack went the latest set of “Six Million Dollar Socks”; on the feet went a single pair of el-cheapo white sports socks. The sort that come in packs of five for £3. I was pretty much out of options, so it was worth a try.
On we went, finally emerging from the woodland onto a spectacular high level footpath that had been cut into the side of the cliff. Also, during the hour or so that we'd been under the cover of the trees the clouds had magically vanished and we now had clear blue sky overhead. This lifted my mood, and for a while I even forgot about my foot issues.
The next section was very pleasant, being mainly a flat high level footpath through woodland. The cliffs along this section of coastline are the highest in England, and through occasional gaps in the trees we were treated to stunning views across the Bristol Channel to Wales.
After a while we found a bench and I decided that a quick stop was in order to assess the state of my feet, which had started to rub again. The results were not pleasant! The Compeed - a type of artificial skin that's used to heal blisters - on my heels had worn off, and as a result my blisters had got considerable worse. They were now about the size of 50p pieces, and had started to ooze some nasty looking gunge.
In the past it's fair to say that I've had issues with my feet. This as you can imagine plays havoc with long distance walking. On the plus side I'm unlikely to get conscripted into the Army any time soon. Over the years I've experimented with various sock configurations to try and resolve the problem. I've tried thin ones, thick ones, dual layer ones, two pairs – thin liner, thick outer – you name it I've tried it. I've even splashed out on specialist high tech socks that have supposedly had millions of pounds of research pumped into them, and proudly proclaim themselves to be guaranteed blister free. None have worked!
Sat on that bench with wrecked feet and still about 60% of the day's walking to do it was time for radical action. The solution – as is often the case – came from Dave. In the rucksack went the latest set of “Six Million Dollar Socks”; on the feet went a single pair of el-cheapo white sports socks. The sort that come in packs of five for £3. I was pretty much out of options, so it was worth a try.
On we went, finally emerging from the woodland onto a spectacular high level footpath that had been cut into the side of the cliff. Also, during the hour or so that we'd been under the cover of the trees the clouds had magically vanished and we now had clear blue sky overhead. This lifted my mood, and for a while I even forgot about my foot issues.
Approaching Heddon's Mouth
A few miles down the track we
reached Heddon's Mouth, a deep sheer sided combe. Frustratingly, we
could see the path continuing westwards on the other side of the
combe, but there was no direct way across. The only way forward was via a long down-and-up diversion inland to Hunters Inn. If only there had been a
rope bridge!
Hunters Inn held fond memories for me as it was where I'd spent my summer holiday during the heat wave summer of 1976. I was therefore fairly keen to revisit. It was also an opportunity for me to dispense my “interesting fact” of the day to Dave. The fact being that 1970's Irish comedian Dave Allen – he of the high barstool and trademark tumbler of whiskey – had owned the house next to the cottage we had stayed in. Incidentally, we didn't ever see him during our stay.
The rough long steep descent into Hunters Inn was followed by an even rougher, longer and steeper ascent back up the other side. Finally, after what seemed an age we regained the cliff and were able to look back across “the chasm” to the point where we had stood about an hour before. It was less than fifty metres away!
From Heddon's Mouth the path started to move inland away from the sea. We found a shaded spot and decided to stop for some lunch, which had been provided by the B&B we had stayed at the night before. It was huge, comprising of sandwiches, home-made quiche, fruit and a giant slab of cake. It was enough to feed an army.
From our lunch spot we could see our next objective of the day, High Hangman - the highest point on the entire South West Coast Path. At some point on the ascent to High Hangman I managed to take a wrong turn off of the main path onto what turned out to be a sheep track. Dave had gone ahead, and when I finally looked up I could see him directly above me, although quite a lot higher than my current position. To save time I decided to cut directly across the gorse back up to the main path to rejoin him. In retrospect this was not a wise move as the undergrowth in this area is rife with ticks. Thankfully, I didn't pick up any unwanted passengers during my shortcut.
Hunters Inn held fond memories for me as it was where I'd spent my summer holiday during the heat wave summer of 1976. I was therefore fairly keen to revisit. It was also an opportunity for me to dispense my “interesting fact” of the day to Dave. The fact being that 1970's Irish comedian Dave Allen – he of the high barstool and trademark tumbler of whiskey – had owned the house next to the cottage we had stayed in. Incidentally, we didn't ever see him during our stay.
The rough long steep descent into Hunters Inn was followed by an even rougher, longer and steeper ascent back up the other side. Finally, after what seemed an age we regained the cliff and were able to look back across “the chasm” to the point where we had stood about an hour before. It was less than fifty metres away!
From Heddon's Mouth the path started to move inland away from the sea. We found a shaded spot and decided to stop for some lunch, which had been provided by the B&B we had stayed at the night before. It was huge, comprising of sandwiches, home-made quiche, fruit and a giant slab of cake. It was enough to feed an army.
From our lunch spot we could see our next objective of the day, High Hangman - the highest point on the entire South West Coast Path. At some point on the ascent to High Hangman I managed to take a wrong turn off of the main path onto what turned out to be a sheep track. Dave had gone ahead, and when I finally looked up I could see him directly above me, although quite a lot higher than my current position. To save time I decided to cut directly across the gorse back up to the main path to rejoin him. In retrospect this was not a wise move as the undergrowth in this area is rife with ticks. Thankfully, I didn't pick up any unwanted passengers during my shortcut.
Dave on High Hangman Summit
After reaching High
Hangman the heavens opened and we were caught in a heavy
downpour as we descended into Combe Martin. When we reached the
harbour we quickly took refuge in a café and had a welcome pot of
tea. Sitting in the café, watching the rain run down the windows it
was clear that the rain was here to stay, and that the rest of the
day's walking was going to be wet.
By this point I was feeling pretty knackered, but we still had about seven miles to go to our final destination. Also, time was getting on, so we had no option but to leave the nice warm dry cafe and push on.
After Combe Martin the going was reasonably flat so we made fairly good progress. The rain finally stopped after about an hour, which made things much more pleasant. After a few miles we reached Water Mouth Bay. Fortunately, the tide was out which allowed us to walk directly across the bay and then rejoin the path on the westward side. Not only did this save a bit of time, but it also avoided a walk along a very busy – and pathless – road, which was a notorious accident black-spot in the area.
A few miles on, and after a few minor ups and downs we emerged from the path onto a road and could finally see Ilfracombe. Not a moment too soon for me, as by this point I was totally wrecked. Unfortunately, our hotel was on the other side of Ilfracombe, and thus still a fair way off. In fact it turned out to be literally the last building on the westward edge of the town. How's that for planning!
By this point I was feeling pretty knackered, but we still had about seven miles to go to our final destination. Also, time was getting on, so we had no option but to leave the nice warm dry cafe and push on.
After Combe Martin the going was reasonably flat so we made fairly good progress. The rain finally stopped after about an hour, which made things much more pleasant. After a few miles we reached Water Mouth Bay. Fortunately, the tide was out which allowed us to walk directly across the bay and then rejoin the path on the westward side. Not only did this save a bit of time, but it also avoided a walk along a very busy – and pathless – road, which was a notorious accident black-spot in the area.
A few miles on, and after a few minor ups and downs we emerged from the path onto a road and could finally see Ilfracombe. Not a moment too soon for me, as by this point I was totally wrecked. Unfortunately, our hotel was on the other side of Ilfracombe, and thus still a fair way off. In fact it turned out to be literally the last building on the westward edge of the town. How's that for planning!
Sandy Bay
The next hour was pure agony as I hobbled along, getting slower and slower with each step. Eventually we reached the harbour at the centre of the town and I collapsed on a bench for a rest. After consulting the map we could see that our hotel was still about a mile away and I despaired. I literally didn't think I could make it. After a few minutes rest we pushed on, creeping slowly closer and closer to the hotel at what seemed a snail's pace. Finally it was in sight, we'd made it!
The owner showed us to our rooms – we had the luxury of a room each on this night, plus a bath to ease aching muscles. He then went on at great length to talk about the SWCP, and how he specialised in catering for walkers like us. Although this was all very interesting, I was bursting for a pee at the time and couldn't wait for him to shut up so that I could head into my room to relieve myself. Eventually he reached the end of his patter, and I was able to dive into the bathroom. Duly relieved, it was then time to assess my feet. Amazingly, there appeared to have been no further deterioration, and if anything they had improved since I'd adopted single sock mode. That at least made up in some way for my aching legs, which felt like concrete. Half an hour marinating in a very hot bath did help to ease them up a bit though.
After freshening up we walked – or in my case hobbled – into town. First up was a fairly rough and ready pub where we both had a decidedly iffy pint of Otter ale. The place was a bit of a mess, with broken chairs and pool cues littered around the floor - presumably the result of bar room brawls. They also appeared to be completely oblivious to the recently introduced smoking ban, and most of the regulars were merrily smoking away like chimneys. The only positive was the friendly barmaid. I didn't notice myself, but apparently she was wearing a very tight figure-hugging woollen dress.
After a ropey pint and a letch we headed further into town and found a Gurkha themed restaurant. It was an "all you can eat" place, and we certainly got our money's worth. The pile of rib bones we ended up with on our table would have been enough to construct a full sized model of a Brontosaurus.
After dinner we headed back to the hotel and spent a couple of pleasant hours in the bar discussing long distance walking with the proprietor, who turned out to also be a keen walker. This time I was happier to listen to him, not having a bursting bladder to contend with.
The owner showed us to our rooms – we had the luxury of a room each on this night, plus a bath to ease aching muscles. He then went on at great length to talk about the SWCP, and how he specialised in catering for walkers like us. Although this was all very interesting, I was bursting for a pee at the time and couldn't wait for him to shut up so that I could head into my room to relieve myself. Eventually he reached the end of his patter, and I was able to dive into the bathroom. Duly relieved, it was then time to assess my feet. Amazingly, there appeared to have been no further deterioration, and if anything they had improved since I'd adopted single sock mode. That at least made up in some way for my aching legs, which felt like concrete. Half an hour marinating in a very hot bath did help to ease them up a bit though.
After freshening up we walked – or in my case hobbled – into town. First up was a fairly rough and ready pub where we both had a decidedly iffy pint of Otter ale. The place was a bit of a mess, with broken chairs and pool cues littered around the floor - presumably the result of bar room brawls. They also appeared to be completely oblivious to the recently introduced smoking ban, and most of the regulars were merrily smoking away like chimneys. The only positive was the friendly barmaid. I didn't notice myself, but apparently she was wearing a very tight figure-hugging woollen dress.
After a ropey pint and a letch we headed further into town and found a Gurkha themed restaurant. It was an "all you can eat" place, and we certainly got our money's worth. The pile of rib bones we ended up with on our table would have been enough to construct a full sized model of a Brontosaurus.
After dinner we headed back to the hotel and spent a couple of pleasant hours in the bar discussing long distance walking with the proprietor, who turned out to also be a keen walker. This time I was happier to listen to him, not having a bursting bladder to contend with.
