Bull Point Lighthouse
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Day 4 - Ilfracombe - Braunton
Author : Jason
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"Kebab" Feet
Blister inspection at Lee Bay
It was raining as we left the hotel in Ilfracombe which meant we started the day in full waterproof mode (jacket and trousers). On the plus side we didn't have to walk far to pick up the path again, as it literally ran past the front of the hotel we had stayed in the night before. The hotel proprietor had proudly pointed out the previous night during our "lock-in" that he actually owned this section of the SWCP.
From the hotel the path climbed fairly sharply up the cliff via a series of zig-zagging hairpin corners. After only a few minutes we'd left the town behind and were back in the wilderness. The going was fairly undulating but generally good under foot. After a few miles we reached the small village of Lee Bay, which consisted of a few houses and a hotel. It was still raining and very misty when we arrived, which gave the place had a rather bleak appearance. After a quick stop at a bench to examine my feet – which where starting to play up again - we headed out of Lee Bay on towards Morte Point.
This stretch of coastline is one of the most remote and desolate in North Devon and we didn't see anyone for hours. Between Lee Bay and Morte Point I think the only building we saw was the lighthouse at Bull Point. Other than that it was completely devoid of any civilisation. At Morte Point the path turned abruptly South and became busier as we began to encounter people on their genteel morning strolls from Woolacombe.
At Woolacombe we stopped at the end of the beach and had a welcome spot of lunch in a cafe. It was then a long slog across the beach for a couple of miles. It was nice and flat, and thus we made good progress, but it did seem to go on forever! Being early in the season the beach was fairly deserted, although we did see a group of lifeguards practising their manoeuvres in a Baywatch style. Unfortunately, the group consisted of mainly “Hoffs” and not many “Pamelas”.
From the hotel the path climbed fairly sharply up the cliff via a series of zig-zagging hairpin corners. After only a few minutes we'd left the town behind and were back in the wilderness. The going was fairly undulating but generally good under foot. After a few miles we reached the small village of Lee Bay, which consisted of a few houses and a hotel. It was still raining and very misty when we arrived, which gave the place had a rather bleak appearance. After a quick stop at a bench to examine my feet – which where starting to play up again - we headed out of Lee Bay on towards Morte Point.
This stretch of coastline is one of the most remote and desolate in North Devon and we didn't see anyone for hours. Between Lee Bay and Morte Point I think the only building we saw was the lighthouse at Bull Point. Other than that it was completely devoid of any civilisation. At Morte Point the path turned abruptly South and became busier as we began to encounter people on their genteel morning strolls from Woolacombe.
At Woolacombe we stopped at the end of the beach and had a welcome spot of lunch in a cafe. It was then a long slog across the beach for a couple of miles. It was nice and flat, and thus we made good progress, but it did seem to go on forever! Being early in the season the beach was fairly deserted, although we did see a group of lifeguards practising their manoeuvres in a Baywatch style. Unfortunately, the group consisted of mainly “Hoffs” and not many “Pamelas”.
Stomping along at Morte Point
At the end of the beach the path climbed back up the cliff and we joined a country lane that gently wound up and down for a few miles until we reached Croyde Bay. When we arrived I decided to have a quick sit down on the village green and inspect my feet again. A mistake! Dave described them as looking like – and smelling like – a rotten kebab. They where pretty rough to be honest, even by my standards. The blister on my right heel was horrendous. In the end I decided that the best course of action was to catch the bus rather than walking the remaining few miles to Braunton. Walking further that day was not only going to be agony, but could potentially jeopardise the remainder of the week if I ended up totally ruining my feet beyond repair. While waiting for the bus to arrive I popped into a local chemist to top up my supply of blister remedies. If there had been a hardware store in the village I may have considered purchasing a hacksaw. I'd then be covered should an amputation become necessary in the event of Compeed failure!
Dave walked on while I jumped on the local bus and “rode with Sid for a quid” into Braunton. I then undertook the mission of finding our B&B, which was hidden in the middle of a large housing estate. Braunton is not really a touristy town. The B&B was helpfully located on an unnamed road, and none of the half a dozen people I asked for directions from had heard of the place. After wandering around fairly aimlessly for about an hour or so I eventually finally found it, more by luck than judgement it must be said.
The B&B was peasant enough, although a little different. Most of the B&Bs we'd stayed in previously had been fairly large multi-room operations, run on a professional basis – usually by ex-pat Northerners. This one was just a normal house where the owner happened to have a spare room that she let out. The owner was fairly elderly, and I suspect it was a good way for here to supplement her pension. As I say, a pleasant enough place, but it did have a slightly odd atmosphere. We certainly didn't feel comfortable enough to perform our usual daily ritual of washing our underwear in the sink and then hanging it out to dry on the radiators!
When Dave arrived at the B&B it was time for a scrub up – I borrowed a squeeze of the owner's lavender shower gel for this purpose – and we then watched a bit of early evening TV. It was around the time Bird Flu (HN51) was in news, so most of the coverage was dominated by that. Judging by the media hysteria it sounded like Bude would be a corpse strewn post-apocalyptic wasteland by the time we reached it at the end of the week.
Dave walked on while I jumped on the local bus and “rode with Sid for a quid” into Braunton. I then undertook the mission of finding our B&B, which was hidden in the middle of a large housing estate. Braunton is not really a touristy town. The B&B was helpfully located on an unnamed road, and none of the half a dozen people I asked for directions from had heard of the place. After wandering around fairly aimlessly for about an hour or so I eventually finally found it, more by luck than judgement it must be said.
The B&B was peasant enough, although a little different. Most of the B&Bs we'd stayed in previously had been fairly large multi-room operations, run on a professional basis – usually by ex-pat Northerners. This one was just a normal house where the owner happened to have a spare room that she let out. The owner was fairly elderly, and I suspect it was a good way for here to supplement her pension. As I say, a pleasant enough place, but it did have a slightly odd atmosphere. We certainly didn't feel comfortable enough to perform our usual daily ritual of washing our underwear in the sink and then hanging it out to dry on the radiators!
When Dave arrived at the B&B it was time for a scrub up – I borrowed a squeeze of the owner's lavender shower gel for this purpose – and we then watched a bit of early evening TV. It was around the time Bird Flu (HN51) was in news, so most of the coverage was dominated by that. Judging by the media hysteria it sounded like Bude would be a corpse strewn post-apocalyptic wasteland by the time we reached it at the end of the week.
'Endless' Woolacombe Beach
While we watched the telly I took the opportunity to perform a detailed blister examination. Things did not look good; radical action was required.
During our walking careers we've picked up a few tricks of the trade, one of which is how to treat a severe blister. The treatment involves a bottle of Boots Reviving Foot Spray and a lot of pain. Boot's foot spray is a concoction of witch hazel, white spirit and other stinging agents. It's proper use is to revive tired - blister free - feet, but we have discovered another use for it; we use it to "cauterise" severe blisters. This despite the product's instructions clearly stating that under no circumstances should it be used on broken skin! Due to the pain associated with this treatment we only use it as a last resort. Unfortunately, we were at that point now.
As you can imagine it's very difficult to spray something on your own foot when you know it's going to result in a LOT of pain. You therefore generally need someone to do the spraying for you. Fortunately I had Dave on hand, who was more than happy to volunteer and fulfil the role of “Doctor” during the procedure. He even provided a suitably sadistic grin throughout proceedings.
From downstairs the old lady probably heard something along the following lines while "Dr Dave" did his work:
Dave: “Lean over the bed so I can get to it.”
Jason: “Shall I take my trousers off?”
Dave: “That's not necessary, just move them to one side a bit so I can get at the target area. Are you really sure you want me to do this?”
Jason: “Yes. Do it, do it, do it...”
There would then have been the sound of a liquid being sprayed, followed by a brief silence as the pain receptors in my foot sent some rather urgent messages to my brain. Messages along the lines of “your foot is on fire!”. It's worth pointing out that the pain induced noises I then made – which went on for about two minutes or so – were largely drowned out by Dave's hysterical laughter. At one point he could hardly breath due to the “hilarity” he found in my discomfort. Hardly an appropriate bedside manner for a Doctor.
After the "treatment" had been administered we headed into town for a few beers and a curry. I just hoped we didn't run into a group of randy octogenarians, as I'd have acted like a pheromone magnet to them with my scent of lavender! With the state of my feet I doubt I could have outrun a zimmer frame.
During our walking careers we've picked up a few tricks of the trade, one of which is how to treat a severe blister. The treatment involves a bottle of Boots Reviving Foot Spray and a lot of pain. Boot's foot spray is a concoction of witch hazel, white spirit and other stinging agents. It's proper use is to revive tired - blister free - feet, but we have discovered another use for it; we use it to "cauterise" severe blisters. This despite the product's instructions clearly stating that under no circumstances should it be used on broken skin! Due to the pain associated with this treatment we only use it as a last resort. Unfortunately, we were at that point now.
As you can imagine it's very difficult to spray something on your own foot when you know it's going to result in a LOT of pain. You therefore generally need someone to do the spraying for you. Fortunately I had Dave on hand, who was more than happy to volunteer and fulfil the role of “Doctor” during the procedure. He even provided a suitably sadistic grin throughout proceedings.
From downstairs the old lady probably heard something along the following lines while "Dr Dave" did his work:
Dave: “Lean over the bed so I can get to it.”
Jason: “Shall I take my trousers off?”
Dave: “That's not necessary, just move them to one side a bit so I can get at the target area. Are you really sure you want me to do this?”
Jason: “Yes. Do it, do it, do it...”
There would then have been the sound of a liquid being sprayed, followed by a brief silence as the pain receptors in my foot sent some rather urgent messages to my brain. Messages along the lines of “your foot is on fire!”. It's worth pointing out that the pain induced noises I then made – which went on for about two minutes or so – were largely drowned out by Dave's hysterical laughter. At one point he could hardly breath due to the “hilarity” he found in my discomfort. Hardly an appropriate bedside manner for a Doctor.
After the "treatment" had been administered we headed into town for a few beers and a curry. I just hoped we didn't run into a group of randy octogenarians, as I'd have acted like a pheromone magnet to them with my scent of lavender! With the state of my feet I doubt I could have outrun a zimmer frame.
