A leisurely breakfast was taken after the night before [beer festival]. I was in no rush to leave the comfortable pub as it was misty and forecast to rain. Faff and talk. Waterproofs on from the word go. Once I was back on the coast the ups and downs started but I was in mist and could only have glimpses of the coast, no idea what was happening inland. There was no wind only a strange world of silence, just the sound of the pebbles on the beach being washed out to sea and then back in again. In this silence was the background sound of bird song – most of which I don’t recognise. Eerie.
The slabby climbing areas of Higher and Lower Sharpnose passed mostly unnoticed.
Next thing I was face to face with a high security fence with dire warning notices. I had lost the path and stumbled into a GCHQ listening compound. There were radar domes and dishes which pointed east and west, I guess we are in the middle now, Trump and Kim Jong-un. I retreated to the coast.
In the mist headlands and valleys came and went. There were views down to distant beaches and all the time this strange silence.Relief came in one of the valleys, Sandymouth, in the form of a great little cafe but I managed to spill most of my tea.The terrain evened out but not much of Bude bay was seen till the end as the mist slowly cleared. Looking back along the coast was dramatic. Beach huts announced the arrival of the seaside holiday resort with a few hardy souls on the beach.
Bude looked grim as I walked in with wet and dreary families heading home, my hotel was even grimmer.