Westward Ho! – Clovelly.

I’ve not been Clovelly for over 60 years and things have changed, a new intrusive visitor centre and more commercial development, but tonight I’m staying in The New Inn in the centre of the village after all the visitors have gone. There is no traffic down the cobbled street and I’m able to explore the lanes and cottages from a time past. Everything is brought in by sledge. Going back those 60 years to touring in the SW with my parents I remember collecting triangular car stickers from all the popular villages. Simple pleasures, must look in the attic.

It’s not been an easy day, a 1000m ascent and descent over 12miles. The ups and downs of the coastal path kick in and remind my leg muscles of whats to come.

The bus trip had me tuning into the friendly local accents once more. With its name taken from the novel by Charles Kingsley, Westward Ho! is the only place in Britain with an exclamation mark in its name. An easy but dull walk out of Westward Ho! with references to Rudyard Kipling, a one time resident, extracts from his ‘IF’ poem are embedded into the promenade alongside some fine beach huts.

At the end of the promenade was the spooky deserted haunted house pointed out to me by a local resident.

The ‘Haunted House’

Soon the climbs start, down steps and then back up more. Lundy Island is prominent out to sea. Ahead Hartland Point is visible with the white cottages of Clovelly reaching down to the coast. Looking back I make out the Woolacombe headlands.

Clovelly in the distance.

In places the path disappears into tunnels of gorse and thorn, an Alice in Wonderland experience. Whole armies could pass here unnoticed.

For lunch I sat on an uncomfortable stone above Peppercombe Beach, as is usual within 1/4 mile there was a picnic bench above the real Peppercombe.

Peppercombe. Back to Braunton and Woolacombe.

Up and down in woods and fields above red cliffs, the path slippy from recent rain, a glimpse of holiday houses at Bucks Mills which turned out to be a great little harbour with lime kilns from times past. An unexpected coffee from a window was very welcome. A waterfall on the beach, a lady shrimping in the sea, an artists hut – I was in no rush.

Then steeply back up into the woods on arduous muddy tracks.

Salvador Dali beeches.

Eventually and thankfully I join the estate track which gives easier contoured walking arriving high above Clovelly. It was late in the day and only a few tourists were dragging themselves back up to the car park. I walked down the cobbles past lovely cottages to the quayside and back to my traditional inn for a peaceful night.

Braunton  – Instow/Appledore.

It was raining hard so I was happy to chat with my sociable B and B host over breakfast, So It was almost eleven when I was on my way. After a bit of clever navigating through streets and parks I was on the old railway track into Barnstable. Today was going to be virtually all walking on old railways, the Tarka Trail follows the same route. At first there were new houses built close to the track and then Chivenor Royal Marine barracks. Plenty of joggers and cyclists were using the flat track for their exercise.  Somewhere along the line the sun came out and suddenly I was alongside the Taw estuary which at low tide wasn’t very attractive.

Walking quickly I was soon under the new Taw Bridge into Barnstable and having lunch at the great little cafe attached to the railway station. 

When I set off again it was hot and sunny, the weather has been so changeable this week. There is a cycle hire depot at the station so lots of cyclists of all shapes and sizes were using the old railway line. It was good to see whole family groups out and everyone seemed in a cheerful mood. A girl coming towards me was walking Land’s End to John o’Groats, she was just getting into her stride after two weeks on the trail. The tide was coming in and I was amazed at how quickly the channels filled with water. The old station halt at Fremington Quay has been converted to a cafe and was doing a great trade with the cyclists most of whom went no further. They were so busy I didn’t stop but was lucky to come across a mobile coffee stall further along. A young man had packed in his job bought the tricycle and set up shop. He’d obtained a license to trade and was hoping for a good summer, his coffee was excellent! The walking along the railways has not been as boring as I thought.

How many miles?

Fremington Quay.

At Instow I took to the beach for a stretch with plenty of activity happening in the water. The sand dunes at Braunton were visible and a yacht race was in progress on the open water. I was now alongside the mouth of the River Torridge with Bideford downstream, just across the water was Appledore. I didn’t fancy the long detour down river to the first bridge and was in luck as the ferry was operating, it only does two hours either side of high tide. So for £1.50 I was soon stepping onto the quay in Appledore, the journey across delightful in the afternoon sunshine. The ice cream sellers were doing a roaring trade.

Approaching Appledore.

This old fishing and shipbuilding village was a delight with tiny houses in traffic free narrow winding streets. Most of the tourists disappeared in the early evening, so I enjoyed an exploratory stroll around in the warm sunshine with clear views across the coast.

Looking back to Instow.

A decent pub meal for a change and back to my stylish B and B for an early night.

Woolacombe  –  Braunton.

It was going to be hot today but as I left, rather late, spots of rain were falling and people were coming off the beach. Somehow I managed to get onto the sand dunes which were heavy going,  Herb Elliot comes to mind. I retreated to the firmer sand on the beach as the tide went out. It’s a long beach. Climbing out on a lane I looked back at Woolacombe.

Sand dunes along Woolacombe beach with Baggy Point in distance.

Back to Woolacombe.

At the far end of the bay was Putsborough Sands which seemed popular with surfing groups under instruction. Now onto open land I began the traverse to Baggy Point high above the beach. I was looking forward to this renowned climbing area which I’d never visited. Lots of people were walking out from Croyde Bay. At the point I could look down onto the loose slabs on which there are some classic climbs , always fancied Kinky Boots. There was no climbing today as a bird ban was still in progress. I examined the metal belay stakes and imagined the exploratory abseil down into the abyss.

Main climbing area at Baggy Point.

A made up path, popular today. took me directly into Croyde and a cafe primarily for surfers. Tea and panini. People were setting off excitedly on surfing and coasteering [a new ugly term for an unusual pastime thought up by commercial organisations]. Again I extricated myself from soft dunes and arrived back on the coastal road by a monstrosity of a  building project, don’t they have planning controls down here?

Croyde bay.

A path above and  parallel to the road proved really pleasant with lots of flowers and views. a seat provided the perfect lunch spot. It came to an end on the main road above Saunton beach and its busy car parks but I found a path back up onto the open heath populated with sheep. This super highway eventually brought me back down to earth near a little chapel and I walked along the road as a short cut into Braunton, it was very hot and I had no desire to do the longer route.

Saunton bay.

Braunton from on high.

Fish and chips at the famous Squires sufficed me before reaching my B and B. This latter turned out to be interesting in that it is run by a garden nursery, or rather propagator, man. Long discussions ensued on horticultural topics. The accommodation was first class. www.escallonia.co.uk

Inanda B and B.

Ilfracombe  –  Woolacombe.

The lady serving breakfast said she had been over at Woolacombe yesterday evening to catch the good surf conditions and for the next few days I felt out of place without a wet suit and board, mind you I would have looked ridiculous on the Torrs which was my first objective for the day. Reading about Ilfracombe later I found there was lots of interest there worthy of a further visit. I had walked into town following footprints and on the way out had posh finger tiles. The morning was misty and damp and not one for hanging about so I was quickly following the Victorian pathways cut into the hillside, above tunnels leading to hidden bathing beaches. Flowers brightened the way and I was soon up to the summit of the Torrs where there was an elaborate viewfinder but no views.

Onwards onto open farmland the paths were difficult to follow but all seemed to go in the right direction, there is one rule in coastal walking – keep the sea on the same side. Out of the mist would appear herds of cattle whose sex I couldn’t identify which didn’t help my ‘taurophobia’.

This elaborate sign said –                                          PUBLIC PATH. PLEASE KEEP TO IT.

?Hidden danger.

Sunken lanes lead into Lee Bay a delightful little hamlet. The hotel has seen better days and looks unlikely to reopen but across the beach was a little cafe. I was glad to get under shelter and have a hot drink. I got into conversation with a Swiss lady, from Montreux, who was out walking whilst her husband did deals for Nestlé. We talked of the Swiss Alps, gardens, families, chocolate and of course she quizzed me on Brexit, an hour or so went very pleasantly and by the time I set off the rain had stopped and the sun came out – thanks to a bit of détente!

Cafes are becoming a theme on this walk.

The next stretch of coast was undulating in and out of little bays with a few families making the best of the day. A couple were watching their girls searching the pools. They come to this area where they were married 12years ago, their reception was in that hotel which closed shortly after – they didn’t feel it was a bad omen.

At Bull Point was a lighthouse, there are some treacherous rocks on this coast. A local man said seals were often spotted along here but I failed to see any.

Bull Point.

View back to Bull Point lighthouse.

A long hot tiring trudge round Mort Point was enlightened by my first sight of Lundy Island. Lundy has special memories for me. In 2002 I spent time there climbing with a good friend Tony [and others] we did all the classics and he was delighted to lead The Devil’s Slide and particularly Diamond Solitaire a classy VS on a flying buttress coming straight out of the sea. After a great climbing trip we parted, I went off to the Alps for a month and on my return he was dying of cancer. Sobering thought.

Morte Point and distant Lundy Island.

Anyhow heading south again more and more people were met walking the paths out of Woolacombe. Most of the coast headlands today have been managed successfully by the National Trust. The beach seen ahead was one mass of people, mostly children on body boards but also well out into the higher breaking waves surfers who didn’t seem to having too much success. The car park had a lot of camper vans favoured by the surfing community. Ice creams and fishnchips seemed high on families’ priorities.

Heading to Woolacombe.

Distant headlands…

My hostel for the night, The Beach House,  was in a side street amongst the busy shops and cafes nowhere near the beach.  I’d booked into a bunk room which turned out to be very smart and clean. I bought a cider and relaxed in their garden. Asking about food, they had a good menu, I was told everywhere just about booked up but they would fit me into a table later. Into the cozy bunk room walks the American lady, she has no worries about sharing being a fellow coastal walker. We compare notes, share the dinner table, watch the sunset and drink wine. Another interesting meeting with wide ranging conversation, she is avoiding America whilst Trump in power by working and touring in Europe. A talented lass fluent in several languages and with varied careers.

Think I spent more time chatting today than walking.

Lynmouth  –  Heddon’s Mouth.

SW Coastal Walker at Lynmouth.

I have a great admiration for Devon’s bus drivers. We are winding our way along narrow steep lanes from Barnstable to Lynton and at times seem to have only inches room either side but it doesn’t seem to slow the driver. Thatched cottages in the little villages add to the character of the area along with the thick accents of my fellow passengers. I take the funicular railway 500ft down the cliff to Lynmouth harbour. This link was opened in 1890 as tourism was expanding and many arrived by boat, local goods could also be transported more effectively than by pony up the steep hillside. The cars are powered by a simple water system, 700gallons are pumped into the top car which is linked by cable to the lower and gravity does the rest. Talk in the quayside cafe where I had breakfast was of boats, engines and tides.

Back up the hill I walked on the SW Coast Path. A popular terraced path leads dramatically across the exposed hillside high above the sea towards the far end of The Valley of Rocks. The poet Robert Southey visited in 1799 commenting  “the very bones and skeletons of the earth” and that is an apt description today. Goats were scrambling across some of the higher places, Just above the path was a large buttress of good sedimentary rock which called out to be climbed – turned out to be the Devil’s Cheeswring with several 45ft climbs, no time today. Lanes continued past an impressive Christian Centre, Lee Abbey, a large estate on a headland. I was feeling a bit miffed that some good looking walking paths were denied to the public – most unchristian. All was forgiven [almost] when a great little garden cafe appeared. Run by volunteers at the centre this was one of those places you couldn’t walk past.

Lee Abbey estate.

The cafe.

The next headland, Crock Point, was accessible but I regretted the long detour and lots of ascent and descent involved. Back on the road I circumvented Woody Bay but could hear children playing on the beach below. A long pull up onto the next hill rewarded me with views across to south Wales and back to Foreland Point beyond Lynmouth, visited a few weeks ago. I kept coming across a pleasant chatty knowledgeable couple and they turned out to be staying at the same hotel tonight,

Looking back up the coast.

Heddon’s Mouth.

I could see right down into Heddon’s Mouth cove below and as I had time I diverted to it on the way into the valley. A lively stream finds its way to the coast, it looked a likely spot for dippers but I saw none. Apparently otters visit this area. Above the pebble beach was an old lime kiln, large quantities of limestone and coal were shipped from south Wales, kilns were built on harbour sides to avoid the need to transport raw materials over land. Families were just ending their day on the beach and wandering back up the valley, one of many places on this coast managed by the National Trust. The Hunters Inn was doing a roaring trade but I’d booked into the Heddon’s Gate Hotel which turned out to be  a mile up a 1in4 hill. The situation on the edge of Exmoor with glorious gardens, a lovely sunset and a gourmet dinner in good company were worth the climb.

What a great short day’s walk in outstanding scenery.

Seen today, not all sign posts are as helpful as others…