Street – Cheddar.

Breakfast was chaotic, I was down at 7.30 wanting an early start before the heat, but was beaten to it by a coachload of Isreali tourists. They were giving the waiter a hard time with all their demands. As well as breakfast they were preparing lunch at the tables and asking for ingredients stored in the kitchens fridge. I settled down to copious fruit juices and observed the farce, my cooked meal not appearing for an hour when they had gone their way to no doubt create mayhem elsewhere. I congratulated the Spanish waiter and his backup on their cool manner.

I was almost at the top of Wearyall Hill when a man hailed me asking the whereabouts of the thorn tree. I had heard the legends of holy thorn trees being planted here, going back to Joseph of Arimathea from Christ’s time sticking his staff in the land. The man, not Joseph, had come from Poland on a pilgrimage to search out holy sites. So we joined forces to find it  and in fact stumbled on it within yards. It looked dead following recent vandalism but was hung with ribbons from the faithful who feel the forces. A local lady joined in with more information and we had a pleasant interlude up here all the time overlooked by Glastonbury Tor.

My Polish friend and the tree.

On my way down I came across a group led by a girl scattering rose petals as they  climbed up – but this Avalon, land of long skirts, beads and crystals all very evident in the town.

I listened to music on the long flat miles through the next levels, I find The Traveling Wilburys a good walking beat.

Ahead was a small ridge to cross and the paths again seemed unused, several were blocked and there were lots of annoying electric fences with those awkward hook ups. I was hot and bothered by the time I reached the pub in Westbury sub Mendip, an ice cold drink did the trick. Sub Mendip meant there was climbing to be faced but the views back to Glastonbury Tor were outstanding. Along the ridge there was a succession of stone stiles  featuring a large stone to be mounted.

Looking down on Cheddar I fell into conversation with a local man reminiscing on his childhood in the 50s with this as his playground, we had lots in common.

Cheddar below.

Ice cream was my next priority, the delights of the gorge can wait till tomorrow.

When I sit and reflect on UK long distance walks that I’ve completed over the years I realise I’ve walked most of the land. I wont bore you with lists. I was out the other day with Sir Hugh, a prolific long distance walker, who in the past has gone end to end in one continuous push. This set me thinking, I’m never going to emulate that but what about filling in any gaps. There’s a large chunk from Inverness to John O’Groats,  a link from the Pennine Way to the West Highland Way and the SW below Bath.

I found an interesting website covering the whole of the route in stages – http://www.jbutler.org.uk/e2e/index.shtml   Sadly I read that the author passed away in 2011 but his site is maintained and provides a wealth of information and inspiration. Hamish Brown’s 1981 book should also prove helpful.

I’ve a spare week coming up so have planned a short section linking Bridgwater with Bath. The LDWA website showed a plethora of paths winding through Somerset and I have hopefully plotted an interesting outline route based on them. Mainly the Samaritans Way SW, A Somerset Way and The Limestone Link. This enables me to visit some new hill areas – Polden Hills, The Mendips and the Camerton Hills just south of Bath. – and in contrast The Somerset Levels.

Enough waffle, the train is booked and the weather down there should be better, time to pack the sack.

Cheddar – Compton Martin.

My accommodation for tonight doesn’t open until 6, see later, so I organise the day to fit. Lie in, leisurely breakfast and a stroll up the Gorge. The open top buses are already packed and every commercial outlet is touting for business. I’ve come to look at the famous Coronation Street, a climb I did with Rod about 15 yrs ago.Today from directly below it looks frightening, I remember it was when we climbed it just finishing before sunset and the onset of rain.  Curiosity satisfied I came back down to find everywhere even busier but stumbled upon a semi-decent place for a coffee and snack – the rear garden of Lion Rock Cafe.

Coronation Street. E1 5b. 350ft.

From the cafe it is a stiff climb straight up onto the northern rim, I am disappointed with the views into the gorge as the rocks are in shadow – I should have known. It is good to see families up here walking the circuit although I was dismayed at the woman with lots of little ones picnicking on the very edge.

Spot the picnickers.

A ‘roller-coaster’ led me into the wooded limestone valleys at the heart of The Mendips where I found The West Mendip Way going in my direction. It took me up onto the tops once more and then across to a different landscape. The acidic ground of Black Down was a complete contrast. Rough walking through heather and gorse to the trig. of Beacon Batch [strange name] at 325m the highest point of the Mendips.  I was not expecting to see anybody up on this remote spot let alone on a cycle. But there was this pleasant chap, not at all surly,  on an interesting Surly bike pedaling his way across country to a festival near Cheddar.

Classic Mendips valley

Beacon Batch.

Not at all ‘surly’ cyclist.

To the north I could see a change back to limestone on a wooded range of hills on the edge of the Mendips and this is where I picked up the Limestone Link waymarks which I followed, or tried to, for the rest of the trip in this area mainly on long straight paths and old lanes. There was almost a geometrical theme to the walking hereabouts through estates previously owned by the Sainsbury family, I patiently watched a fox ahead of me but never managed a photo.

Eventually I came down a lane into a combe in which nestled Compton Martin with its millpond, Ring o Bells pub and fine Norman church [the latter unusually has a dovecote built into it for the priest’s use]. By now the pub was open, my room was OK but there was a strange atmosphere to the place. Owned by some music entrepreneur there were signed pictures of rock stars on the walls and million selling disc tributes, all a bit egocentric but I guess that’s the nature of pop music. Apparently Kylie Minogue sang here last year, tonight it was only screaming kids – probably very similar.

Compton Martin.