Distance covered today: 22.1km (13.7mi)
Last night's B&B: The Cellars
% Complete: Cumulative distance: 71.7%: 763.8km
Total Ascent/Total Descent: 727m/ 655m
GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 41(click!)
This was a day of three thirds! The first involved an absolutely spectacular and really easy walk. This was followed by a typically lumpy approach to an estuary and its tricky crossing, and finally a climb on a sylvan path and along back roads to tonight’s B&B. All in all, it was a most interesting and satisfying day.
As will become clear, I was under time pressure this morning, and I left my unusual B&B in something of a rush. The parting niceties with my hostesses took longer than usual (I’ll come back to that!) and, feeling that I was now behind schedule, I paid scant heed to a sign virtually outside the garden and went charging off down to sea-level on the wrong path. I was doubly annoyed, because I had just read in my guidebook that I would initially be enjoying a level walk along Revelstoke Drive, so why was I struggling down a rocky path to the sea?? I turned round, started again and was soon speeding along the right path. This magnificently engineered road was cut by local fishermen at the behest of Lord Revelstoke in the nineteenth century so he could show off his magnificent estate to his guests. While one may question the ethics, the result is a triumph for the Coast Path. In fact the views are so magnificent and the walking so easy, that it is well worth a substantial deviation from wherever you might be in the South West to spend some time walking here. There are a number of car parks in the area to facilitate such a venture.
I careered along at almost 6kph, about double my usual Coast Path walking speed while simultaneously taking in the matchless vistas of this high-level road, passing numerous runners along the way who were doubtless also aware of its charms. Then all of a sudden, things changed! Lord Revelstoke’s road charged off inland, and the Coast Path, as if once more free to do its worst, started plunging and rearing with gay abandon. Initially I did a little inland circuit, because I could plainly see that the path was venomously dropping to sea-level only immediately to rise back up to the cliff-top, while a perfectly serviceable contour path could avoid the problem. This did involve a brief spell on a road, and that is anathema to the Path, but not to me! We met again all too soon, and I was ducking and diving all over again at a considerably reduced speed, but still roughly on schedule.
By now you will probably have realised that the reason for all this scheduling was that I was going to have to cross a river at the right time. In fact, the River Erme is the first river that I have come across on any of the National Trails in England, Scotland and Wales that cannot be crossed except by wading. You may recall in a piece a few days ago, I mentioned that I had been persuaded by Veronica to bring my “squelchers” (beaten-up old walking shoes) along, because she felt that wearing them would protect my feet from sharp objects as I waded across the river. The problem is that the “toe-crushers” (my useless normal walking boots) had been wreaking such havoc on my toes that I have been exclusively walking in my squelchers every day since, with boots confined to my cabin baggage. I had in fact intended to wear the toe-crushers today until I reached the river, swap them for the squelchers and then replace them afterwards, on Veronica’s strong advice.
Now, please don’t tell her, because she will be hopping mad, but I just couldn’t do it. I decided to wear the squelchers and wade barefoot across the river! I had received positive advice from one or two locals although I was surprised how many had no idea! A waitress in the pub last night told me that she had lived here all her life, but had never even heard of the river!
After an initial approach to the river at its mouth at Meadowsfoot Beach, where I observed that though the surface was sandy, there appeared to be too many deep gullies, I followed the official path upstream to Wonwell Beach and a crossing between two slipways. In the event, the pebbly crossing was relatively easy, if a little painful on my sensitive feet, and I was soon sunning myself on the opposite bank, while Whatsapping Veronica about the successful transit and rewarding myself with chocolate, (but not telling her about the squelchers!)
The remainder of the walk involved a strenuous climb through a lovely wood, very attractive in its new leaf, strewn with bluebells, red campion and white stitchwort (get me!). Then I was walking along back roads through attractive thatched villages with Dartmoor glowering in the distance. I had been completely unsuccessful in finding a B&B along the coast at Bigbury-on-Sea. Everything there had been booked for months and the big one, Burgh Island Hotel, wouldn’t accept a single night booking. We had been royally hosted there by good friends in the last year and I knew it was rather too posh for your itinerant Path walker. I have promised to take Veronica back there some time in the future, and if any of you lot break my confidence, that may well turn out to be sooner rather than later!!
Talking of B&Bs, the last few nights have been an exercise in contrasts. Given that I selected them almost exclusively on the basis of location, with very little choice because most were fully booked, I couldn’t have chosen a wider variety. The old-world, slightly tired elegance of the Whitsand Bay Hotel with its refined clientele made me think of the hotels my parents favoured many years ago. Men literally retired to the bar after dinner (though of course there is no smoking), while the ladies took coffee in the sitting room. The hotel had once been a mansion in a completely different location and was rebuilt, brick by brick, in its current magnificent location.
The following night, in Plymouth, Jury’s Inn was a completely predictable, urban, businessperson’s hotel, offering a highly standardised service in every area. I have stayed in countless examples of the ilk, and I would find it hard to distinguish one from the other. I could just imagine the metrics being used by distant management to measure performance. Those metrics would though have failed to quantify the slightly sad and distant look in the eye of one of the receptionists. I told him that he seemed to me to be the busiest person I had seen all day! He looked at me in disbelief, and then broke out into a huge grin! It was possibly the first personal comment, let alone compliment, he had received all day! The room was perfectly comfortable and the WiFi excellent!
Such cannot be said of my stay last night in Noss Mayo. You may recall that I had said that I had found it very difficult to find accommodation in the area because everything was booked for the wedding. Not so the Cellars! I was greeted by my slightly distracted hostess who was going out for the evening. She directed me to the shack out back that would be my residence for the night, across her lovely garden that was obviously prime in her priorities! After initially being a little set back by the chaos in the shack, I realised that it was actually quite comfortable in a chaotic sort of way, though it certainly wasn’t catering for standard B&B. I learned how to operate the boiler; I discovered the oven, dishwasher, and fridge (with my breakfast on a tray inside). This is do-it-yourself B&B.
Of course there was no TV or WiFi! On enquiry, I was told that there was WiFi in the main house and if I confined myself to the outer garden room, I was welcome to use it (with the unsaid question being why would I ever want to?!) Later as I wrote my blog, I heard the strains of classical music coming from the interior of the house. It transpired that my hostess had two sisters and a husband visiting and they were doing what you do; listen to music on a record-player. On my return to my room, I discovered a set of early seventies LPs and a serviceable record player. I went to bed listening to Art Garfunkel and Joan Baez. I went to sleep feeling strangely peaceful, and ironically more in connection with my own youth than in any of the previous hostelries!
I have passed off my own LP record collection and record player to my younger daughter, who insists that the vinyl sound still rules! Your digital correspondent has always resisted this idea, but last night, as I went to sleep, those sounds were so redolent of my youth that I had to accept some uncertainty.
My conclusion though was that I am beginning to have to accept that other older people are of my generation. I can’t pretend any longer that I’m younger!
As will become clear, I was under time pressure this morning, and I left my unusual B&B in something of a rush. The parting niceties with my hostesses took longer than usual (I’ll come back to that!) and, feeling that I was now behind schedule, I paid scant heed to a sign virtually outside the garden and went charging off down to sea-level on the wrong path. I was doubly annoyed, because I had just read in my guidebook that I would initially be enjoying a level walk along Revelstoke Drive, so why was I struggling down a rocky path to the sea?? I turned round, started again and was soon speeding along the right path. This magnificently engineered road was cut by local fishermen at the behest of Lord Revelstoke in the nineteenth century so he could show off his magnificent estate to his guests. While one may question the ethics, the result is a triumph for the Coast Path. In fact the views are so magnificent and the walking so easy, that it is well worth a substantial deviation from wherever you might be in the South West to spend some time walking here. There are a number of car parks in the area to facilitate such a venture.
I careered along at almost 6kph, about double my usual Coast Path walking speed while simultaneously taking in the matchless vistas of this high-level road, passing numerous runners along the way who were doubtless also aware of its charms. Then all of a sudden, things changed! Lord Revelstoke’s road charged off inland, and the Coast Path, as if once more free to do its worst, started plunging and rearing with gay abandon. Initially I did a little inland circuit, because I could plainly see that the path was venomously dropping to sea-level only immediately to rise back up to the cliff-top, while a perfectly serviceable contour path could avoid the problem. This did involve a brief spell on a road, and that is anathema to the Path, but not to me! We met again all too soon, and I was ducking and diving all over again at a considerably reduced speed, but still roughly on schedule.
By now you will probably have realised that the reason for all this scheduling was that I was going to have to cross a river at the right time. In fact, the River Erme is the first river that I have come across on any of the National Trails in England, Scotland and Wales that cannot be crossed except by wading. You may recall in a piece a few days ago, I mentioned that I had been persuaded by Veronica to bring my “squelchers” (beaten-up old walking shoes) along, because she felt that wearing them would protect my feet from sharp objects as I waded across the river. The problem is that the “toe-crushers” (my useless normal walking boots) had been wreaking such havoc on my toes that I have been exclusively walking in my squelchers every day since, with boots confined to my cabin baggage. I had in fact intended to wear the toe-crushers today until I reached the river, swap them for the squelchers and then replace them afterwards, on Veronica’s strong advice.
Now, please don’t tell her, because she will be hopping mad, but I just couldn’t do it. I decided to wear the squelchers and wade barefoot across the river! I had received positive advice from one or two locals although I was surprised how many had no idea! A waitress in the pub last night told me that she had lived here all her life, but had never even heard of the river!
After an initial approach to the river at its mouth at Meadowsfoot Beach, where I observed that though the surface was sandy, there appeared to be too many deep gullies, I followed the official path upstream to Wonwell Beach and a crossing between two slipways. In the event, the pebbly crossing was relatively easy, if a little painful on my sensitive feet, and I was soon sunning myself on the opposite bank, while Whatsapping Veronica about the successful transit and rewarding myself with chocolate, (but not telling her about the squelchers!)
The remainder of the walk involved a strenuous climb through a lovely wood, very attractive in its new leaf, strewn with bluebells, red campion and white stitchwort (get me!). Then I was walking along back roads through attractive thatched villages with Dartmoor glowering in the distance. I had been completely unsuccessful in finding a B&B along the coast at Bigbury-on-Sea. Everything there had been booked for months and the big one, Burgh Island Hotel, wouldn’t accept a single night booking. We had been royally hosted there by good friends in the last year and I knew it was rather too posh for your itinerant Path walker. I have promised to take Veronica back there some time in the future, and if any of you lot break my confidence, that may well turn out to be sooner rather than later!!
Talking of B&Bs, the last few nights have been an exercise in contrasts. Given that I selected them almost exclusively on the basis of location, with very little choice because most were fully booked, I couldn’t have chosen a wider variety. The old-world, slightly tired elegance of the Whitsand Bay Hotel with its refined clientele made me think of the hotels my parents favoured many years ago. Men literally retired to the bar after dinner (though of course there is no smoking), while the ladies took coffee in the sitting room. The hotel had once been a mansion in a completely different location and was rebuilt, brick by brick, in its current magnificent location.
The following night, in Plymouth, Jury’s Inn was a completely predictable, urban, businessperson’s hotel, offering a highly standardised service in every area. I have stayed in countless examples of the ilk, and I would find it hard to distinguish one from the other. I could just imagine the metrics being used by distant management to measure performance. Those metrics would though have failed to quantify the slightly sad and distant look in the eye of one of the receptionists. I told him that he seemed to me to be the busiest person I had seen all day! He looked at me in disbelief, and then broke out into a huge grin! It was possibly the first personal comment, let alone compliment, he had received all day! The room was perfectly comfortable and the WiFi excellent!
Such cannot be said of my stay last night in Noss Mayo. You may recall that I had said that I had found it very difficult to find accommodation in the area because everything was booked for the wedding. Not so the Cellars! I was greeted by my slightly distracted hostess who was going out for the evening. She directed me to the shack out back that would be my residence for the night, across her lovely garden that was obviously prime in her priorities! After initially being a little set back by the chaos in the shack, I realised that it was actually quite comfortable in a chaotic sort of way, though it certainly wasn’t catering for standard B&B. I learned how to operate the boiler; I discovered the oven, dishwasher, and fridge (with my breakfast on a tray inside). This is do-it-yourself B&B.
Of course there was no TV or WiFi! On enquiry, I was told that there was WiFi in the main house and if I confined myself to the outer garden room, I was welcome to use it (with the unsaid question being why would I ever want to?!) Later as I wrote my blog, I heard the strains of classical music coming from the interior of the house. It transpired that my hostess had two sisters and a husband visiting and they were doing what you do; listen to music on a record-player. On my return to my room, I discovered a set of early seventies LPs and a serviceable record player. I went to bed listening to Art Garfunkel and Joan Baez. I went to sleep feeling strangely peaceful, and ironically more in connection with my own youth than in any of the previous hostelries!
I have passed off my own LP record collection and record player to my younger daughter, who insists that the vinyl sound still rules! Your digital correspondent has always resisted this idea, but last night, as I went to sleep, those sounds were so redolent of my youth that I had to accept some uncertainty.
My conclusion though was that I am beginning to have to accept that other older people are of my generation. I can’t pretend any longer that I’m younger!
The garden in front of my shed
The lovely roofing of the Cellars B&B
The start of the Revelstoke Park road
Such a beautiful view!
Looking ahead to the next headland beyond Bigbury
Such gorgeous views from the Revelstoke Path
And back the other way!
That's Burgh Island Hotel at full zoom
Such lovely views!
The Erme River appears
And then I see this fellow running along the path carrying a bottle of bubbly. I yelled at him to explain himself! He said, "It's OK, it happens!"
A sheen of bluebells in the woods
Me crossing the Erme! Cold feet!
The successfully traversed river
And the beautiful wood beyond
Despite which, some mud as a challenge to my non-waterproof squelchers!
That's Dartmoor in the distance!
Beautiful thatched cottages in the lovely inland villages
Another one!
Ahem!
ReplyDeleteOh No!
DeleteYour river crossing does look like a paddle rather than a 'wade'! How deep did it get?
ReplyDeleteKnee high, but it was a raging torrent and I was very brave...
DeleteAccording to the GPS Satellite track, you crossed the River Erne not twice, but thrice! A close-up look at your meanderings at the river mouth suggests enjoyment of the river and the sandy beach as more fun rather than an obstacle to cross!
ReplyDeleteIn fact the actual river course changes over time and the Google map isn't currently accurate. I was in fact testing the crossing at different points!
DeleteAh...the word got out, Kevin. Peter and Margie must have told Veronica!
ReplyDeleteAh,so that's who it was!!!
DeleteBeautiful photos. I hope that lad did not shake the bubbly too much on his run!
ReplyDeleteIt would have been surprising if he made it without the cork blowing out!
Delete