Stage 4 23rd Feb: Worth Matravers to Durdle Door 13.8m

As Winnie the Pooh might say – a blustery day! As I climbed back on to the cliffs the wind really picked up and tried its very best to deposit me inland. On one occasion I had to use the field fencing as a handrail just to stay upright, so progress wasn’t very fast.

I’d planned my schedule to make sure that I reached the army ranges on a Sunday and thus avoid a large detour. It proved a wise choice as they were open to cross but entering the big iron gate alongside a heavily fenced Wytch Farm oil well complete with Nodding Donkey pump didn’t really bode well for a pretty walk. Fortunately the foreboding proved to be very wrong and it was a cracking walk across to Lulworth Cove.

A fair few hefty climbs meant that I totalled over 3,000ft of ascent today, but just as I was feeling proud for hauling myself up a nice steep one my driver for the week, Julian, jogged back towards me. I suggested he might like to try running down the hill I’d just walked up (photo).  So he did and what’s more he ran straight back up it! Methinks my fitness is not quite in his league.

We walked back together to Lulworth Cove, scene of many field trips and yes I can still remember the geology.

 Stage 5 24th Feb: Durdle Door to Abbotsbury Swannery 24.5m

Not my favourite day so far. Over 25 miles where the Weymouth tarmac followed by Fleet and Moonfleet mud seriously sapped my energy and turned my niggling toe into a pain in the….errr….toe.

The day started with four steep climbs and corresponding falls, but dropping down into Ringstead Bay brought conversation as I met Keith and Carol out walking their dogs and we chatted happily through the drizzle for a good 20 mins.

Weymouth brought hard tarmac and unfriendly faces. It is one thing to greet every passer-by when walking out in the wilderness, but it is becoming a sport of mine to see how people respond, or rather don’t, when I near a town centre. Very simply, I suspect it is a straight line scale with increasing fear in the eye of the recipient to my “hello” on the Y Axis and distance from centre of town on the X Axis. Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that I look a right numpty walking through town in big walking boots, wearing a rucksack and covered in mud.

After Weymouth the path took me around the Fleet. Home of many smugglers tales, today it was home to mud filled paths and a vast number of plastic bottles deposited – usually on the path – by the high tide (photo).

It was a hell of a hack up to Abbotsbury Swannery and took much longer than I thought it would. Julian my mad ultramarathon running driver, ran back 8 miles to meet me and then kept telling me it wasn’t far. My mood darkened more than a little till I realised that the campsite he’d booked us on (Bagwell Farm) had a bath!!!

Stage 6 25th Feb: Abbotsbury Swannery to Seatown  12.3m

After probably overdoing it a tad yesterday I eased down the miles today but exercised the gluteals pretty hard by walking along Chesil Beach. After getting a good rhythm going in the shingle I was toddling along at a comfortable if slow heel to toe pace and was quite happy. But no….Mr Coast Path sign said I should divert inland for a little mile of ankle-deep mud. Oh – deep joy!

Nevertheless, the mud eventually returned me to the beach and before long I was in Burton Bradstock and clambering up the odd cliff or two which hadn’t collapsed. One thing I am very impressed at is how quickly repairs or diversions are made to the SW Coast Path. I just wish they would signpost closed sections at both ends as I have walked through three so far, but only found out when I reached the other end.  I was about to report a big cliff fall which I had to clamber up over, but decided against it once I’d found the path was actually closed.  Maybe they don’t like people walking their path from the East.

Onwards to West Bay, Bridport which made me feel very young if only because the average age of the population seemed to be about 80. My single walking pole seemed to be at home among the throng of walking sticks.

So then a quick climb over Thorncombe Down and a drop into Seatown where further storm damage was  evident with the seafront, car park and pub severely damaged.

A free overnight park at Othona, a Chistian retreat back near Burton Bradstock, brought back many childhood memories for both Julian and I. It’s only a shame that we are probably a bit rough around the edges these days to be considered for residency but a park-up in the driveway with free use of a shower and loo was very welcome and brought a few giggles of our last visit 35 years ago when we slept in their shed as part of a teenage youth group. With Sea Bass on the menu in the van, not a bad night at all.

Day 2 20th Feb: Lymington to Southbourne.  20.4

Eeeee it’s grim dahn Souff!  I stepped out of Snickers into driving rain and a 40 mph head wind. They kept me company for a good few hours as I rounded the storm damaged sea wall protecting the marshes clearly devoid of an expected hoard of twitchers. As I approached Keyhaven it resembled a desolate outpost from a Dickensian novel and not a twee sailing village. Mercifully the rain abated as the marshes passed and what was left of Milford on Sea approached. Huge tipper trucks usually seen frequenting quarries greeted me as they inched their way along to Hurst Castle dumping shingle to repair the spit which had been breached in many places (photo). 

Milford itself was full of people in hi-visibility suits performing various clean up tasks. The seafront cafe which had made the national news only a week ago, as the scene of a rescue during a pebble spitting storm, was boarded up, yet damage seemed arbitrarily local with properties nearby showing little or no sign of damage. I felt guilty taking quick snaps of the destruction as the locals amassed to pick debris up from the nature reserve. The beach huts were, to be blunt, not pretty. I’m sure it can’t be pleasant seeing your personal belongings scattered widely across an entire town. I left Milford wishing I could have lingered to at least offer some help and not pass through as a disaster tourist.

Onwards via a few notably cordoned cliff falls to a rather anonymous Barton on Sea and seamlessly forward to Highcliffe and Christchurch, none of which left me with a glow of delight as I dodged my way through the hoards who had miraculously appeared to stroll in the afternoon sun. With a diversion inland to skirt Christchurch Harbour I ended the day muddying my boots down to Hengistbury Head and Southbourne. Rich had found a freebie pub car park inland to hide away and try the van off-grid properly. We survived.

Day 3 21st Feb: Southbourne to Worth Matravers.  23.0m

After a cold early night I was dropped off back at Southbourne to enjoy the pleasures of the ablutions facility before departure. Having departed, I then returned having forgotten to carry some cash for the Sandbanks / Studland ferry and so I started again…..grrrr. Nearly ten miles along the Bournemouth promenade isn’t overly thrilling but the weather did try to help by being sunny and brisk. I was hoping to make good pace but much of the prom seemed to be more of a sand dune than nice flat tarmac and once again beach huts dominated the vista with some looking decidedly worse for wear (storm damage). I really don’t think I will buy one of those. I’ll just stick to my garden shed thanks.

Eventually the ostentatious wealth of Sandbanks approached. I’m not impressed by open displays of cash and was looking forward to Studland bay and the start of the South West Coastal Path (photo) which didn’t disappoint. Walking along a proper sandy bay backed with dunes and shells on the tide line was bliss. I picked a pretty one up (pecten sp. I think). Doh – a major oil company logo sat mockingly in my hand.

Studland gave way to Old Harry and a decent climb over Ballard Down where my lickle toe decided to have enough of a whinge for me to have to stop and adjust my socks and boots a few times to avoid a minor niggle becoming a problem.  Swanage is refreshingly unspoilt by tourism or the trappings of wealth. My favourite town so far.

For the first time the real South West Coast Path beckoned. The path became rugged and skirted my first proper cliffs with a nagging wind pushing me back towards Swanage. If it wasn’t for the thick mud in places this would have been the highlight of my day, but the mud sucked the life out of my feet for my last few miles and the climb up from the seafront at Seacombe was steep AND mud laden. The climb was rewarded by Rich with a full pint glass at the quaint olde world Square and Compass in Worth Matravers, a pub strangely but not unpleasantly frequented by hippies with money and checked shirts. A top pub that I could happily have stopped at all evening instead of heading off to find a dry stopover inland.

Big thanks to Rich and Jake the dog for looking after me and seeing me through my first few days. Lest I dare forget further thanks are very much due to the Land’s End John O’Groats Association and the staff of JJ Catering of Thrapston for one pair of boots.  Thanks too for a second pair, provided by the staff of Health & Safety Executive…..I know there’s a joke in there somewhere, but I will resist!

I promised myself that I wouldn’t blog everyday – it would be far too boring, but with Day 1 completed I saw it as a huge relief to finally be on my way and worth a one off. From here on I would try to keep my write-ups to twice weekly and hope that wasn’t too onerous. Research prior to the off revealed that attempting a blog on one’s first expedition isn’t the wisest thing to do. I never made any claims to being wise.

Having stopped overnight with my mum in North Hampshire prior to heading down to Southampton, she packed me off with a degree of unabashed worry plus some sandwiches and half a tonnes of cold sausages for the day – so much for weight saving rucksacks. Meeting up with one of my brothers in the inconspicuous Mayflower Park was a very brief affair as I threw him the keys to Snickers and at 9:18 lumbered up the quayside with an old work pal and future support driver (Reesy) who was sporting a hangover after a work meeting in town the night before.

Rather fraudulently I hastily headed off to catch my first permissible ferry to Hythe and to get out of sight and on my way without any fuss or bother. It worked. Once out-of-town the first thing of note that I passed was of all things a sodding oil terminal. The irony of that moment really wasn’t lost on me and I had no doubt that I would be seeing a few more on this trip, all of which I suspected would be strategically placed just to make sure I didn’t forget what work looked like.

Exactly 20.3 miles via Hythe, Beaulieu and Bucklers Hard were completed in perfect weather and an extremely rapid time, mainly fuelled on adrenalin and the aforementioned relief. Even after taking 30 minutes for lunch, I strolled into Lymington at 3:30 to meet up with my brother and Jake the dog.  A quality stopover with hook-up and a decent shower was a very welcome surprise and the odd evening pint or two were supped with equal pleasure. By the way – I can definitely confirm that Hampshire mud was just as deep and wet as Leicestershire mud, but just a little less sticky. Weather forecast for tomorrow….errr…. not so good.

Well…. here goes. Not much to report this week, despite it being phenomenally busy with last-minute shopping, heap sorting and a cheesy local press photo call. I’m not what you would call photogenic, so I hope the photographer is adept with his editing software.

Tonight was a quick and pleasingly happy farewell take-away with the family while last night was spent sharing a beer or two with a few of the support drivers. Just don’t let Hughesie know that I rather pathetically pulled my back lifting his wheelchair into my car and have now spent the last 24 hours dosed up on ibuprofen.

Snickers is packed (slightly chaotically), topped up with fuel, water and gas – with a major thanks to Stu at Fosse Way Fuel Supplies for providing two nice full Propane bottles and fitting it all together. So that’s it. Just time to check the weather forecast, pull together a few loose ends and head off down the M1 for a pre-start evening with my mum in Hampshire.  Bring on Wednesday morning.

For those thespians among you, please don’t send me on my way with “break a leg” – it probably isn’t suitable.

It is becoming increasingly difficult to write anything original about trudging around the same Leicestershire fields without adding details of the lithology and chemical composition of the mud now liberally distributed throughout the house. I’m also pretty good at irritating the hell out of those around me with enthusiastic commentary about the resilience and condition of my boots. So, over the coming weeks and months, I am rather hoping that I can think of something a little more engrossing for this blog before I lose any of my hard-earned band of followers.

Mind you – if I am allowed a moment of trivia. We have a winner re naming the blunder bus! Thanks Hughesie – it is now affectionately known as ‘Snickers’ (may contain nuts, but it’s a marathon really). Hopefully that’s worth a bit of sponsorship in the form of free chocolate from Mars for the duration! If it is, can Mars people please note that I prefer Galaxy, Maltesers, Twix and a Mars itself and not a Snickers bar – sorry. And if anyone from Cadbury is reading, please note that I am a complete tart and willing to change the name of the bus for a years worth of Wispa, Crunchie, Bournville or Fruit & Nut. Oh and Nestle….I’m not averse to calling it Yorkie or Aero either. And there’s me wondering why I gain weight so easily.

Having completed over 1100 miles of training, I am now getting increasingly impatient and twitchy by the day.  If it wasn’t for the logistical set-up I think I would have started two weeks ago. But no I can’t. So now is my time to wind the training bit down and give some time to more logistical prep work, kit out the motorhome and spend a bit of valuable time at home.  Yes, I am a more than a little apprehensive. Yes, I question my sanity almost hourly. Yes, I worry about the continuing conveyor belt of storms hitting the South West and yes, I question every single aspect of the logistics. In truth the logistics are and need to be flexible and informal but my main worry is that the crux can collapse easily if the support drivers pull out or if Snickers fails catastrophically. To counter that, I picked up Snickers from St Helens and drove it over the Thelwall Viaduct in a howling gale – it passed test 1. I now have it in for a service and cam belt change – test 2. As for the support drivers – all seems a little quiet. I am rather hoping it stays that way as any pulling out or date changing will probably bring me out in nasty rash.

The weather is a real concern. Will that jet stream ever shift? I really feel for the people of the South West and though I am thoroughly fed up with storm after storm, the East Midlands has hardly had the perpetual onslaught that they have had to endure. I equally feel a little guilty to be entering their area in search of the odd overnight favour or two when they will be in the midst of yet another clean-up. Maybe I should take a JCB with a trailer load of sandbags and a high volume pump instead of Snickers.

Right, I suppose I’d better get back to some planning and check on the state of the South West Coast Path and their excellent route changes page.

I suppose my run of luck on the health and injuries front had to tumble at some point.

Having felt as strong as at any other time covering 18 more wet miles on Monday, Tuesday’s 20 miles was cut to 18 due to general malaise. Wednesday was abandoned to seek recovery and by Thursday a short 6 mile dog walk was as much as I could manage and an utterly exhausting experience. Even walking up the hill out of the village was more sapping than a scree slope scramble. Man-flu had struck!

Hence Thursday night was spent sitting up in bed privately grumbling my way through a selection of TV movies with an excess of aches, coughs and pathetic snuffles.  I watched John Thaw and Dennis Waterman ham it up in the 1977 movie version of ‘The Sweeney’ on ITV4 with mild, totally unjustifiable, anger for my family for importing a plethora of viruses specifically aimed at my infection. It was probably wise that I didn’t watch ‘Kill Bill: Vol. 2’ on Dave instead.

Rather than make things worse I elected to take Friday off from walking to sort out my kit, cough a bit, research overnight stops, cough a bit more, tidy  the study, keep coughing and make a general nuisance of myself by regularly interrupting Kate for a chat (and another cough) whilst she worked from home in the kitchen. I was productive in all areas. Indeed, I was so successful that Kate even decided to take the dogs out for a walk to escape me, my coughs and prove quite unnecessarily that she is perfectly capable of coping in my absence.

Oh…and lest I forget. Happy Birthday Gemma! A child no more and someone who has certainly got her head screwed on better than I had at her age. Actually, if I think about it, she beats me now!