Stage 31, 26th March: Boscastle to Bude

A bright puffy cloud day with a biting but light easterly greeted me on the path out of Boscastle harbour. From the start it was all up and down with some really juicy steep climbs. Progress was slow.

I was back in my world of field trip history and the walk around to Crackington Haven evoked memories of staying as an A Level student in the little, slightly run-down hotel on the sea front. It was still there, but I didn’t venture inside to see if things had changed at all as I didn’t really want to update my memory. Both Cambeak and Millook Haven displayed spectacular Hercynian orogenic folding in the rocks and though that might mean naff all to most people, the chevron patterns in the cliffs can’t do anything other than make you marvel at the power of nature (photo).

Dizard Point offered me the pleasure of a particularly steep climb and at the top I met to share a bench with another SW coast path walker who warned me to expect that tomorrow would be the toughest section of the entire path – hmm cheers pal! I responded by telling him to expect some really steep stuff too.

A bench at the top of the next hill told me that Poole was 500 miles away and that Minehead was a mere 132 miles – yeah, I thought, about right.

The last 4 miles were fairly flat, featureless and easy around Widemouth Bay and I was a little disappointed that the beach wasn’t quite up the standard of others I had really enjoyed through Cornwall. Nevertheless I took a fairly easy if rather exhausted stroll into Bude.

Stage 32, 27th March: Bude to Hartland Point

So – reportedly the hardest part of the SW coast path awaited. The biting cold easterly wind coming off the moors was still nipping at my nose but once we had got a very welcome tow off our slippery but excellent pitch (with thanks to Kevin, Cornish Coasts Camping Park, Poundstock) I was happy to get cracking.

Yesterdays warning was to expect ten steep valleys to cross, one after an another. I counted nine before I was able to get any decent stride on. I then got another four increasingly steep ones and another token one to finish. Fourteen in all! My knees had taken a pounding with all the descent and I could feel them both complaining a little.

As for the vista. It was largely steep craggy cliffs and they were almost becoming monotonous now even though I was very much aware that there would be many other parts of the coast ahead that would be far more tedious. I thus told myself to enjoy them and not even consider the sharp cliff faces as anything even vaguely dull. Even so, with the cliffs opening out after Welcombe Mouth I felt relief at the loss of the peculiar claustrophobic feel the crags and cliffs seemed to have instilled in me.

For me things blossomed considerably at St Catherine’s Tor where, in dropping sunlight, the lush green valley and bubbling stream offered something very new and entirely satisfying.

I met Banger in the car park at Hartland Point where we were to stop for the night. Not voluntarily I might add. Someone had locked us in. Oh well – at least it was a freebie and a good one to enjoy the Cornish greenery and a sky full of stars.

Stage 33, 28th March: Hartland Point to Westward Ho!

I had to don the waterproofs for a correctly forecast (thanks Kate) wet morning. After the deep valleys of yesterday, today was one of hidden valleys as the landscape changed completely. I was now walking through deciduous woodland which, in places, looked and felt like a temperate rainforest. Initially it was refreshing and easy walking with birdsong and primroses still in flower. But there was little else to look at. The trees hung a little forlornly after their long winter and were only adorned with lichen and moss. The bluebells were all green and lush but not yet blue. Maybe this part of the walk would’ve been so much better if I had done it in another couple of weeks time.

I passed a pair of women walking to Hartland, my only human contact for five hours. We had a grand chat and passed a good ten minutes comparing the qualities of waterproofs and trail notes.

Over the top of the tourist and chocolate box village of Clovelly and a walk around the track of Hobby Drive I could barely hear the sea at all and only saw it now and then. I found myself missing it already. Eventually I emerged out of the woods and was greeted with a couple of unexpected steep valleys. I overtook a couple trudging through slippery mud and headed confidently down a steep bank where I slipped uncontrollably to unceremoniously slide bum first. My third slip in nearly six weeks of walking was, for once, not through lack of attention just very, very slippery mud. But my pride was still bruised, my clothes sported a large red-brown stripe and my trekking pole was bent almost double. I straightened it by wedging it between two boulders on the beach below and I think the result made it look fashionably worn.

As I climbed the hill on the other side I looked back to watch the couple I had just overtake try the same slippery descent. I guiltily raised a wry smile as I watched both of them take the same harmless but muddy bum slide downwards.

I met up with Banger at his preferred rendezvous point of The Village Inn in Westward Ho! (apparently the only place-name in Britain with an exclamation mark) and a long drive to the other side of Barnstaple for the only available overnight stop he could find that gave me a chance to do some much-needed laundry. Though a long way – the bonus was a great local pub with a carvery……I took the opportunity to fill my stomach, socks, boots and every available space in my body!

Rest Day, 29th March: Westward Ho!

After a quick changeover at the campsite, Banger headed back to Truro, with my thanks and I suspect a little relief to be escaping me, for another night of Cornish greenery with friends and Mike took over for his second week. We decamped back to The Village Inn car park in Westward Ho! and, after a little ham and egg lunch, stocked up for the coming week. Just to finish my rather cold week I just sneaked in a 99 cone from the van on the seafront. It just had to be done!

Tongue in cheek note to Banger…..put kettle on, place tea bag in cup, pour on boiling water, add milk….done!

Rest Day, 22nd March: Newquay

OK OK OK – so a night in a hotel is a bit of a luxury. But sharing a room with a hairy a***d scotsman doesn’t make it five-star. Even so, I was extremely grateful for Alec’s generosity and as he slinked out of the room at 5:30am to catch his bus back to London I tried to say goodbye and thank you again – but the door was already closed. Once awake, I had my second BBC Radio Leicester interview with Monica. For some reason I was much more nervous about doing it this time. Maybe I felt a bit of a fraud and a softy sitting on my hotel bed telling her how difficult it was.

After a cracking cooked breakfast, a quick clean up of the van and some grocery shopping, I headed over to meet up with my next support driver Mark (aka Banger), who was staying at friends Paul and Manti’s smallholding near Truro. I arrived at the bottom of a very long narrow track to be greeted by Manti who made me exceptionally welcome and allowed me to park Snickers in their barn. The evening passed with great hospitality in lovely company and I tucked myself into yet another comfy bed.

Oh and HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUM!!!!

Stage 28, 23rd March: Newquay to Trevone

A very cold and blustery north-westerly gave my nose a chill. I set out and watched carefully as the showers seemed to skirt around me. The path felt easy and the climbs gradual rather than steep, so maybe the rest day had done me some good.

A lovely sandy cove greeted me at Portcothan. It was surrounded by post-war houses which would usually make me grimace but in this instance it didn’t and the whole ensemble seemed to work surprisingly well. A further easy walk around the lighthouse at Trevose Head and I met up with Banger and Paul near Harlyn – scene of one of my childhood holidays, spending hours in the sea with my plywood surfboard. We ambled the last half an hour back to Trevone a quick pint and headed back for a second night at Paul and Manti’s.

Stage 29, 24th March: Trevone to Port Isaac

After a quick but heartfelt thanks and goodbye to my new friends, Paul and Manti, it was back into Snickers and off to Trevone with a weather forecast from home sounding decidedly grim.

The forecast was spot on. Hence there was not much for me to see today as it was very much head down and walk into the wind and the rain….ALL DAY! Over the last few days I had clearly tempted fate by saying that all day rain is actually quite a rareity. Yeah – that’ll teach me. The wind was very much in my face as I made my way down from Stepper Point to Padstow. At one point, the wind was gusting so strongly that I even found myself pushing hard against my trekking pole to proceed forwards downhill. At Padstow I jumped straight on to the ferry for a bumpy little ride over to Rock which I happily bypassed. It’s a place that isn’t particularly pretty, is vastly overrated and hugely overpriced. The rain suited it.

I continued forwards to Portreath where I am sure the wind direction had swung round to be in my face again. Though not easy in the circumstances I did manage a quick shouty telephone interview over the wind for the local paper back home and a hot pasty (not ice cream weather) from the first shop I found was very very welcome. I then trudged my increasingly sodden self around the headland at Pentire Point and made my way into ‘Doc Martin’ land.

Port Quin was first. A tiny hamlet with an equally tiny castle, used in one episode when the local chemist went AWOL with ‘Baby Martin’.  Port Isaac was a blissful find at the end of the day and I’m afraid I had no urge to do any more Doc Martin spotting or sightseeing and instead just wanted to dry out and get warm. In a masochistic sort of way – I actually enjoyed today.

Stage 30, March 25th: Port Isaac to Boscastle

What a difference a day makes! Though I had planned a short day to even out the expected height gain efforts over the coming week, it still felt more than a little tough. After confidently taking on five short but steep climbs I was more than a little annoyed that the cliff top path was so deep and narrow that it was difficult to put one foot infront of the other. Add in some mud from yesterdays rain and progress was slow.

The track became decidedly slatey as I rounded Delabole with its famous and incredibly deep quarry hidden out of sight a little way inland and as I arrived at Trebarwith Strand I was disappointed that the tide was in as I had wanted to revisit a good example of some honeycomb weathering in the limestone on the foreshore (nerd again). Teenage field trip memories again – huh! At least the rolling and crashing waves made up for it. They were very refreshing waves. Refreshing in a mouthwash advertisement sort of way.

Tintagel was closed, but for a few early season souls who tried to look around the castle despite a locked iron gate. I then met up with a few fellow friendly walkers on my way round to Boscastle and a few minutes of snatched chats made a bright end to the day. I do like the odd chat on the path and I aways like to know where they are heading.

Stage 25, 19th March: Cape Cornwall to St Ives

After yesterdays lethargic effort I felt much better today but the going proved to still be quite tough. The early tracks around the old mines at Botallack, Levant and Geevor were well-worn paths and were thus easy walking. The mining landscape was eerily beautiful and I couldn’t help thinking that if the light was better it would have been a great area for taking some stunning industrial landscape photographs – but I tried (photo).

Across to Zennor the terrain became bleak heathland and was utterly deserted with barely a sign of human civilisation let alone anybody else on the path. After Zennor a few serious walkers appeared and during one brief conversation we jointly spotted what looked like a pair of dolphins breaching the waves and heading purposefully northwards. The path became a real hands and knees scramble over numerous boulder fields, up and down and around headland after headland before St Ives finally came into view and I met up with Alec on the seafront who led me to a stunning campsite overlooking the bay with full facilities – including a shower block with underfloor heating!

Stage 26,  20th March: St Ives to Portreath

An early start direct from the campsite was intentional as the weather forecast (from Kate my own personal and trusty home based weathergirl) was for heavy rain and high wind later in the day.  Once again the early path was easy and it got even easier as it turned to tarmac to walk inland around the causeway at Hayle. The first shop I had passed for a few days tempted me in and I indulged myself with my first ice cream for a few days (a Feast). I wolfed it down in seconds, wary of predators as I scanned the sky for marauding sky rats.

A three-mile walk along the hard sandy beach from Hayle across St Ives bay to Godevry Point was a treat. Fortunately the now growing wind driving sand along the beach was on my back as I don’t think I would have enjoyed that stretch one bit if I had gone the other way.

Though the wind tried its best to make me look drunk ,walking around the headland and along the cliff tops was relatively easy. As I checked my progress against the map I picked up on fantastically evocative names such as Hell’s Mouth and Deadman’s Cove. But it was here that the rain caught up with me and I belatedly donned full waterproofs for the first time.

It was only just after 3pm when I descended from the gloom into Portreath car park (photo) for my rendezvous with Alec and Snickers. This was far too early for camping up, so we killed an hour by treating ourselves to a proper coffee in the harbour cafe and watching drenched dog walkers heading for shelter from the comfort of a rare but welcome sofa.

Stage 027, 21st March: Portreath to Newquay

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACH!!!!

I severely underestimated today and headed out with the thought that my estimate of 18 miles and 3,000ft of ascent was but a walk in the park. With a quick climb out of Portreath and then three more in quick succession I hadn’t even rounded St Agnes Head. Another sharp drop and climb towards Cligga Head and I was beginning to suss that today wasn’t going to be that easy. Adding into the equation were occasional heavy showers accompanied by blustery winds which blew me sideways as they gathered pace over the cliff tops.

To entertain me I had miles of more dramatic industrial ruins comprising spoil heaps, old mine shafts and stone walls and buildings poking their heads through the heather clad ground. This time they were supplemented by pastel shades of red, yellow and green in the rocks on the cliff face.  For most people the colours would be enough but I geekishly like the mineralisation around the granite margins in Cornwall and found myself irresistibly slowing my pace to pick through the spoil heaps for a pretty pocket-sized momento or two. At one point a large flash of rich green in the rocks at the bottom of the cliff sorely tempted me. From distance I suspected a huge chunk of malachite had recently been exposed by the storms and I so wanted to get down there to investigate and maybe snaffle a tonne or two. Alas, my climbing skills aren’t that good and there was no way you could reach it from sea level either.

Reluctantly moving on, I was soon rewarded with another glorious beach walk across Perran Sands but this pleasure was soon negated by the joyless experience of walking up and over the dunes at Holywell. I had a brief but close encounter with a stunning Red Kite in the marram grass. It flew up infront of me like a startled pheasant but then opened it wings and showed its true style as it headed off inland.

A walk inland from Crantock Beach brought me to cross a tidal footbridge into Pentire (photo) and on to Newquay where Alec had booked a night in a hotel to meet his demands of a 5:30am start to get home the following morning.

My arrival at the hotel brought me crashing back to real life as some pompous prat was complaining at reception about not having a king-size bed in his room. Welcome to the real world eh! After nearly 23 miles and 4,700ft of ascent I was sorely tempted to plant my trekking pole where the sun doesn’t shine.

My evening was greatly cheered by Skypeing my family at home. It was great to see them all, particularly as I was missing a birthday. Can I just formally apologise here and now for winding the dogs up….oops sorry Kate!

MILESTONES: Over 500 miles and 100,000ft of ascent so far!!!

Rest Day, 15th March:  Lizard

We had what can only be described as a bit of a hippy weekend on Henry’s camp site in Lizard. My first visit to what I thought were the toilets reminded me of an ablutions block from a 1970’s rock festival with three leeks sitting bizarrely on a chair outside a shower which was half full of leaves. However, having discovered a much newer and very well equipped bathroom my faith was somewhat restored. Strange signs bedecked the site such as “Rosie’s cider, £2.50 a jug! We have the jug!”.  Pigs, ducks, alpaca and huge swarms of chickens roamed freely and the remnants of a tropical beach bar gave the place huge character – and I loved it.

We drove into Penzance and I dropped Sharpie off at the station for his trip back to pick his car up in Plymouth. It was the end of a really good ‘Max and Paddy’ type of week during which Sharpie had looked after me brilliantly and at the same time had become a master of both Snickers and of schmoozing the locals. I hung around Sainsbury’s car park all day, eating two big breakfasts in their cafe, shopping, using their loo and catching up on bits and pieces before returning to the station for my week 5 driver, Alec, late afternoon and another night back at Henry’s.

Stage 22, 16th March: Lizard to Prussia Cove

A much chillier start than previous days but dry as I walked out of Henry’s to rejoin the coast path. I met just one person all the way across to Porthleven, when the path livened with the now familiar mix of dog walkers. A large party of students gathered around a preaching lecturer on the foreshore with yellow hard hats and field notebooks in hand. Geology students are just so easily spotted when you know one (photo).

I also got my first glimpse of Cornish copper and tin works as I passed the engine house to Wheal Prosper on Rinsey cliffs. It wasn’t a well named mine as it only worked for six years.

A fine drizzle and cold wind picked up as I continued on towards Praa Sands and Prussia Cove, but it was nothing to worry about and only offered to freshen rather than chill. I met Alec parked up in a field just beyond Prussia Cove who greeted me enthusiastically with tales of his eventful first day.

Stage 23, 17th March: Prussia Cove to Penberth

The weather was largely unchanged as I left Snickers to walk back down to the coast path. Fifteen minutes later, I returned as the damn path was closed and diverted back to within inches of our overnight parking spot. I restarted my tracking and GPS like a good boy even though I had already done two-thirds of a mile.

It was an easy walk to Marazion with a stunning view of Saint Michael’s Mount. I rounded the headland and dropped onto the beach at low tide for a good long walk over wet sand to Penzance. I spotted Alec parked up at Sainsbury’s no doubt sipping a proper coffee rather than the naff instant one I’d knocked up earlier.

Penzance and Newlyn were both a little scruffy and clearly storm damaged. I thought they were deserving of some of the investment I had seen a week or so ago, or whenever it was, back in Plymouth. I have to admit that days and weeks are already seeming to roll into one another and if it wasn’t for my diary and this blog I wouldn’t have a clue what had happened, where I’d been and when.

After a pretty walk around a twee Mousehole harbour I then had a real scramble across to Lamorna and beyond. Hands were in use almost as much as feet and I think you’d be hard pushed to call it a path in any real sense of the word. I’d only planned to go as far as Lamorna, but my feet felt good so I decided the extra three miles round to Penberth would give me a bit of insurance for any duff weather over the next few days.

At one point today I did note that, since Southampton, I had only been overtaken by two people walking and they were both in towns. Today I was steam rollered on a quite tough bit of coast path by a woman in her 40’s and her three dogs who flew past faster than an HS2 train – I think she enjoyed showing me how it should be done.

Oh yes – and we did cheat today. Graham and his p.a. Sara met up with us at Land’s End for quick catch up and a photo shoot (photo). Yes we were a day early, but at least the rip-off photographer had gone home for the day and we could get access to the famous signpost which he usually has chained off to retain custom.

Stage 24, 18th March: Penberth to Cape Cornwall

With the weather unchanged I had plenty of ups and downs over heaths and grassland to Land’s End. After an encouragingly attractive approach to the world-famous landmark, the place itself was very disappointing. It comprised a rather tacky amusement park, an empty hotel, a few sparsely populated cafes and gift shops and the aforementioned photographer cooped up in his tiny hut waiting for the next middle-aged man in lycra (MAMIL) to turn up on a bike destined for John O’Groats.

The mileage chart at Land’s End didn’t help the cause either. It said that Southampton was 231 miles away and I’d just walked 427 to get there and ascended over 85,000ft.  At least Sennen Cove lifted my spirits. The beach is undoubtedly the best I’d come across in Cornwall so far and I strolled across enjoying the sound of the surf and dodging the remnants of the waves washing up the sand. As I walked on I noticed that my energy seemed to be draining. Whether this was psychological, after passing my first real target at Land’s End, or physiological I don’t know. But I was glad that I was only going as far as Cape Cornwall.

When I finally reached Cape Cornwall my legs felt weak but a grin shot across my face as I bumped into the same hoard of Geology students (University of Plymouth) I had seen at Porthleven two days before. I tried, in vain, to gather a coach load of students for a quick photo shoot for this blog, but they were clearly looking forward to their gallon of beer rather than pose for a freak with a trekking pole who wanted an ironic picture for his website which meant absolutely naff all to them. Instead I talked enthusiastically to their lecturer for ten minutes as the yellow hatted brigade of students boarded their coach and headed with a little more enthusiasm for a night in a hostelry whose takings would probably see record levels.

Slightly disappointed my spirits were soon lifted when I found that Alec had blagged a night in the car park of the Cape Cornwall Golf and Leisure Club. George the manager was truly delightful and allowed us use of his showers and toilets, offering clean towels and a free run of the place. His staff were equally friendly and after an evening of chat we headed to our beds cheered by the generosity of pocket (thanks John) and heart they had shown and that which had also been shown by so many people to date.

Stage 19, 12th March: Portloe to Maenporth

A chilly yet perfect day for walking if very hazy and thus the views were fairly naff. As the road access into Portloe was a little challenging, Sharpie dropped me at the top of the village and I retraced a few yards to start the day.

Everything was very quiet all morning with signs of human life very scant. I found an old cold war military bunker lurking menacingly at the top of a cliff. I managed to ascertain that it was more than a single room by the number of vents and pipes poking out at ground level, but unfortunately the entrance was gated and locked so I couldn’t poke my nose in to see what lurked beneath.

I lunched alone on a small beach near Carne and spent a few minutes combing for shells before heading inland at Portscatho to head for St Mawes and a ferry over to Falmouth. The road down to St Mawes was probably the most dangerous part of my trip so far. High banks edged the road and I had nowhere to go if the cars didn’t give me a wide berth. A few cut it a bit fine and with each approaching car I tried to catch the drivers eye through a tinted windscreen just to check that they had seen me and weren’t in a world of their own on their mobile phone.

Falmouth seemed refreshingly unspoilt with its cobbled high street not solely reserved for pedestrians. It had the usual set of chain shops but also a healthy set of independents with a great old record shop selling vinyl which was very tempting to my wallet. To the east of the town a small working docks and industrial estate took me round to Pendennis Point and a 99 cone with flake beckoned at my loose change. After checking for marauding sky rats, I bought one and strolled down the road happily lapping away. Though by no means high summer, I came across a small beach full of students playing a variety of games or idly gossiping and arranging their next social event. One girl sat in the middle clearly wrapped up in her own world and, to me, looking a little sad. She watched me pass by and I wondered what was going on in her head with a little worry.

Stage 20, 13th March: Maenporth to Gillan Creek

Another estuary day! This time the Helford river had to be walked around as the only ferry is seasonal and I can’t afford to wait for 2 weeks. I tried my luck with the ferryman painting his boathouse at Helford Passage, but there wasn’t vague flicker of acknowledgement in his voice and he was clearly more concerned about finishing his gloss work.

Heading away from the coast path, I had plenty of road walking to endure with the odd daffodil field (photo) in full bloom to brighten the tarmac vista. It was up hill, down dale all the way and I admit to getting a little bored but nowhere near as bored as the woman behind the counter at Gweek post office who took my money for a mint Magnum with barely any acknowledgement.

More roads and then a brief yet spirit lifting walk across country through fields so deep in mud that they would have been impassable a week ago. With a week of dry weather they now had a crusty top which kept me from sinking more than ankle-deep. A lovely woodland walk followed with an assault course of fallen trees to negotiate. These kept me entertained and with the added bonus of discovering the odd hidden fairytale cottage the whole afternoon was a good one.

I met up with Sharpie at Helford and rejoined the coast path for a brief 2 miles to a roadside waterfront boatyard night stop in St Anthony. The evening was passed chewing the cud whilst listening to Led Zeppelin with Gammon, egg and chips on the bus menu – not bad huh? Max and Paddy come to mind.

Stage 21, 14th March: St Anthony to Lizard

It was a cold, still and misty morning as I inched my way over the slippery stepping-stones crossing Gillan Creek. It was so quiet that I’m sure a whisper would have carried a mile. As I rounded the headland, even the waves were respectfully quiet as they whispered back by gently lapping at the shore.

I met not a soul for some considerable time though I did spot an old couple at distance collecting driftwood on the foreshore. Passing through the recently decommissioned and desolate gabbro quarry was a little eerie. The path wound itself through the murk and quarry debris with old warning signs rusting on delapidated fences. The quarry gave way to a low rocky shoreline and the path was scattered with plastic and polystyrene detritus blown up from the recent storms. At Coverack a short section of road had collapsed onto the beach below but there seemed little urgency to repair it and signs of how they would engineer such a project weren’t apparent by any means.

From Coverack I climbed over the cliffs to moorland like terrain. I met a few fellow walkers for a quick chat and sat and ate my lunch in the shadow of a deserted look out post at the disturbingly named Black Head. At Cadgwith the path was perilously close to the edge of the spectacular Devils Frying Pan (photo) and it was just a short walk round to the Lizard and a meeting with Sharpie for a few poses at my first compass landmark – the Southern most point of the British mainland. In celebration we enjoyed a few jars at the local hostelries and a damn good fish and chips back in the van.

So, the end of another week and probably my best so far. The weather has been very much on my side and my foot has healed pretty well as long as I kept off the tarmac. To top it all, I’m slowly establishing a routine and hence I’m gradually becoming a little less uptight about getting from A to B and beginning to enjoy the ‘to’ bit in the middle.  I am not tempting fate by saying that I will succeed in this little quest, but I feel that maybe I can now relax a little and actually start to enjoy rather than endure it.

Before I start rambling incoherently about the last few days of my little quest, I thought it was about time that I mentioned that there are two other stories going on in parallel to mine.

First is what is happening at home. I write this because the man who is repairing my lawnmower called me today to say it will be ready this weekend. A smidge late for me to pick up and yet another thing I have left my suffering better half, Kate, and the family to sort out in my absence.

I like to feel that Kate and the family are thankfully very much playing their part in this adventure and that in truth (though I’m not very good at admitting it publicly) I do rather miss them too. With modern communications it’s much easier to talk, text, email or skype – so I have no excuses for failing to keep in touch with everyone even if I do hit areas on the dark side with an iffy phone signal.

To that end I have Kate giving me my morning weather forecast which helps me to don the right clothing. She also continues to research possible stopovers. Indeed it may well be that ‘Kate’s List’ becomes worthy of publication in its own right at some point. On top of that, I think she has already redecorated half of the house and probably tidied up huge heaps of my mess.

As for anything else at home – sorry, but I rather like to keep things to myself. Hence my family conversations are not going to get repeated here, on facebook, twitter or anywhere else. Home is home and here is ….well ….errr….somewhere else for a few months.

Secondly is the support drivers tale. I have set up a little ‘captains log’ on board Snickers for the drivers to put down their thoughts. I have vowed not to read it till I finish, so they are free to put down anything they want and I have a sneaky suspicion that their stories could well be much more interesting than mine. Maybe I can pull my story together with theirs, Kate’s and the family to make one juicy little tome one day.

So where were we??????

Stage 16 9th March: Freathy to Polperro  16.2m

After a good night of food, bed and bath at Rob and Kate’s in Plympton – thanks guys, I was rewarded further with a neat pile of clean laundry and a cooked breakfast. With Mike on his way home with Jane and Gillie, Rob finished cleaning the van whilst I topped up on provisions. Driver No.4 and pal from Quorn Cricket Club, Sharpie, turned up early afternoon and we headed off to Whitsands Bay to find a stopover in what looked like an old fort at the top of the cliff. There was a motorhome rally on and the organiser, Brian, was one of those good ole’ boys who was incredibly helpful. Through his quiet recommendation we found ourselves with a free pitch for the night.

The following morning was sunny and felt very much like summer had skipped in ahead of spring.  I suspected that I may just need my newly acquired legionnaires hat on today – or crap hat as I call it. I left Freathy having forgotten to turn my tracking on….grrrr and headed on to Portwrinkle where I found another cousin – Mike and his wife Caroline waiting for me on the seafront. We chatted about this, that and family for a good half an hour as I got a tour of their allotment before heading off over the cliff for an easy walk (or am I just getting better) to Downderry, Seaton and Looe.

Looe (photo) was heaving with visitors queueing for fish and chips and paddling in the sea. I treated myself to a Strawberry and Clotted Cream flavoured ice cream which I was savouring sweetly as I strolled along the harbour before a sodding sea-gull swooped over my shoulder and plucked it from my hand with barely a feather brushing my face. It neatly left a tiny bit of cone in my hand which I threw after the fluttering thief with an added expletive questioning the parenthood of the sky-rat.

I met up with Sharpie on the cliffs above Polperro in good time for a pint or two whilst enjoying the second half of England v Wales in the six nations.

Stage 17 10th March:  Polperro to Charlestown    18.7m

More shirt sleeve weather and a day of unexpected ascent.

Around Pencarrow Head to Polruan (with a rolled r) was lovely. Spring had found its rightful place again and primroses lined the path which had dried to such a degree that I ventured to remove my gaiters for the first time.

I stepped straight on to the little ferry across to Fowey and tried my luck with a second ice cream in the form of a Magnum which I kept under close guard and out of the eye-line of any marauding sky rat. I tucked into my lunch at St Catherine’s Point above Fowey where a passing conversation with Duncan and Jan was unexpectedly and generously rewarded with a very kind donation to the charities.

Unfortunately my afternoon walk round to Par felt a little suburban in comparison to the morning session as the path seemed to be very busy, though a dozen people has already become busy by my standards. Par itself was depressing even in the sunshine. The china clay works dominate the sea front and the nature reserve / lagoon behind the beach served as a park for kids and grannies to feed to birds (photo). To top it all a rather tacky holiday park sandwiched itself between the reserve and the clay works and to top it off I was forced to walk around it all by hitting the main road.

Fortunately things improved and my destination of Charlestown – though hardly as quaint as your archetypal rambling Cornish village – seemed unspoilt by the burden of Londoners second homes (I shall rant on this issue later I suspect)

Stage 18 11th March: Charlestown to Portloe  19.6m

Overnight, yet another Kate kindly handed us a collection she had gathered from the staff at the Britannia Inn near St Austell and I headed out at an easy pace on a cool, overcast and perfect day for walking. My pace was probably a little too easy as my viewranger route planner had stopped displaying height correctly (since fixed) so I really wasn’t expecting a new daily ascent world record for Pete Hill of 6,062ft – or a PB in less grandiose terms.

The coast path was rugged and had a proper Cornish feel to it, but the ups and downs were relentless. Nothing huge but far too many of them to count.

At Mevagissey I met Mel the meter man who enthusiastically told me about his upcoming american road trip. He continued chatting as he knocked on another door, commenting that it doesn’t really matter as nobody is ever in as “they all live in London” we said in unison. It seemed a repetitively sad tale as Mel told me how the community spirit had died and that locals just couldn’t afford to pay £400,000 for a small cottage. Surely these greedy sods could lay off and just rent the occasional holiday home like normal folk and not buy everything up and then leave it empty for 95% of the year. If I had my way, I’d issue a cut-price compulsory purchase order on all of them and offer them back to the locals for the same knock-down price. It stinks that wealth can push people out of their own community, but hey, they won’t be reading this blog to care as they will more likely have their noses buried in the Financial Times checking their portfolio performance or examining The Times top 50 public schools for Tarquin and chums.

Rant aside, I lingered a little too long in Mevagissey (photo) and enjoyed a caramel and honey crunch ice cream before topping the calories up even more with sandwiches and a pork pie.

With many miles to cover I pressed on apace with ascents and descents coming in rapid succession. I peculiarly came across a woman bent on all fours in front of me rising with arms outstretched as she welcomed the sun with a salutation dance. I wasn’t complaining about her pose but the salute she made to me  had more to do with the moon than the sun.

Stage 013 5th March: Salcombe to Mothecombe  22.5m

We woke at dawn to see a cracking misty sunrise from our farm field overlooking the bay at Salcombe (photo).

Today was all about getting to Wonwell Beach an hour either side of low tide to be able to wade across the estuary to Mothecombe. I knew it would it was 22 miles away, but was confident I could make it as I’d worked out that low tide was around 4pm. I wandered off from Salcombe before 8am to give myself plenty of time.

Spring had definitely sprung and this was my first shirt sleeve day. Rounding the headland up towards Bolberry Down the only company I had was sheep traffic ambling along the path ahead of me and everything was good in the world. Onto Hope Bay and it was noticeable that even with light seas the tide was still high enough for waves to break over the sea wall.

One big path closure close to Thurlestone Sands was a set-back. There was no forewarning and the indicated diversion meant back-tracking half a mile and a good few miles of detour. The local farmer clearly preempted most walkers by putting a huge ‘No Trespassing’ sign on his fence. But sod that. There was no way I was going the long way round. So I found a stone wall and crept along behind it till I could make a sprint for the road out of the gaze of a tractor working in the next field.

It was then a long haul up the Avon estuary to Aveton Gifford and back down a tidal access road to Bigbury on Sea. At this point I noticed that the tide was already a long way out and Mike send me a text to tell me that low tide was at 2:40pm. Now I had to step on the gas. I pressed hard for the next 9 miles over plenty of that hard black stuff known as tarmac and 3 big cliff climbs. By the time I reached Wonwell I was pretty much at jogging pace, it was 3:45pm and the tide was racing in.  Boots off I eased across knee-deep with the ice-cold water and sharp gravel underfoot painful yet strangely relieving. A foot inspection on the other side revealed that the rushing had pretty much trashed my right foot, which now sported three blisters and a swollen toe.  And just to top it – my head was now sporting the first sun burn of the year and I was beginning to resemble a Swan Vesta match.

Stage 14 6th March: Mothecombe to Wembury   18.6m

With a decent shower and camp site, the night was very refreshing and though the map showed that I wouldn’t progress West much today, I knew that the next estuary was another to walk inland to get around.  Overcast with a forecast of rain, the day started well with several boot adjusting stops to get my toes in a moderately comfortable position. Fortunately it was easy walking along a coastguard track to Noss Mayo and I spotted my first dream house tucked away high on the cliff (out of my price range I suspect).

From Noss Mayo / Newton Ferrers it was a trudge up the Yealm estuary to the A379 at Brixton before heading back down through increasing drizzle to Wembury and a meet with Mike who had enjoyed a few flagons of cider whilst sitting in the van sifting through my ‘head banging’ selection of CDs.

The evening saw future support driver Rob pop out from Plymouth to meet for a beer and inspect Snickers the bus. A rapid reorganisation of weekend plans offered us a bed and bath at Rob’s the following night – as if I’d refuse!

Stage 15 7th March: Wembury to Freathy   20.4m

Overnight heavy rain had left ominous low cloud hanging close to land, but within yard of the coastline the sky brightened and things looked up.

My feet felt good and heading round to Plymouth I met up with Rob at the Mount Batten ferry and we crossed together. The Glaswegian ferryman and only other passengers – a retired couple – took interest in my little quest and we chatted all the way across. At the Plymouth side the ferry fare was generously waived and the other passengers Clark (forename or surname?) and his wife kindly pressed £10 into my hand.

Rob took a few photos of me posing at various Plymouth landmarks as he gave me an ambling tour of the city and we stopped for an al fresco coffee on the hoe. Rob walked me as far as the Cremyll ferry and I continued in shirtsleeves through an easy woodland walk towards Whitsand Bay.

The sunshine seemed to bring the best out in people and as I sat eating my lunch I chatted to man and his family. We nerded together about the RAB shirt he was wearing. His teenage family clearly similar to mine in raising a collective raised eyebrow at the detailed research he’d performed before he decided to buy the shirt.  Further along, two women lay back on the grass across the path watching the navy ships out in the bay and we idly wasted ten minutes talking excitedly and easily about more things than just my walk.

At Whitsand Bay a Weimeraner came bounding enthusiastically towards me along the cliff path followed by a woman lurching slowly and very unsteadily. She then stumbled and fell infront of me. She was clearly dazed and as I picked her up I noticed blood on her face and hands. She vaguely told me that her dog had pulled her over and that she had fallen on her face and her glasses had broken. I broke out my first aid kit and cleaned the cut under her eye, but she was very unsteady and I suspected she would be sporting a shiner for a fair few days as her eye socket was badly bruised. I offered to help her back up the cliff path but she refused, so I stood for ten minutes and watched after her as she stumbled unsteadily but safely along the path and out of sight.

All in all – a cracking day Gromit! Though my red sunburnt head really does make me look like a Scotsman on holiday in Cyprus! With an overnight stop at Rob’s house and a rest day to look forward to, it was time for Mike to leave. A cousin I barely knew beforehand was one I had got to like immensely by the end of the week – which is fortunate as he’s coming back for another two driving stints! He was great company and again I am highly appreciative of the time given up to help me.

By popular demand …..I’m back to the original format. Sorry for the confusion and sorry Claire (at least I tried). Enough fiddling eh!

Stage 10 2nd March: Holcombe to Goodrington 17.8m

Overnight my driver for the week, cousin Mike, was not a well bunny and I suspect that I may have given him something, though he kindly suggests it was the burger from yesterday that did it. Hence Jane drove me an hour round the Exe estuary for my  restart and vowed to pick me up and return me to Exmouth for a bonus night of top quality lodgings. I do feel as if this bad penny has out-stayed his time, though both Mike and Jane have made me feel exceptionally welcome.

The walk to Goodrington started well even though my toe was still nagging at me from last week, despite a professionally applied Compeed. The trek round to Torbay via Babbacombe was very up and down but as I arrived in Torquay the heavens opened and my determined aversion to wearing waterproofs to date was proving to be a mistake. By the time I reached Paignton, I was soaked through every layer with only my windshirt still doing its job by keeping hypothermia at bay. I was a little early for Jane so I cowered in a shop for a few minutes to seek some warmth. A sausage roll purchase was a slightly pathetic excuse to hang about and warm up for a while but it didn’t really help as stopping had cooled me down considerably. By the time I stepped outside to complete the last few hundred yards my whole body was seriously beginning to shiver. A few lessons learnt today!

Stage 11 3rd March: Goodrington to Stoke Fleming  18.6m

With Mike feeling much better, we headed out a little later than planned but I was confident that I’d have plenty of time to beat the end of day light. For the first time in over a week my toe was mildly comfortable and I cracked on at a good pace. With warnings in my ears about the number of climbs I should have expected yesterday, I was half expecting today to be a little easier with Brixham as a nice easy starter. But no – not one bit. Though long climbs weren’t an issue, the sheer number of smaller ones was enormous – and they just kept coming. One after another, steeply up, steeply down and very little flat to allow me to stride onwards. Many of them seemed utterly unnecessary as I’m sure I could have contoured round if the guy who made the path had been a little cleverer with his pick and shovel. There were several occasions when I was convinced he was having a joke at my expense and in not so polite terms, I told him so – several times!

The entrance to Dartmouth harbour (photo) looked more like the gates of Mordor than I was expecting but it could have been my dark mood as I was utterly cream crackered by the time I arrived in Kingswear. I wandered into the Post Office for some sweeties and managed to knock an entire display of Pot Noodles flying across the shop floor with my stick. The shopkeeper huffed and puffed as she shuffled her not undersized frame under the counter and I’m sure she actually growled at me as I left to catch the ferry over to Dartmouth.

Another swift 4 miles around to Stoke Fleming saw me arrive well after 6pm and barely beat the last ray of sunlight left in the sky. However, greeting me was a very welcoming log fire, a comfy armchair and a rather nice pint in The Green Dragon which allowed me time to tot up a total of over 4,700 ft of ascent today. A good day. Just a shame we had to go back to the van.

Stage 12 4th March: Stoke Fleming to Salcombe  18.9m

Up very early and away by 8am, I was down on Slapton Sands by 9am and greeted by the local constabulary and a bomb disposal team (photo) who were cordoning off a section of the beach where a piece of WW2 ordnance had been found. Bearing in mind that this was the beach where 946 US soldiers were killed when the Germans ambushed their training exercise from torpedo boats lurking in The Channel, I was curious as to whether it was German or Allied ordnance.

I flew down Slapton Sands and a gentle climb via the Lost Village took me round to Start Point. A sharp turn West around Lannacombe Bay brought me to a once valuable house perched precariously on the edge of a cliff with its gate posts hanging in mid-air. Lannacombe Cottages have their own name on the map – not for much longer I suspect.

I then raced around the cliffs which, after yesterday, felt fairly level – even though my end of day stats would say otherwise. On reaching East Portlemouth I briefly waited for a very lonely ferry to wind its way over to pick me up and head for Salcombe, and a meeting with Mike. He seemed to have had a much more interesting day than me just trying to find a new water hose to replace the naff one I bought 2 weeks ago to top up the bus’ bathing and drinking reservoir. From my recollection of the story it involved several ferry trips and considerable bartering skills to acquire anything under £50 from exclusive looking chandlers used to selling top of the range gear to wealthy weekenders with their yachts parked up outside their second home.

I have had many tips and ideas on how to blog and what to do on this site to make things interesting, but I think I might have hit on a thought from Claire my first cousin once removed (if that’s the right relationship). I shall now make sure that the blog reads chronologically correct with my most recent days first. Sorry if you are already confused. I also need to work on making things a little briefer as I have noticed just how much time I spend waffling on here – its eating into my day. I will try, promise!

So….where was I….oh yes. Please read from the bottom up from now on. Confused?

Rest Day: 1st March

With my upset tum continuing to knock me sideways it’s becoming a tad embarrassing as a guest in someone’s house. Nevertheless Michael and Jane are both very helpful and Jane disappears off out to buy medicinal help if only to ease the burden on their rising water bill whilst Michael tinkers with a few minor niggles on the van and gives it a clean.

The morning lie-in wasn’t as long as I might have wished as BBC Radio Leicester wanted a live interview with Monica Winfield which I gave a little nervously at 8:45 (time 02:42 on this link to listen). My phone pinged with texts from my daughters listening back at home calling me a few names and one from Kate suggesting that I was flirting with the presenter.  As if!

Onwards to a quick photo call with the local press in Exmouth and an important and welcome meet up with my old pal Graham who does peer support work with the SIA. We ended up with the first meal I felt like eating for three days at the Puffin Billy in Exton, though I kept off the beer.

Stage 9  28th Feb: Exmouth to Holcombe 19.8m

With a slight change in overnight plans, Julian headed off back to London by train and my second driver farewell was made with genuine thanks for another great week of help and a fair few laughs – even if he did show me that my fitness level is still a long way short of his. I think he was even back at work in Bayswater by the evening – a keen bunny indeed.

My first flat walk for a few days was necessary if only because neither the Starcross nor the Topsham ferries run in February. Hence a fairly easy stroll up and down the Exe estuary was only spoilt by the fact that most of it was on tarmac and with my nagging blistered toe, tarmac hurts. However, it was made all the easier as Jane joined me as far as the swing bridge near Exeter. We had a good family catch up and a very civilised coffee in Topsham.

Unfortunately, my tum still didn’t fancy the sandwiches in my bag, so I lugged them all the way and survived the day by eating just one fruit bar, a glucose tablet and plenty to drink.

Arriving in Dawlish, I suppose the old ghoulish tourist desires took over as I craned my neck to see the damage to the railway line. Alas my luck failed me. Work is well under way and I couldn’t get close as all foot access to the seafront was restricted and even monitored by very bored looking security guards.

A quick climb out of Dawlish and I was soon at Holcombe. Feet sore but thankfully feeling much better than yesterday.

Stage 8 27th Feb: Branscombe to Exmouth 19.0m

I awoke feeling very grim and utterly drained. Whether it was a dodgy beer the night before or some other bug I have no idea, but either way things were not right down below. What is worse, I had four of the steepest and toughest ascents and descents to make first thing. Where I had done similar climbs only the previous day, today I was pathetically slow and as one ended the next one started. By the time I approached Sidmouth I was very seriously thinking about calling it a day. Sidmouth didn’t help. Infact, Sidmouth – I hate you. Whether I was feeling rotten or not, if you close the path into the town please could you not do it half way down and then fail to indicate a diversion. Please could you clean your public loo and ensure that the washing facilities work. And if you have to shut the path out of town too, just a small apology would suffice. I know the storms were tough but my mood was tougher, so I took it all out on Sidmouth.

Strangely, my spirit lifted as I left Sidmouth. I also seemed to find some energy somewhere despite not being able to face my lunch. The path to Budleigh Salterton was a beauty and I made up some time even though I might have – ehem – inadvertently walked through another closed section of pathway….oops.

Next stop was Exmouth and Julian ran back through knee-deep mud to meet me close to yet another enormous caravan park. They really aren’t pretty places and a huge blot on the landscape even if you can’t really see much of them from the landward side.

I finally met up with my cousin Michael and his wife Jane on Exmouth sea-front just as the light was fading and it was with real relief that I made my way to their house for a couple of nights in a proper bed with easy access to very much-needed facilities.

Stage 7 26th Feb: Seatown to Branscombe  18.2m

Starting the day with a cracking walk up Golden Cap followed by a steep descent into Charmouth, I was hoping for a bit of fossil hunting on the foreshore. Alas before Charmouth I was diverted away from the cliff and up though the town and on to a main road to Lyme Regis. Hence fossil hunting became a compulsory fossil purchase as I nipped into Lyme Fossil Shop for a swift browse.

Sitting on a bench idly working out how to tweet, a woman by the name of Frances sat down alongside. We chatted for a few minutes and the culmination of our conversation was a nice crisp fiver pressed into my palm. A very welcome and first display of generosity and I’d like to think that she didn’t just give it to me to stop an old fool from rambling on incoherently. Thanks Frances.

Two more couples met and asked questions on my way out of Lyme and both were very enthusiastic to my cause. One couple had a Golden Retriever who very much reminded me of everyone and everything at home, so I gave him a proper hug and a nose to nose. It’s a little unnerving as to what I might do if I meet someone who closely resemble a member of my family.

Much that I loved Lyme Regis, I’d stopped a little longer than planned and with the cliff path blocked again I was diverted via more toe hurting tarmac all the way to Seaton. Julian had again run back to meet me and we wandered together around the chalk cliffs to Beer and the very chocolate box village of Branscombe.

That evening we parked some distance away from Branscombe at The Otter Inn, Colaton Raleigh where the landlord very kindly gave us the price of a meal as way of a charity donation….thanks muchly indeed!