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!

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.