Today has been a marathon – well, not quite, but nearly!  23.5 miles.  It is too far, really, I am very tired now, and unfortunately, after the delightful B & B I stayed in I last night, my hotel for tonight is utterly repellent.  However, those quibbles aside, it has been a fantastic day.  I left just before 9am, and walked along the prom at Seaton, climbing up to Beer head.  It was a good pull up, but not so steep as yesterday’s first climb.  Once on top of  Beer Head, there is a long grassy plateau with excellent views back down to Seaton.  The path then curves around and drops steeply into West Mouth bay. It climbs up again, then drops sharply, then up again, and back down to the beach.  There were four of these steep ups and downs before I reached Sidmouth, which was about half way.

All the people who were at Lyme Regis yesterday have moved west overnight to meet me in Sidmouth.  I rested for about half an hour then climbed steadily up yet another headland which then dropped down ( there is a pattern here….), then another up and down, more gentle this time, into Budleigh Salterton.  In Budleigh Salterton there is a long and rather tedious walk inland to the bridge crossing the River Otter, even though you can see the path not 100 yards away.  I am now in an area of completely red sandstone, which, if I remember correctly from what I learnt yesterday, is from the Cretaceous period. Another climb up, more gradual this time, then a long, long descent into Exmouth, via a caravan park where a few rabbits were disporting themselves in the evening sun.  The sign posting is rather confusing at this point, as I had reckoned 6 – 7 miles from Budleigh Salterton, but the sign said 4 miles, then 2 .5 miles, then back to 3 miles, then 1.75, then back to 3 miles again.  All a bit confusing.  In fact, it was close to 7.  Exmouth seems to have the longest promenade I have ever seen, making it a very dreary trudge for the last three miles. 

It was an extremely warm day, which was delightful, and the boots are doing very well, although they are a trifle hot, being leather with goretex lining.  Lots of butterflies today, yesterday was too windy.  Saw painted ladies, large whites, small whites, green-veined whites, grizzled skippers, small tortoiseshells and even adonis blues.  May have seen another kestrel, but not certain.

Coast Walk – West Bay to Seaton.

Today was probably the most physically demanding I have done so far, although not the longest.  We had a fairly leisurely breakfast then took a taxi back to the coast at West Bay.  I could see the very tricky final steep slope from yesterday.   The weather was very overcast and threatening.  Fortunately Tom had a spare cagoul in the car which he has lent me for the rest of the week.  Hopefully it won’t be needed, and, in fact, although it threatened a few times there was no rain all day. The path crosses the harbour then immediately begins to climb up towards the cliff top, before dropping  right back down to the sea at Eype Mouth.  From Eype, the path appears to go straight up from the beach, but after a minute of scrambling up a bit of landslip we were waved back by a passer-by who pointed out the very insignificantly marked diversion.   Regular landslips make the coast path a bit of a moving feast.   There is a steady climb out of Eype to Thorncombe Beacon – a long pull with a grassy saddle down and up again about half way.  The view was excellent, we could just see back to Portland Bill where I started yesterday.   Off the beacon there is a moderate slope down, then up again to the highest peak on the South Coast – Gold Cap.  It is not a hard climb, but relentless.  On the way down we were treated to the sight of a kestrel.   Down again into Charmouth, where there is quite a long diversion round the back of the town, along the old high street – again full of  interesting houses from different periods.  This street boasted a property where not only Charles II stayed (we are still on the Monarch Way, as well as the coast Path) but also Katharine of Aragon on her arrival from Spain in 1501.  The path climbs through a patch of woodland before arriving at the golf course at Lyme Regis.  We nipped across the greens between balls and then dropped down into Lyme.  I can only assume that the rest of the country was completely deserted today as everyone was in Lyme.  The sun had come out and it was a warm afternoon.  There were mums, dads, grandparents, sons, daughters, dogs, nieces, nephews, cousins and aunties traipsing round, eating ice-creams and poring over the fossil and mineral collections in many of the shops.  Tom is interested in minerals so we went into a few shops and he purchased some specimens.  I was amazed at some of the fossils – tiny, delicate outlines like Raphael drawings, tens or even 100s of millions of years old.  All of the little boys were delighted with the various bits of dinosaurs.

Lyme for me is famous for the scene in Persuasion, where Louisa Musgrave is knocked out on the Cobb and Anne Eliot, my favourite Austen heroine, has the pain of seeing the lover she broke up with 8 years before apparently in love with the said Louisa.

Out of Lyme, I crossed into a new county – Devon is now before me.  The path goes into an area called the Undercliff created by a massive landslide in 1839. Conveniently whilst the President of the Geological Society was staying there – coincidence, I am sure.  The land slide took away about 6 miles of cliff, which is now grown over into what is almost a tropical rain forest  It is thickly grown over drops and chasms between the boulders.  It is important to stick to the path as the area is still very friable.  There are ferns and creepers all around, and occasionally a glimpse of cliff with  a few where one can see out to sea, but for the better part of 6 miles the path is completely under the canopy of trees and undergrowth.  We heard owls calling, and even a peregrine.  By the end it seemed a little oppressive, and being quite hard going, I was glad when we reached the top of the headland.  We walked through a couple of oat fields and dropped down into Seaton.  A gruelling day, but fantastically varied.  18 miles.

We had an excellent pub meal in the Winston, then I said goodbye to Tom for a day by myself before Bridget and Angela join me.

I left Ferrybridge just before 8.30am.  The morning was chilly – I had barely gone a hundred yards when I had to stop to put on another layer – and the sky was exceedingly black.  Not a pretty sight for someone with no waterproof.  However, I was lucky. A few spots of rain fell, then the clouds began to drift inland ahead of a stiff south west wind that continued most of the day, contriving to make the morning both chilly and humid.  I contemplated walking along Chesil beach itself but concluded that it is just too hard.  Shingle is very difficult to walk on even for a few hundred yards and the beach in nearly 20 miles with no way of changing your mind if it gets too tough.  The Coast Path runs parallel to the beach, along the inside of the Fleet Lagoon, a site of special scientific interest and outstanding natural beauty and with various other accolades.  Attempts to drain it in the 18^th century were thwarted by the incursion of salt water over the Chesil spit.  Apparently, Chesil Beach is moving inland at the rate of 5m per century.  Strictly speaking, it is a Tombolo as it joins two pieces of land (thanks, Chris!)

The walk was fairly uneventful.  Lots of people with a variety of dogs, and far too many cows.  I had to walk through a number of fields where the blighters seem to take delight in hanging about near the exit stile.  In one field I was edging gently past some bullocks to cross a ditch when one came up behind me with a ring in his nose with spikes on – more like a knuckle duster than an ordinary nose ring.  I beat a hasty retreat and had to walk around the edge of two fields to get round.  Several more fields with a variety of bovines, but none as threatening.  One where a cow was standing directly in front of the stile – fortunately it was next to a gate so I hopped briskly over.  I can be surprisingly nimble in these circumstances!

The path wound past Moonfleet Manor, and I was rather excited to see it marked on the map as a hotel.  Moonfleet, by J Meade Falkner was one of my favourite books as a child and I was keen to see the manor which features in it.  Unfortunately, it was surrounded by a very dilapidated wall with the entrance nowhere near the path.  I didn’t want to persevere as it had a rather sinister and uninviting air.

I reached the Swannery at Abbotsbury at lunchtime.  I didn’t go in, but it looks worth a visit on another occasion.   It seems there has been a swannery here since the 11^th or 12^th Century, under the auspices of the Benedictine Abbey.  Several hundred pairs of Mute Swans nest here each year.    

The path then continued to hug the shore past West Bexington and Burton Bradstock, with a couple of very steep up and downs towards the end that rather took the wind out of my sails, before ending in West Bay, where I diverted inland to Bridport – a good mile extra.  I am sitting in the hotel waiting for my friend Tom to arrive, to walk with me tomorrow.  Just under 21 miles in total.

We had a rather posh pub meal at the Bull in Bridport – excellent Venison burger.  The hotel is nice, but rather expensive.  My room is so tiny I have to climb over my bag to get into bed, but our host is a pleasant chap and shared a nightcap with us in the little bar, telling us about the all of the arts events in Bridport.  Bridport is an interesting place, lots of different church denominations and a real mix of architectural styles.  The route down to West Bay, up which I walked is the Monarch’s Way, reputedly the route Charles II took after the Battle of Worcester to escape to France.  Above one of the high street inns is a sign saying he stayed in Bridport on 23^rd September 1651.

I’m sitting in the Ferrybridge Inn at Wyke Regis, overlooking Chesil Beach.  It’s a very humid evening and I am hoping that the positive weather forecast I saw yesterday is true, as I realise that I have forgotten to bring my waterproof!  Can Britain give me eight dry days on the trot?

Coming down by train, it was fun to travel through some of the stations where I have begun and ended walks – Brockenhurst, Branksome and Wareham being three.  As the train crossed Poole harbour I remembered the chain ferry and a great day with Jane.

The pub is shabby but clean, and obviously popular as I have been warned there will be an hour’s wait for food.  I should have eaten in Weymouth when I got off the train, but that looked pretty busy too.  No problem waiting really as I sip my merlot and pore over my maps. Next to me a very nice couple are explaining to their daughter, who appears to be about six, the different fossils and remains of creatures that can be found on the Jurassic coast.  At present they are discussing a giant centipede, six feet in length!

It’s morning now, and I am waiting to have breakfast before setting off. I do wish guest houses could serve breakfast earlier. It is seldom available before 8am but it would be so much nicer to be able to set off before that, as walking in the early morning is nicer than any other time of day.  From my bedroom window, I can see across to Portland Bill and down onto Chesil Beach.  Apparently, the pebbles are so distinctive on Chesil Beach that an expert can tell exactly from which of the 18 miles of its length it comes.   I have seen some early boats heading out on what promises to be a glorious day.

Looking forward to getting started on Saturday morning.  I have been newly inspired by reading about a chap who took six months off to walk the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine.  As I commuted into London this morning, I was dreaming of hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  However, closer to home, I have high hopes of the weather and can hardly wait to be on the beautiful Jurassic coast again.

I have a good mixture of walking with friends and by myself – and even have the promise of a rock’n’roll night in Newton Abbot – just in case I am not tired enough.  Because of the logistics of finding accommodation on the south coast at this time of year (including Dartmouth Regatta week) I am going to have to do some pretty long stretches, so hope I can make it.

I have bought new boots – the old ones are wearing on the soles and not giving enough grip – disappointing as they are very comfortable.  I have gone away from the nubuck Salomon boots I have had for the last three pairs and am going for traditional hard leather, made from a single piece of leather, so that there is no stitching, and thus nowhere for water to seep in.   The theory is that they mould to the foot, although after having paid for them I have been informed that the soles wear out long before the leather softens that much!  I wore them in last week in Norfolk and they were very comfortable, but I am taking the old ones just in case. 

I shall be taking the train down to Weymouth tomorrow, and spending the first night at the north end of Portland Bill.

After the delights of yesterday, today was distinctly less picturesque and was also rather frustrating as the South West Coast Path as marked on the map bears no resemblance to the marked path on the ground.  I spent a good deal of time trying to find my way and having to back track as I reached dead ends. I met a fellow walker who informed me that the council has changed the route significantly – at least I haven’t lost all map reading skills overnight!

I drove to Weymouth and parked behind the station – there were already hundreds of people out, preparing for a day at the beach – children, prams, dogs, buckets and spades, beer coolers, parasols, towels, grandmas and bats and balls all crowding their way to the front.  The town beach is beautifully sandy, unlike the shingly north end, but I resisted the temptation to paddle immediately and instead made for the old harbour.  I crossed the harbour in a little rowing boat that plies back and forth for a pound – another form of transport ticked off!  On the south side of the harbour are the rather attractive Nothe gardens, planted in a semi-tropical style, with South African and Australian plants, overlooking the enclosed harbour.

Weymouth has a fascinating history – in its early days it held a wool staple, until that was transferred to Poole after French marauding.  It was created as a Borough in 1571 combined of Weymouth and Melcombe Regis, the latter (the modern town centre) apparently being the place where the Black Death first arrived in Britain in 1348.  Subsequently, Sir Christopher Wren was its MP, and it became a hot tourist town after King George III began to patronise it.  For Jane Austen fans, it is the town where Jane Fairfax was rescued from certain death (according to Miss Bates) by Mr Dixon grabbing her sash when she nearly fell out of a boat.  The town remained an important naval base and saw the testing of the bouncing bombs in the last war.

The path continues to the tip of the mainland, and the Isle of Portland lies ahead – I was in two minds as to whether Portland counts as the coast, but decided, since it is firmly anchored by the north end of the 18 mile long Chesil beach that it should be included.  Crossing the 1.5 miles of causeway onto the island beside a busy road was very dull.  The path then winds (in fact, though not on the map) through the National Sailing Academy – interesting as this is where the Olympic boating events were held last year – to Portland Castle, another of Henry VIII’s castles. I am amazed at the number of fortifications he built – Deal, Dover, Portsmouth, Sandsfoot, Portland etc., largely funded by the wealth bagged from the Dissolution of the Monasteries.  Prior to the Reformation, the peasants paid the Monks to protect them from hell, and after the Reformation, they paid the King to protect them from the French – no doubt both causes have merit!

Eventually, there is a steep climb up to the cliffs, then along, past another battery and along the boundary fence of HM Young Offenders Institution.  I suppose there are worse places to be banged up than overlooking the Channel.

On the east side of the island where the cliffs are steep with a lower, rocky plateau, covered with valerian, are lots of areas where people were practising climbing – the porous limestone was covered with ropes and pulleys and little swinging figures. 

The path is uneventful round to the light house at Portland Bill, where I had a delightful Dorset cream tea.  Rounding the headland, I carried on along the West side in the afternoon sunshine – with fabulous views of Chesil Beach.  I arrived back in Weymouth around six and went for a delicious paddle to cool my tired feet.  The water was warm but felt strangely thick – presumably from the chalk which seemed to be in the water, being deposited on the sand as a gloopy white mass. I also received my first donation for Guide Dogs for the Blind – £6.30.  Very pleasing.

I arrived last night at about 8ish, just in time to walk down to the Scott Arms in Kingston – the view is marvellous – overlooking Corfe Castle, the food is reasonably good (I had some very jumbo Jumbo Prawns), but the service is not brilliant.  I think the young lad is still washing the same pile of dishes as he was toying with last month when we called in for a drink after our diversion up from Chapman’s Pool.  The coast path is still closed because of landslides so I followed the diversion out of Kingston towards Kimmeridge.  Kingston is so improbably pretty that even a chocolate box might be embarrassed to sport a picture of it on the lid.

Today is easily the most spectacular so far.  The weather has been superb – at least 28 degrees all day with barely a cloud in the sky.  The colour of the water was so vividly turquoise it was difficult to believe it was the English Channel, not the Mediterranean.  The cliffs are a brilliant white, and oh, so steep!  The path climbs up, then drops steeply over and over again, for some 20 miles.  I can imagine it was an absolute haven for smugglers with tiny coves hidden between steep cliffs.

There were droves of people at Kimmeridge, and then further on at Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door.  The sun had brought out a wide expanse of flesh –a Tattoo Parlour’s Style book on the move.

One person I encountered was a complete mystery.   I have to say “person” as I am not sure of the gender.  I first saw what I took to be a woman coming towards me at Kimmeridge.  She had the musculature of a fell walker, but even more extreme, with every sinew showing.  Unlike everyone else she hadn’t a word of greeting, just a grim expression on her face as she raced along.  An hour or so later as I was toiling up the worst slope of the day at WoRbarrow, she passed me going up – from the rear, I decided it was actually a man.  I assumed he/she was doing a round trip to Kimmeridge, but then a couple of hours later, I ran into him again, moving back east a ridiculous pace, still with the same fixed expression.  Very odd.

As I walked along, I was amazed at the quantities of butterflies – clouds of them – peacocks, tortoiseshells and those white ones that look as though they have been embroidered all over with black thread.  I have never seen so many.  In the distance, I could see Portland Bill.

I passed Tyneham- a village that was requisitioned during the war by the army, and which has never been relinquished.  I did not make the detour to the village from WoRbarrow Cove but could see the houses from the cliff top.

On past Lulworth and Durdle Door, then down into the delightfully named Scratchy Bottom, before another haul up to Swyre Head.  Down again to Middle Bottom, then up to West Bottom, after which it became less vertiginous, but still drops fairly sharply to Ringstead.  Just after Ringstead I came to the Smugglers’ Inn – an absolutely gorgeous pub with an excellent garden and a very traditional pub menu – no pan-fried yam root drizzled with balsamic vinegar from Timbuctoo here – just excellent pie and mashed potatoes and very nice looking burgers.

I decided to stop for late lunch/early supper, before strollling the final 4.5 miles into Weymouth in the evening light.  I had considered paddling at the end, but, disappointingly, Weymouth beach is another shingle beach.

A very good day – 22.5 miles in total.  Probably the hardest day with all the undulations, but definitely the most rewarding.

I am afraid I went backwards today!  Racked by guilt at having done the Swanage bit before finishing Bournemouth, I was keen to get out early.  The logical thing, given car complications was to start in Swanage and go east.  Jane and I set out at about 10.30am.  The first leg was a steep drop and then up again onto the headland which leads out to the Needles.  The cliffs were quite different from yesterday – less wooded and flatter.

It was a beautiful day and there were plenty of other people on the walk.  From the headland, we could see all the way down to Studland, Poole Harbour and Southampton.  It seemed odd to be walking with sea on my right and the sun behind me.

We came down from the cliffs and reached the beach at Studland around 11.30.  From there, it was 3 miles or so of beach – trying to keep to the firm sand at the water’s edge, rather than the soft sand which is difficult for walking. The sand was much paler than that at Bournemouth, which is quite golden.  We crossed Poole Harbour on the incredibly noisy chain link ferry, and then continued along Sandbanks and Bournemouth beach before heading back up to the station.  The houses overlooking the sea at Sandbanks are very grand – apparently extremely expensive too, but I preferred Swanage.  It was an uneventful day – I am quite blasé about naturists now and took the naturist beach completely in my stride.   Having felt yesterday as though I were finally in the south west, I felt right back in a semi-urban world again – very keen to start travelling west again – in the right order and direction!

I have a confession to make, which will shock the purists amongst you.  I have done today’s walk out of order!

The original plan was to go back to Bournemouth on the train and walk to Swanage, but as I was showing the maps to Liz, Jane and Vicki, my walking companions of old, I let slip that the following section, Swanage to Kimmeridge, would be prettier.  Liz suggested that we do that first, as not all of them will want to walk tomorrow.  There was a stunned silence as the others saw my horrified face – walk out of turn?  How could I possibly do that?  My whole scheme would go to pot! However, after I had had a snort (or two) of brandy and been patted on the back I thought about it and decided that I need to get grip on these OCD tendencies before I turn into one of those people who constantly wash their hands and run home to check if they have left the gas on.  I took a deep breath and agreed.  In return, I bargained for setting off at 9am.

We are staying in a very nice hotel, The Pines, above Swanage which gives straight onto the South West Coast path.  We meandered through the town, stopping to chuckle at the Punch & Judy booth and admire the boats bobbing on the fairly stiff waves.  The sun had come out after a very wet night, but the wind was still fierce.  Just out of Swanage is Peverill Head.  A wonderful vantage point from which the needles at Studland, and the sweep of the whole bay is visible with the various headlands stretching west also visible.  This was followed by Durlston Point where there are all sorts of informative displays about the development of the earth and the time and tides although we were flummoxed by the information on the convexity of the earth.

The wild flowers were an absolute delight – valerian, thrift, buttercups and yarrow everywhere.  We travelled gently along, stopping for photos and to admire the view.  A fellow walker pointed out some puffins bobbing on the waves, but I could not see them.

There were traces of Purbeck marble quarrying everywhere, with old mine adits and scary caves with narrow columns that did not seem strong enough to support the cliffs above them.  To say the walk was undulating would not do it justice.  We passed the light house at Durston and the Coast watch at St Aldhelm’s Head, but did not stop to look in the chapel (Vicki and I having been their previously on our one and only attempt at camping – my psyche still bears the scars.) There are a couple of ridiculously steep drops down with almost vertical climbs back up that had the wind whistling through our lungs.  The countryside is superb, with beautiful Purbeck stone dry walls and pretty farm houses.  Even the cows were picturesque Jersey rather than grumpy Friesians.

After an unintended detour to Chapman’s Pool, we got back on the path, only to find that it was closed between that point and Kimmeridge.  Some young lads had walked it, despite the signs, but told us that the route was very narrow in parts.  Vicki and I have  no head for heights, and with us all having form for getting lost on mountainsides, we decided on discretion and walked up to Kingston, where we found a delightful pub (though the service was a little slow) and had puddings overlooking Corfe Castle.

The Isle of Purbeck feels completely different from any of the previous places I have been.  The countryside is more rolling and wooded and the architecture is gorgeous: houses of white Purbeck stone nestled into the valleys.  I feel like I am in a quite different part of the country from Bournemouth, even though it is the same county.  This feels like the South-West, rather than the South.

See review for dinner recommendation.

Made really good time today, and exceeded my plan for the weekend.  Woke early after a very poor night’s sleep again.  The hotel is by traffic lights on a busy secondary road, so all of the lorries heading for the port stop outside and the noise of them starting up is constant.  I drove to Brockenhurst and left the car there, taking the train back down to Lymington where I had an indifferent breakfast in one of those places where the customers are clearly there just to clutter the place up – signs saying don’t do this and don’t do that everywhere.

Started walking around 8.50 and was almost immediately back on the coast.  The walk broke down into three parts.  The first was the easy, flat walk from Lymington to Kesthaven, first through the marina then over the raised sea walls which surround the old salt works.  Apparently, up until the 1850s, salt was a major production of the area.  The sea water was trapped by sluices, then allowed to evaporate partially before the brine was pumped up and then dried out further.  The railways brought cheap rock salt from Cheshire and negated the need for sea salt.  The area is now a conservation and wild life reserve.  I did very well with recognising new birds and spotted a shelduck and a white throat as well as the oyster-catchers coots, gulls and egrets I have previously seen.  I also saw marsh marigolds in the wild for the first time. 

I raced along and arrived in Kesthaven before 11am, then another half hour down to the spit leading out to Hurst Castle.  The Needles off the Isle of Wight were clearly visible.

The second part of the walk was along the shingle from Milford on Sea (the end of the Solent Way) to the ferry at Mudebank.  The shingle is very hard going, lots of undulations and it sinks underfoot.  The cliffs have now turned a beautiful golden colour, and I was surprised, assuming this is sandstone, that the beach is still all stone.  After Milford the shore was pretty quiet – at one point I was faced with either climbing over a rock fall or walking round through very choppy waters.  I sat and contemplated it for a while, hoping that the tide would reveal more room to walk round, but after about 10 minutes it didn’t seem to be receding at all (although I knew from the tide tables that it should have begun to go out.)  A walker from the opposite direction said the stone fall was fine, but, in the end, I tucked my map and camera in my rucksack, took off my boots and waded through.  It was not especially cold, but quite rough and painful underfoot. I came out wet well above my knees, but the sun was shining and I soon dried out.   The seclusion of the beach was obviously welcome to another few Naturists, the real thing this time, clad only in shoes – you’d be mad to walk on the shingle without.  I hope they had plenty of sun tan lotion on – the sun was fierce!

Up over another rock pile – easier this time, onto a populated beach below Christchurch.  I marched along briskly, heading for the ferry at Mudeford across the The Run – the entrance to Christchurch Harbour.  Just down by the ferry port there were literally dozens of people with their picnic chairs on the tarmac – don’t ask me why they didn’t walk a 100 yards to the beach!  There were lots of people crabbing and an interesting pile of lobster pots.

A ferry was arriving just as I did, and it cost me the princely sum of £1.30 to cross to Hengistbury Head and the delights, for the first time of a sandy beach! I took my boots off and danced along!  In this third section of the day the sandy beach reaches around to the location of the Iron Age fort that was, according to the signs, the most important port in pre-Roman Britain.  Eventually, I reached Bournemouth and took the steep staircase up to the town, to catch the train back to Brockenhurst.

An excellent weekend – 60 miles with glorious weather.