April 6, 2018 by melitat

Day 100 – Newport to Cardiff 22 Dec 2017

Today is my hundredth day of walking. I have done 1,587 miles – around 24% of the whole (assuming a distance of 6,500 miles). My average day is 15.9 miles. I have walked in eighteen counties (including Greater London) and on twelve different official long distance routes.

All very pleasing: just a shame today’s walk was not particularly special. I took the train back to Newport, then spent some time getting lost in the town’s backstreets as I worked my way back to the path. The Cornish pasty I ate yesterday didn’t agree with me, so I had to make numerous diversions to find loos.

The weather was not cheerful. A heavy fog all day meant that visibility was never more than a hundred yards, and there was a fair bit of road-walking with quantities of lorries and vans thundering along. Route finding was also hit and miss – on one occasion, I reached a farmhouse at the end of a long, muddy track, expecting to follow a path back onto the sea wall, but seeing no sign of it. The owner was at home and informed me that the path had been allowed to grow over and was now impassable. I had to make a long detour round.

Once I reached the sea wall again, it was straightforward, if uninspiring because of the lack of views. Eventually, I reached the river Rhymni, and walked up the east bank, then back onto a busy road, before bearing off onto a track running parallel. The track was ugly – litter everywhere, old bits of metal, shopping trolleys, plastic containers and so forth. There were also lots of small ponies tethered. I had been surprised all day at the number of horses and ponies I had seen – more than anywhere else on the walk so far.

In the distance, I could see a number of caravans, and this, together with the ponies, led me to wonder if I were approaching a Traveller site. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a young lad of about fourteen appeared, with a dog on a lead.

‘You’re on private property,’ he announced.

‘No, I’m not. This is the Coast Path’.

‘It’s not. It’s private. It’s my dad’s land.’

‘No, the map shows clearly that it is the coast path’.

‘My dad just bought it last week.’

I shrugged my shoulders and carried on.

‘I’m going to tell my dad.’

I felt a bit nervous. The path wasn’t getting any more attractive – there was evidence of burnt out vans and other debris around. The lad himself didn’t look dangerous, but who knew what a father or elder brother might be like?

I carried on. He turned back and asked, in a more conciliatory tone, what I was doing.

I explained that I was walking up to Cardiff, and tried to be friendly, admiring his dog, and stroking her. He was a nice enough boy, in fact.

The path came to a point where you could either drop onto the road, or turn left alongside the caravans. I didn’t like either option much, but the road was very busy, with no pavement, and in the fog I didn’t like to chance it. The boy indicated that the path went left, and, having assured me that I would never make the five o’clock train, dropped back as I hurried on.

I have seldom been nervous on the walk (other than cow incidents) but I did not much like going behind the caravans and up onto a very dirty, overgrown outcrop of land where I could hear major works of some sort but, with the fog, could see almost nothing. The path at this point suddenly became very poorly signposted, and I had to guess amongst several tracks. I scurried on, over debris and eventually made it back onto the main road, where it was wide enough to have a footpath.

A long and tedious road-bash took me into Cardiff, where I missed a train by one minute. Great Western surpassed themselves today. The next train was cancelled, and I had to take another train to Newport and change there.

I can’t decide whether to walk tomorrow – I am going to family near Glossop for Christmas, and if it is foggy would prefer to drive up early.

Definitely a below average day, so ‘cotton’. 16.2 miles.

January 12, 2018 by melitat

Day 99 Severn Tunnel Junction to Newport 21 December 2017

Today was certainly not as exciting as yesterday, but few days are. It was a very straightforward day. I arrived at Severn Tunnel Junction around 8.50, and retraced my steps for about half a mile, to rejoin the path. It crossed back over the M4, then went straight down to the sea-wall.

Looking back, the second Severn Bridge was far more visible than yesterday, despite being overcast. On the far shore, I could see Portishead where I finished at the end of October. It was too cloudy to be certain of any other landmarks.

The tidal range of the Severn river is 12m – the second highest in the world and the result is a wide expanse of mud-flats. There was not a lot of bird life visible, but all the interpretation boards told me the place is teeming with our feathered friends.

The sea wall continued more or less without interruption, before turning slightly inland and then entering the Newport Wetlands Conservation Area, which is also apparently full of migratory species, although almost the only thing I saw (other than a rookery) was a lone adolescent swan.

The Wetlands are well-named. For a good ten miles, I was bog-trotting in heavy mud, across a succession of fields, with the odd road crossing. Navigation was more-or-less straightforward, although the Newport district signage does not have the useful yellow tips that is on the waymarkers in Monmouthshire. I missed one sign which, although it only wasted five minutes, had the knock-on effect of making me miss the train at the end by one minute.

The last few miles were on the outskirts of Newport – not a place about which compliments readily spring to mind, although the City Council is obviously trying its best with a new walkway along the River Usk and an interestingly designed pedestrian bridge across it.

The weather was warm again, overcast, misty and with little wind.

A bronze day, taking me 15.9 miles.

December 30, 2017 by melitat

Day 98 Avonmouth to Severn Tunnel Junction 20 December 2017

I haven’t worked out the overall score for today, but although it feels in general like a bronze day, or perhaps a silver one, it is going to be recorded forever more as a diamond day, because of the sense of achievement, and the particularly special part I completed.

Today, I crossed the Severn Bridge. I have now completed all the way from the Humber Estuary to the Severn Estuary (except the last element along the Thames that will be the final weekend, and the 4 miles at Bigbury that are still haunting me). I think I can say, however, that I have completed the south of England and am now in beautiful Wales.

It was generally an easy day. I left at the crack of dawn from Clifton Down station and reached Avonmouth just as it was getting light – around 7.30am. The road through the docks was incredibly busy and smelly (there was definitely something very dead somewhere) and I could almost feel my lungs being coated with black slime as the lorries thundered past.

Eventually the path (part of the Severn Way) leaves the road and runs beside the railway track, between hedges of brambles. At Severn Beach, the path becomes a promenade, where the early fishermen were out in force.

The fog that had been expected yesterday, turned up today, so although it was not cold, I could see very little of the view. There was no sign of the lower Severn Bridge, although I could hear traffic and the beeping of horns. It was quite strange, as the bridge is so enormous, to know it was there, but invisible. It did not emerge from the mist until I was no more than 30 yards away – and even then, I could only see the couple of pillars nearest me. The sun was struggling to come through, and I hoped that it would come out to allow me to see the upper bridge, which was my crossing point.

I passed under the bridge, the trucks on the M4 roaring over my head, and continued along the promenade, which meandered for about half a mile, before turning inland and becoming a very easy track along dykes built to manage the salt marsh. Looking back, I could see the mist clearing and part of the bridge now visible. Ahead, there was still no sign of the second bridge. The sun was trying harder, and the grass was glossy green.

The path led onto a lane, and I rejoiced to see the tip of what I thought was part of the bridge, only to realise it was a metal pylon from previous engineering works, but after another ten minutes, bits of bridge became fleetingly visible as the mist rolled back and partially broke up.

I reached Aust around eleven. I was so hungry I could have eaten my own arm. Normally, I don’t worry too much about food when walking, but obviously, I had not had enough breakfast. I debated walking into Aust to see if there were a shop, although it did not look hopeful, and I was reluctant to add a half mile each way. I whipped out the phone (normally well hidden and turned off when walking) and saw that the motorway services were not far. So I elected to cross the motorway, on a walkway across the toll-booths of the M48 and grab an early lunch.

Fortified, I returned to the south side and began the big adventure. The upside of it being misty was that there was little wind. I muffled up and pulled on my hood, but was not particularly cold. There is a walkway on either side, but I had decided on the south side, as my original idea of going to Chepstow was superseded by the decision to carry on as far as Severn Tunnel Junction.

As I walked over, stopping for frequent pictures, I was amazed at the number of motorway maintenance vans that tootled up and down the walkway. Not sure where they were all going as they trundled along at 10 miles per hour, stopping for a chat as they passed each other.

Crossing the bridge took about twenty minutes. I then joined the Wales Coast Path. I must say I am hugely impressed with the signage. At every point where there might be confusion, there is a marker, and the ones at the stiles are tall, with yellow tips, so you can see them as you scan the far side of a field, looking for the exit.

The path was easy, behind various factories, then down along the estuary shore. There was so much mud in parts, it nearly sucked my boots off, but the trip was uneventful. The only bovines were docile Welsh Blacks, not feisty Friesians, and so they paid no attention to me. I passed an ancient holy well site, dedicated to the Celtic king, Tewrig, who scored a nifty victory over the Saxons not far away. The statue of him showed him crowned, but unshod. An early example of ‘all fur coat and no knickers’, I suppose.

I won’t bore you all with the appalling Great Western Rail service back to Clifton Down: suffice to say, it was not the highlight of the day. 17.5 miles

December 19, 2017 by melitat

Day 97 – Weston-in-Sea to Portishead 31 October 2017

Today has been a very mixed day, and I am glad to be on the train home.

It started very well. I had a lift down to the seafront at Weston and, after attempting to leap out of the car in a bus stop and being sharply beeped by a bus, got onto the beach just about where we left last night. The morning was fine again – there was rain about 6am but it had gone off, and although it was not so warm or bright as yesterday, it was still very good. Slightly windier perhaps.

I had a lovely walk along the firm packed sand at Weston, then rounded the headland to the north, past the old burnt out pier at Birnbeck. Alongside what is known as the Toll road (despite tolls having disappeared some 150 years ago, there is a track through a rather pleasant stand of trees. After a mile or so, it drops down onto the beach at Sandy Bay. Another walk along the sands for a good couple of miles and I was eating up the planned 18 miles.

At the north end of sandy bay is a National Trust headland. I climbed up and could see across to Portishead. A brief discussion with a man in a van who told me I was about trespass, led me back to the right path, just beside the river Yeo. According to the map, you can’t cross the Yeo for miles, but I had been informed that a new crossing had been made for walkers and cyclists, so I had my eyes peeled, but could see nothing. I continued along a lane until I reached a point where a bridle way was supposed to cross the fields to Wick St Lawrence. The sign pointed across a field, next to a lane which read ‘private’. I must say the signage in Somerset is terrible. I haven’t seen a coast path sign since south of Weston. The gate onto the bridleway was tied shut. Undaunted, I hopped over, and walked through a field. Only when I reached the end could I see there was no way out, and that the bridleway must be along the lane. I returned and managed to open the gate this time.

Along the lane and into a field which had a helpful notice written on a plastic picnic plate ‘bull in field’. This was hard to believe. Even the most cantankerous farmer wouldn’t keep a bull on a bridleway. I looked around and the field appeared to contain only sheep. Some very poor signposting later, I emerged onto a track. This decanted directly into a farm yard, with a padlocked gate at one end and more scrap than Steptoe and Son’s yard. I could see another track, so, thinking that must be the exit I followed it through piles of rusting junk. Another locked gate. Up and over.

Finally, a third gate, which could be opened, and I emerged to see three startled people in the lane. I was prepared to give them a piece of my mind about the locked gates, had they challenged me, but they confined themselves to a surprised hello.

I kept walking along the lane to Wick St Lawrence, hoping al the time to see a sign for the river crossing, but nothing. Eventually, I decided to google it. Fortunately, I had signal. All I could find was articles about delays to its construction. I found an article from another coast walker describing her long, tortuous and, ultimately unsuccessful journey to find it. I concluded that I might as well just follow the road, over the M5 to Hewish – the only place where a crossing is visible on the map.

Unfortunately, this was so far that I knew I could not make my rendezvous with Jane at Portishead for. Lift to the station. Disgusted with the whole thing, I left a message asking if she could rescue me early. She was tied up for an hour, but could come then, she said. I agreed to meet in Kingston Seymour. This meant continuing east and then meeting the A road, before turning back north and slightly west to cross the river. As I walked along the S road, I saw a bus pass by and thought that might be a better option. I found a stop and saw that I had 25 mins to wait for a bus to Clevedon, back on the coast. I left a message for Jane to revert to plan A and waited for it. It was not especially late, and I arrived in Clevedon town centre about 1.45. I had got cold waiting, so had a quick but excellent coffee and friand.

There was a good 15 mins walk to get to the seafront, but I picked up the path thee that goes all the way to Portishead along the cliff edge. I was glad I had not given up. The walk was pleasant and easy, with the sound of the sea in my ears. I made excellent time, and was quite surprised when I came to the end of the path considerably earlier than expected. As usual, there were no way markers. I walked up the road, and found myself in one of those housing estates that are like a maze. I asked the way to the main road. The man looked surprised when I mentioned my destination, but directed me. When I got to the junction, it looked nothing like the map – no wonder I was surprised at my speed. I had not come nearly as far as I thought. I had at least 2 miles to do on the road. Thoroughly annoyed by now, I snagged another bus, and got to the meeting point with just enough time to buy food for the train.

After a long wait at Bristol Parkway, I am now on train, but feeling rather grim. I think the sandwich I ate has disagreed with me. Looking forward to my own bed. My knees are hurting. And so are my ears. A woman on the train is yakking without drawing breath. Not a silent second from Bristol to Didcot so far.

16 miles of a below-average ‘cotton’ day.

December 18, 2017 by melitat

Day 96 Burnham-on-Sea to Weston-super-Mare 30 Oct 2017

When I looked at the weather forecast last week, it suggested heavy rain for today, but it could not have been more wrong. It has been a glorious day – bright, sunny, warm and not a breath of wind.

I left my hotel (excellent dinner, dreadful service) to meet Jane at the Pavilion on the waterfront at 9.30. We had a dismal breakfast there – grease on toast – but that was the lowest point of the day.

The tide was far out and we walked across the firm, dark gold sands all the way to Brean Down. I knew that to cross the river Ax we would have to go a long way inland and we debated not climbing the headland because we would have to retrace our steps for a couple of miles, but the weather was so good, we were making such good time and the views promised to be so spectacular, that we decided to climb the steep staircase up to the long hogs back.

It was certainly worth it. The views were superb. All the way back to West Quantoxhead, hazy in the distance, and the long flat expanse of Brean sands to the south, then the delightful villas of Weston to the north. The Down is the last outcrop of the Mendip Hills which we could see rolling away east. We descended and had a quick cream tea in the NT café at the bottom.

We walked back along the beach, planning to emerge onto the road towards Wick Farm where the path joins the road to cross the river. We undershot a bit and had to walk along the lane, which was astonishingly busy. Since my map was printed, the Sustrans route has been built, saving us from a long road bash as it is a firm track, a few yards away from the road. I was delighted to discover that the previously impassable crossing at the old sluice has now been modified to carry the path across the Ax. We strolled along, enjoying the sunshine, talking to the various dog walkers, and eventually emerged at the village of Uphill, with its ruined, church high above the road and the remains of quarrying underneath exposing the limestone rock, almost vertical, but dotted with Welsh (according to the sign) sheep, well adapted to steep rocky hillsides.

Then it was back to the beach and a long walk up to the middle of Weston-super-Mare, admiring the Holm islands (Steep and Flat) and Brean Down behind us.

Less pleasurable was trying to find my aunt’s house where I am staying, when the satnav refused to recognise the street name, although it has been there long before Google was ever born or thought of. After some fraught backwards and forwards along the same lane and a few dead ends, we made it.

14.4 miles. Legs are getting very achey – disappointing as only day 5.

All in all, a golden day.

December 17, 2017 by melitat

Day 95 Bridgwater to Burnham-on-Sea 29 October 2017

Today was one of those days when you seem to walk for miles and still get nowhere. It was little more than a re-run of yesterday, as I was coming up the east bank of the river Parrett. It took most of the day to arrive at a point opposite Steart Point where I was at 10am yesterday. The weather was better, not so windy and generally sunnier. In fact, I have windburn.

I did not start out in a very positive frame of mind. Lat night’s hotel, like all the rest was far too hot. I turned off the radiator (goodness knows why it was on, with the external temperature nearing 20 degrees) but the towel rail in the bath room was still pumping out heat, and the bedding was far too heavy. I do wish that hotels would put a sheet on as well as a duvet. Quite apart from the hygiene aspect of another layer between the various bodies and the duvets absorbing sweat, it would give the hotter amongst us a much pleasanter night. As usual, I took the duvet out of its jacket, but I still woke up every couple of hours.

The place was somewhat redeemed by breakfast. A good continental selection with high quality organic yoghurts and fruit as well as boiled eggs, vine tomatoes, cheeses, cold meats and pastries. I abstracted an additional pain au chocolate for elevenses.

The route starts out with a good couple of miles on the road, hard on the feet. It then winds backwards and forwards along the riverbank. Some interesting information about Bridgwater was on the various interpretation boards. Most of the towns in the area were once navigable by river to trading craft, and Bridgwater itself had a big export market for its bricks and tiles. There was once a castle here and there are some handsome early eighteenth century houses.

The route was littered with bovines, but all were pleasingly placid and lolling at the far ends of their respective fields. I did just arm myself with a plank of wood from one of the numerous bonfire heaps that are in preparation for 5^th November, but my precautions were unnecessary.

The path wound inland to Highbridge, where I crossed the River Brean, and then went along the prom at Burnham-on-Sea. I am sitting with my feet up in the pub I am staying at. They are rather achey, I am sorry to say.

All adding up to an average, or ‘tin’ day.

December 16, 2017 by melitat

Day 94 Shurton to Bridgwater 28 Oct 2017

It was getting light as I left this morning. With no decent breakfast to be had at the place I was staying, I had arranged a slightly earlier meeting with my friend Vicki and her dog, Bracken, at Combwich, to make up for it at lunch. To get back onto the coast, I had to go cross country. It was deeply uninspiring. Quite a long stretch was thought the fields of one of those farmers who clearly don’t want walkers on their land, but won’t actually break the law by closing paths: signs obscured with carefully untrimmed brambles; broken stiles and gates are tied shut with binder twine with tight knots. This resulted in a few tedious backtracks as I got stranded on the wrong side of the dykes that separate the fields.

The weather was very different from yesterday. A cold wind, and overcast. I reached the path around 8.45 and followed it along tracks and ridges to Steart point. The last 1.5 miles out to the point is very dull indeed. The high rushes on both sides made it impossible to sea the sea, and the path was made of large shingle – clearly not designed by any one who actually does long distance walking. 5 minutes in shingle n the beach is ok, but over a longer stretch it is painful and slow.

Hence, wherever there is an alternative, people have come off the main tack. At Steeart there was little to see except more reeds. I then turned inland. Strictly, although I was on the England Coast Path, I was walking beside the river Parrett. The Steart Wildlife Conservation Trust has done a fine job of recreating salt marsh and mudflats. They breached the sea wall in 2014 and already the place is teeming (or teaming as they have on their signs!) with life. However, being the end of October, and chilly, there was little enough of it visible.

About half an hour north of Combwich, I met Vicki and the dog. He was having a whale of a time even though he had to remain on the lead for much of the way. We walked back to the village for lunch, then carried on along the river path. It was pleasant, but uneventful. My companions turned back around half past two, the bright sunshine we had enjoyed for an hour after lunch having disappeared.

I carried on – two cow-filled fields were negotiated, but although they looked at me, and in one I took a stout post from the floor in case of incidents, nothing excited them, so they let me be. There was then a detour along the road for a mile or so, before turning back onto the river path which carries on into Bridgwater.

The town has a very interesting maritime history. It was a port from Roman times, and there were once big docks here. In the seventeenth century, it was the scene of several Civil War incidents, and a failed attempt to shoot Cromwell by Lady Wyndham, wife of the royalist colonel holding the town. She hit his aide instead. Thirty or so years later, James, Duke of Monmouth, illegitimate son of Charles II, was proclaimed king in the town. The failure of his claim led to the battle of Sedgemoor and the Bloody Assizes.

The loss of the railway station under the Beeching cuts reduced the use of the docks, and further damage was done by the collapse of the canal wall in 2011. The town is now rather faded.

Got to hotel to find a young woman doing some very complicated organisation with the receptionist over several rooms. She mentioned doing a show later. I pricked up my ears – a bit of stand up might be just the thing, but then she said it was burlesque. And thought maybe I might not like it. I replied that I did not think I was her target audience. ‘Not at all’, she said, ‘our oldest audience member is 90!’ Hmmmm.

18 miles on the nose. Today was a silver day – thanks to the company. Day rankings

December 15, 2017 by melitat

Day 93 Watchet to Shurton 27 Oct 2017

I’ve decided on a new ranking scheme for each day – depending on a a range of variables, weather, my mood, views, difficulty, wildlife etc. Day rankings

Today was a bronze day – one up from the standard day. It could have been a silver, but for the incident…

I caught up on sleep last night and was ready to leave by 7.30am as it was just getting light. My B & B was B1 only, so I walked down to the esplanade for breakfast, intending to be the first customer at 8am. Sadly, there was nothing to be had until 8.30. I didn’t want to wait and had had a large dinner as well as lunch yesterday, so I contented myself with a takeaway coffee and an oat crunch biscuit as a substitute for porridge.

The path makes a short climb behind the steam railway, then drops down onto a beach. I was completely mesmerised by the rock formations. It was almost like seeing the creation of the world as the beach had different layers of rock ranging from red sand to shale, then cobbles, then slabs of rock with deep grooves at an angle like frozen waves, which must eventually break up into the large cobbles.

I was walking very slowly as the surfaces were so uneven and slippery, when I felt a warm wet sensation in my right hand. I leapt in the air, the fear of God in me, and gave a shriek. I turned around to be faced by a large dog which had crept up on me – not a clatter of class so be heard. Its owner gave a perfunctory apology and mentioned that it is as well to be aware of one’s surroundings at all times. Thanks – top tip. I refrained from sharing one about the proper training of dogs.

The England coast path is not well signposted. Although there are signs pointing down to the beaches, it is not easy to know when to leave them. I saw one slip coming down and a lady walking a dog told me take it, and walk through the little hamlet behind the caravan park. With no other clues, I took her word for it. The path climbed a cliff then dropped down onto another beach with even more fascinating rock formations than the first.

It was obvious that the tide, if it came in, would be right up to the cliff, but there were no alternative route signs or warnings before you went onto the beach. Fortunately, although the tide was turning, he sea was a good way out. Enquiries of a lone angler led me back off the beach along another track which undulated gently. I could see a large herd of cows in the distance, but there was no point in borrowing trouble. The path might not go anywhere near them, and in any case, at this time of year, they should be docile.

To my right I could see a beautiful Tudor mansion nestled into the trees. Down to the shore again, then up a little path with a gate at the end and the way marker. I was just opening the stile when I heard the pounding of hooves. Yes, the cow telegraph was in operation and the whole herd was thundering towards me. I clanged the gate shut again as they pressed against it. They weren’t big, but they were young bullocks, and there were an awful lot of them. There was no way I was walking through them. I looked at the map. There was a considerable detour, but I saw no alternative. I walked down a lane, then along a track and turned back up. Doing three sides of a square, it was not clear whether the path led back into the same field, but it was a big field with a hill in the middle. Hopefully, I would not encounter the beasts again.

Of course, the path did go back into the same field, and I could see the blighters, walking back around the base of the hill. Fortunately, there were two other people coming from the direction I wanted to go in. If I were quick, I could enter the field at the same time as them, and we could give each other mutual support. They got into the field before me, and walked along the far side, where I would have walked if I had not detoured. The beasts thundered towards them. The walkers had sticks and were waving them furiously. In cowardly fashion, I thought I would just nip unobtrusively through the field corner whilst the bullocks were occupied elsewhere, but one looked round and saw me. Half of them kept the other walkers pinned up whilst half began to trot in my direction. I went as fast as I could without running, and nipped through the gate, feeling hot breath on my back.

I was depressed to find that the gate, only of wood, had no proper fastening, but it was enough to e stymied the bullocks. I shot sideways behind the hedge to take myself out of their sight. They set up a halloing and a harrumphing. I felt a bit guilty about the other people, who I could hear desperately shooing them but, peeking through the hedge, I could see the mob that had followed me still hanging hopefully around the gate. I scurried sideways to cross the field out of their line of sight in case they cracked the gate opening.

I could see Hinckley point coming ever closer. The map shows the path going around the edge of it, which was my plan, with a detour of a couple of miles inland to my accommodation. However, the path was closed and brought me the west side of the power station, down a track into Shurton. I arrived at 1.30, having done an easy 10 miles, rather than the 12 I planned, but there is no point doing more this afternoon, as I’d have to backtrack and then repeat it tomorrow. I am planning to meet Vicki and her spaniel tomorrow for a walk down the Parrett river.

December 11, 2017 by melitat

Day 92 Minehead to Watchet

Today has been a gentle reintroduction to carrying my own bag. Since I am by myself the cost of luggage transfer is too high, at least for this stretch where the route is blessedly flat after the relentless ups and downs of Devon and Cornwall. I also appreciated having an easy day as I was a little liverish this morning. Last night, I did a talk and signing of my book, ‘The King’s Pearl’ http://amzn.to/2uIjPDd which was finally published in September. Several friends came to give me moral support, and we had supper after, resulting in a late night, and a rather heavy head.

But as there is no peace for the wicked, I was up just after 6am to catch the 9.06 from Paddington to Taunton. Amazingly, Paddington was running smoothly, and the train was only 2 minutes late at Taunton. Since I was at the front of the train I had to run along the platform to catch the bus link to Minehead. There is only a five minute gap between official train arrival and bus departure, which is frankly optimistic. A gentle bus drive through the Somerset countryside decanted me in Minehead at around 12.15. Ravenous, I went into a cute little upstairs restaurant and had an excellent lunch.

Somerset has now completed its stretch of the England Coast Path. The route runs along the prom, then around the edge of the West Somerset golf links, before dropping down onto the beach at Dunster. Inland, the enormous mediaeval pile of Dunster caste dominates the countryside, while to the seaward side, the coast of Wales was visible. It was a dull and cloudy day, so the opposite shore was not very clear, although the Porth Talbot steelworks are easily identified.

The West Somerset steam railway runs along the coast, and from time to time I could see great clouds of steam billowing up behind the houses.

I misread the map just after Dunster, thinking I could go further along the shore than I could, rather than following the path up onto the road to skirt behind the Blue Anchor pub that gives its name to a little hamlet. I debated pressing on along the beach, but although the tide seemed miles out, the map showed a very high tide mark so, unfamiliar with the speed of the tide in the Severn Estuary, I backtracked and took the path along the top of the cliffs. It eventually dropped down to the shore again, and I was glad I had not stayed down, the whole area was a mass of ankle breaking cobbles. My very least favourite waking surface. I inched over them, until I reached the harbour at Watchet. I had a false dawn when I saw steps leading onto what seemed to be the prom, but they dropped down again into another morass of cobbles and slimy rock pools.

Watchet has an interesting history. Originally a Celtic settlement, then taken over by the Saxons. A Welsh saint, Decamon, tried to convert the pagan Saxons, but they martyred him by cutting his head off. This is all rather beautifully represented in a pebble mosaic. There is also a fine statue inspired by Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, which he apparently wrote whilst in staying in nearby Nether Stowey.

My favourite memorial was to Yankee Jack, a local mariner who lived to the astonishing age of 94 sailing the world under sail and even running the Yankee blockade in the American Civil War. His last voyages were under steam before he retired to become the town crier. His greatest claim to fame was his voice and knowledge of the old sea shanties. Recorded directly from him for posterity by Cyril Sharp. My hotel is by the steam railway station. I hope they don’t start too early, as the hooter is very loud.

I am now in the nearby pub, having supper, and listening to two astonishing conversations. To my left middle-aged men are talking about brothels, and to my right a man is brilliantly worming his way into his father-in-law’s will to cut out the man’s son. A smooth combination of flattery, self- deprecation, ‘umble pie and delicate insinuations about the unsatisfactoriness of the son. 7.9 miles.

October 18, 2017 by melitat

Day 91 – Porlock to Minehead 11th July 2017

It was just as well we did the little bit extra yesterday rather than finishing at Porlock Weir in line with standard route, as we had to be in Minehead to meet our luggage and catch the bus to Taunton. All the other days we have dawdled, but we managed a respectable speed of 2.2 miles per hour today.

There was a gentle start from picture perfect Porlock across the flood plain, via Bossington, which also looks like it fell off a chocolate box – all thatched cottages and roses rambling.

We then turned into woodland at the foot of the hill, followed by a long, steady pull upwards for at least a mile. Once on the top, we had a choice between the ‘rugged’ path, which went up and down the combes, closer to the water’s edge, or the cliff-top path, with the view. We elected the top path – partly because it would be quicker, and partly because we had plenty of woodland yesterday, and wanted the views.

In fact, there was not a lot to see, as rain set in around 9.45. It was not heavy, but it was persistent and the sea and sky blended into grey. Wales, which we have been able to see for several days, disappeared from view. There were a few Exmoor ponies chomping quietly and quite a few cows. Only heifers though, so no bother with them.

The final 2 miles wound down through woodland again and we arrived promptly at 12.15. We had a quick bite in The Old Ship Aground, which had very kindly agreed to take our luggage in, then a whistle stop photo opportunity at the end of the South West Coast Path before a 10 min wait in pouring rain for the bus. Now on the fast train to Paddington.

Today is my birthday, and I am able to celebrate it with a truly great present – finally completing the South West Coast Walk – 630 miles from Poole. But still only a fraction of my whole scheme! We covered 7.4 miles.

Melita's Coast of Britain Walk

What on earth have I got in my rucksack?