40,000 steps (27,000 + 13,000)
One estuary (ferry)
I’ve done my prep, and failed to identify any pub lunch opportunities ahead, so I stock up on food at a bakery near the harbour. They have cheese rolls and – just as in Salcombe – humungous Chelsea buns. The woman serving eyes me curiously.
“Are you sure you can eat all that?”
“I’m not sure I can even carry it,” I say. “But I’m going to give it a try.”
The ferry is waiting for me, and within minutes I’m in Kingswear.
Continue readingFiled under South West Coast Path
25,000 steps
An easier day, with frankly not much to write about – I’ve planned a shorter trek and the Path is more than usually docile.
It’s a pin-sharp cold morning, flooded with spring sunshine. The Church House Inn has been a lovely place to stay, and I am cheered by the breakfast room stuffed with daffodils.
I leave Stokenham and retrace my steps to the coast, picking up the Path at Torcross. I must admit, the day’s walk ahead of me looks a little uninteresting – a long straight trek along the shingle bank to Strete, and then some dodging back and forth along a road. Some way short of the challenging glories of north Cornwall. But my blisters and Achilles tendon aren’t complaining.
Torcross has an unusual monument: a US Army Sherman tank with a story to tell. The village was evacuated during the War, and taken over by thousands of allied soldiers, who used the area to practice for the Normandy landings. Two months before D-Day, on 28 April 1944, a tragic incident happened during full-scale rehearsals for the June landings – Exercise Tiger. Numerous soldiers were killed in ’friendly fire’ incidents, and German torpedo boats from Cherbourg intercepted and attacked a convoy of ships travelling from Portland to Slapton Sands. Over 1,000 lives were lost over the course of the operation. The tank was retrieved from the sea bed years later.
The first hour out of Torcross is an easy walk along a path parallel to the road. Inland of the path is a long stretch of water – Lower Ley. It looks innocuous but is apparently Devon’s largest natural lake, formed thousands of years ago when the sea threw up the shingle bar around Start Bay. It’s a national nature reserve. The guide book claims all sort of wildlife can be spotted here, including otters and herons. I see one swan, far off.
After an hour, I stop for a brief rest on the beach. I remove my hat and gloves. When I set off again, the cold north east wind soon persuades me to put them back on.
Past the northern end of the Ley, the Path cuts inland from the beach and takes me up a strenuous series of steps, through the village of Strete. I’d hoped for a coffee stop here, but there’s no cafe. The Kings Arms has a sign boasting of the ’best views in south Devon.’ And coffee. But the pub seems to be in the grips of redecoration.
I press on towards Blackpool Sands, the Path cutting off the road and winding down through open fields and a couple of narrow, wooded valleys.
I eventually get my coffee at the beach cafe on Blackpool Sands, where I also wolf down the pastry I snaffled at breakfast.
Despite the cold, several families are at the beach. None actually on the sand or in the water.
After my break at the beach, the Path veers tediously inland along roads, presumably owing to uncooperative coastal landowners.
I reach Stoke Fleming and stop for lunch in the delightful Green Dragon Inn. In his book about the Path, Overend Watts recalled a memorably drunken evening here in May 2003. Six or seven pints; incoherent, pissed conversations about guitar players; and still Overend, in his typical Pooterish style, faithfully recorded the price he paid for his Moroccan Chicken and rice. And complained about the church bell keeping him awake in the night.
I have carrot and coriander soup, and just the one pint of beer. I’m way less rock ’n’ roll than Overend.
I think back to meeting Overend’s friend Mark three years ago: the south Cornwall Tom Cruise. This prompts a delicious fantasy: for a few moments I imagine this quiet village pub hosting Overend and the rest of Mott in their pomp. to picture what that was like, check out this video (Overend is the one in the preposterous platforms boots, with the bass guitar sponsored by Birds Eye.)
The Path out of Stoke Fleming follows the road for a while, and then dives down again toward the coast. It winds pedantically back and forth on a sinuous route following the contours of the shoreline, approaching and then entering the mouth of the Dart estuary. On the far side, the headland behind Kingswear promises me a demanding start to tomorrow
Just when I think I’m almost at Dartmouth, the Path takes a treacherous (but admittedly scenic) detour, plunging off-road and zig-zagging around a wooded cove. This involves at least a hundred rough steps down and a similar number back up, as the Path clings to the curving cliff.
Eventually, the Path takes me to Dartmouth Castle, where I linger for a while. The castle has been here a long time, what with Dartmouth’s rich nautical and military history – the town was the departure point for two crusades in the 12th century, and was attacked and sacked during the Hundred Years War. It has 14th century ruins, a 15th century gun tower, a Victorian Battery, and a mid-19th century building that’s now a tea room. Which is where I stop for coffee and cake. I know how to rough it.
I continue along a road that takes me up the estuary and into Dartmouth.
I’ve never been here before, but I like it – an attractive town laid out largely on medieval and Elizabethan streetscapes, with numerous well-preserved buildings, some as much as six hundred years old. All tumbling down the hillside above the Dart estuary.
There’s a railway station building, now a restaurant, but Dartmouth has never had a railway. The station was built when a line was constructed from Paignton to the Dart estuary. There were plans for a bridge, which never came to fruition. The line instead ran to Kingsbridge, across the river, with three ferries linking the two towns.
Kingswear clings to the hillside facing Dartmouth, a cascade of sailboats and multi-coloured houses. That’s where I resume walking tomorrow.
Filed under South West Coast Path
28,000 steps
One estuary crossing (ferry)
I started walking the South West Coast Path in April 2016. It’s been quite a few years. We’ve had three prime ministers; the UK (eventually) left the European Union after a drawn-out political process that resembled a national nervous breakdown; Donald Trump became President of the US (and still seems to think he is); for two years; the world has been turned upside down by a global pandemic (which has killed 160,000 people in the UK alone, still lingers, and has changed our lives forever). My mum died. And now we have a brutal war in Europe that is like throwback to the 1940s.
I however am nowhere near completing this bloody Path. I know it’s the longest trail in England. I knew it would take a while. But really.
Continue readingFiled under South West Coast Path
Chris Barnham - The View From SE13 