Minehead to Porlock – Wow, wow, wow!

This is the Somerset coast. It’s not Cornwall, the Caribbean or Corsica. Just Somerset. But it is the corner of the UK that is punching way beyond its level of popularity. It is beautiful, historic, inspirational and uplifting.

My view from the breakfast lounge, after a jolly good night’s sleep.

A great full English, with cereals, toast, marmalade and a pot of tea, followed by a 9.30 departure. But not before I’d walked around the harbour. Seven years working in the docks and it stays in my bloodstream.

The cannons are facing the wrong way, towards the shore, but the message is clear. Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

Except to alcohol, tobacco, US foreign policy, television, baked beans, social media, self-righteousness, influencers, fear of failure, capitalism and the silencing of free speech.

I set off on the SWCP.

The path meandered down the coast and then cut up into the hills, at the same time as the overly laden rucksack cut into my shoulders. The coast slipped slowly, and painfully, away.

And up on top, 860 feet high, the moor was delightful.

Until it started to peak, and reveal the beauty of the vale of Porlock.

I took my time. It was only an 8 mile walk today, just getting acclimatised to the rucksack and undulation and pain. But the beauty of this part of the world is worth every ache.

The path dropped down steeply.

At the bottom the cattle were wading in a lagoon.

Another couple of miles and I was close to my campsite, looking back at the hills which I had walked over.

And up the lane, flanked by bluebells, whitebells and flowering wild garlic.

The campsite is lovely, and my tarp is pitched.

It looks quite structured from outside!

I’m getting scran from the local Spar for dinner and another early night. Eight miles done and 603 to go.

Night night.