Lynmouth to Combe Martin – Magnificent Britain

The hotel was just right for me, in need of some refurbishment so I didn’t feel out of place. Built in 1806 and still maintaining some Georgian quality so I felt a bit spoilt. For 30 quid you can’t complain!

Sleep good, breakfast good, weather on waking amazing. Crisp and clear. I needed to join up with the Coast Path as I’d left it last night to go to the campsite, before common sense prevailed and I went to the hotel which was found by my beautiful wife. After breakfast I left my rucksack in my room and jogged down to Lynmouth.

I saw a statue of me in the side of the track.

The tide was slipping out into the Bristol Channel.

I crossed my route from yesterday, to give continuity, and started to climb the winding Coast Path up to Lynton. The Path wends its way across the steepest railway in the world several times before it reaches Lynton.

I collected my kit and checked out of the hotel, heading along the cliff top on a tarmac track.

The first amazing destination en route is the Valley of Rocks. In local legend it is reputed to have been created by the devil himself. It certainly has many wild goats roaming around, which look pretty diabolical.

The route began to drop down to the sea and up to the top of hills. Today was going to be a higher elevation, in total of the ups, than the whole of Ben Nevis from sea level to the summit. In beautiful weather, with beautiful views looking forward and back.

I was loving this walk. My baldy bonce was covered in sun tan lotion, my shoulders, even my poorly one, were handling the cutting weight of the rucksack and my body felt fit. Not that I am particularly but I keep going when I start.

Cutting inland there were mountain streams and waterfalls where I could fill my water bottle.

Floating seaward the views just got better around every corner. I’m awestruck by the beauty of coastal Somerset and Devon. I crossed the Devon border in Lynton. Look at this. With Lundy Island visible out westward in the distance on the second photo.

Wordsworth and Byron were inspired here. Coleridge wrote the Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan here. Some bloke wrote Lorna Doone here. It’s historic and beautiful and I love it. So there!

After four hours of walking, climbing and descending I looked back at the scar of the Path on the last hill.

And there would be several more as the path cut down the side of steep valleys descending from Exmoor, and back up the other side.

Crossing this hillside revealed more coast, with the Great Hangman being the furthest hill to the right of the photo.

This is the highest point that the path reaches on its 600 mile journey, at a modest 1,079 feet (341 metres). But it was still 4 miles away.

Eventually after a lot of disciplined marching I got closer to the Hangman.

And looking inland Exmoor was beginning to melt into lower level pastureland.

It was a long drop down and rise up to the Hangman. Usually the other way round as Adolph Eichmann can testify. Well, actually he can’t because he was hung after he testified. Served him right. Nasty get.

I was beginning to tire when I saw a cairn that I recognised. I’m there!

Down all the way to Combe Martin. Yaaay! Where I pitched me tarp and had some scran before the sun went down.

Night night.