Bude to Crackington Haven – I’m Tired, I’m Hungry and I’m Looking For My Youth

I’m a little uncool and a little uncouth, excuse me, if you will. Thanks Loudon. Is there a more romantic lyric than:

Time to go you’re gonna miss her, in the doorway try to kiss her, oh it tastes so good, like you hoped it would.

And he sings it with such youthful passion and pain. The two are inextricably linked, and one is never far away from becoming the other in a heartbeat. Loudon Wainwright knew that and tears your heart in that song. New Paint. I hope I see him before one of us dies.

Breakfast at the Falcon Hotel was great, and I set off fed and rested. There is a canal in Bude and this grand barge, sporting a Cornish flag, was moored there, stretching the ropes in the stiff breeze.

Why do counties have great flags and Yorkshire’s is so crap. See what I mean. Crap.

I would say that there aren’t many buildings which look more Cornish than this one.

The path led over a hill towards Widemouth Bay. Passing close to the historic Storm Tower and another Cornish flag.

Then Widemouth opened up and the doctor said ‘Say aaagh’.

I stopped for some shelter from the wind at a cafe and drank a hot chocolate.

Then striding on again up the first real hill of the day the view back was great. And the sky had cleared, bringing warmth when you’re out of the wind.

There were three large ups and downs, which bit away at my knees. I could feel that I wasn’t as young as I was when I walked this route ten years ago. So what. I’ll do it in 10 years time when I’m 80 and die on it. Maggie will come to identify the body so I’d better make sure that I wear clean underwear each day in 2034. She’d never forgive me if there were …. you know. Stains from the rear exit, if you want me to be specific.

The path veered inland producing beautiful woodland and farmland views.

This was a lesser trodden part of the coast path. And nature had nearly recaptured it.

I was loving this, absolutely loving it. I know I’m comfortable on my own, but when I walk with other people I like that too. However here, in this breeze and sunshine, and with my backpack feeling manageable, and light in my head and heart, at this point in time, in this wonderful part of the world, that had once tried to kill me, I was glad I was born.

I had to find a campsite and there were none by the coast, so I struck inland. There was a campsite at Coxford Meadow, a mile inland from Crackington Haven, my target for the day. Pitching the tarp I headed back down to the coast path at Crackington. This is England circa 1934.

I’ll pass Tintagel tomorrow, all being well. Last visited in June last year with our dearest friends the Carreres, after Juliet and George’s wedding. Magical place, but I haven’t heard the elves since Somerset ten days ago. This isn’t elf country any more. The volume of summer tourism has driven them into the quieter places.

It’s time to leave Crackington Haven and go back to Coxford Meadow for a very early night.

Night night.