Osmington Mills to Lulworth Cove to Kingston (second blog today)

Che had made tomatoes stuffed with spicy mayonnaise and prawns on a green salad the night before and it was divine.

Colin left for home this morning. Sad to see him go. He’s the most enthusiastic bloke I know.

I set out for Kimmeridge, some 9 miles away, and immediately the path threw itself uphill. It was overcast but still warm and I got a sweat on underneath my day sack. It’s uncomfortable when you stop, take your day sack off and then have to put it back on a cold, wet tee shirt.

Goodbye Portland Bill!

The cliffs fell away straight away, without any access to the sea, so there was no scope for walking along the shoreline.

The coast path rollercoasted. And was tattooed by the path, white on green. The pitches were steep and by Durdle Door I was ready to stop and catch upon my blogs.

But another couple of lurching hump backed hills had to be climbed before I could reach somewhere with a beer, available plug for the recharger and Wi-Fi. Which was the Lulworth Cove Inn.

I was tired after the previous day’s 18 miles of ridge climbing and marching. The challenging cliff path this morning meant that I needed half an afternoon resting. And dear Che came to pick me up.

Well, that’s what she should do. She’s my sister and has a siblingly obligation to ferry me about like Little Lord Fauntleroy. Let’s have a vote on this matter. All in favour say Aye. Aye. The Ayes have it.

After a decent night’s kip Che took me up to Lulworth Cove, where I walked from the village, round the tumbling cliffs surrounding it and over the back to the sea.

And then I was screwed. There is a massive MOD firing range just past Lulworth and it was closed off to the public. The gates on the fence were locked, red flags flew and the sound of machine gun fire bounced down the coast. The fence extended way out over the cliffs so I couldn’t climb round, as I had in Cape Wrath years ago when there were NATO manoeuvres and I swung round over the cliffs there. But then I was a young lad of 62 with a crazy dream.

I rang the number printed on the warning signs and the bloke who answered said I couldn’t get across for the next four days due to extensive tank manoeuvres. I had to retrace my steps for a mile or so and cut inland, past some cracking wild ponies.

The fencing went on and on. All paths were cut off like this one so I had to cut way inland to West Lulworth and follow the road around the MOD land, for 12 miles.

By this time the machine guns and heavy artillery fire were extremely loud coming down the valley behind the coastal cliffs, and it was filling with smoke.

Then even the roads were closed so I had to go further inland again. The saving grace was that I got a decent view of Corfe Castle as I passed by.

From here it was a quick two mile March to Kingston and I was at The Scott Arms, where Che picked me up. We got some fish and chips and an early night. And lived to fight again tomorrow!

Night night.