West Bexington to Osmington Mills

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Chip’s family have told me that he would be proud of what I’m doing. I’m proud of everyone who has donated on my Just Giving page. Thanks to you, and including Gift Aid, the total donated to Prostate Cancer UK is over

£4,000.

Hooraaaaaayy!!!!

If anyone wishes to donate to this worthy cause then click on this link.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/blade-goes-west-again-60145

Please. XXX

Pretty please.

I’m not far off having walked 600 miles and good friends have been here to support me. David Kilby and his missus Chantal, Colin Burgin, my sister Chedeborah and the crazy woman Sandra Lyons, who completed her leg with guts. Well, she left a lot of her guts on the path as fresh air and exercise took its toll on the old lass!

But today Matthew I will be walking with Colin over a variant of the South West Coast Path, which teams up with the Dorset Ridgeway. This route is 18 miles of walking through ancient history. Starting at West Bexington. Come on Col. Get off your arse there’s walking to be done!

On another beautiful day.

Halfway up the hill the realisation dawned on us that we wouldn’t find anywhere providing food or drink until Osmington Mills. And nowhere here was open. We passed The Manor House, whose sign said it was open for food after noon. I popped into the garden and asked someone who appeared to be in charge if they could provide breakfasts for two non-residents. Umm aah yes! Life saver.

What a breakfast! Thanks Col!

Then we’re on our way again, burdened by bacon, beans, black pudding and baps. Boom boom!

Just about the entire Jurassic coast in this photograph.

Our first historic encounter. Summat reyt old.

Then walking the ridge line south eastwards we passed numerous tumuli, the resting places of Bronze Age and Iron Age leaders. Important people interred on the highest land in the whole of Dorset.

This is Colin looking forward to a yomp.

The small plateau here is surrounded by a defensive ditch and split between ordinary folk and a smaller place for the chief. 3,000 years ago. Chesil beach, top right, containing a long lagoon and leading to Portland Bill in the distance. Those Ancient Britons knew how to pitch a room with a view.

There were so many more tumuli, this ridge was clearly a sacred site. The path narrowed on occasions and we were stung harshly by nasty nettles.

Our next target was the Hardy Memorial Tower. Contrary to what springs to mind about this part of the world the tower is a memorial to Thomas Hardy the Vice-Admiral who conducted the British fleet against the French and Spanish in the Napoleonic wars. Not Thomas Hardy of Far from the Maddening Cloud fame. The Tower was on the highest point of the ridge.

And the view from the top was breathtaking.

We started down the last 10 miles of ridge towards the sea east of Weymouth. The weather was continuing dry, breezy and warm. Perfect.

Looking back the Tower was still standing, scratching the sky.

Over to the west, to our right, Portland Bill was bathing in the sun.

In front of us the ridge rose again for one last time.

Only to drop down to Osmington, from where we could see the white (grey) horse and rider.

And within 15 minutes we were marching past our tents, and on to The Smugglers Rest next to the beach at Osmington Mills. Seven hours and 18 miles since we set off. A great day!

Night night.