Last day based from Ziva’s and I got an early start and a 7.40 bus back to Paignton. A bit cooler and cloudy but the sticky heat came later in the day. I walked around Torbay, trying to cover some ground without the rucksack and with the view of making it to Teignmouth, 15 miles up the coast. Torbay is quite a sophisticated old place and warrants it’s ‘English Riviera’ title. It is also well defended in case the French try to have a go whilst we’re not expecting it.

Cop some of that warship you garlic munching aggressors!
The end of the point between Torbay and Torquay is very pleasant.

Just keeping going, ‘only in dreams, in beautiful dreams’ wafting round my empty skull. I sometimes sing it too when I’m in the woods. Sound deadens in the leaves. I came across an orchard and climbed over the gate to get some apples – cider apples – delicious. I’ve lost over a stone and a half so walking and my diet suit me at the moment.

I stopped at a beautiful old country pub for liver and bacon for lunch. A real treat and the pub was great.

The first view of Teignmouth spurred me on, white houses on a hill the other side of the river. Another ferry and this time it was a short journey frequently made.

I got the train back to Ziva’s and she got us a great Chinese takeaway.
I’ve done 505 miles! I’ve only got 125 to go. I underestimated how many I’d done a couple of days ago but I’ve just checked it on the SWCP website.
Back to being weighted on from Teignmouth onwards.

Now I know I’m a little juvenile on occasions but this made me snigger like a schoolboy. Why? I dunno it just made me snigger.

Hello peeps. The ferry from Dartmouth upriver to Totnes, where I was staying at Ziva’s place, was pretty good. An hour with about 60 people on board and it’s an oldish boat.

It steams past shipyards and vineyards and 10 miles up the estuary to the centre of Totnes. Then I did my laundry and took Ziva out for dinner.
Yesterday I slept through and didn’t leave the house until after 9. I caught a bus to where I left off in Dartmouth and got another ferry over the river to the east side.

I’d expected the walk round to Brixham to be relatively easy for some reason. It was one of the toughest days climbing of the trek. Thank Christ I wasn’t carrying the rucksack. However the views continue to be magnificent.

I was walking along the path and saw a slow worm out of the bottom of my eye slithering across my path. I lifted my front foot higher to take an extended step and then looked back. It was a two and a half foot adder coiled round on the path looking at me. If I’d stood on that I’d have ended up in casualty. A black adder too. I couldn’t get my iPad out before it slipped away but it was this colouring.

In another Morse moment I had only thought two minutes before that I hadn’t seen an adder all journey.
Approaching Brixham there were some wood sculptures. They add a bit of surrealism to the scene.

I enjoyed walking through the cliff side woods. The crowd has thinned out on the path now and I barely saw a walker all day. Maybe the elves might still be around, concealing themselves in the greenery. I kept looking around quickly but I couldn’t see them. Can you?

Lots of songs come into my head when I’m walking. Roy Orbison ‘In Dreams’ has been appearing in my mind’s ear a lot. Van Morrison obviously and the Incredible String Band. Loudon Wainwright III is in there too, competing for space with my remaining brain cell. ‘If I was 16 again I’d give her my tooth, I’m tired and hungry and I’m looking for my youth, I’m a little uncool I’m a little uncouth, excuse me if you will’. If you can write lyrics like that would you need any more skills? Pure genius.
I cracked on from Brixham. Get miles under my belt without El Rucko Sacko.
Arriving at Paignton there were more carvings. I liked this one.

I got the bus back to Ziva’s and cooked myself an omelette. I thought I’d have an early night – Ziva was at a party- but I stayed up to watch a 1975 queen concert. Magnificent display by Freddie.
I got up at 7 this morning, caught the bus and I’m having breakfast in Paignton. Set me up for the day that will. I did 16 miles yesterday, if I can do the same today I’ll be happy. At the moment I’ve done 483 miles. One more night at Ziva’s so I’ll see how far I get without Rucky Sacky today. Ciao baby!

Hi, I finally got away from Bigbury on sea on Tuesday. The ferry wasn’t working but Frank was. Just before he arrived a stranger strode into town.

It was John from Deal (or no deal) who was walking the Coast Path. He’d caught the ferry across the Yealm but missed low tide on the Erme, exactly as I had. He had slept on the beach in the afternoon and forded the river in the dark at low tide at 10pm.
The other John (tucker) who owns Mount Folly Farm Campsite wants to set up some kind of reception for me at the finish line, or to walk together with me in support over the last few miles – great bloke.
Frank took us round the tidal road to the far side of the estuary. He said that the swans I’d seen before were encouraged by an old bloke who fed them every day. A lot of people are pissed off with them and this was aggravated by a dog getting stuck into the swans when a girl on a horse trotted by. The horse was spooked and bolted, throwing the woman who broke her wrist and ending up belly deep in mud. It took the coppers, fire brigade and a winch to get the horse out of the mud. The old man was castigated by the locals, culminating in criticism of him in the local Parish Newsletter. Oh no! How can he walk the streets when the Parson’s given him a ticking off in the Parish Newsletter.

Frank dropped us off and John proved a prolific talker but a poor listener. I said goodbye. This is a view of a Burgh Island and Bigbury on sea looking back.

The coast and weather were both brilliant again. Even the inland views in this part of South Devon are magnificent.

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2.

3.

4.

The correct answer is 3.

Another question. What is this left on the coast path?

Want a clue?
Take a black plastic bag, a dog’s arse and a Dirty Pillock.

I made it round to Salcombe. It was a long haul and I pulled into the first hotel on the south beach and had a cider on their balcony hanging over the sea. Delightful. I looked on my iPad to see the room rates and for that night a single room would be £245. I went up to Higher Rew campsite and slept under Wilson for eight quid. The first person I bumped into was John from Deal.

It was a rainy morning and I packed Wilson away wet and legged it down to Salcombe waterfront and had breakfast. I caught the ferry across to East Portlemouth and started out again with Torcross as my target.

This is Salcombe looking back from the ferry landing stage and the beach on the east side.

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John Tucker had told me he was born and brought up in East sprawledso I cut through it. I didn’t see anyone and on my way back down to the coastal path I came across a farmer trying to fix a gate. He asked me if I’d lift it and we fixed it quite quickly. He was well pleased and I asked him if he knew John Tucker. He said he was Richard, his first cousin. Small world down southwest!

A lad on the coast said he had seen a whale, I looked at the spot he’d seen it and certainly there was a lot of activity in the sea but indeterminate. I did hear eerie whale-like calls as I walked around the cliff. Seals? Mermaids?

Start Point is quite spectacular.

And looking further on towards Dartmouth.

I made it to Torcross and caught two buses up to Ziva’s place in Totnes where I had a hell of a shower and a good sleep after a pleasant evening with friends.

I caught the buses back to Torcross today and am at the moment in Dartmouth. Some of the most spectacular views of the entire trek. Cop these.

Slapton Sands was a training area for D Day. All the villagers were moved out to let the Yanks practice for that fateful landing at Omaha. Poor, poor boys. Blasted to bits. Help for latter day Heroes.
Please donate if you haven’t.
Bmycharity.com/bladegoeswest
There are some memorials on this stretch of coast.

I’m going back to Totnes on a ferry. Should be fun. I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’ll end on nature watch. Lovely innit?

Good night’s sleep under Wilson at Mount Folly Farm and the owner, John, woke me up at 9.30 this morning driving past and shouting out if I was ok. I got up and had breakfast on the front – which consists of one building. This is another shot looking down from the site.

I walked back towards the bay that I’d not been able to cross the previous day and then retraced my steps to Bigbury on sea. This region is on the cusp between the bright red sandstone of Devon and the grey slate of south East Cornwall. Here you can see it in successive cliffs, the closest and furthest being slate and the middle distance cliff having the red hue of the sandstone.

I came back east to beyond the campsite to check out the ferry across the River Avon but couldn’t find the ferry point. I wandered upstream looking for a place to ford across at low tide tomorrow lunchtime but it was too deep even though it was not particularly wide. However it does swell with the tide and this is the river where the swans were crossing the road on last night’s blog.

I found the ferry point and the sign said it ran from April to 20th September, last Saturday. Bugger!

I climbed the river cliff up to the farm campsite and had a shower. No idea what to do tomorrow as the walking option was to walk all the way round the estuary (again!) and lose the best part of another day.

John the farm owner drove past and I told him the problem. Even at the lowest tide the sand is so soft in the estuary that you sink in trying to cross and won’t get very far, particularly with a pack. John said that ‘Frank’ would wake me up tomorrow and give me a lift to the other side of the estuary. Frank isn’t well and would welcome the activity. How kind can people down here get?

I’m glad I’ve not been pushing on today, my hip hurts as does my back and my legs were very weak this morning. I needed this relative rest without having to carry the rucksack. Everything happens for a purpose.

What is it about rock pools that holds such a fascination whether we’re three or sixty three? Not that I’m sixty three yet – if that’s where your uncharitable thoughts were wandering. I’m only just sixty Fathead.

I don’t want this to be a blog where I just do nature photos and cack-on about how beautiful everything is, but…….. Cop this tiny butterfly.

Neither do I want to be crapping on all the time about the weather but I didn’t wear a T shirt today. I haven’t got any long trousers or a jacket, just one long sleeved cotton shirt and my waterproof top, plus shorts and T shirts. The weather so far has respected this absence and been glorious every day for more than three weeks. I’ve just taken this photo – cop this for late September!

But it’s getting dark earlier and cooler at night so it’s only a question of time before the turn. I’ll wait for Frank and then soon I’ll be close enough to our mate Ziva in Totnes, where I can stay there and get buses out to cover the sections of the path round her way for a few days. Without a heavy rucksack! How fantastic will that be? I need to make up time.
Thanks for reading this blog. Your interest keeps me going.

I needed to get the first ferry across a river estuary this morning at 10am ( I’d been advised to cross early as the ferryman gets drunk at lunchtime and his steering becomes erratic) and then leg it 9 miles to wade across the next estuary before the tide came in too much. I made the first objective. Arriving at the jetty on the river Yealm I turned round a white sign as a primitive indicator to the ferryman at his house on the far bank that I wanted to cross. He headed straight for me.

I landed on the far bank and saw rock oysters in their hundreds on the boulders exposed by low tide. They were very solid and the only way I could open them was to smash them with big pieces of rock. They tasted wonderful, particularly as I hadn’t had breakfast, and I finished them off with handfuls of blackberries from bushes overhanging the bay.
I then half ran with my pack on my back to try to make a low enough tide. I covered 6 miles but I got exhausted to be honest. It was hot, the sun was beating down and I got knackered. I dragged myself over the last three miles and got to the estuary as it was filling with sea water. Beautiful beach though – Meadowsfoot Beach.

There was no way to wade across, it was far too deep, particularly with the waves coming in from the sea and smashing onto submerged sandbanks. I wandered up to a car park with a cafe and had a pot of tea and a pasty. I realised I was facing a further 15 miles to make my way round the waterway and then on to the camp site I’d spotted on the iPad. No chance. I was struggling to lift my feet. I started off up the narrow lane and my phone went. It was Georgie asking how I was and suggesting I flag down a car. As I finished the call two old ladies in their eighties drove past and pulled up to talk. They were offering me a lift as they’d seen me walk up past the beach and the car park. Luckier still they were driving east to Kingsbridge. They dropped me about 5 miles from the campsite I was aiming for.

I wandered down a track which ran by the side of the next tidal river and eventually had to get my boots and socks off as the tide was still rising and now covered the road for a while. It was great to paddle along a road whilst tiny whitebait were swimming across the tarmac with the incoming tide. Better still there was a fleet of swans, never seen so many, that swam across the road in single file. The poles indicate the sides of the submerged road.

A young couple were just strapping their baby into a car seat and I asked if they were going to try the submerged road or go the other way (my way). They confirmed they were going my way, to the village I was aiming for in fact, and I asked for a lift. They were ok with it and I got a much needed assist. The camp site is a working farm and when the owner clocked my shirt and I confirmed that I was doing a charity walk for H4H he wouldn’t take any money. I’m staying two nights as I now need to backtrack tomorrow to cover the missed miles but he won’t take any fee. Thank you Mount Folly Farm. Not only that, he could see I was knackered and whilst I was setting up Wilson he brought over a cup of tea and a bowl of lamb slices, a ham hock, bread and a tomato. They’d had a hog roast yesterday and there was some left over!

How kind is that?
I had a few drinks to wash it down.

The first person on the site I spoke to was Mark Brimmingham. He is a Blade and had driven up to Swindon yesterday to watch a dismal performance where we got beat 5-2.
This is the sun going down over the sea as seen from the site.

Night Night.

Well I had a reyt good night’s sleep I did, me. In a bed. I had a shower too, but the door to the shower from the corridor of the B&B was only a couple of feet from the door to the shower. I got in and stripped off, pulled the shower door back and couldn’t get round because the door to the corridor was in the way. Naked I had to make a big decision. I opened the door to the corridor, stepped out, pulled the shower door further back, got in, put my hand round and shut the corridor door. Nobody there, nobody saw my willie.
Oh God! How juvenile can I get? How about this?
Nobody saw my willie or my titties.

A great breakfast this morning. Ate lots and not needed anything other than a can of sardines and a potato salad for the rest of the day. The day has been phenomenally warm and clear at times. I thought Plymouth was a cackhole but the route walks around the docks and bays for 8 miles before heading down the coast. First thing the sun was out and the air was still. The place had a Mediterranean feel with terraces on the sea wall serving breakfasts and hot drinks. These are seafront Plymouth photos.

There were lots of people swimming and lounging around in the sea saying how warm it was. What a day – but it made me sweat with the rucksack on my back and it was a long slog today – 15 miles to Wembury.

I was relieved that the Scots voted to stay part of the UK but if I’d been a Sweaty Sock I would have voted yes. I’ve only got a relatively few tracks loaded on my iPad but one of them is dedicated to Alex Salmond;
Almost Independence Day – Van Morrison.
I sometimes play it at night to help me get to sleep. There are noises in hedges when you’re tied up to them in an open tarp and whilst I’m not bothered by them they do keep me awake on occasions. Van the man sees them off. It’s a lovely song – 10 minutes of pure class.

Coming out of Plymouth there were a lot of abandoned boats rotting in shady coves. I spotted one of them, a ship called a Dignity. Set it up, set it up, set it up, set it up, set it up, set it up. Set it up again, set it up again,set it up again. Here it is, still clinging to some element of dignity but not far from disintegration.

What brasses me off – or at least one of the million things – is people seeing this sign and collecting their doggie doodahs in a plastic bag but leaving it by the side of the path or chucking it in a hedge. What is the point of preserving canine crap for future generations as opposed to:
A) putting it in the bins periodically provided.
B) leaving it outside a bag and scraping it underneath a hedge so children don’t step in it and it can eventually decompose.
It’s not just one or two examples, I must have seen dozens of crap-laden bags throughout my journey. Dirty Pillocks.

Anyway, there has been a major telegraph pole replacement exercise throughout the southwest. The new ones stand dark and resinous, oozing that lovely Pitch smell. I saw a weirdo sniffing them the other day,

Night Night.

A good sleep underneath the picnic bench. Time was when I stayed in the Budapest Hilton and the Sydney Ritz Carlton. Now I’m under a picnic bench. I usually had a room on floor 8 at the Ritz Carlton (from memory) executive suite and executive lounge. Actually I’ve got a confession, get closer whilst I whisper, just a little closer, I don’t want anyone else but you to know. The picnic bench is as much fun as the Ritz Carlton for me. It’s a Gas, (BRFC), and the rocks under my sleeping bag and the slug on my head mean that I’m still alive. HA!!

This is a nature section. Another little butterfly and a lovely juxtaposition between berries and flowers.

At the end of Rame Head is an ancient chapel that nowadays is used as a stable by the wild ponies. These are some of the perspectives of it.

I was leaving Cornwall for the first time in 5 weeks but I felt it was time to move on, however much I love the county. To get to Devon from Cornwall is either a bridge or a ferry. I headed for Cremyll, the last bastion of Cornwall. En route through the beautifully kept Mt Edgcombe estate, frequented by royalty in the old days, were some decent follies

and beautiful gardens.

At the end of the estate is the ferry to Plymouth, deserting Cornwall and joining Devon. I followed some old folk on to the ferry and sat on the open foredeck. One of the ladies came up to me and said that she was just checking the badge on my shirt. Anne Surr of Ranmoor is 80 years old this year and has a season ticket for the Blades which she’s had since 1977. Anne is the one on the right.

I found a launderette in Plymouth and cleaned my clothes, no machines for my sleeping bag so that stinks on. I found a Wetherspoons for tea. I’m in a bed tonight – cop this photo matey boys and girls, no freaking picnic tables but a real room and a real bed. First time in three weeks, how good is this!

Ritz Carlton eat your heart out!

Ah well. Night night my dear readers. There are nine people who log in every day and I hope you enjoy it. I wish we could meet up in Torquay or summat and have a party but that’s not what this walk is about.
Or is it?

I had a good sleep last night. Woke quite a few times but got back to sleep reasonably quickly. If you move in a thin sleeping bag on hard ground that’s not been softened by rain for a few weeks then you’re going to wake up aren’t you. It’s the ground that hasn’t been softened by rain not the sleeping bag. It stinks though. The sleeping bag not the ground. Stains of slugs and rabbit droppings as well as me smelling like a skunk on those nights that I don’t get a shower. I’ll wash it tomorrow. I’m staying in a B&B in Plymouth tomorrow night. My third night in a bed out of the five weeks I’ve been walking (leaving out the break with Maggie in Looe). I’ll go to the launderette and do my stinky clothes, sleeping bag and trainers. Jesus, the trainers smell like a dog’s died in them. Well half a dog in each or two dogs died in them, one in each. Half a dog in each would already be dead at the point of insertion wunnit?

I walked down to Looe this morning, a couple of miles, and got a nice breakfast. There’s a music festival on and they’re expecting 5,000 people over the next three days. Tents and marquees everywhere. A couple of locals were talking and one said “we only started this to put one over on Polperro and now it’s got out of hand”.

Looking back to West Looe and St George’s Island. Did I mention that Joseph of Arimathea landed there with the child Christ? That’s the legend. Who knows?

The route to Rame’s Head, being the southernmost point of Plymouth’s natural harbour, runs up hill and down dale (again), along cliff tops and through some woodland. Tree tunnels like this.

I got tired today but my shoulder wasn’t too painful. Every other part of me was painless too. It was really hot, the hottest day so far. The sweat pours out when you’ve got a heavy rucksack. Going uphill in this heat and humidity sucks the liquid out of your body.
There’s quite a bit of MOD land on this stretch and a massive fort at Tregantle built in the 1860s to blast the French if they tried to invade. Sorry my French colleagues but we’ve had a few wars over the last millennium and most of them have been your fault so we need to defend ourselves. Francis, when we were in Looe in May I knew you were a spy but I decided not to hand you over to the military police. (Joke Franny).

There are lots of butterflies again on this stretch. Look at this lovely little specimen that I managed to get the iPad down to without spooking it.

Just at the side of Tregantle Fort is a catering van – Billy Bunter. A character and a great cook. His sausage sandwich with hot chilli sauce was an absolute treat. Matty – his chilli sauce is hotter than yours!

Finally pitching up at Whitsands Bay as the sun was sinking. Some beautiful empty beaches here too.

I put Wilson up attached to a picnic table.

Back in a city tomorrow. It might feel odd but I don’t think so. 400 miles done!!! A good 14 mile stretch today. All is going pretty good at the moment.

Anyway more importantly Jet goes to Uni on Saturday. Love you little sweetheart. She should be offered modelling work you know. She’s a peach. Here she is on the catwalk doing her heroin chic stroll. Absolute knockout.

Any modelling agencies in Sheffield? If you don’t sign up this youth then you’re off your heads.
Night Night.

I didn’t get the decent night’s sleep I hoped for last night. The wind was wild and Wilson blew like a Clipper’s mainsail, twice pulling pegs out of the ground that needed re-fixing. Luckily the top, which was fixed to a hedge, held good otherwise my worldly belongings would be floating somewhere between Polruan and Brittany.
Notice how sea-sidey I’m getting? Clipper’s mainsail. Pretentious prat.
I did get an earlyish start though and surprisingly struggled through one of the most difficult ascending and descending sections of the entire walk. My shoulder hurt like hell on occasions but the rest of me is in decent shape.
First photos are one of my favourite bays, Lantic Bay, closer to Polruan than Polperro. I’ve been chased by cows here before but they were docile today. This is looking east in the direction I was travelling.

This is looking back westwards at the same stretch of bay.

I’ve collected mussels and clams in this bay a few times now and in May of this year with my very good friend Francis Carrere we built a bonfire and cooked fresh mussels, fish and potatoes. I can honestly say it was one of the best meals I’ve ever cooked. We kept looking at each other and smiling as we ate this majestic and largely free feast.

The first sign of Polperro was welcome as it appeared around a corner.

The beautiful little port opened up before me, protected by curves in the cove.

Carrying on there was a big detour due to cliff collapse from the storms earlier this year, but I eventually arrived at Talland Bay. I turned a corner and there was Mick the Blade with his partner. I was so surprised I didn’t even get a photo of him. We had season tickets close to each other twenty years ago and he was more vocal than me, although it was close. We’ve met many, many times since as he’s worked around the country and still gone to home and away matches. From Stevenage to Huddersfield to Wembley we just seem to meet up – and here he was. His missus buggered off – she didn’t relate to our discussion over the previous night’s victory over Colchester. All the best Bladey Blade.
This is looking out to sea at Talland, home of Richard and Judy (as if I gave a monkey’s fork)!

Round eventually to Looe, where we’ve had some lovely holidays over the last 35 years.

I decided to get the bus back up to just above Talland Bay to the Tencreek Holiday site. Three great women were on the bus – three generations of really, really nice folk – Remy, Kirsty and Dawn. They invited me to tea and it was great. I felt part of the family after two minutes relaxing in their caravan. Thanks ladies, it is the unexpected kindness of strangers that gives me hope for the future of (Wo)mankind. Good luck next week Dawn and love to all three of you dear folk.

Breakfast yesterday at Pentewan Sands Beach Park and then off on the path. Somebody keeps adding weight to this rucksack. If I catch the beggar he’ll be jolly well sorry. A shorter walk yesterday of 8 miles, round to Par via Charlestown. Still up and down but shorter. Charlestown is a delightful little port, one of the few in the Southwest with lock gates. A couple of nice little sailing ships in dock as well. And I stopped for a pot of tea that gave me three full cups for £1.30. Bargain or what?

The dove of peace rests In Charlestown.

Walking on I passed the Carlyon Bay Hotel and its beautiful golf course running along the sea front and looking over to Gribbin Head, jutting out like Jimmy Hill’s chin between Polkerris and Fowey.

In the late 70s and early 80s I worked for the English China Clay company when I was based in Bristol. Being down around St Austell, Par and Fowey takes me back to those days. Exciting days of youthful enthusiasm and exploration. Swaggering up to London for National meetings like the Pirates of Penzance and being taught by my maverick Chairman to treat pomp and circumstance with the derision it deserves. Losing touch with the cutting edge of music but learning what business was about and keeping customers satisfied.

Camping last night between Par and Fowey I cut back down to the coast this morning round Polkerris and beyond Gribbin Head. Looking out was beautiful again;

as was looking back to Gribbin.

Coming round the corner and looking into Fowey harbour with Fowey on the left and Polruan on the right is a great sight. In the 1400s Fowey was full of pirates. They really pissed off the French, who went in to sort out the Fowey folk in 1457. Undeterred the pirates reformed and in 1469 captured 12 ships off Brittany in a fortnight. The King had just signed a peace agreement with France so he sent down an Emissary to Fowey to ask them to stop. The bloke was sent back to London after the pirates cut off one of his ears.It could have been worse.

Back to present day, thanks to the Galleon Inn in Fowey for spotting my Help for Heroes shirt and not charging me much for lunch. Thank you. Ear and chips was great.
Looking off the ferry to Polruan out to sea. What weather – again!! The Ferryman didn’t take any fee as I have my H4H shirt on.

I’ve pitched up at the top of Polruan for the night. This is the view down to Fowey.

Andrew told me about Robin Williams. I’d heard he was dead but I didn’t know it was suicide or the nature of it. Poor, tortured man. I have fallen into depression several times over my life, from a very young age where I was frightened of infinity, up to the most recent dip 5 years ago. Luckily I’ve got it controlled with decent prescription drugs. I was running out and my surgery just faxed down the prescription to Boots in Fowey for me to get a refill. I remember my old HR Director at YTV describing me to someone as a ‘grey man’. You lose your colour and vivacity and you don’t want to sing. Too young Robin, 63 is too young. I’m sorry it took you. I’m sorry death took you too, another Robin, not even 30. Many years ago. He still cameos in our kitchen and living room on rare occasions. You are always welcome my dear and mostly departed friend. Hang around as long as you like, my house is your old haunt.

377 miles done.
253 miles to go.
75,000 feet climbed.
39,000 feet to go.

I’m sorry my dear readers and supporters. I’m getting a bit reflective and it’s not amusing.
It was cold last night. I didn’t put on my long johns and kept waking up. You can’t be bothered to get out of the sleeping bag for two minutes to put it right. Just hide and hope it warms up. I’ll sleep well tonight. My shoulder hurt as well so I need some padding tonight and on the rucksack.

Do I look nice?

From being desk bound and car bound to being in a walking state for hours on end was a bit of a transition, although the holiday in France and Spain helped adjust. It now feels like my ‘normal’ condition is to put one foot after the other with 14 kgs on my back. I’m feeling reasonably fit. The hills are a killer. I rest forward on my walking poles whilst my heart pumps like a manic Mickey Mouse powered by Duracell. But walking is my normal state now.

Night
1. Porlock
2. Lynton
3. Hunters Inn
4. Coombe Martin
5. Woollacombe
6. Braunton
7. Bideford
8. Abbotsham
9. Hartland
10. Morwenstowe
11. Bude
12. Crackington Haven
13. Tintagel
14. Port Gaverne
15. Rock
16. Harlyn
17. Trevarrian
18. Perranporth
19. Portreath
20. Hayle
21. St Ives
22. Zennor
23. Cape Cornwall
24. Porthcurno
25. Penzance
26. Porthleven
27. Lizard Point
28. Coverack
29. Helford
30. Falmouth
31. Portloe
32. Pentewan
33. Par
34. Polruan

Night night.