I just wanted to slightly qualify my blog in that my observations regarding the Isle of Portland did not take into account two factors that could have enhanced substantially my appreciation of the place.

1. Quarry Sculpture
I diverted from the coast path to pass through a disused quarry reputed for sculptors practising their art. It looked interesting.

2

2. Me
Just the fact that I was there today walking all the way round it, spreading Elven vibes added enormous value.

The Island is by the sea, obviously as it’s an island – it could have been in a big lake – but it’s in the same class as the World Heritage Coast in Cornwall. It’s ruined by past primary industrial defecation. Give me decent inland rather than indecent island any day.

Can I just say before I go how much I owe to Wilson. He’s been a brick, even though he was wounded by barbed wire early on. As soon as you give an inanimate object a name it assumes a personality in your mind. Not at human level but at least at dog level and Wilson doesn’t leave toxic plastic bags on the coastal path. His personality traits are reliability, durability and never complaining. A lot of people have referred to Wilson and we clearly relate to him. I say him because Wilson’s a masculine name innit!

My first car was a Morris Minor, 1955 split windscreen, black, XNU362 and his name was Tank. Ten years of faithful service. He did over 150,000 miles, unheard of in those days. My late school days and university years are warm in my memory thanks largely to Tank and what he helped me do, with good friends and special friends. I started courting the most beautiful girl in the school with Tank – Margaret Lomas. I wasn’t going to be fully happy until that name was Margaret Smith. I’m still fully happy that she did, and I can guarantee that she’s still the most beautiful girl Thornbridge School ever educated. What a looker – her age (60) – remains a secret.

Apparently the lagoon behind Chesil Bank is the biggest in NW Europe and a place of scientific interest as well as a World Nature site, or summat. Now yesterday I said it smells disgusting, like a sewer. A few people have been in touch to complain that I would regard someone who sews as disgustingly smelly. Particularly as these are likely to be women. OK, OK I know a lot of tailors are men but the bulk of sewers in the UK are women let’s be honest with each other. And I’m sure they don’t stink, it’s all been a big misunderstanding. I meant ‘like a knitter’.

Today started cloudy and I left Wilson on the site and walked down to the coast path and over the long bridge and causeway to the Isle of Portland. As I walked the clouds cleared and the usual blue sky surrounded the sun. Beautiful weather yet again. This is a view from the cliff top on the Island looking back at Weymouth, Chesil Bank and Lyme Bay to the left.

Walking down to Portland Bill, the southern point of the island, it became apparent that the whole Isle is just a quarry. Sir Christopher Wren loved Portland stone and had it shipped up to London by the hundreds of thousands of tons to build iconic structures like St Paul’s and many other churches after the great fire of London in 1666. You know Christopher Wren. Yes that one. Hunchback with a squint. The new London Bridge, the UN building in New York and government buildings in New Delhi are made from this stone. As a result the island is a little gold mine but a largely unattractive one.

I got to Portland Bill in the sun and was happy to walk back.

I’m looking forward to carrying on through East Dorset now. Only 42 miles to go, 588 done.
All knitters’ complaints will be dealt with at arm’s length and upwind.

Heard that somewhere before? Yes you have if you read my 13 September blog. Well that’s where I am, going for an early finish next week, so I got up at 7am and set off at 8. Pushing off from Burton Freshwater I quickly made it to the beach which forms part of the 20 plus miles of pebble bank formed of trillions of pebbles thrown up 6000 years ago from a change in sea level. It was ok for the first couple of miles and then the pebbles invaded the path. It was like wading through porridge, really strength sapping. I aimed for breakfast at West Bexington but the only cafe was shut and there are no shops.
The real plus factor was the weather. Yesssss!!! Again it was July but this time in October. Warm, sunny and clear.

Beautiful irises, or are they orchids, growing in the shingle.

I made it more than three hours after setting off to Abbotsbury and had a late breakfast of a huge pot of tea and crab sandwich with salad. Perfect! My spirits lifted instantly.
Above the village the Chapel of St Catherine towers majestically surrounded by earthworks. A few clouds blew over and I thought summer was finished but it soon cleared again. It was in the early twenties centigrade. Amazing.

I really enjoyed the cross country route of the coast path back down to Chesil Bank. The Bank runs between the open sea and a long open lagoon which opens at one end to Portland Bay, and which is mostly saltwater. It’s a haven for birds, particularly in winter when thousands turn up there. It smells disgusting, like a sewer. Drain the bloody stinky thing and fill it with concrete.
It looks nice in the sun though.

What the good weather has done is bring out millions of daddy longlegs. Don’t know what they’re called in French. Papa Jambes Longues or summat. As soon as I switch the lamp on in Wilson I’m covered in these things.

The slugs have buggered off and I’ve got daddy longlegs all over my head now.

I’m staying on this campsite tomorrow as well as tonight as the path goes round the Isle of Portland and comes back again. I can leave my rucksack in Wilson. Brilliant!
Here’s my good friend Wilson and the Isle of Portland behind in the evening sun.

I’ve done 18 miles today. I’m feeling as fit as a butcher’s dog. 573 miles done, 57 to go. I’m finishing on Wednesday and if I keep going I’ll get another day off in Swanage. Might go fishing or summat.
Sleep well family, friends and new friends I’ve not met yet but are reading this.
Night Night

Which means in Sheffield speak that we have to put up with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune because a positive outcome is anticipated.
I made a mistake today and lost heart. I won’t do that again – losing heart. I’ll make mistakes whilst there’s breath in this mortal coil. Shakespeare’s featuring a bit tonight.
Anyway, I don’t think I thanked Ziva enough so thank you me old for putting me up at the time my body needed to walk without the rucksack. Even if I looked a pillock walking around with one of your black leather handbags over my shoulder.

I get statistics on the blog and over the last week I’ve had viewers from the UK, Germany, France, Bulgaria and Russia. Hello My Bulgarian and Russian friends whoever you are I love you! My UK, French and German friends don’t need me to tell them that I love them – they know.

It was another climbing day today but the Coast Path was detoured around again with collapsed cliffs. The first climb out of Charmouth was quite a view looking back with Charmouth in the foreground and Lyme Regis in the left distance.

However the main act was Golden Cap, the highest cliff on the South Coast, which was a sweat drawing, breath stealing, leg weakening climb to a 360 degree panorama. As usual the sun was out and beating down on my bent back. I’ll miss it when the weather turns.

Coming down off Golden Cap I walked into Seatown and decided to try the sea side route rather than over the cliffs, as the tide was going out. Big mistake. I spent nearly three hours jumping from one rock to another with my pack on my back, and where there was flat land it was full of pebbles, which made walking very tiring.

Bizarrely out of the billions of pebbles as I walked along my eye was drawn to one. ‘Stephen’ was somehow etched on one that was miles down the beach from anywhere that it might have originated. I didn’t lift it or try to establish how the wording was produced but just passed it wondering how.

I made it to Freshwater Beach Camping Park and set up Wilson, washed my clothes and did this blog. It’s nearly nine o’clock and I’m going for a fairly long hike tomorrow so I’ll say goodnight.

Night Night.

Yesterday morning I was up for an early start. There was a fair bit of interest in my mission, two guys on site were ex-forces and we had some good chats, and Mary who runs the site came round, gave me a tenner for H4H and we talked about her and her husband’s life as they are going to let the site go next year. Nice folk. I walked over to the Devon Cliffs Holiday Park where the Coast Path runs through and had breakfast in their big entertainment complex. Not great but I made two new friends.

I carried on to Budleigh Salterton, what an elegant village! The weather was overcast but as usual it cleared up and the sun shone later. The place was characterful and marks the border between South and East Devon. It has a pebble beach and someone had collected different coloured pebbles to make a really good collage on the beach. Cop these!

I was talking to another ex-services bloke, they come up when they see my T shirt, and he said that the village had the highest proportion of millionaires anywhere in the UK in the 70s and 80s. It also has some classy street artists.
I’m not sure if you can make out the partially submerged Mercedes.
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It was a long walk to Sidmouth. Every day carrying the rucksack I sweat like a pig and my clothes stink so I need to regularly do the launderette and to shower. That’s reduced my ability to camp rough as showers are nearly essential. It’s a side effect of the exceptional weather.

The rock formations get interesting and there are sandstone stacks en route.

I stopped in Sidmouth for a pint at the Radway Inn, at the bottom of a long steep hill to Salcombe Regis where my campsite was. I motored it and set up Wilson, had a shower and went to bed at 7pm. I’d done 15 miles and I was knackered.

I got up refreshed at 7am, showered again, packed away and got off by 8am.
I wanted to make Beer before breakfast – great name for a town! This is rural England at it’s best. A throwback. You expect Captain Mainwaring to march around the corner. Cows, peacocks and thatched cottages. A beautiful part of the country to walk through. It’d drive me bloody mad without a takeaway nearby!

I’d read about the blacksmith/farrier at Branscombe, one of the last remaining local forges, and was lucky enough to walk past as he was sparking up his forge. God bless the Smiths!

I made it to Beer before breakfast and broke it on the front with fantastic eggs benedict and limitless pots of tea for six quid. Breakfast and lunch – fantastic.
The next section was pretty tough and ends up in a seven mile path through a forested area below the cliffs from Seaton to Lyme Regis. This area is basically collapsed cliffs that keep on collapsing within themselves. I had only ventured a quarter of a mile into it when there was a warning that the path had collapsed and that entry was barred by a local council order and that Devon council suggested that walkers get a bus. I carried on and eventually came to a cordon. On this path the problem is that you can’t go up the cliff or down to the sea to get round problems. It’s a four hour journey on a single path and in this instance there were several collapses. I climbed over the cordon and came to the first drop of the path, about 10 feet but someone had tied a rope to a tree and tied knots in it so even with the rucksack I could get down it. There were four further collapses which I was able to climb up, down, up and down. The final collapse had another rope attached to a post at the top. It looked well enough tied and the rope was of good enough quality to haul myself up and climb over the cordon intended to stop others coming in the opposite direction.

The slog was hard. If the elves are anywhere in the south they’re here. The undergrowth is deep and there’s nobody about for miles.

Finally I made Lyme Regis and entered Dorset. I looked forward to seeing the Cobb, which we’d visited when we lived in Bristol in mid-winter with cold winds, atmosphere and the whole vista in black and white, including the French Lieutenant’s woman dressed in black and walking in mysterious ways. I turned the corner to the Cobb and could have wept. Mobile homes laced the surrounding area, crappy shops on the Cobb itself selling tat to morons and every inch filled with commercial cack. Lyme Regis – your town is worthless.

The tide was out so I was able to walk along the bottom of the cliffs to Charmouth, where I’ve pitched up for the night. Some great fossils on the beach on this world heritage Jurassic Coast.

The SWCP website reckons I’ve done 18 miles today.
I’ve done 547 miles in total – 83 to go!

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
35. Looe
36. Whitsand Bay
37. Plymouth
38. Wembury
39. Mothecombe
40. Bigbury on Sea
41. Salcombe
42. Torcross
43. Dartmouth
44. Paignton
45. Teignmouth
46. Exmouth
47. Salcombe Regis
48. Charmouth

If you do then I know for sure ‘There’s something wrong with you, oh baby, baby, baby, what you doing in my hoose?’ Talking Heads’ seminal album Little Creatures when David Byrne was at his screeching best. Buy This Album! Buy The Incredible String Band’s Big Huge album. Don’t miss out, there is only one life my friends and don’t be fooled by religious dog(poo)ma, there is no heaven or hell. Enjoy the best the world has to offer now before we decompose. There won’t be a Dirty Pillock dropping us into placky bags and leaving us at the side of the path. We’ll just burn. Seize the time! Carpe Diem as Horace wrote two thousand years ago. Don’t drift and die peeps – do things. Yes we have to work but there is so much to do outside of that. Bringing up kids in a positive way. Developing ourselves to be able to appreciate the earth and its mysteries. I’m off on one. Sozza.

Made the First train to Teignmouth from Totnes. Ziva gave me a lift to the station. What a pleasant stay at her gaff, just at the right time when my limbs and joints were creaking. Breakfast in Teignmouth and then a fair hike, alongside the storm damaged rail and coastline up to Starcross.
I’m weighted upon. The rucksack is back! A relatively short run today, but still 10 miles. I need to hit 14 a day now, I’m not spiritually bound to this part of South Devon or to Dorset as I am to Cornwall. I’ll look forward to developing an appreciation.

Cloudy and cool this morning. As I walked alongside the rail line there were suddenly loads of people, waiting to see an old, but very fast, steam train. Here it is.

There is a ferry to Exmouth across the last of the English fjords, the river Exe, and I made it without any problems.

Some interesting views across. But when I got there the weather was back to the sunny best it has been for three weeks and more. Wow!

I’m scheduling my last trek days. I’ve climbed three times Everest plus one Ben Nevis over a trip equivalent to walking from London to Sheffield to London to Sheffield to Manchester, although why anyone would want to go to Manchester from Sheffield beats me.
I’m at a campsite under Wilson just outside Exmouth. It’s going to be a good few days to the finish, and beyond. Sithee.

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.