Monday 02nd June 1997 - Day Three, Clovelly - Hartland Point - Devon/Cornwall border - Leddon Farm Prev Next

I recognised the familiar pain above the eyes and I knew I had a headache coming. It was my fault for scoffing a snickers bar at 11:30 the previous night when I briefly surfaced without being properly awake. Lots of deep breathing, two Anadin extra and a hot shower in the cubicle in my room.

I wrote my log for yesterday then went over the road to the main part of the inn for breakfast in the 'Hamlyn Room'. All bran to start, orange juice, a full English breakfast and 3 whole slices of toast. I was probably going to need it. I took a couple of photos of Clovelly, obtained some provisions from the general stores which disappeared back and sideways a long way, packed and left. The climb out of Clovelly was long and steep. At the top the guide book had said follow the Hobby Drive until it turns sharply inland then through a narrow gate. I checked the map because Hobby Drive appeared to end at Clovelly and not continue. I followed the road and turned off through a huge gate marked 'Coast Path' three times - just in case you missed it. The track wound round the edge of a field which contained sheep and trees, through a couple of gates which I had to remove the rucksack to get through, and into a tunnel of rhododendrons. It looked very pretty from the outside. The rhododendrons changed to woodland and the path undulated.

Occasionally looking to the right you could see a tree or two and then nothing and you knew that only a few feet away was a several hundred foot drop.

The path descended on a road to a stream at the coast with a couple of derelict buildings and then started to climb in a serious fashion. Halfway up this very steep edge was a 40 gallon green drum on three wooden legs marked 'Turkish apple frag conc'! Who would want to bring 40 gallons of concentrated Turkish apple fragrance up a very steep slope and put three legs on it? Maybe they put the legs on first and then carried it up, or maybe they started at the top and carried it down, legs optional. In particular, my legs were tired and try as I might I couldn't avoid bumping into it. At the top it was over a stile and through some fields, one of which contained bullocks. I don't like being in the same field as bullocks, they are so nosey and they always follow you getting closer and closer, and they are bigger than I am. It started to rain lightly. As I walked down the zigzag path it started to rain seriously. It was woodland up the other side and near the top I stopped for a rest in the shelter of a holly tree.

I was carrying a hand held GPS navigator with me and it said I had covered 2.14 miles as the crow flies in two and a half hours. As far as the rain was concerned I was fortunate to be able to dig the cagoule out of the rucksack without having to unpack. The rest of this part to Hartland Point was quite level and consisted mostly of going around the edge of farmers fields. Lundy kept coming into and disappearing from view in the mist. My headache wasn't too bad but I could have done without it, like the rain which was steadily falling. As I rounded the end of one field I came across a plaque which was dedicated to the crew of a bomber which had flown into the cliffs during the last war.

I climbed a stile and from the top saw what looked like Hartland point. I stopped for a rest and a snickers bar in the lee of a pig shelter. Hartland Point was as bit of a disappointment when I got there. I was expecting crashing waves, gale force winds and a comfy tea shop. There were none there, just the rain catcher for the lighthouse, a muddy car park and a coast guard aerial mast. Further round you could see the lighthouse. I took some photos and pressed on. The grass was long and whilst the rain had eased off my feet stood no chance of getting drier.

The stiles were not so good around here. No easy 1 2 up, 1 2 down with trap door for the dogs. These were a single stile and anyone with less than a 30" inside leg would have been in trouble. It was at this point that the insole of my right boot started to come adrift which made walking down the hills difficult. The countryside had changed and become wilder with short sharp hills. At one point the path required a bit of rock climbing for a few yards where the strata broke through and made it impossible to put in steps or suchlike. Up and over a couple more hills and Hartland Quay was in sight.

Hartland Quay consists of a gift shop, a bar with bar snacks and a hotel. The bar wasn't open. I enquired in the hotel but they only served afternoon tea and the bar didn't open until half past six, it was ten to five. I walked across the car park considering my options. I could get sustainance at the gift shop which seemed like a good idea. I turned around in time to see the chap turn his key in the gift shop door lock, climb into his Land Rover Discovery and drive off. I sat down. The headache had gone, I was self sufficient and didn't want another night in a hotel yet so I pressed on. A brisk march might see me a couple more miles down the coast. It started to rain heavily as the coast path followed a couple of valleys then up onto the high headland. The rain was horizontal coming from inland and threatened to blow me over the edge so I kept in as much as possible. On the top of one cliff there were rusting old bits of ship, presumably hauled up from a wreck down below. The path turned in slightly and met with a road. Then the rain stopped but the sky was still very heavy.

I walked the coastal path on the road to where the footpath took you back to the coast edge again and checked the map. I was halfway between Hartland Quay and the border between Devon and Cornwall. One more push and I'd make it. Back on the cliff edge I bumped into a lad who was walking the other way. He was a gardener from Norfolk and thought he had crossed the border although he didn't see a sign which was supposed to be there. He was also glad that the rain had stopped. Along the very cliff edge where it started to drop away sheep were grazing and generally walking about, we pondered how many the farmer lost every year. The footpath continued along the edges of the headland which was mown and had new fencing. I rounded a corner and saw a couple of inlets and headlands fading into the misty distance. I had a sneaking suspicion I was looking at Cornwall.

The map and GPS confirmed it so I ate another snickers because I had to negotiate two valleys of serious proportions before Cornwall. They were both difficult and took time with my now very tired legs but I arrived and walked over the little bridge to make it into Cornwall. The border was marked with a post similar to the acorn posts marking the rest of the way, with Devon marked on one edge and Cornwall on another. I could pitch the tent here but I wanted something a little more organised, particularly in the damp weather so I went back a bit and headed inland to try and find a campsite.

One mile up the little road and I passed Leddon Farm which had a small sign in the window saying camping, and a large one in the opposite field saying Caravan Club exclusive use. I walked on, then back and went in. The farmers wife greeted me and I started to speak but no words came out because my throat was so dry. She pointed out the meadow and toilets and when I asked how much she wanted for the night said 'Oh - get on with you' . By the time I had set up the tent I was cold and still wet so went off to find the pub to get a hot meal. It looked closed down so I walked all the way around it. It was closed down and I made my way back to the tent still cold and hungry. There I changed into my dry clothes, cooked up another soup and pasta meal which is not very imaginitive, but it warmed me up and gives lots of energy, then I turned out the light at 11:05.

Next page, Day four, 03rd June 97, Leddon Farm, Devon/Cornwall border, Bude.

Previous page, Day two, 01st June 97, Westward Ho!, Bucks Mills, Clovelly.

Return to home page, return to diary index or return to this walk index.