Saturday 06th June 1998 - Day One, Newbury - Exeter - Bude - Tintagel - Trebarwith Strand Next

The new rucksack is brilliant. With the old one I had to shuffle down the train, carefully coaxing it between the seats, it was almost impossible. With the new one I separated it, put the small pack on my back and holding onto the handle of the large pack I glided down the aisle.

The 09:16 from Newbury headed west to Exeter, gateway to the West country. My fellow passengers were a quiet lot this time, either buried in their newspapers, or in varying states of unconsciousness. When I started the weather was overcast but dry at Newbury, but at Hungerford 10 miles down the line it had been raining, then it became very misty and heavy. I had a particular interest in the weather at that time having seen the weather forecast the previous evening. It showed heavy rain and lightning with a severe weather warning for just the area that I would be walking. If the forecast was to be believed it will decay into just showers.

I reflected on what I wanted to achieve on the trip. What did I want to get out of it? I wanted to walk from Tintagel to Newquay. Simple enough, but it's all the experience and day to day happenings, travelling without firm plans that makes it. Inside the basic framework for the week I didn't know what was going to happen, it was an open book with only covers at the start and finish. I didn't intend spending too much cash, so unless I was driven indoors by the weather I would be camping all the time. At Castle Cary the weather was a bit brighter, the station was pretty too with lots of hanging baskets of flowers and a neatly swept platform. I could imagine the station master sitting in his little office, feet up, broom and watering can outside the door, contentedly smoking his pipe as everything ran smoothly. Taunton next, then Exeter.

I was still keeping an eye on the weather. There were a couple of chinks of sun but the nearby hills were still heavily surrounded by low cloud. Then the outside plunged into darkness as the train went through the second tunnel of the journey. It was hard on the ears.

Exeter St David's was very busy and after the now traditional trip to the gents I checked the bus timetable for Bude. The X.9 left in fifteen minutes time at 11:25. At the bus stop I spoke to a chap who was the splitting image of a cycling friend of mine called Pete. It turned out he was walking the coastal path too, although he was going to start from Boscastle, which is just down the road from Tintagel where I was going to pick it up again. He also knew the bus we would need was the X.4 from Bude, and that it didn't leave for about two hours after we got in. That was useful to know and it gave me time to get some cash.

The coach duly arrived five minutes late, but we were off on what was now getting to be a familiar journey. The only eventful part of the coach ride was crossing the A30 which had to be done in two stages because it was very busy. The back end of the coach stretched out into the fast lane of the first side as it waited to get over the second side. It was interesting to see how many drivers drove ahead and acted in time, and how many didn't and had to suddenly had to react to this back end of a coach that appeared in front of them. I was waiting for a crash but fortunately it didn't happen.

In Bude I planned to walk around the town, buy a drink, getting some money out of the bank then go and have a late lunch at compass point, the strange octagonal building on the coast to the south of Bude. From my last visit I remembered there was a supermarket tucked around the corner at the top of the hill, so went and bought a large bottle of value lemonade. I walked around Bude centre then queued at a Nat West service till to get some cash.

A old couple in front of me were having trouble using or understanding the machine. They had successfully entered their PIN but got confused when it asked them how much money they wanted. "We're from Halifax" said the woman in a northern accent, as if that explained everything. It's a good job I'm computer literate and soon sorted them out, although the machine did ask a lot of questions.

With money successfully withdrawn I had lunch part two at compass point. I planned to start walking back to the bus stop at 15:10. At 15:09 it started raining. On the way back, the bridge I had used to cross the canal by the beach had just become submerged by the rising tide, quaint.

When I got back after the unscheduled detour finding another place to cross the canal, 'Pete', my friend from earlier was already in the bus shelter amongst hoards of other people trying to keep dry . On the bus we chatted some more as the rain lashed the windows on the outside, and the bus generally steamed up on the inside. He had been doing bits of the path for years now, a week at a time. Some bits he had done twice, including my bit so it must be good. He also said that from experience the weather was very changable in Cornwall, and if it rained one day then the next day was probably going to be fine. In Boscastle we bade our farewells as he got off, then a couple of minutes later I got off at Tintagel in the rain.

To pick up the path again I had to walk down the steep road to Tintagel Castle, then walk halfway back up again because the path was closed at that point for repair work. I walked on eating a patsy and snickers bar, and watched the heavy clouds coming in over me from the sea. Just south of Tintagel at the youth hostel, the squall line that I had been watching hit me. I hid behind a wall for a couple of minutes until the worst was over then I continued. It was lucky timing to not be out in the open but I was still wet, very wet. I was a bit concerned how I was going to manage outside with the tent in this weather.

Nearing the descent to Trebarwith Strand the rain eased off. The slopes down into and up out of Trebarwith Strand are steep and I began to recollect the up and downs previously that had done my legs in. Still, there was a nice Range Rover to admire in Trebarwith Strand with leather seats and everything. At the top of the hill on the other side the locals had erected a television aerial and run a coax cable all the way down the hillside, the only way to get a picture I guess.

After Trebarwith Strand there were some more hills but not so severe, and there were a couple of larger headlands which had some flatter tops. The first valley had the ruins of an old house on the far side next to the rocks so I stopped and had a break. At this point a sunny line I had been observing with the same keenness as the earlier squall line arrived, and the low fingers of cloud dragged themselves away over the hills to leave warm sunshine. It made such a difference. Then a surreal moment. There I was probably half a mile from the nearest human being and certainly from the nearest habitation, alone on the path sitting in the ruins of an old house having a drink, when a small yellow balloon drifted in from the sea. I watched it glide through the valley and up over the far side headland. Where had it come from? Who lost it? and when? It was bizzare.

The National Trust owns stretches of this land and they don't cut the grass very well. Every time my legs dried they got wet again, my feet were permanently wet. I hoped I wasn't going to get trench foot. After long walks over headlands I descended into a pretty coombe with a dry wooden bridge and a patch perfect for putting a tent on. I lay down on the bridge for half an hour and contemplated stopping there, but then decided to press on because I wanted to do the next two coombes and reach my planned stop. Besides it wasn't really late enough yet. Two coombes later I found a spot which was level and had medium length grass which would give me a soft bed. I remembered seeing a television program a couple of years ago about someone going 'walkabout' in the australian outback. He said you could tell the time to sunset by holding out your hand at arms length, then seeing how many fingers you can fit between the sun and the horizon. Each finger represents a quarter of an hour and it seems to work quite well. With an estimated half hour before the sun reached the sea I looked about then pitched the tent. Once sorted I wrote my diary in the fading light having watched the sun set down at the end of the valley through the open tent flaps.

Next page, DayTwo, 7th June 98, Trebarwith Strand - Polzeath.

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