Tuesday 08th June 1999 - Day four, Combe Martin - Croyde. Prev Next

I woke early. It was just before five so I could make a nice early start, although it was just after six before I got moving.

The path took a narrow road out of Combe Martin. This then diverted off the main road, then back as the path was rerouted, probably another land slip. Where it rejoined its original route also marked the start of the Tarka trail, indicated by a paw symbol. This was the route taken by Tarka the otter in the story of the same name. The path followed around the edge of a camping field, only £3-00 per night. I had been robbed. The path followed around headlands where it could but kept coming back to the road. At one point there was a choice between a low tide path which went down and across a harbour, or high tide path which went up the road. I took the high tide path because it seemed safer and drier.

I walked into Ilfracombe which was still half asleep at a quarter past eight. There is a nature reserve on the west side of Ilfracombe (I always want to call it Agfa film - I don't know why) called the Hillsborough nature reserve, and the path climbed all the way to the top. As I started I heard a voice and panting behind me. A large well built chap was coming up behind with his alsation and boxer dogs. I let them pass - they were going quicker than I was.

Once I got into Ilfracombe proper it had its slippers on and was shuffling about. One or two of the early holidaymakers with shorts, windcheeters and sandals were burrowing into the early shops. The coast path is marked by tiles set into the walls with acorn and hand symbols on them. I only made one error, mainly because I wasn't paying attention and walked around the back of 'The Landmark' to where the old path closed, rather than up the steps and over it. The Landmark is a strange and somewhat unique twin funnel shaped arts/drama/civic centre. I guess the architect won an award or something but it didn't fit into the rest of the local architecture at all.

The path out of Ilfracombe ascended in a series of zig-zags and at the top was a viewpoint. It also seemed to be the ideal place for brunch so I had pasta in tomato and lentil soup at a quarter to eleven. I gave it time to settle and continued at half past eleven after writing my log up to date.

The path crossed a couple of sheep fields then became a vehicle track. There were a lot of people on the track, mostly elderly couples going the same way as me - only slower. Coming the other way were groups of youths, obviously all part of the same outward bound or character building exercise. I spoke to one elderly couple who were from the eastern end of the route that crosses England at its narrowest point. His son Philip had walked it with his girlfriend and he had ended up with blisters etc - so far I was doing well.

Along the track was a very old sign on an old cast post saying 'Public road, Please keep to it'. The locals here must get fed up with people wandering over their land because every gate had 'Private', 'No right of way' etc. on them. I followed the path down this road until I bumped into Lee Bay. There were several families with children of varying ages exploring rock pools using fishing nets. The road up was steep and led to some more National Trust land called Damage Point. The path got more serious going down and up long flights of steps which made progress slow and hard work. It was like the part just south of Hartland point.

Eventually I came across a lighthouse at Bull point signalling with three flashes. Around the point the path undulated, but not so seriously. At the bottom of one set of steps I paused for a break. A woman with a walking stick struggled down making hard work of it, but she was determined. It goes to show that no matter how hard you think life is sometimes, there is always someone worse off than yourself.

This was a place of daytrippers who were adventurous enough to come out and see some real coast. A family were sitting on a bench as I came up a steep bit towards them stopping for a breather. They offered the bench which was kind but I didn't need it. There were many short cut paths to Woolacombe but the real coast path headed off keeping true to its name, going around Morte Point.

The rock formations at Morte point have to be seen. The stone looks like a soft slate rising vertically and it has been carved and holed by centuries of blasting from the Atlantic. The edge of land that rises up has the carved slate falling out slightly in each direction, and looks like a colossal stegosorus.

Around the point Woolacombe and its sand came into view. As I was walking in the coastguard helicopter came past slowly at low altitude and then hovered over one spot for several minutes. It was obviously looking for something but didn't find it so climbed and dissappeared over the land. I bought two tins of orange fizz and drank them on a bench overlooking the sand whilst I considered whether to press on or not. It was only half past three so I wrote my log and continued to Croyde despite having already walked a long way.

The path to Croyde was along a sandy truck over & through the dunes following the bridleway, then continuing up some steep steps and another track to come out over a caravan site. I felt a few spots of rain and briefly considered seeing whether the caravan site took tents but decided against it because I wanted some food. Eventually I found a shop. There weren't any Greasy Joe emporia and I suspect the Italian Bistro's etc. would not have allowed me in with rucksack, tatty clothes and smelling like a dog.

I bought a curry pasty, pig in blanket and three snickers to keep me going. I also bought two pints of milk because I thought I could do with the calcium and other vitamins. I asked the lad about campsites, specifically the one just down the road. He thought that was OK as he hadn't heard any bad reports and the other two were about a mile away. "That bag looks pretty heavy and I guess you don't want to carry it too far" he said. "Yes", I said, "I've come from Combe Martin today". He looked at me for a few seconds. "Sod that", he said, "That's what we've got cars for".

I enquired at the campsite. It was £7.50 for the night which was a bit steep but I wasn't walking back to try the other one. The tent was soaking as I started to unpack it, and as I did it started to spit with rain so I couldn't lay it out to dry. It soon stopped spitting and as it was gone seven o'clock I got the mobile 'phone out to ring home but there was no coverage. Rather than pay BT another extortinate amount of money I looked on the map and saw a footpath over the nearby hill, so went up and found a good signal near the top.

Croyde seems to be a bit of another 'Surf City UK'. I passed several surfing shops on the way through. The ingredients seem to be surf board (obviously), wet suit and a VW. One shop had a parking place marked 'for VW only'. It tries for the glamour of the american surf scene but seems to miss the mark somehow. My next door neighbours in the campsite were mates with the tent but one away - both have surf boards. The neighbours board is a huge affair which overhangs their Ford Escort each end, and quelle surprise, they were playing beach boys music.

The toilet block was well appointed and clean but I wasn't up to a shower and shave, maybe just a quick slosh off. In fact I wasn't up to anything, I was asleep by ten o'clock.

Next page, Day five, 09th June 99, Croyde - Braunton.

Previous page, Day Three, 07th June 1999, Lynton - Combe Martin.

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