Bare to the Breezes: 2011

One day when I was 60, I decided (for reasons which escape me at the moment) to walk 60 miles on the South West Coastal Path from the Valley of the Rocks in Torquay (Devon) to the Golden Cap (Dorset) - the highest point on the southern coast of England.

The South West Coastal Path of England is a living proof (for those who had any doubts) that miracles do occasionally happen: in this case, nearly 600 miles of unspoiled and breathtaking coastline.

The main reason that it is unspoiled is that large chunks of it have been known to slip suddenly into the sea - a fact that you want to bear in mind before you go building tracts of housing on it (or indeed, go walking on it).

The main reason that the path exists is that dedicated smugglers and equally dedicated Coast Guards have been playing cops-and-robbers on this stretch of coast for several hundred years. (Some particularly enterprising local characters played one role by day and the other by night.) In order to land the goods, chase each other about, or lead each other astray, a path was required.

The main reason that this path is breathtaking (besides its phenomenal beauty) is the fact that it plummets precipitously down cliff-edges, then climbs back up endless staircases that you can't see to the top of ("Surely there must be some easier way to get into Mordor, Sam . . .") The only exception to this rule is the stretch which simply skirts out and around the cliff face itself, where a single rope will take you (if you hang on tight) up into a cave of echoes.

This blog is a photo-journal of this trek, so that you can take the walk with me (if you should happen to feel like it) without having to climb the 82 billion ascending and descending steps that are required (I lost count on the third cliff and sort of made the figures up as I went along.)

They say if you walk the whole Coastal Path, you have climbed Mt. Everest 3 times. I did one tenth of the path, so I figure I get to chalk up .3 Everests on my lifetime list. Future walking plans involve lots of lovely table-lands.

THIS BLOG IS DEDICATED WITH DEEPEST LOVE AND APPRECIATION TO JOHN AND ANN CLIFT, WITHOUT WHOM THE WALK WOULD HAVE ENDED ON DAY ONE.

WHENEVER ANYTHING IS BROKEN, THEY FIX IT.

The pictures in this blog are all taken by the brilliant photographer, Tom Jepson. (The fact that he is my son does not in any way cloud my judgment of his genius.)

"You're doing what? You do know you're out of your mind, right?"

Honor and Pax: "Walk? Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, we're game! Where are we going?"

Yes, well, we're walking to another continent. Don't ask.

Valley of the Rocks, Torquay. Lush. OK, let's hit it. This doesn't look too hard.

So where's Labrador, then?

No, dogs - probably best not to plunge in for a dip just here.

Fearsome Devon wildlife found at Labrador, which turns out to be a nature reserve of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds.

The Dartmoor ponies keep the vegetation trimmed just the way the Cirl Buntings like it. So instead of declining rapidly, they now chirp cheerily by the path.

There are signs up to remind passers-by that the Dartmoor pony is a wild animal and must be treated with caution.

The ponies have apparently not read these signs, but regarded us with gentle benevolence before returning to their Cirl Bunting preservation work.

There were wild flowers were running riot as far as the eye could see.

And more fearsome Devon wildlife.

Happy simply staying put.

We crossed the River Teign at Shaldon. (A nice chap in a boat carried us over.)

Then a petrified river bed that used to be there 150 million years ago.

(No boat required.)

"Yay! Mum's brought us for a bounce on the beach!"

So - do we go up and over, or straight through it?

(Surprise: under and around.)

Let me guess - this one's up and over, right?.

Hey ho, through the greenwood.

No, it's not going to get easier any time soon. Deal with it.

More fearsome Devon wildlife.

"Right, ye duggies - if ye give any trouble, I'll be having ye fer me supper."

Crumbs - left my brolly back in Torquay. Think I'll pop back and get it.

Remember when that clifftop back there seemed high?

When you feel that your stick is hitting nothing but empty air, it's probably time to open your eyes and watch where the path is going.

Farewell to the cliff-cling path. (I wasn't scared a bit really.)

[Geology buffs will have noticed that the cliffs have gone from red to white, which means that we're now walking over an ancient sea bed. Keep eyes peeled for ichthyosaurs.]

And on the top, serenely munching right at the cliff edge . . .