Introduction

This is a record of the events of Frank and Bob's walk along the South West Coast Path - a 630 mile trek. We are raising funds for St Margaret's Hospice, the Devon Guild and the Samaritans.

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Every time we approached the top of a climb or reached the next bend on the twisting path the excitement mounted. The next stunning view always delighted. Each exceeded our expectations. Dramatic plunges to the shore with monstrous waves crashing relentlessly against the rocks, diabolically steep paths leading us and down the cliff sides, long stretches of sand with gently rippling blue waves, tiny fishing ports with lobster pots stacked up ready for repair, small villages nestling in the hillsides, gulls swooping and calling as they strove to build their nests on the cliff faces, ravens honking and playing on the thermals or warning the buzzards to stop their threats; surfers patiently searching for the ideal waves; lambs and calves sleeping in the sunshine with their mothers and so many unanticipated forms of wildlife going about their business. We saved a cat being chased by a fox, interrupted an adder sunbathing on the path, spotted a weasel diving for cover, saw gulls copulating on a chimney – what poise, what balance, what comedy! We found a lamb asleep on a wall, we fed robins and chaffinches almost out of hands and on the last day finally we saw two seals swimming in Falmouth harbour.
But they were just a part of the event. So many hidden coves, never to be spoiled by human intervention, golden sands, the sea with its mood changing so rapidly, the fields, the wayside flowers that grew and blossomed day by day, the rugged cliffs, the paths, the stars, the morning dew, the bays, the boats, the stories, the characters, the walkers, the wardens, the fishermen, the landlords and the villagers; each one of them made our first three hundred miles a time to reflect upon and enjoy. Some so generous of their time and pocket while others not quite so.

Day 1 Minehead to Lynton

Mike and Penny King brought Frank, Rosemary delivered me and suddenly we were left to begin the trek through the leafy woods and the early flowers of our so late spring.

Then, when we reached Sunny Lyn, the first campsite the enormity of the task began to raise its head. We carried our bags across the field (Rosemary had brought them on for us) and we started to erect our tents.
The site looked so picturesque; the field, so green stretching out at the side of a babbling brook that tumbled and splashed over the rocks.

The pub just over the back was closed and so we set off to search for a place to eat. A huge climb and we eventually came across an Indian restaurant two miles down the road. The waiter, so eager to please repeated everything we asked for but clearly understood nothing of what we said. Frank had his beer served in two glasses and my pint of tonic water came in a thimble sized glass. The meal was palatable although neither of us really knew what it was. The final bill made us resolve to be more aware in the future. We made our way back up and over the hill and found that our neighbourhood pub had opened late! Hey ho!
It was a few minutes passed eight growing dark and tiredness began to set in. Sleep beckoned but we struggled to doze off the crashing sound of water on rocks, our well-earned blissful night of sleep after a long walk failed to materialise.

Verdict: Noisiest camp site – couldn’t get a wink!

Day 2 Lynton to Combe Martin

An early and rather cold start awaited us on day two. Packing away the tent, laden with an almost frosty dew froze our hands. The campsite cafe opened at eight thirty and we decided to walk on to Lynmouth to find breakfast there. To our chagrin we discovered a short cut and were there in ten minutes! Nothing opened until nine but Victorian hotel that dominated the town stood magnificently.
‘My great-great grandfather built that,’ proclaimed a sturdy looking local with white whiskers and a string vest. ‘Then he lost it on the turn of a card.’
The walk was stunning; it really foretold the delights to come.

There were wild goats grazing on the cliff sides but less welcome were the bumble bees that continually saw our faces as wild flowers. There were craggy coves and blue seas but climbs that stretched us to the very limits. Moving down the cliff side faces bore terribly on the knees. At the end of the day Frank had several blisters, my shoulders ached severely.

But Frank’s persuasive tongue halved the site fees. The warm water soother the tired shoulders and my spirits were lifted. Frank‘s charms moved into full flow; he persuaded the warden to take our bags on to the next site. He agreed and thus we carried heavy bags no more. The right decision reached because we could enjoy the walk so very much more.

We ate a far better meal in the pub later on. At the bar stood a self-imposed expert who dominated the conversation for many a long minute with such interesting gems such as:
‘Mushrooms! Why are they called mushrooms? The French call them champignons, the Spanish call them champinola, so where do we get mushrooms from?’
The bar was awash with his lively repartee, so we slipped away for another eight pm early night. The field lay flatter and no brook disturbed us this time! Ah! Welcome sleep!

Verdict: Commendation for generosity! What a great campsite owner!

Day 3 Combe Martin to Ilfracombe

The day shone blue and welcoming. We walked down to the town and treated ourselves to a fry up before collecting our small bags for the day.

The walk was steeper than we thought it might be but spirits high the weather held firm. The next campsite promised to be the best yet. We were not disappointed. Views to the sea and across to Lundy continued to excite and my newly acquired sleeping mat would ensure a warmer night to come. The pub meal was good and even better when a pint of soda water cost me but 30 pence! The family in charge of the site were great. They brought to an end the noisy barbecue and took our bags on to the next site for no charge.

Verdict: Commendation for the best views on a campsite!

Day 4 Ilfracombe to Barnstable

Sleep was quite good but the slight incline of the ground was hard to cope with. We walked to Woolacombe for our breakfast. The place vibrated to the activities of the surfers. The beach was alive with them; the place buzzed. The sands were so beautiful. As we walked on into Croyde Frank’s boot sole came away. We had to short cut to Braunton; we really needed to find some superglue to rescue his walk. With glue found we continued on to Chivenor and our next campsite. It was a couple of miles short of Barnstaple. The site proved to be a huge disappointment; untidy, noisy from the main road and the toilets were disgusting. However, at least one caravanner returned year after year. One blessing, the pub down the road did us proud; we dined well.

Verdict: The worst campsite for cleanliness! The campsite owner was a plonker!

Day 5 Barnstable to Westward Ho!

Richard, a friend of Frank’s arrived to do the walk with us. He and I chatted a lot while Frank kept his binoculars busy. Sadly the walk was fifteen miles along the old Taw railway track; fifteen, dead-straight miles of tarmac and cycle bells warning us to step aside.

Richard’s feet were blistered at the end of the day, but his company kept us amused and the occasional path-side coffee and cake did much to make the day special. Alyson fetched our bags and met us in Westward Ho! Now we would say goodbye to the tents for a while. We had a night in a youth hostel to look forward to and then another in a B&B. Frank had lost one of his the detachable legs from his walking trousers and he feared he had left his coat at Chivenor so he bought another jumper as he felt the wind too much.
We booked into the youth hostel and I tasted Frank’s cooking for the first time. It was good but even better was the first of Alyson’s picnics that were to last us for two lunches!

Verdict: The most officious warden of a Youth Hostel.

Day 6 Westward Ho! to Clovelly

The day started with another of Frank’s culinary efforts – cheese omelettes; excellent! It was a cold and overcast day as the weathermen had suggested but the rain would hold off. Frank was set to raid the charity shops to replace the missing coat but they didn’t open until mid morning so we set off for our 11.7 miles of strenuous.
This was reckoned to be the hardest section of the walk. We took the full allocated six hours and we rested often but the ten ups and downs were completed without too much trouble. But some of those climbs and drops were enormous! Far more interesting than yesterday’s long and unwinding road! The views were outstanding and we could almost always see Clovelly tumbling down to the sea in the distance.


It was on this part of the walk that I bumped into the man who could double up as Bill or Ben. As he saw me he turned and walked the other way. I apologised.
‘I haven’t frightened you, I hope,’ I said.
He stared at me blankly and said, ‘Pardon, I am a little deaf. You could have said anything; the weather, the way, anything.’
I laughed and replied that Frank who was following up behind me was also a little deaf.
‘Is she?’ he said and walked on.
Clovelly is a tourist attraction with its narrow cobbled street and attractive harbour. There had been tales about having to pay to walk into the village but they were unfounded. Actually I have to say that I found it a little disappointing. Sure, the street was no wider than a donkey cart and as steep as they come but it lacked a certain charm. We did have a Devon cream tea while we were there and that was excellent.

But we were somewhat dismayed by the small hotel in which we stayed. We were boarded out at the house opposite. The bathroom window was so close to the street that I could have touched passers-by. I kept the blinds down and the window pushed to (it wouldn’t close) so that they could not touch me!
We had to wait until gone eight thirty before we were allowed back into the hotel for breakfast! Still we smuggled some of the food out for our lunch and that made us feel better.

Verdict: The worst B&B for security but the pack lunch from Alison was superb!