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.

www.justgiving.com/shepherd-martin

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!

Day 7 Clovelly to Hartland

With breakfast done we handed back the key and set off. Then we got called back as we hadn’t paid the final bill. We both thought that the other had done it. Oops!


The walk along the cliff tops was exhilarating but suddenly I realised that Frank had gone missing. (Had he escaped?) I did an extra ‘strenuous’ looking for him but eventually we were reunited. Worse was to come. After a lunch break Frank watched the birds swooping to build their nests. I was feeling a little stiff and decided to walk on slowly. I waited and waited until finally I had to phone him and ask him where he was.

‘Ahead of you,’ he said and waved from the end of the field. Someone must have taken a short cut – I mean wrong turning!

We had a couple more miles to reach the Youth hostel but what a welcome. Hostels don’t open until five but at a few minutes before four we sat in the garden and drank tea made by Andrew the warden. What a friendly place.

Frank made us a supper of pasta in a cheese and tomato sauce and the evening was spent reading.

Verdict: The friendliest warden of a Youth Hostel!

Day 8 Hartland to Bude

This was meant to be the hardest day of the walk and that proved to be the case. However, it had been our most comfortable night. No damp tents to store away and that meant our hand weren’t frozen. In fact we had little to carry as Rosemary would be fetching our bags for us a little later.

The day promised ten up and downs of great magnitude. The day was overcast and it was quite cold but the task ahead soon warmed us. Halfway through Rosemary met us with a brilliant lunch.

We had to go through Bude to reach the campsite which proved to a little elusive but we had good evening meal followed by hot chocolate with marshmallows before returning to the tents. After a couple of night of sleeping in a bed we found that crawling back into our cold cramped, lumpy routine a little difficult especially when I woke up at 12.30 dying for a pee!

Verdict: Commendation for generosity! Rosemary’s picnic at lunchtime and the campsite owner reduced the rates for us. Thanks!

Day 9 Bude to Boscastle

This was to be the longest walk; seventeen miles of ‘strenuous’. It seemed to be the coldest start but after a cup of coffee that nicely warmed our hands we set off. The path ran parallel to the road for a couple of miles and I turned to check every car that passed to see if Rosemary could offer cheer but we didn’t see her until later. She had to pick up our bags and deliver them to the Youth Hostel beyond Padstow; the fact that she had to go a long way inland meant the journey would be arduous. The path stayed flat but the dunes proved to be difficult to make good progress. We met for lunch- another great one and I found it so difficult to say goodbye. We took on more water; the day grew warmer.

We walked on to Boscastle. On the cliff tops we saw a rabbit with myxomatosis and a couple of shagging buzzards or were they buzzing shags? Almost the first person I saw after I arrived in Boscastle turned out to be Rosemary. She had delayed her journey back. We shared tea and flapjacks and had to take our bags on to the Boscastle Youth Hostel as the Padstow wouldn’t take them – something about security!

I said another farewell to Rosemary and after a great meal of spinach and ricotta pancakes in a local diner we began to revise our plans. Frank used his mobile and continued to persuade B&B landladies to reduce their prices – sometimes it worked.

Verdict: A most scary warden frightened Frank! Get your foot out of my office!

Day 10 Boscastle to Port Isaac

Frank cooked breakfast; another fine cheese omelette but the kitchen became a little crowded and one or two of the other hostellers were a little peeved. While Frank cooked I went through the album that depicted the recent flood that tore the village apart. The pictures reflected the rebuilding of the place; nothing short of miraculous.
As we packed up to leave my glasses had disappeared. I had just about given up on them when Frank did one final search and discovered them under the table where we had eaten. The aforementioned hosteller had clearly knocked them on to the floor.

The route to Tintagel seemed to be far more strenuous than the described moderate but the views more than made up for the climbs. We saw an adder sunning itself on the path but the camera proved to be too slow to capture the moment and the quick glimpse of the weasel could never be snapped. We spent a little time among the ups and downs in Treborwithstrand – a beautiful place. Our destination of the day Port Isaac delivered us a rotten cup of tea, the sight of skinning tombing from the rocks! Argh! And the welcome sight of Mike King who took us on to the Youth Hostel beyond Padstow (Treyarnon). No, we weren’t cheating; we had to reschedule our walk. Tomorrow we would walk back to Port Isaac.

The car trip was a little fraught but finally we found our way there!

Hey ho!

Verdict: The worst cup of tea on the trip but the site of Mike King was breathtaking!

Day 11 Treyarnon to Port Isaac

We had a fine breakfast then set off back to Port Isaac. We only got lost once but we finally found the harbour and waited for the ferry. As usual Frank negotiated the fare and we paid only £1.50 to reach the other side. David and his wife, Julie, waited in Polzeath two and a half miles away. We had been delayed because of the change of plans. In the end David only walked a mile with us but he took a good photo!

The other end of Port Isaac was far more attractive than the top end. Especially since we had tea and ice cream with Alyson who drove us back to the hostel again.

So far the weather has been set fair and Alyson let us know that the next five days promised to be rainless too!

Verdict: Two nights at the same hostel! Someone handed in my lost wallet. Wow! What a life-saver!

Day 12 Treyarnon to Mawgan Porth

Today was a much reduced walk in length so I read in the hostel until Frank and Alyson had returned from delivering the bags to our evening campsite. Then after a little rock-pooling we said goodbye to Alyson and walked off to Mawgan Porth in rather pleasant warm sunshine. It was little more than seven miles but it was quite tough going. The welcome was exceptional. Brian met us on the path as we passed his house. He lent us the key to fetch our bags from the office, let us stay for nothing took our bags on for us and his site was one of the best.

A little more reading in the afternoon but as we erected the tent we could detect a steady fall in the temperature!

Verdict: The most generous campsite owner. We stayed for nothing and he took our luggage on for nothing. Brian is a hero!!

Day 13 Mawgan Porth to Holywell

The route could be described as difficult but thank goodness for Frank’s coffee.

The gas was almost empty but we hadn’t been able to replace the canister. A misty haze surrounded the site; we couldn’t even see the blue house across the valley. Brian, our host had promised to take our bags across to Holywell, but we had to arrange a last minute change of plan since the original site was closed. Finding the site took an age. It was far further then the map suggested and the paths on the map sometimes didn’t exist.

The new site was run by Parc Dean; a company seemingly only in the business for the money. Ten pounds each for a pitch; they reckoned we must have one each even though we could have fitted in four tents per pitch.
However, the bags were there and the meal in the pub down the road was good and we know where we are going tomorrow!

Verdict: The meanest campsite! £20 for two small tents! Parc Dean is a miserable company!

Day 14 Holywell to Porthtowan

Breakfast was rather skimpy; an apple and a cup of coffee. The largest site at which we had stayed on but no cafe!

We walked across the dunes and then eventually down the long flat beach that led to Perranporth. We had a little more dune climbing to do as the tide took its time going out. We stared longingly at the golf course before seeking out some breakfast.

We also found a store that sold more gas. Our morning coffee was safe! Somehow we discovered that we had a mutual acquaintance. Just after we had left Boscastle we met a walker who was doing the Land’s End to John O’Groats for the tenth time in ten years. The last one took him 60 days. His boots, bought in November had just fallen apart. The shop owner in Boscastle promised to post them to him so he could claim a refund. I should have thought that a walk of some eight hundred miles was fair wear and tear.

However, the man in Perranporth had also helped him out as his tent poles had fallen apart.

Nothing like a bit of pre-preparation!

We walked to St Agnes and refreshed ourselves at the hotel where Frank had stayed many a time as a lad. Then we went on to the campsite at Porthtowan. This was a good deal further on than we had thought but the site was pleasant, flat and sheltered. Frank tried to negotiate a cut price and ask if someone could help by moving on our bags. No deal!

I found a Chinese restaurant for the evening meal. A strange place sat in the middle of nowhere! Good food but a pint of soda water at £2.30! Grr!

Verdict: Quite a nice site but the owners are as mean as they come!

Day 15 Porthtowan to St Ives

We made an early start; absolutely necessary as a walk of more than twenty miles loomed upon us. The first three miles to Portreath were along the road as we made our way back to the footpath. We had warm cheese and onion pasties. They were quite tasty; a good job as we kept tasting them for the rest of the day. The first part of the path had been described as moderate – Huh! There were some real toughies in store but the views were breathtaking!

On the side of the road lay a hedgehog. I didn’t want to think of it as dead. It was the first hedgehog I had seen for years! Since it didn’t move I decided to write an elegy for a hedgehog.

A hedgehog was having a snooze,
After a hefty night out on the booze.
But too much beer
Killed him, I fear
Anyone for hedgehog stews?

What do you expect – Shakespeare?

As we have come to expect the coastal path signs disappeared as we walked into large towns. St Ives stood on a very steep hill and its roads were narrow and twisted. It seemed a charming place. We bought a salad that was to last us for two lunches. Good stuff! We also bought a pasty each. Enormous! Neither of us could finish it.

The campsite was good and the views across the bay were terrific.

Verdict: Best shower block of the trip!

Day 16 St Ives to Pendeen

The coast path led straight out of the campsite but what a tricky path. We spent so much time looking at our feet that we missed the views. Frank became the first to fall and the path’s severe tag earned its worth. After Frank’s fall I bashed my knee. Walking wasn’t pleasant.


When we reached Zennor we stopped for coffee and cake (not cheap) and took the road that ran parallel to the path. Not only was the going much easier but it allowed us to view to galleries. One of them sold Frank a painting – what will Alyson say?

We reached Pendeen and we camped behind the pub. What a dump! We pitched our tents as school kids walked passed on their way down to a dodgy looking council house estate. We waited until 9 pm to take part in the pub quiz – it never took place! Another early night!

Verdict: Worst field for camping in – lousy showers and filthy toilets!

Day 17 Pendeen to Porthcurno

We decided not to walk through the estate to the path but to cut in a little further down the coast and have breakfast in St Just. Well, we had coffee and bought a couple of flapjacks from the bakers. The walk across the fields to the path proved a little tricky but after climbing a few barb-wired fences we eventually made it! after a couple of more galleries in Senna Cove we reached the land mark known as Land’s End.

Believe it or not we could not take a photo of this sign with one standing by it. It was chained off!

We walked on beyond Land’s End and sheltered from the wind among some lichen laced rocks.

The scene was idyllic and so peaceful.


The stacks of granite standing steadfast reflected the age


A little later we became tangled and torn as the path disappeared. Gorse, bramble and blackthorn attacked us from all sides. We escaped and passed the open air theatre to arrive in Porthcurno. The map in the car park led us to quite the wrong place for our camping and a friendly farmer gave us a lift to the place. We had walked far further than we should have.

The campsite owners were friendly and we felt at home drinking their coffee and eating a couple of such delicious scones.

Verdict: Worst map in Porthcurno but what a friendly farmer!

Day 18 Porthcurno to Penzance

A heavy due meant a damp start. We had coffee and a banana for breakfast and then back to the path. As we crossed the first field we saw a fox about to capture a cat. Frank said that was almost unheard of but the fox ran off. Then I slipped on the first stone stile and had my second fall in two days.

Yee Ouch!


It seemed a very strenuous 5.5 miles to Lamorna Bay but it only took two hours. Time for a proper breakfast and coffee there was 65pence for a refill. Well done Lamorna Bay!

Mousehole was a delightful town especially with its sanctuary for injured wild birds.


We walked through a grubby looking Newlyn before reaching an even grubbier Penzance. The place looked as though it needed a makeover! Frank had made lunch – excellent as ever and we walked on to the hostel. Good place! Although Frank had paid for his bed and breakfast he was whisked away by Alyson for a night together in her B&B. Alyson loved her earrings – a gift to soften her for the impact of Frank’s purchased painting.

After an excellent meal in Penzance we parted.

Verdict: Penzance - scruffiest town on the footpath!

Day 19 Penzance to Porthleven

I had an early start. Had a chat with a Geordie who had caught a train from Newcastle to Penzance for £36.50 (What bargains can be had!). He was about to cycle from land’s End to John O’Groats and down back to Tyneside.
It was a dull day and St Michael’s Mount looked rather hazy.


The walk toughened up and we finally reached Sydney Cove where we had a cup of tea in a smart little cafe. While we were there we saw, but did not experience the first rain of the walk.
The walk on to Porthleven was strewn with snails brought out by the sudden dampness. Crunch! Oops! Crunch!

The B&B was a little overpowering. A tom cat had climbed in through the window. The landlady was also a little mean!

Verdict: The smelliest B&B!

Day 20 Porthleven to The Lizard

Breakfast was rather filling. We even had little bits of cauliflower on offer!
The day had a dull start but the sun was out by lunchtime which made the walk quite tiring; up-hills in the blazing heat!

But after a pint of tonic water in the hotel and a refreshing bath we were set again. Then the fog came down and the fog horn sounded all night. Perhaps Frank’s idea of ear-plugs was a good one!

Breakfast was excellent and the chef cum waiter even contributed £3 to the funds! Good for him.

Verdict: The most generous chef!

Day 21 The Lizard to St Keverne's

The most bizarre part of the walk took us across a mini-golf course in front of a caravan site. The greens had more dandelions and daises than our fairways at Chedington.

We arrived at a small bay and had coffee at Gloria’s shack. She told us that those caravans were available to families at £10 a night. The owners – Parc Dean!
Huh!

As we approached St Kerverne’s we had nowhere to stay but found a delightful B&B. Her prices were £50 each per night but we (Frank) negotiated a separate room for us both at £30 each. It was brilliant! Sarah made us the best breakfast yet.

Verdict: The best B&B!

Day 22 St Keverne’s to Mawnan

The simple footpath across the fields did not exist. Some farmers care little about walkers. We made our way round to Rosenithon but our troubles were not over. The local farmers seemed to have hidden quite a few of the acorn signs. We couldn’t even subscribe to Mike King’s theory that we must keep the sea on our right. For the first time the path diverted in land to avoid MOD territory and a few quarries but eventually we reached Gillan’s Creek. This was to be crossed at low tide or a further two miles had to be covered. The stepping stones looked rather iffy; covered in slippery weed and so we paddled across.

The walk through the woods bordered upon the tedious but that was nothing as we had to wait two hours for the ferry.

But time was on our side and we lunched while feeding the birds before hitting Mawnan and a comfortable B&B.

The landlord was a trustee of the local arts centre. We visited and Frank gave some very useful advice to the potter there. Back at the B&B the landlord for all his big talk about supporting charity admitted to watching ‘Desperate Housewives’ and charging us the most rent of all the B&Bs!

Verdict: The meanest landlord!

Day 23 Mawnan to Falmouth

Apart from the boorish patter, breakfast was good. However, the rain was with us for the first time in the whole trip but it wasn’t too bad. The walk to Falmouth was pleasant enough and after three weeks of searching the shores we eventually saw two seals basking in the bay! Eureka!
But we had a struggle finding the railway station (the hostel was near it). I asked a local fireman in his bright yellow jerkin.
‘Where’s the railway station?’
After a few seconds of thought, he replied.
‘Dunno.’
Frank stayed in the hostel while I went in search of the family with whom I had lived with when I was seventeen and still at school. I spent a wonderful two hours with them reliving a few old times.


Verdict: The first part of the walking is over!