New Valley Hills

At Hope Cove a seal bobs by the beach. I eat and drink breaky, he observes.

I batch up with other walkers across the golf course. Safety in numbers.

An inquisitive spaniel pushes through the gate with me. With a wry look the owner offers me a dog for the morning; If it can carry my pack I reply. We laugh and wander on.

The gentle ferryman ports me across the River Avon. He tells me high winds coming tonight, so choose a wild camp spot sensibly. I thank him as I step onto the soft sand.

Above Bigbury-on-Sea I pause at a picnic bench for the view to the island and the Art Deco hotel. Second breaky beckons – porridge or Quavers. Quavers win this time.

I’m not a big fan of steps on trail paths but understand what they do. I prefer zigs and zags for steep slopes. But oh boy, when the zigs and zags have steps as well you know it’ll be a crushing ascent.

I ring Bill the ferryman for tomorrow morning’s lift. This close to the end of season he runs 10-12 & 3-4, though he informs me his license is up to force 6 winds while 8 is forecast tomorrow. We leave it that I’ll call again in the morning to see if he’s running.

I arrive at the Erme river mouth at 1400. Low tide is 1800, so I’ve got 3 hours before I can attempt to wade across.

I’m bored. At times like this of enforced idleness black thoughts gather- shall I jack it in?

I pass the time observing walkers, dogs and horses on the burgeoning sands and chatting to passers by. Glean tips on where to cross and how soon. I champ at the bit.

For several days a Spitfire has been round and about in the middle of the day. Looks fun going up and down the valleys and river mouths.

Wild camping tonight in the shelter of Lord Revelstoke’s ruined tea house. I end up on the footpath, high up close to the abandoned building. The path is 15 feet wide, though the ground is stony. Barely getting the minimum of tent stakes in I raise my night’s shelter.

Needing an urgent call of nature I grab my cat hole trowel. Ground too hard so I go into a plastic bag. Thank goodness for bags, moist wipes and hand sanitizer!

Later, my supper of bread roll with brussels pate is unappealing.

The wedding tent inland blasts out tunes until midnight. The bass player with the band is rather good. I retire fully clothed with back packed, unlike the usual exploding bag when I hit camp, in case emergency restaking or tent move is required. Buffeting and music keep me awake until midnight. Weirdly the music is comforting, people nearby reassures me on this desolate night.