Day Twelve started as we expected with a steep climb out of the village of Buck’s Mill
Once the first steep uphill section is complete, the path contours along the Hobby Drive all the way to Clovelly. The walk is a peaceful wander through wooded, slightly undulating terrain and then the trail finishes at Clovelly, a beautiful traffic-free privately owned village and they charge accordingly… doesn’t seem to put off the tourists, who even at this time of year are here in their droves. We wander down the steep cobbled street to the harbour and settle for a cream tea at one of the many cafés. Touristy it might be, but it’s still a beautiful spot. Didn’t pay as we didn’t know that we had to and wouldn’t have out of principle! I know, I’m a grumpy old git!
Day Thirteen started with a dilemma. How do we get to the start of the walk without having to pay? Clovelly, being a private village is designed to relieve you of as much money as possible. We did admittedly park in the village car park free of charge yesterday, not realising that the idea was to pay when you entered the village through the shop. So there was a little guilt… but not enough for us not to take the route that bypassed the entrance where payment would have been mandatory!
The day starts, as it finished yesterday, walking through wooded and bracken covered hills. Lottie was frustrated as Caroline wouldn’t let her off her lead to plunder the hundreds of pheasants that would suddenly fly from the undergrowth as we startled them, walking through their home.
Sneakily, the landscape had slowly changed from rolling hills and easy valley crossings to ever near-vertical descents and ascents, well it felt like it anyway! It’s on this first section that we take our first wrong turning of the walk… as you can probably guess, I wasn’t navigating at the time! The wrong turning took us to a shelter and a viewing point looking over Blackchurch Rock, a natural double arch, carved out by the relentless battering of the sea. The wrong turning that was a blessing and worth the frustration.
As the landscape changed, from unspoiled woodland to beautifully desolate unforgiving, bare cliff rock and ‘Lost World’ waterfalls that tumbled blindly into the sea, Hartland Point came into view, with its lighthouse indicating the change in direction South towards Bude, with stunning views and the thought of that waiting golden nectar.
Hartland Quay, an old harbour, synonymous with smuggling and shipwrecks, is the end of Day Thirteen.
Day Fourteen and the rugged landscape, unrelenting descents and ascents into hidden valleys and big stormy seas, persist. It’s such a different landscape from the mountainous regions I’m used to, but in its own way just as spectacular.
The day is a little dank: waterproofs are on and the views are restricted to just a couple of hundred metres. We walk into Welcombe Mouth and the dank drizzle ceases and the skies open slightly to bring a modicum of hope for the afternoon’s plod.
If only we’d walked just a little further for lunch, we would have come across Ronald Duncan’s writing hut and enjoyed a mouth-opening view in relative comfort, but most of all, it would have been dry! As the weather forecast had been so diabolical, we’d shortened the route to finish at Morwenstow rather than Duckpool… fair weather walking really is far more enjoyable than being wet and miserable, thinking, ‘Is this day ever going to end?’
Morwenstow had an appeal: besides shortening the day, it had a tea room where we were parked. A cream tea was definitely on the cards. ‘The Rectory Tearooms’ – remember that name because a month later, we are still waiting to be seated. After a month of waiting my patience is wearing a little thin, as am I, in fact! It seems that four weary walkers with a not so weary dog and not dressed in their Sunday best, are not very welcome. We ended up at the Hartland Quay hotel, our starting point, for that very welcome amber nectar.