the end of the coast – 16 aug, 2018
Day 13 Land’s End to John O’Groats – Lynton to Minehead
Distance: 35km
Cumulative distance: 327km
I booked myself into two nights of accommodation at a BnB in Minehead while in my tent last night, forcing myself into having Friday off to rest up again. I’d developed a bit of a pain in my lower right leg which had established itself as a constant dull ache. It felt a bit like someone had clubbed me just above the ankle but I figured it was just an overuse injury. There was rain forecast between myself and Minehead and I wanted to get away early, but I left my phone off for some reason so my alarm didn’t go off. By the time I turned it on it was 8:41am. I packed up quickly and hit the road, deciding I’d have brekky in Lynton which was about a mile or so further down the road. I’d spent half the night awake listening to the rain and the wind, but by the time I emerged from my tent it had stopped and the worst of it seemed to have passed. Good signs perhaps.
Just past the campsite I got chatting to a few locals who told me Lynton and the adjacent Lynmouth were beautiful towns, and reminded me to look back over my shoulder once I’d climbed out of the two towns and admire the view. They also informed me I had a fair way to go before Minehead – as per normal I’d completely underestimated what was in front of me. These places always look so much closer on the maps! I descended into Lynton and stopped off for a spot of shopping before heading up to the Clifftop Café for a cream tea. It opened at 10 in the morning and I fronted at about 10:01am so my timing was impeccable, as was the scone they gave me which was about as big as my head.
The café was adjacent to the Clifftop Café which links Lynton to Lynmouth, Lynton the higher of the two towns which looks down on its attractive little sister perched at sea level. The Clifftop Railway was an awesome piece of engineering which opened in 1888 and is fully powered by water – the highest and steepest of its kind in the world. I could only look on in admiration as people skipped between the two towns, as I headed to the incredibly steep footpath reserved for stubborn walkers like myself. To be fair they’ve done a good job with it – it’s very very steep but through a little forest which is full of intricately carved sculptures and poems, my favourite being:
Perly Bishe
Caught a Fish
His mother never cooked it
He left it outside in the road
And the traffic warden booked it
Dave Walden, guerrilla poet
Lynton, August ‘18
I think we can all relate to that one.
There were more cool sculptures on the seafront in Lynmouth which was a lovely little town and the meeting place of several long distance footpaths including the South West Coast Path, the Tarka Trail, the Two Moors Way and the Coleridge Way.
The signpost proffering that information also kindly informed me there were still 21 miles between myself and Minehead.
Time to get a wriggle on I thought – that rather bulbous hill off in the distance looking down on the Lyn twins wasn’t going to climb itself. It was a big bopper too, the hill, but not quite as steep as what had come before me on the Coast Path even though it was higher. It just meant I was climbing for longer but I absolutely nailed it which was good, and I came across a bunch of Exmoor ponies at the top for my troubles. Apparently these are some of the oldest horses in Britain.
Soon after all of my momentum was scuppered as I missed a turnoff and ended up wading through a dense patch of ferns on the side of an incredibly steep hill. After almost tumbling down the edge several times I decided this was not where I needed to be, so bit the bullet and back tracked. I fired up Google Maps and learned the path was well below me, so I decided to take the most direct route and plough downhill through the ferns – not the smartest decision I’ve ever made given how steep the hill was and the fact I couldn’t see where I was sticking my foot each steep due to the shrubbery. A few bushwhacking minutes later I spied what looked to be the path and eventually I emerged from the ferns and landed on the dirt strip cutting a passage across the green hill. How I didn’t manage to roll and ankle or lose my footing and tumble down to the valley below I’ll never know. The path wound its way down to the valley and after turning back uphill for a little while, it flattened out in a delightful Exmoor forest. This is where I entered the ‘zone’ for the first time on this entire walk. I had about 10 miles (16km) to Culbone Church, just past halfway to Minehead, and I wanted to be there for a late lunch at 3pm.
I powered through the trees, with the ocean occasionally poking through on my left hand side and the path sometimes diverting me inland to avoid areas of recent landslips. I’d planned to stop between here and Culbone Church just for a little spell to break it up a little, but as it turned out I just kept going and going. I did stop momentarily to speak with four American chaps who were doing this section of the Coast Path all the way down to Bude, and I spoke to another pair of middle-aged ladies near an ancient stone fountain that had been crafted in the forest, but that was it in terms of breaking my stride. And so at 2.30pm I stumbled across Culbone Church, the smallest parish church in England apparently and surely one of the oldest. There were a few visitors to this charming old place of worship despite the fact the closest carpark was a good couple of kilometres away, but I had plenty of room to perch up on a bench and get stuck into my baguette, cheese and salami. Just as I was finishing that delightful feed, a large family with their dog came wading through the trees and plumped themselves opposite me in the cemetery. The youngest daughter was particularly delightful on hearing that her Dad hadn’t packed all of her lunch.
‘I told you all to pack your own,’ he relayed before the little girl stared for two seconds, drawing breath, and then squealing ‘YOU SAID YOU WERE PACKING ALL OF THE FOOD’.
A minute later as the food came out their lovely dog started barking, sending the girl into another spin.
‘SHUT UP YOU ALREADY HAD YOUR BLOODY WALK!!’
Time for me to leave.
My new shoes were working a treat and I had virtually no trouble from my blisters as I continued through the forest, winding my way down a steep section to Porlock Weir where I went into a pub to fill up my water bottles and ended up having an ice cream. The next kilometre or so was on a rocky beach, and pretty quickly those blisters reminded me who was in charge. I yearned for the days of walking on the sand in Cornwall – these rocks were jagged, uneven, and offered zero chance to forge any kind of meaningful rhythm. Mercifully the path took me away from the rocks and onto a nice flat section the rest of the way to Bossington. I started chatting to a local most of the way there, declining his offer to drink a beer but happily drinking in his advice about how best to approach Minehead. The Coast Path was to take me around a windy headland which he told me several times would most likely mean my hasty demise in the swirling gale that was engulfing us where we stood (I had actually clocked it as more of a gentle breeze but what would I know). Much safer, and more direct as it turned out, would be to go through the town of Bossington and climb up and over the hills behind it, cutting out the headland entirely before making a swift course down the road into Minehead. I was grateful for his advice, and opted to take on the hill mainly because it looked like it would shave a km or two off the walk.
Bossington was a delightful little village, and I soon found the path up the hill. I was aiming for Selworthy Beacon at the top and soon discovered the hill was an absolute monster. After slugging upwards for about a kilometre, the path became even sharper and muddier and I found a signpost telling me Selworthy Beacon was still a mile away! It had been a fairly long day already and navigating that hill required digging into the depths of my mental resolve. But it was worth it, the views at the top south over Exmoor were stunning, and there was a herd of Belted Galloway cows up the top which I hadn’t seen since I was in Scotland a couple of years ago.
They’re effectively black cattle with a big white belt over their midriff. I eventually staggered past the beacon, not quite realising I still had four miles of road walking into Minehead. By now every part of me was starting to scream in pain and exhaustion and I just had to plough on, knowing I could have a spell tomorrow and a few beers tonight. I crossed a bunch of cattle grates and began winding down, down, down into town. It got steeper and steeper the closer I came to town but I eventually entered at the top end and then found my way to the high street and onto the BnB. Made it! That pain in my lower right leg has upgraded from a dull ache to a throbbing pulse so hopefully a short rest would do it the world of good.
