Day: 117 31/5/94 Salcombe to Kingsbridge

Weather: Fine      Distance: 12km (7.5 miles)      Total Distance: 1460 miles

I woke up early at the Youth Hostel with sun pouring in through the tall windows and a good view across the estuary. The Canadian lad was also up early and packing to leave.  I washed and packed quickly and did not stay for any breakfast - mainly because I did not have anything!  The days of having to do a job in the mornings at Youth Hostels has now gone so I could leave with a clear conscience. 

The day began with going back down the very steep hill again and into South Sands.  The road then swept into Salcombe took another few ups and downs.  The road was in fact marked as being closed for cars and it soon became apparent why, because a bridge has collapsed.  A temporary footbridge had been erected fortunately, otherwise it would have meant a steep detour.

The narrow streets of Salcombe were peaceful except for a couple of newsagents open and a collection of delivery vans and street cleaners.  I tried to imagine how in another two hours the scene would be very different.  The north end of Salcombe changed from a twee tourist town to a working boat community, though much of it based on the pleasure boat industry.  Once out of the town I stopped to eat my breakfast - a can of pop and a couple of biscuits.  Walking up the estuary to Batson I was unsure if I could walk down the other side.  I saw someone in a porch putting on their walking boots so asked them. It turned out that I could walk all the way down to the headland past Sharps Manor along good footpaths, but when I turned northwards again my way was blocked to Lincombe because the path was closed to protect breeding birds. I feel much less aggrieved about closed footpaths if it is for a good reason and that reason is explained.

Quite a lot of the remainder of the walk was on minor roads except for a couple of footpaths that cut off corners.  One such path led around the back of Ilton Castle Farm, not  terribly well marked and I walked through the camp site annoying the camper's dogs.

Most cars had been very good at slowing down when they saw me, but one lady coming down the hill north of Blanksmill Farm, appeared determined not to loose speed for her ascent up the other side and sped past me cowering in the hedge.

The road into Kingsbridge was not all that picturesque, and the only highlight was a kestrel flying around the telegraph poles.  I walked into Kingsbridge which was a bit of a shock having been out in the countryside for four days.  The town was bustling. The car park along the river bank was full, this had been transformed into a fair ground next time we came down as a family.  In fact next time I returned, the whole town looked quieter but I am convinced this was only in my imagination.

I was some three hours early to catch the bus to Plymouth, but there happened to be one about to go.  I thought about spending time in the town and looking for the pace we had booked for our summer holidays, but instead decided that I did not like the crowds and caught he early bus into Plymouth.  The ride was bumpy.  The bus called into the Shire Horse Centre and through a couple of the villages I had already walked through.

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Day: 116 30/5/94 Averton Gifford to Salcombe

Weather: Fine   Distance: 20km (12.4 miles)    Total Distance: 1452 miles

After breakfast at Marsh Mills I was ready to head off.  When I was leaving I was hearing a bit more about how the owner was recovering from a head injury sustained from falling off a ladder.  I also heard how he was an Ayrton Senna fan and had been upset by the death of the racing driver.  When I returned to work, I got hold of some posters from Team Courtaulds and sent them to him.  I understand from a letter I received later that they made him feel a bit better.  I hope so.

It was a couple of hundred yards walk up the main road before taking a right turn down a farm track for a mile and then into fields.  The path was adequately marked and it only got rough once in some woods where lots of trees had fallen which were pretty tricky to hurdle over with a rucksack.  The whole route down this side of the estuary was deserted.  I had that feeling I could have been lost in the woods for days.

Bantham was a picturesque village but was already crowded with visitors cars by the time I was walking through.  Skirting the car park the path goes out onto a sand spit and nature reserve with views over the estuary to Burgh Island.  Back along a beach and then up onto the cliff tops for the fist time today.  I experienced a bizarre incident at Thurlestone where I got hit on the leg by a golf ball!  I must admit that although it left a graze, it did not hurt much.  When the golfer eventually came to see if I was OK. The cheek of it all was that he then went to play the next shot, cheeky because if I had not stopped it with my leg it would probably have gone over the cliff!

Thurlestone Sands bought back some memories of when I went there with my parents on a Holiday Fellowship holiday, but not much of it looked familiar, only the rock with a hole in it.  I stopped at the far end of the beach for a cup of tea.  A little annoying detour for 100 yards forced the path inland behind a hotel before it returned to the coast.

At Inner Hope the path goes along the main street of the village, thronging with people on the Bank Holiday Monday.  I thought about a drink in a pub but decided against the crowds, so stocked up with pop and cakes and ate them on a bench overlooking the bay.  I moved on as soon as the ski-jets took to the sea and spoilt the peace.  Bolt Tail was much more peaceful though some of the more energetic holiday makers had strode this far.  The exact path was not always evident and at one stage the path turned into a scramble close to the edge - a bit dodgy when carrying a backpack.

There is not much doubt that Bolt Tail to Bolt Head is a beautiful stretch of coast and a sunny day like this made it even more spectacular.  There were some other walkers out and the only other sign of life was in the fairly crowded car park at Westcliff.  Sometimes the path was steep and crept around headlands with steep drops off to the right.  Not far past Bolt Tail I had caught up with a girl who I guessed was out for short walk from Inner Hope, but she walked almost all the way to Bolt Head at the same pace.  I was impressed because I walked virtually without stopping.

Straight after Bolt Head, it became crowded again with people out for a holiday walk.  Two men on mountain bikes were finding the path a little steep and walked much of it.  There were spectacular views around Sharp Tor.  After Sharp Tor the path became wooded and level with cars parked alongside the road.  It was apparently along this stretch that a girl was murdered a few months later.  A sobering thought.  

I had booked into the Youth Hostel at Sharpiton which during the day time was a National Trust gardens.  It was not far off the coast path but it was a very steep climb up a narrow road. Having my NT card on me I was able to go into the gardens. I drank a pot of tea and had a quick nap on the lawn, not quite the thing to do on a National Trust lawn I guess, especially with ones shoes and socks taken off.  When I awoke I got chatting to a group of elderly people who were amused by my nap taking in the middle of the lawn.  They were walkers and told me that I was wise not to try to cross the River Avon because they knew someone who had lost their husband trying to cross it.

At 5 o'clock the National Trust tea room suddenly emptied and transformed itself into a Youth Hostel.  I took a temporary membership and went to my dormitory, a 20 bed large room with great views across the gardens and estuary.  I had the communal tea cooked by the warden, of savory chicken and rice and a huge pot of tea.  Two other families joined me for tea.  After the joint washing up I went down to South Sands for a drink in the pub/hotel overlooking the beach.  I got talking to a group of people from Bristol who included someone who worked at Berkley power station.  When I went back to the dorm in the hostel I met the only other person in the room, a Canadian who seemed quite caught up with the 50 years since D-day celebrations.  There always seems to be a North American staying in every youth hostel.