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| Rain rolling over the fields just before Clovelly |
I woke to the sound of rain, and knowing the weather predicted that there would be plenty more to come accepted the inevitable and began to pack up my things. I remained in the tent for most of this, stuffing my sleeping bag back into its stuffit sack, and deflating my mattress. As soon as there was a break in the rain I hurried to carry everything to the campsite shower block and under shelter. Instead of rolling up my tent I lifted it as one and hurried it all inside before dissembling it. This proved to be the right move since a moment later a violent downpour came and lasted for quite some time.
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| Out from Hartland |
Today's walk is another example of bad planning. I thought it was a nine mile jaunt inland to Clovelly where I'd be camping at Westacott Farm and collecting my first lot of supplies. Once again I hadn't really checked where the campsite was. In fact today would be a 16 mile walk, half on the coast path and half inland. First I'd walk past Hartland Abbey and along the Pattard Wood over the top of Harland before crossing Brownsham Woods and heading across the fields into the historical town of Clovelly. Here I wondered around a little looking for a campsite. The woods were pleasant, obvious walking grounds for dog owners and locals rather than tourists. This is a quality very much in their favor. I was by this point sick of tourist focused towns. I did enjoy, however, the manner houses dotted around the place. After passing through the fields you come close to Clovelly Court, before a windy set of paths sent me off course from the village and further inland. There was a man stood at the entrance to the correct path and he was staring at me the entire time I walked towards him, I smiled and tried a greeting and he carried on staring. Since he gave me the creeps I walked on without consulting my map, eager to be away from him.
Once I'd gathered the campsite was another nine or so miles from Clovelly I carried on a touch dispirited and soaking wet from the continual rain. The only route I could find also involved walking a mile or so along the rather scary A39, and without pavements I felt myself tensing more and more as cars whizzed past. Finally I escaped back to the shore and began battling the coastal path. This section it woodland, and even though the rain was easing a little the ground remained very slippery underfoot.
A few gentleman, at intervals, were heading the other way and I stopped and talked to them. I liked the first one particularly, a smaller man in his fifties smoking. He was walking the coastal path and described the land that lay ahead of me. Hard he said, and since he'd just come from my campsite he was able to tell me that it had taken him four hours to reach this point. A little daunted by this I trudged onwards only to find my companion for the last few days walking behind me. I told him to go ahead as I was taking it easy today. I was also, if I was been honest, listening to a rather good bit of my audiobook and couldn't face conversation when wet and fed up. Jonathan Stroud wrote three wonderful novels called the Bartimaius Trilogy and they are both funny and wonderfully tragic works which I adore. I needed his hum our to keep me going.
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| Last section to Camp |
Ten minutes later, however, he'd stopped to talked to another hiker and I found myself walking behind him. Regretfully I shut off my Ipod and we talked, once in a while I assured him that when I began to fall behind I would not take any offense if he left me there. As we reached the next hill this happened and it was the last I saw of him.
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| Westacott Campsite |
Finally I reached the Westacott Farm Campsite. Campsites are both uniform and wonderfully varied. This place had wonderfully flat grass, great facilities including kettle and microwave but above all it had the most welcoming and friendly owners I'd yet encountered. The entire family were lovely and I felt instantly safe and at home to crack silly jokes and ask questions. They showed me their pet owls and we talked for some time on schools and teaching as a profession. They'd also kept some posted supplies for me and I enjoyed a portion of these supplies that nights while cooking. A lovely place to stay.
Today's walk is another example of bad planning. I thought it was a nine mile jaunt inland to Clovelly where I'd be camping at Westacott Farm and collecting my first lot of supplies. Once again I hadn't really checked where the campsite was. In fact today would be a 16 mile walk, half on the coast path and half inland. First I'd walk past Hartland Abbey and along the Pattard Wood over the top of Harland before crossing Brownsham Woods and heading across the fields into the historical town of Clovelly. Here I wondered around a little looking for a campsite. The woods were pleasant, obvious walking grounds for dog owners and locals rather than tourists. This is a quality very much in their favor. I was by this point sick of tourist focused towns. I did enjoy, however, the manner houses dotted around the place. After passing through the fields you come close to Clovelly Court, before a windy set of paths sent me off course from the village and further inland. There was a man stood at the entrance to the correct path and he was staring at me the entire time I walked towards him, I smiled and tried a greeting and he carried on staring. Since he gave me the creeps I walked on without consulting my map, eager to be away from him.
Once I'd gathered the campsite was another nine or so miles from Clovelly I carried on a touch dispirited and soaking wet from the continual rain. The only route I could find also involved walking a mile or so along the rather scary A39, and without pavements I felt myself tensing more and more as cars whizzed past. Finally I escaped back to the shore and began battling the coastal path. This section it woodland, and even though the rain was easing a little the ground remained very slippery underfoot.
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