Day 12- Barnstaple to westermill farm, Exmoor 22.5 miles

   Today's route to me along the roads for a mile before dipping into a wooded valley. The path, although muddy in place, is easy and it's not too long before you reach Bratton Fleming. I dropped into a shop and bought myself some snacks and a swirl for breakfast, sat on a grass verge I hate both happily. A lady approached and we began to talk. I asked advice on wild camping on Exmoor. She said she knew there was a campsite somewhere along the way and while we couldn't find it on the map she knew it's name which was enough. Next time I had signal I found it and adjusted my route.

A captive audience

  From the town you wonder up along the road before you begin the real climb through the field and up into the moors. Apart from another field of cows taking a more than healthy interest in me I enjoyed the walk. I think since the cows a week or so ago I've lost my confidence.
  The higher up I got the wetter the soil became and more uni-formal the landscape. My mum and a few friends have described how cleansing they find the sea, I've never understood it. It feels too big and too foreign to me. The moors however seem to give me strength. I love their vastness and inhospitable.


Although by this point I'd climbed a good deal and walked nearly 18 miles my legs remained fresh. My boots however remained rubbish and by this point had absorbed as much as they possibly could of the water around them. It must be nearly a week now since they were dry.
  Past Pinkery Pond the ground gets very wet and treacherous but since my feet were wet anyway there was little need to hop across muddy areas. I did however fall a few times but softly and with no ill affects. Then I had a great time walking along a collapsed wall, the stones serving to create a really firm and flat path. Faced with another field of cows I decided that I couldn't let my fear get the best of me and puffing out my chest literally pushed the cows away from the fence and marched through them. Like the parting of the seas they separated but since my godly powers aren't the greatest they soon regrouped and took up the chase. I managed a calm pase for about a minute and then my nerve failed and I rushed to the nearest fence. I was never this cowardly before but its precisely the wrong season to be trying my luck out.













 After crossing a few more fields I began a decent towards Westermill Farm, a mile along a rather busy road and there was only a field crossing left. This was until I realised I was on the wrong side of the river. It took half an hour to find a way across. The farm seems to be more of a paddock: horse boxes everywhere. I stayed in the nearest of the fields, pitched my tent and dragged myself to the showers. My feet having been wet the entire day were in a poor state but not painful. In all, although the longest day so far, I'd thoroughly enjoyed it. Part of this could be the moors and being away from the coastal path, but I also felt I was beginning to hit my stride.