Starting the South West Coast Path June 2023

- Dunster to Woolacombe -

The South West Coast Path is currently the longest National Trail in the UK at 630 miles long. The trail goes from Minehead in Somerset all the way around the coast to Pool in Dorset.

My great friend Phily and I started from her house in Dunster on 19th June 2023 and walked for five days; camping in wild spots and camp sites along the way. It was a fantastic adventure. After hiking Fjällräven Germany in the pre-alps I thought I knew hard terrain. Coastline hiking quickly became a new challenge.

Day 1 - Monday - Dunster to Porlock - 19.7km

Rucksacks packed and ready to leave the cottage

We set out from Dunster, a village just south of Minehead. We departed the cottage on a warm sunny Monday 19th June. Our packs loaded with tents, sleeping gear, stove, snacks and in my case camera. My very first camera; a point and shoot film camera, a birthday present when I was about 7. We casually chatted our way down to Minehead and before I knew it we were looking for the tourist information centre ready for the first stamp in our path passports. We were disappointed to learn that the centre was closed that day. Over our five days, many of the way makers were closed much of the time. Luckily, a kind man behind the bar at the Beach Hotel produced a stamp for us and sent us cheerily on towards the official start of the walk.

Straight out of Minehead is a long ascent, up and up into open exmoor national park plains. The landscape is a flat expanse of gorse and fern, with ponies and cows going about their days. Exmoor is very exposed, we were lucky that day with sunshine and a gentle breeze from the sea to our right. I read that the SWCP is easy to navigate, just keep the sea to your right. We had a long sunny walk down a steep valley back to the sea at Bossington and then onwards to Porlock.

I remember reaching the road towards Porlock and really wanting to stop, take my heavy rucksack off my sweaty back and just breathe. We found a pub overlooking Porlock weir and started a trip tradition of a pint for Phily and a cup of tea for me. In the middle of the tiredness I forgot how rejuvenating a cup of tea and change of pace can be. Morale and perspective go hand in hand for me. Walking the trail was going to involve managing my frame of mind just as much as the logistics of the journey.

Once we'd rested and refuelled we swung our packs on out backs and continued onwards towards a camp spot. I can't remember how long we walked, out of the town and away from the coast but it began to darken and we were walking in a thick woodland. The terrain was one long uphill climb and every available spot for two tents was too close to a house or garden. I felt a growing anxiety as we stopped and started again and again. I was trying not panic when Phily came up trumps, finding the most perfect spot to pitch for the night. We were on a woodland path, just wide enough for a car which led under an old tunnel. Phily climbed up the woodland bank beside it and found an old abandoned road completely grown over without any trace of human use. It was absolutely perfect. Almost on the path but completely secret and flat and secluded. Relief washed over me and I realised my plan of finding a suitable pitch each night as and where we went wasn't going to work. A hot dinner and a call home helped me relax after a stressful evening.

Our first night on trail I fell asleep to the sound of waves far below us. As always, when you're lying in a ten in complete darkness, all sounds seem amplified.

Day 2 - Tuesday - Porlock to Valley of the Rocks - 20.9km

I slept surprisingly well on our first night on trail and only woke when I was too warm. A rarity for me, a cold blooded reptile type person. We packed up quickly and were ready to start by 7.20am. Leaving behind only footprints, we climbed rather awkwardly down from our spot and continued our climb on the woodland path. Much of the day was woodland walking and the path began its soon predictable pattern. A steep downhill path until we reached water splashing down the rock face, then winding uphill again to peek out above the surrounding landscape. I found the fjällräven Classic German trek in the pre alps hard work, this was equally if not more challenging in the June sunshine I've read that the entire SWCP is like climbing Mt Everest four times. I was in no way prepared for steep ascents and descents without a flat break in between All, day, long.

Up, down to waterfall, up, down, waterfall, rinse and repeat. The midges and horseflies began to feature heavily as we marched through humid forest. We settled into our walking rhythm early in the day; Phily in front and me following a way behind. She was much faster than me up elevation and would wait for me at an appropriate rest point.

In the afternoon we headed for what appeared to be a tourist cafe only to find it wasn't. That was a blow. Instead we found an honesty box, thankfully stocked with chocolate bars and cool drinks. This wasn't to be the last time my motivation was hit hard by disappointment. I set myself a goal to aim for and sometimes struggle if it falls through. Our next target rest stop was Lynmouth. We'd visited together once before so I knew what we were heading towards. I was struggling with tiredness by this point, exacerbated by the heat, humidity and discouraged cafe hopes. As we entered the cheerful town I remember thinking to myself; we're almost there, we're almost there, over and over with each step. We found a cosy pub for lunch where we charged our phones and connected to wifi. Lynmouth is a sweet place to visit. It can be quite touristy but it boasts a great view out to the sea. I bought my very first pasty to eat for lunch the following day, amazingly GF cheese and onion pasties exist. Though not freshly made, it was better than I imagined. I'm definitely going to a pasty shop next time I visit Devon.

Energy restored and water reservoirs filled, we took the cliffside funicular to Lynton town. As we arrived the predicted rain clouds opened shower above us and tested our rain gear for the first time. After a quick resupply in Lynton, we joined the narrow path meandering along the edge of the cliffside. The rain beat down on us but it wasn't cold as we made our way toward the Valley of the Rocks. I'd heard about this area from a video online and expecting a quiet, flat camp spot. We were both ready to settle down for the night, get our tents up and rest. Unfortunately, the valley is open land. The rock formations meant the landscape looked like Rohan from the Lord of the Rings. We were joined by a curious goat herd, perhaps wondering what we were doing there. The only cover was a few pockets of ferns on the edges of rocky outcrops. We made the decision to get set up even though it was still light.

Our second night on trail wasn't nearly as relaxing as the first. We heard people driving and walking along the narrow road through the valley until well after dark and again early morning runners surprised us as we packed up at 7am. That night I felt vulnerable and exposed lying under canvas and hoping not to be moved on. It's a beautiful part of the path to walk through but I'd recommend finding fixed accommodation after Lynton because we couldn't see anywhere for an out of the way pitch.

Day 3 - Wednesday - Valley of the Rocks to Combe Martin - 23.3km

We packed up swiftly in the morning and I felt relieved to be up and walking again. Like turtles with our homes on our backs, we shouldered our rucksacks. The sun was shining and I still felt nervous that we were going to be called out for camping. We quickly moved out of the valley continuing our journey on a beautiful and thankfully deserted Wednesday morning. I glimpsed some kind of small owl as we passed through high woodland, it looked like a short ear but I only saw it for a second before it disappeared into the trees.

The sun shone down all morning as we climbed up and down, along the very edge of cliffs and then around midday the narrow path hit open moorland. We stopped for lunch on this flat expanse and immediately the sky opened and rain hammered down. My GF pasty was delicious even though soggy. There wasn't a single spot of shelter to escape the rain. One rather sad looking sheep stood under a tiny bare bush and we exchanged glances as rain seeped into my waterproofs. Both Phily and I were running out of water at this point after a warm morning and I felt increasingly irritated by the feeling of being soaked to the skin and thirsty at the same time. I hate being thirsty at any time but being wet, cold and dehydrated was particularly irksome. We continued in the downpour until eventually the path descended towards the sea and a day walker told us there was a stream at the bottom.

The next challenge of the day arrived just as quickly as relief at the sound of running water. Horseflies! In the minutes it took to fill up our bottles and filter a few mouthfuls directly from the stream we were set upon. Clouds of midges and horseflies attached themselves to us as we clambered up the cliff beyond the stream. Phily powered on ahead in true athlete form and I remember hating those biting creatures with every step I took behind her. Between fly assaults and bouts of rain (sometimes simultaneously) I was very pleased to reach high ground and open air. I know it's not possible to choose but given the option I'd take saturating rain over dastardly horseflies any day of the year.

Our day improved greatly walking on the open cliffside with views of blue sky and blue sea. We passed Little Hangman point and began to talk about our destination Combe Martin. As we started the clambering descent into town down a narrow, steep slate path beside the cliff we met an injured hiker awaiting help. We stayed perched with him until mountain rescue arrived. He wasn't in a lot of pain, a passing medic suggested an ankle fracture, so we stayed put and chatted about our walks and the hazards of slippery paths. The rescue team arrived with a stretcher board, but we didn't hang around to see how they negotiated their way down to the road.

In Combe Martin we walked in land towards a pub which promised a pass stamp and a cheerful beer garden. I highly recommend a visit to the Pack O Cards pub; really friendly staff and a sheltered garden with charging points! for weary hikers with heavy rucksacks. It was worth the walk away from the path to enjoy tasty refreshments and I believe they have rooms available to stay if camping isn't your thing. After quite some time we shouldered our packs and walked back to the coast to our final destination, Newbury Valley Campsite.

Newbury Valley campsite cat, called Shadow or Dave, depending on who you ask

We were shown to a small side field for tents and met a fellow coast path walker who had been hiking for 7 weeks travelling in the opposite direction from Pool to Minehead with his trusty dog. Amazing to think for our three days, he had been walking everyday for weeks and was three days from the finish. I called home to tell of our day and let them know we were safely pitched. We finished our day in a quiet spot with hot chocolate and the welcome comfort of a good nights sleep ahead.

Day 4 - Thursday - Combe Martin to Ilfracombe - 15.7km

Thursday was our shortest walk but felt like the longest. We left Combe Martin with the intention of stopping at Woolacombe but by the time we arrived in Ilfracombe, I was wiped. The sun was shining and the journey was intense from the outset. We left our campsite and joined the coast path, stopping briefly at Chalacombe Beach on route. As soon as we left the road we were walking in overgrown grasses and nettles, towering over us higher than our rucksacks. It was a hot sticky day, I felt the suncream melting off my face as we climbed along side the coast under the morning sun.

Ilfracombe was busy and bustling, I found a bench to flop myself on whilst Phily went in search of a good place to eat. Our morning's walk really took it out of me and for the first time I felt thoroughly fed up with our situation. Ever an excellent hiking companion, Phily suggested we call it a day and stay in Ilfracombe that afternoon. I hoisted my rucksack back on and we made our way into town for lunch. The George and the Dragon pub claims to be the oldest pub in town and I had a rejuvenating lunch of Whitebait and chips. After a hot meal and rest for our weary feet we headed back towards the centre of town. I had a spring back in my step and motivation back in my mind. Food can take me from irritated, pessimistic and fed up to hopeful and motivated in a very short space of time. The key I find, is holding onto the promise of this when I'm hungry, easier said than done. We visited the controversial Damian Hirst Verity Statue after lunch, which I think is rather fantastic. Standing 20 meters tall, she's a site to behold from far and wide as well as from the harbour below. I believe we caught a glimpse of a film crew by the theatre building, perhaps filming for The Salt Path film!

We wiled away the rest of the afternoon on a small beach where Phily braved a swim and I enjoyed the sun shine and investigating rock pools. With ice creams in hand we started the climb up hill away from the coast towards our campsite, Treetops. A long, dull road walk led us to a basic campsite that we had all to ourselves, with the exception of the owners small dog who wiggled around us cheerfully in greeting but wasn't overly helpful when it came to erecting our tents.

Day 5 - Friday - Ilfracombe to Woolacombe - 19.3km

Phily and I left Treetops and walked an hour back down the winding road to Ilfracombe. The day was warm and bright as we crossed the town to rejoin the coastal path and began climbing up along the cliffs once again. This section of path was more forgiving than others and my legs had adapted to the climbs and descents of this path. I felt more tired today and the thought of finishing the trip and a welcome lift back to Dunster was at the forefront of my mind. We walked into open moorland and wide expansive sea views. We met quite a few day walkers out in the sunshine with their dogs. Each chance to great a four legged friend lifted my spirits as it always does on any day. And whilst looking down at the small shrubs and plants we were striding through I caught a moments site of a snake slithering away from me. I think it was an adder as the striking zigzag pattern looked different to the grass snakes I've seen around home.

We stopped to gaze into the waves at seals bobbing in the dramatic waters below. The water labradors gazed up at us and made me wonder what they think of us walkers staring back. I loved seeing the wildlife on our tour, a highpoint for me during our week long walk.

By midday the sun was beating down on us again, not my favourite thing. The view across the sea was spellbinding but I felt the distance of our path weighing heavily on my mind and struggled to appreciate our surroundings. We reached Morte Point and I remember thinking this is it, we're almost there. Sure enough, we rounded the rocky head and saw a sprawling settlement. Hurrah, we're in site of the finish.

This turned out to be yet another village, Mortehoe. And tantalisingly close now, the path wound inland away from our heading, up and down the hillside 1.5 miles. Seemingly a short distance, but with the discovery that we weren't in fact at our destination my mood broke and my heart sank. We found a roadside bench to eat lunch but not even the cheese and onion pasty could revive my spirit. Phily handled my now obvious anger as we carried on away from the coast into the hillside towards what I desperately hoped was Woolacombe town. Tired and frustrated (on my part) we arrived at our destination and stopped at the tourist centre for a final pass stamp. We lugged our rucksacks off our sweaty backs in The Red Barn restaurant and with pint and tea we finally ended our trek. I'm not sure how long we sat enjoying the rest but after 6hrs and 40 minutes I don't think I could have dragged myself much further. Phily's sister Gee kindly came to take us back to where we began merely four days previously. We lugged our rucksacks into the boot and made our way homewards. It's strange to finish a multi day trek and then drive an hour smoothly back to where you started.