August 15, 1987: Minehead to Porlock Weir

The author, Dorothy, Tosh, Toby the Schnauzer and
Janet Lockwood at the start of the walk in Minehead

On Saturday, August 15, 1987, we began work on a new footpath challenge – the Southwest Peninsula Coast Path, or, as it was later renamed, the South West Coast Path. A party of five walkers assembled at 7:40 in Paddington Station: the Lees, the Linicks, and our visiting friend from Michigan, Janet Lockwood. Janet was making her first overnight expedition with us – after two earlier day walks on the London Countryway. An excited Toby the Schnauzer made a sixth member of the group.

Because this was Janet’s very first experience with the rigors of a week-long trip I had chosen the Somerset and North Devon sections of the route for, certainly after the second day, someone who was fed up with walking could keep up with the rest of the group by public transportation – and still find plenty to see and do in the villages along the way. Janet had arrived with a huge backpack, suitable for an assault on the Himalayas and a thick wetsuit that would not have disgraced the captain of the Nova Scotia mackerel fleet. Consequently I was not surprised when she cried out in protest at the pressure on her shoulders as we tottered toward our seats on the 7:50 to Taunton.

Dorothy had also been having pack problems, intensified by a sore back. The day before departure she had become so agitated by a series of foul-ups at work (all beyond her control and outside her responsibility) that she had tensed up and was now walking in considerable pain. Tosh too was in a grumpy mood on the eve of our departure. She had just returned from a long trip to the Far East to find son Tim in a car crash and daughter Amy struggling with her A-levels. In short the complaining had reached a crescendo before the first downbeat. “This is the last time I’m walking with three women,” I declared bravely.

Harold had got us seat reservations but they were somewhat scattered about the car. My pack leaked as if often does and I had to do something about one of the canteens. As we neared Taunton I advised everyone to use the loo before leaving the train. I did this for I knew that we would not have a great deal of time to make the bus to Bishop Lydeard, where we would catch the West Somerset Railway shuttle to Minehead. The bus stop was directly outside of Taunton station and we had only a five minute wait – long enough for Janet to drag one of her new blue hiking boots through someone’s leftover pink bubblegum.

At Bishop Lydeard we bought tickets to Minehead and boarded the little private railway. There followed a slow but quite pleasant progress through Somerset countryside, with lovely views of the sea near the end. Dunster Castle appeared on our left but the train did not stop because the place was closed on Saturdays. We arrived at Minehead at 11:15. I had hoped to go to a pub for lunch but when we stopped at a likely looking place it turned out that they were not open for food until noon. They recommended the Cabin Café down the road and here we had a snack while the staff packed us some sandwiches to go. Toby was allowed to take up a place under our table. Everyone bought candy bars and soft drinks and used the loo, which seemed to be adjacent to someone’s sitting room!

At 12:10 we had located the beginning of Britain’s longest footpath in a little alleyway between two houses and signposted “Path to North Hill.” It was a warm, sunny day and spirits were temporarily on an upswing. It was time to begin.

I was using two guidebooks, Clive Gunnell’s Somerset and North Devon Coast Path, in the HMSO series, and the first volume of the Letts guide to The South-west Peninsula Coast-Path by Ken Ward and John HN Mason. I also had the Ordnance Survey maps for the area, but none of these guides was up to standard, either because they lacked detail or because the route had changed. They were particularly unreliable in matters of mileage, always underestimating the distance to be covered by failing to take into account all the ups and downs and twists and turns. Fortunately the route was adequately signposted most of the time, though here too posted mileages were unrealistic.

One could not tell, for instance, whether you had yet reached the roads drawn on Ward and Mason’s map because there seemed to be many more of these tracks on the ground than pictured in the book. In any event the first two miles, though steadily climbing, were quite delightful – well graded tracks under a canopy of pines and other trees, with views of Minehead and the sea – a scene on this day more Italian than English. Tosh paused to put on her shorts. Dorothy was struggling with her back and Janet (not to be outdone by the veteran whiners) was beginning to enumerate a long list of maladies: a pulse rate so high that frequent rests were called for, warnings of eminent heat exhaustion, sore shoulders that could only be relieved by bending over double. I assured her that we had only one major rise for the day and that the worst was over but she complained when each new corner revealed more uphill to come. On this trip I would not only be held responsible for the weather, a role I was used to, but I would take on an even more awesome responsibility: blame the terrain on Mame.

Heather in bloom on North Hill

After an hour or so we left the woods behind us and felt for the first time the heat of the August sun. At the same time that this suffering began we were rewarded with a marvelous sight – hillsides bathed in purple heather, dropping hundreds of feet to the blue-green sea below. I remained behind with a protesting Janet, moving from the shade of one hedgerow to the next. At a crossroads near a parking lot we all sprawled in the shade of a few trees and had our sandwiches. I could tell that we had not been using the path indicated in Ward and Mason but I had no idea just how often this would happen again.

A young lady came up timidly to borrow some of our shade. Harold had some heavy-duty sun-blocker direct from Hawaii that we now applied to arms and noses. Then we continued forward, rising gently along tracks between the gorse and heather – with many other strollers about. We also encountered up here a heavily-laden lad from our train who was heading all the way to Penzance and we often crossed paths with him on this trip. Ahead of us was an elderly woman limping forward with the help of a cane; this served to inspire us to keep moving. We passed beneath the summit of Selworthy Beacon and, at a junction with a track descending from its summit, we sprawled in the grass. There was no shade about, but there were a few clouds. I was wearing a t-shirt and a sun hat left over from the previous summer on Rhodes; this uniform was all that I needed for the next five days.

Toby had a drink of water while we were interviewed by one of the day-trippers. Then, with the promise of a descent before us, we continued westward circling Bossington Hill and getting our first views of Porlock Bay and the villages of its plain. Toby was tracking an Old English Sheep Dog but he never quite got the nerve to make friends. Tosh and Harold were well ahead of the rest of us; I had chided them about this on the grounds that such separation required much additional energy from the dog – who often ran back and forth between parts of his group. I soon had another complaint: we were following the Lees on a path that was gently contouring above the village of Bossington – whereas I wanted a track that would lead us down into the village itself. By the time I had caught up with the frontrunners we were well past the turn-off and I had to turn us all around so that we could retrace our steps in search of a likely looking point of descent.

About to begin our descent to Porlock Bay

There was nothing very satisfactory on the ground but we decided to go down to some hang gliders perched on the hillside below us – a glider had been making its gentle spirals below us for some minutes. This was not a very happy stretch for us. Janet was now complaining of vertigo and an arthritic knee. Tosh had gotten some instructions from one of the glider enthusiasts but something was lost in the telling. Harold and Janet struggled part of the way downhill along an overgrown path before returning to report defeat. Another couple with a dog were attempting a sideways maneuver when Tosh’s mentor appeared and offered to lead us down to Bossington himself. So we all returned to the overgrown path and were lashed and slashed for ten minutes until we reached at last the village stream. Here Toby helped himself to some water while the rest of us looked about for a promised teahouse.

When we found it there was some confusion about where to go; everything was taking place in the garden but the garden was full of tourists and we had to sit on the grass waiting for a table. It was 4:45 and I was beginning to get worried about finishing the walk in decent time, everyone accepting the necessity of avoiding the Seatoller Syndrome at all costs – that is avoiding the situation we got ourselves into one day in the Lakes when we arrived at our hotel ten minutes after the communal dining hour. This is why, after fifteen fruitless minutes under the peach tree in a back garden in Bossington, we decided to move on without tea. We followed a lane as it twisted its way to the beach. Here Janet had to apply some tape against a blister.

We now had a two-mile crossing of the Porlock valley to complete, the path on the landward side of a bank of shingle. Some of the route was over grass, some on small chips of shingle, some on dirt. It was quite warm and I was running out of steam. Once I paused in the shade of a wall while everyone else passed me by. At the end it was just Dorothy and me left to clamber to the top of the shingle bank and to move uncomfortably forward along the pebble beach – with the village of Porlock Weir serving as a beacon before us. We had completed eight and a half miles of walking and it was nearing  6:30; we had an hour to go before dinner.

At the Anchor Hotel we left our packs in our room and took Toby next door to the ancient Ship Inn, where we had drinks and I finished a roll of film. Then, with everyone enjoying the luxury of complete en suite facilities, I took a quick bath. Toby had his tea and was left yowling in protest as we descended to the lounge for another quick drink with our companions. They seemed to be in pretty good spirits, especially Janet – though she did complain that her single room lacked a good view. Everyone took against the smarmy maitre d’ who ushered us to our table at 7:30. I had goulash while the others ate salmon trout. It was quite a good meal.  There was coffee in the drawing room but there were no seats here so we ended up in the lounge again. I had Harold read about the two routes offered us by the guidebooks for the next day and we were all agreed on trying the lower-level so-called Alternative Route.

We toured one another’s rooms and Dorothy and I took Toby into the blackness of the village for his last walk. I rubbed her back with Deep Heat and she prepared to watch Saint Elsewhere on our own color telly. She fell asleep half-way through and I had to tell her what happened next day.

To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:

Day 2: Porlock Weir to Lynmouth