June 26, 1996: Torquay to Shaldon
Looking back to Babbacombe Beach
A hint of showers hung in the air as we breakfasted at 8:30, even before the other guests of the Parkfield Hotel had risen, on the morning of Wednesday, June 26. Kitty Jones had called a cab for us and it arrived at exactly 9:15. The chatty driver honked and waved at a number of people he knew as he used back streets to approach the Imperial Hotel. He told us that the establishment was about to lose one of its five stars because it had been forced to take in coach parties. Tosh, naturally, rushed inside to use the loos while I waited in the forecourt. We had decided to take light packs only, since we would be returning to the Parkfield Hotel at the end of the day. It was grey and humid but still dry when we started off at 9:35.
The route begins on a sloping tarmac drive adjacent to the hotel’s driveway and Harold was surprised to discover that it slanted down to a dead end, albeit one with a lovely view of a natural arch called London Bridge. He had missed a hidden turnoff onto some steps only yards from the end. These lead steeply uphill to Rock End Gardens; we now followed well-landscaped paths used by the locals, with the Lees gradually pulling ahead of me. I was struggling. In spite of the cooler temperatures and the almost empty pack I was feeling most uncomfortable and when I reached a bench on Daddyhole Plain I decided I needed another walker’s pit stop. By the time we had used steps and steep paths to descend to Meadfoot Beach I was in much better spirits. “I noticed you were dragging back there,” Harold said, “what was the matter?” “I made one adjustment,” I replied, “I put my camera into my pack. The strap had obviously been cutting across an artery in my neck and interfering with my circulation. I feel much better now.” Indeed I had to fish the camera out after each of us had visited some loos at the near end of Meadfoot Beach in order to get a shot of the impressive Hesketh Crescent of 1846, on the opposite side of the road. There was a kiosk nearby and Tosh had to buy a snack. I bought a bottle of spring water.
We now used the promenade behind Meadfoot Beach to continue in our northerly direction. A steep path cut off a corner of the accompanying road and we climbed up it to reach the Marine Drive. A family of trippers was using this bit of tarmac also and they kept getting mixed up in our party, an impediment I hate. After we had climbed up into a housing estate we had a coast path turnoff at Thatcher’s Point and lost them. This path started promisingly, with fine views to the sea and a real clifftop feel again but as we rounded the point to head back up to the Drive vegetation began to impede our progress and it was quite a struggle to reach civilization again. When we did there were signs warning us that this section of the path was closed! A fine time to tell us.
We disdained an invitation to use a pathway on the west side – which paralleled the road; the views were best from the road itself and there wasn’t too much traffic about. At Hope Cove House we were again able to leave tarmac, this time on “The Bishop’s Walk.” This lead to a fine wooded section around Black Head which ended at a car park above Anstey’s Cove and put us back on roadway again. As we were searching for our next turnoff I took a tumble onto the tarmac. I had stepped on a recently cut rhododendron branch and it had rolled forward with my foot, spilling me onto my left knee and hand – with a thud. The skin below the knee was broken but it didn’t hurt too much and after a moment, needed for me to catch my breath, we continued up the road and escaped it on a path marked “To Babbacombe.” This path took us over Walls Hill and we followed a fence around a grassy plateau, searching among the locals and their dogs for finger posts that might point the way down the other side. We found the right exit and emerged on a minor road that led us steeply down to Babbacombe Beach. We used steps and local paths to make the final descent, with the red tiled roof of the Cary Arms pub beckoning us. I had planned to stop for lunch here, the four-mile mark, and the timing was almost perfect. The place opened at noon and it was now 11:55.
We found a table inside and ordered our drinks. I used the loo to wash my bare knee, but holding it up to the electric dryer was a new experience. Harold and I had paté ploughmans. While I was eating I noticed that my view of Petit Tor Point was becoming obscure, a sure sign that rain was falling somewhere between here and there. Sure enough, the pub-goers outside were soon scurrying for cover, but the squall was over quickly and by the time we were ready to leave the moisture had ended. Tosh and Harold ordered a cup of coffee at the end of their repast and we were off by 1:00.
We now walked from Babbacombe to Oddicombe Beach. There were a number of ambiguities about how to cross beneath the Oddicombe Cliff Railway but I found the spot and paused to photo the uphill and the downhill cars as they passed one another. There was a bit of steep uphill for us too as we climbed to the level of Petit Tor. We were behind the houses of suburban St. Marychurch here and there were a number of grassy interludes, shelters and benches about. There was a choice of routes at Shag Cliff but I followed the directions in the national trail guide and this produced a superb level stroll in woodland, with a continuous left-hand bend coaxing us forward before it finally dropped us down to the Watcombe beach road. A brief dogleg to the left put us into a path through yet another Valley of the Rocks.
The Thatched Tavern, Maidencombe
A bare bowl beneath the trees contained hanging ropes and an abandoned motorcycle and Harold was certain that someone had been up to mischief here. We left this shadowy place for a steep climb up the “Goat Path,” assisted, as we crossed bare rock, by some pipe railings on the left. We reached a spot where maps offered a choice of approaches to the village of Maidencombe; I chose the inland alternative, not wanting to miss out on the possibility of another rendezvous with the Thatched Tavern. Lanes and roads soon lead us directly to the spot at 2:45 – but the iron gate in front was bolted shut and we concluded that we were too late. Not so. Tosh walked up the garden path at the side of the pub, where there was another couple still drinking, and obtained entrance here. She was served by the same pretty girl who, the previous night, had explained her tan to the bartender as the consequence of a day’s sailing with the parents of her ex-boyfriend – “Well, they like me.” She had soon bolted the side door too and we were left in peace to enjoy the cool and refreshing lager. I took my boots and socks off and flopped on the grass.
We still had a long three miles to go but first there was a visit to the loos below the parking lot. I knew that we would now be facing some steep ups and downs but the guidebooks were rather vague about how many, since the route is unmistakable as it climbs in and out of agricultural valleys – and I had trouble charting just how many combes we had struggled down to and how may headlands we had crested. The route was rich in wildflowers and overgrown in spots and Tosh actually plucked some fern specimens with the intention of transplanting them into her garden at home.
Our goal was a union with the A379, which we could gradually hear roaring above us and, after a solid hour of strenuous ups and downs, I lead us up our last bit of uphill – a bit too early in my eagerness to escape any more of the roller coaster cliff path. Walking along the highway wasn’t pleasant but we were passed by the same bus I hoped to take from Shaldon an hour later.
The Ness and Teignmouth
The A379 was fairly level and we were able to escape it after several minutes by returning to a path in open country – which was dominated by hundreds of scurrying rabbits. The views ahead, toward the Ness peninsula on this side of the estuary and Teignmouth on the other, were outstanding. We climbed down a hillside and entered woodland again but I chose to cut off a brief corner of the Ness and to use roads to head directly toward Shaldon. Tosh paused to use some loos and I went into a caravan in a parking lot to inquire from tourist information about tomorrow’s ferry and to obtain local taxi numbers if my bus idea failed. There was still enough time to make the bus but the Lees, particularly Tosh, were perversely slowing down the closer we got. We passed the ferry point and reached a pavement that carried on past the shops and houses of Shaldon. I had turned onto the bridge road and located the bus stop at 5:25 when Harold at last appeared around the corner. Tosh then sprawled down on the pavement, at the end of our ten-mile day, as we waited for our Stagecoach, which was soon well overdue. This was an interesting problem for Tosh; her parsimony at war with her impatience, she announced at 5:40 that she was going to call for a taxi and was just about to head into the Force 8 pub across the street when the red and white livery of the bus appeared on the Teignmouth Bridge.
The bus ride, which took us past sections we had just walked, lasted only about ten minutes. We were deposited at a stop on a hill just above Claddon Lane and we had soon reached our hotel again. We got cleaned up and had drinks in the little bar while the other residents, getting an early start on tonight’s TV watching, dined ahead of us. At 8:00 we joined them for soup, baked potato filled with mince, and pie.
In fact, the night’s featured program, England vs. Germany in the semi-finals of the European Cup, had not yet begun; as the other guests had retreated to their rooms we used the lounge to view the spectacle. I made my last call to Dorothy, whom I had talked to every night, and walked around outside; the sun had finally come out and a seven month-old Westie puppy was playing with her ball. The match was very exiting; a drawn score led to overtime and then another penalty shootout – which the Germans finally won. It was dark by the time we turned off the TV and headed for bed after another successful day.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: