June 27, 1996: Shaldon to Starcross
Aboard the Teignmouth ferry; I am wearing, of course my famous UCLA Camel Corps cap.
The stage was now set, as we rose on the morning of Thursday, June 27, for the final day of our 1996 walk. At breakfast I asked Kitty Jones if she had any information on the state of the tides and she offered the previous day’s newspaper. I was able to see that we would probably have no difficulty using the low level promenade for the two miles north of Teignmouth but that things might be a bit more dodgy in the Dawlish to Dawlish Warren stretch. Shortly before 9:30 we were waiting for the return bus to Shaldon. I was surprised to discover that a telephone man, in order to repair a fault, had opened a junction box on which I had rested my pack. We left him at work as we climbed aboard our bus at 9:40.
We reached Shaldon at 9:50 and began to retrace our steps to the ferry landing. Tosh paused once to check out a chess set she was considering buying for Tim – but she declined to buy it. A ferry was waiting for us at shoreside and we were soon the only passengers chugging across the estuary to the Teignmouth side. The crewman, a jolly chap, took a picture of the three of us, as we made this crossing.
The Teignmouth estuary
It was a bright and sunny day again and it would be warm, though not oppressively so. I was carrying my camera in my hand so that it would not stain my new maroon t-shirt with its infamous black strap. As we neared the head of Teignmouth’s promenade Harold cut a corner next to a planter and scraped his left knee at the precise spot where I had received an injury the day before. He nursed this while Tosh made her first kiosk stop in a games of chance arcade, and then we were ready for an almost two mile slog along the railway line – with the beach on our right and the nice even surface of the sea wall to walk on. There were lots of other strollers about and also railway workers and we exchanged many good mornings as we made our way toward one of Brunel’s tunnels
We had to take on faith that there was an escape from this route, for only at the last minute did a set of steps appear to take us under the tracks and onto Smuggler’s Lane (it is this section that gets inundated by high tides). There were loos at the bottom of the lane, a surprising and well-hidden location for such a useful structure, and we all made visits here. Then there was a struggle up the steep tarmac to our old favorite, the A379 in Holcombe; the road was a very busy highway here and we had to wait some time before crossing to the opposite side for a more safe passage up the hill. After 150 yards we darted back across to enter a housing estate and followed several turnings in suburbia until we were once again directed to use a stile to return to some nice cliff top walking. We paused for a brief rest, with wonderful views northward to the approaches to Dawlish and beyond. Then we dropped down steeply almost to the tracks again and climbed up the opposite side of a small valley to return to the A379 via a flight of wooden steps.
With Dawlish in the background the Lees approach Shell Cove.
We did not have to stay on the highway, however, for the Old Teignmouth Road, here being dug up by the gas board, could be followed for a while on another seaward loop. Then followed a shaded section on the main road before a turnoff into some gardens overlooking Dawlish harbor. I think I turned townward a bit too prematurely but I wanted to let no good lunchtime pub opportunity go unexplored. Actually, once we had gained the main square of the town, I headed for the railroad station to check out a local shuttle time from Starcross, our final destination. This turned out to be 3:52 and thus there would be no great rush. The Lees had spotted the Exeter Inn to the north of the station and we settled in here. Eating in Dawlish was not a great success. Tosh imitated me in my choice of scampi and chips but remained unsatisfied and I had to finish her chips for her. Harold had chicken and chips and denounced the former as old and tough. The bar chatter was intrusive – bragging businessmen and melancholy house painters. I asked the barmaid about the next stretch of promenade and she advised me that it would not be dangerous to set out (avoiding a high rise inland alternative) because there were escape routes if the tide (due in about 3:00) was too high. We paused for Mr. Whippy’s at the square but these were extremely runny and mine did a nosedive behind the coke cabinet before I could pay for it. A new one in my fist, we left Dawlish at 1:30.
The next stretch of promenade was only about a mile in length. There was one low section and some sea spray had started to wash over the walkway here but we had no difficulty getting through. Our railside walk ended at a footbridge just before the Dawlish Warren station. We entered a parking lot and found a nice piece of shade for a good rest. Tosh found a few more plant specimens in the woodland where she had gone to pee, and added these to the wet pouch in Harold’s pack.
We tried to continue north by walking past the station but this proved a dead end and we had to return to the highway crossroads in Dawlish Warren to continue along roadway all the way to Starcross. I had dreaded this section but there wasn’t too much traffic today and there was occasionally a verge. There were also some shaded sections – though other stretches were quite warm. We passed through the hamlet of Eastdon and continued to Cockwood, where we found the still open Anchor Inn facing a little harbor. We sat out in front, having our final lagers and watching the two way traffic try to squeeze over the narrow highway bridge. Tosh didn’t like the black and white paint on the rocks atop the Anchor’s front wall.
We were soon on the road again, arriving after only another fifteen minutes in Starcross village, dominated by Brunel’s old atmospheric railway pumping house, now a museum undergoing reconstruction. After an eight mile day we had reached our halt at 3:30, and I wandered over to the other side to take photos of the Ex estuary, the ferry point (which we would not be needing) and distant Exmouth, where we would start the next stretch of our walk.
Our train arrived on time and we were soon in Exeter St. David’s. There was a 4:40 Paddington train due in another twenty minutes and we jockeyed for position on the platform before leaping aboard and finding good seats. Tosh brought with her a cup of coffee that spilled over as we sorted things out and inundated the reading matter I had set aside for the journey. We ate all our last pack snacks, dozed a bit, and reached London at 7:00. We knew there was a tube strike today and shortly before our arrival Harold had begun to curse himself for not getting off at Reading and taking the shuttle to Ealing Broadway. But cabs were available (I had to loan the Lees £20) and after a fifteen-minute wait we were each on our way home after a very successful outing.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: