June 30, 1997: Seaton to Lyme Regis
The path is a chasm in a field of rape as it approaches the famous undercliff.
Before breakfast I wandered out to the lawn in front of our motel and took a photograph. It was fairly sunny and the views were extensive. My stomach felt better and I had decided that the true cause of my condition was just too much stewed fruit at breakfast time. From this moment on I determined that I would take only a glass of orange juice as my breakfast starter – and things seemed to improve considerably. The Lees and Margie joined me at 8:30 and by 9:15 we were ready to go. I, had, of course, insisted on getting a taxi to take us back down to town. Mr. Gripton had found a willing carrier and for £2 we were soon back at the corner of Old Beer Road and Marl Pit Lane, our turnoff spot the previous day. From this point it was just a few blocks to the sea front of Seaton itself.
We wandered into the shopping precincts and visited a newsagent, a green grocer and a bakery – where we bought some readymade sandwiches. It was at the newsagent that we were astonished by the details of the recent Tyson-Holyfield heavyweight title fight, the one that ended with a disqualification for Tyson after he had bitten a chunk out of his opponent’s ear. Still chattering about this unexpected outcome we had another long stop at the town loos. When we crossed the ornate Axe bridge it was 9:40, an early start for us. I took off my blue Gap sweatshirt in preparation for the climb ahead.
I had wanted a fairly early start because we were about to undertake one of the most unique portions of the route, the seven mile walk through the undercliff nature reserve, a jungle-like forested area that had been left undeveloped by man since Christmas Eve, 1839, when a huge portion of the cliff had fallen toward the sea, creating chasms, islands, ridges, and valleys – through which a path now precariously twisted. I had no idea how long this would take to walk – Hall and Mason suggest two and a half hours; other guidebooks and local signposts suggest three and a half to four – but all sources describe the route as extremely strenuous. Fortunately the weather was still fair; rain on these surfaces would have made the path a slippery torment.
The approach to the nature reserve, which cannot be seen at all from the Seaton side, was civilized enough, if steep. We used an approach road for the Axe Cliff Golf Club, passing the clubhouse, and marching across the fairway where cart drivers were warned to look out for golfers and walkers (quite a promotion for us here). At the top end of the course we entered a track hedged in by foliage and continued forward, finally turning back toward the sea on a path that lead through yellowed fields. We reached the entrance to the reserve at 10:20 and I now kept a careful record of our walking time with my watch.
In the undercliff
We began with an ominously steep descent on steps (what goes down must etc.). Soon we were marching up and down beneath the overarching canopy in a fascinating environment. I wore my clip-on sunglasses pretty much all the time on this trip (it wasn’t often sunny but they improved depth and reduced glare) but there were moments when I had to take them off in this forest – it was so frequently dark. We climbed up and down, resting every twenty to thirty minutes and drinking some liquid. It was very humid in the jungle.
At the one hour twenty minute mark we met the first of the walkers coming from the other direction. I had warned the others not to ask how long it had taken such walkers to reach this point, but a woman asked me this question and when I told her she replied that it had taken her the same time to get here. We paused for lunch at noon, finding a rare dry and comfortable spot to sprawl about.
It was impossible to gauge progress or distances. Was that cliff Goat Island? Could those be the ruins of Annie’s Cottage? Have these chaps with the land rover come down from Allhallows School? I fell once on the slimy surface and so did Harold. After five miles or so we began to see landmarks that indicated we were nearing the other side. The Lees had a conversation with an old couple who do the route annually. A long steep bit of road walking, in a minor drizzle, was a sure sign that we had almost reached the eastern boundary of the reserve and at about 2:00 we arrived at the grass cliffs above Lyme Regis’ famous Cobb. It had taken us only two hours and thirty-eight minutes of walking time!
I took this picture of the Cobb in Lyme Regis in 1981.
We sat on a bench and received a rapturous greeting from a local dog; then we began to look for a path into town – trying not to repeat some of our previous exploits that had put us at the bottom of a town when our hotel was at the top. We floundered about a bit looking for an egress from the cliff top and eventually wandered into a car park next to a bottle bank. Harold had a map showing our hotel’s location and we were very lucky that just across the street was the beginning of Pound Street, which we could follow around and downhill, past Tiffany’s Toning Tables at the local beauty parlor and on to Silver Street, where the somewhat seedy Dorset Hotel stood. It was only 2:20.
We got cleaned up, had a drink, and then began a tour of the tourist-infected town, which Dorothy and I had visited in 1981. Tosh was beginning to get fossil fever. She also wanted to have a drink in a hotel whose whereabouts she could not remember. We settled for the downmarket Rock Point Inn, where Margie had a glass of red wine and the rest of us had lager. Across the street, at the bottom of the town, was a fossil shop where Tosh bought a hammer and goggles while Harold and I looked at the fascinating exhibits. “If your really liked me,” I told Harold, “you’d not only buy me those dinosaur dung books ends, you’d carry them for me in your pack.” Harold and I were scouting up a restaurant for the evening meal but it was obvious that Tosh wanted to hit the beaches and so we split up. I made a leisurely stroll back up the street to the hotel, where I had a rest.
We met again at 7:30 and wandered half way back down Silver Street to the Mad Hatter’s restaurant. The joint was jumping for a Monday night and we were lucky to get a table. I had prawn cocktail and scampi and chips (the only time on this trip), but the portions were so huge I had to leave food on my plate. Still it was fun observing all the other diners and the harried waitpersons.
It was dark by the time we emerged from the restaurant and chugged back up the hill one last time. I called Dorothy from my room, watched a bit of TV, and soon went to bed.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: