The South West Coast Path – Day 58

March 28, 1999: Lulworth Cove to Kimmeridge

Mupe Rocks

Mupe Rocks

Breakfast was served with a little greater dispatch at 9:00 on the morning of March 28, a Sunday. It was the first day of British Summer Time. We packed (was this when my whistle and compass went walkabout?) and received our lunches and, at the rather late hour of 10:15, we said goodbye to Lilly, one of the Cromwell House Hotel cats, and descended the stairs onto a road that lead directly to the cove itself.

I had begun the walk with the usual array of physical problems, most notably a strain in my left foot that had mysteriously appeared a couple of months earlier. Just at about the time it seemed to be feeling a bit better I had also managed, some three weeks ago, to bash the little toe of the same foot – so badly that blood had collected beneath the skin at the bottom of the other toes as well. It hurt a little when I put my boots on but once I got going on this expedition it was all right. (Ironically it was the nail of the right little toe that went black as the result of the pounding it received on this trip). But because I had felt some strain at the top of the left arch after our twelve mile day on Saturday, I decided to set out today wearing the foot brace that had helped me on other occasions before.

I had not had any time to see the village itself on the previous night so I had my camera at the ready as we passed thatched cottages, pubs, and an information center  – where Tosh wanted to study some rocks. There were certainly plenty of hard-hatted geology students about, and Tosh had been given special permission – on a eight mile day – to dawdle along the back of the cove at low tide so that she too could search for fossils.

I made my way slowly over the crunchy pebbles, preceded by Harold and Marge; they grew tired of waiting and climbed off the beach at the end to wait above. I could see Tosh bending over to examine a series of candidates and, as she edged closer, I could hear the clack of the rocks as she tapped them together in search of ammonites. She didn’t turn up much. I found once nice fat pebble, which I added to my pack in spite of my promise not to collect anything that might do my back in – like last time.

After about half an hour we were rejoined for a walk up to the spot where a Fossil Forest could be seen offshore. Marge and I were led by the geology students, who had a mapping assignment, and followed by the Lees. Harold, whose obsessions seemed particularly acute in the morning, had convinced himself that the electric kettle in his hotel room had not snapped off properly and that the Cromwell House Hotel would soon be in flames – and it had taken Tosh some time to convince him that this was not possible.

So we entered the gates of the Lulworth Range, our way open at last. Tosh wanted to climb down to have a closer look at the petrified tree stumps on the seabed and Harold followed her but Marge and I edged on along the cliff top and had a rest at the dramatic Mupe Rocks – where there was a picnic table. On this exceptionally clear and bright sunny day in March we could see the three daunting summits for the day, Bindon Hill, Ring’s Hill, and Tyneham Cap – the coast path evident as it climbed steeply up each.

The ascent of Bindon Hill had been awarded two black arrows by Hall and Mason and it was obvious why, for the steepest of the day’s ascents required the use of many steps to gain the summit. Harold led here and I followed somewhat behind – but we lost track of the women altogether. Some lads followed us up, one of them saying to me, in an accusatory tone, “You call this fun?” There were also many folk struggling down, including one couple with a beautiful gray-furred Collie. As I climbed I tried not to let my legs have too much of a repose at any one time, but soon started up again  – even if only for a short distance – and on the whole I did quite well with the many steep ascents of the trip. I had been doing my deep knee bends at home.

Harold was lying on his back against his pack when I reached the top and I joined him for a while. It was quite breezy up here so we didn’t linger when Tosh and Marge at last joined us. The way was clear for an exhilarating march forward and this eventually became a sharp descent. As we moved east we encountered views of the many military vehicles station below us for target practice, of Lulworth Castle to the north, and of the beautiful blue green bay of Arish Mell at our feet.

The descent to Arish Mell

The descent to Arish Mell

After a knee-jarring descent we reached the back of this bay and I proposed that it was now okay to open lunch packs. The MOD had fenced off the beach but there was a picnic table that Marge used, while the rest of us sat in the grass, trying to get a little protection from the breeze. An olive drab range rover drove up so that somebody’s military dog could get some exercise. My sandwich was quite good but I managed to get a dollop of Mary Rose sauce embedded in my blue sweatshirt as I ate my prawn-filled bap.

After lunch it was time for another double black arrow ascent, this time up to the iron-age fort of Flowers Barrow on Rings Hill. At least our way was protected by the odd tank and, below us on the inland side, we could see dozens of these derelict vehicles lined up at the bottom of the hill. I counted fence posts as a way of measuring my progress on this ascent – which ended, at last, as the route was pushed around the inland side and, after a dividing of the ways, shunted steeply downhill on steps, toward Worbarrow Bay and the prominent thumb of Warbarrow Tout. Margie, taking baby steps again, was always the last down such inclines.

At the back of Warbarrow Bay a huge army of trippers, encouraged by the sun, a parking lot, and a breach in the MOD’s firing schedule, was assembled for the first day on the summer season. The beach was a hideous mess and one hoped that it would be one of the targets of the Great Dorset Beach Clean, scheduled for April 11. Tosh wanted to spend some time looking for rocks here too, so the rest of us found places to put ourselves among the refuse for the next fifteen minutes.

Then it was uphill again, though each of these summits seemed slightly less daunting than the previous one. When we had at last reached a level spot there was an easy mile or so along the ridge top; it would have been even more pleasurable had it not been topped by the angry rise of Tyneham Cap at the end. We got rather far apart here, with Margie and Harold well ahead of me and Tosh well behind. At last I found the frontrunners, having a rest on a little bench that was perched at another division of the ways. I now realized, to my great delight, that only the inland route was required to climb Tyneham Cap and that we, once Tosh had joined us, could contour around beneath it before beginning a descent to sea level. Our great climbs were over for the day.

Down to Broad Bench. The photo captures Margie’s characteristic baby steps.

Down to Broad Bench. The photo captures Margie’s characteristic baby steps.

We reached Hobarrow Bay and crossed behind Broad Bench. Ahead of us were two couples, just climbing up from the beach – also in search of geological specimens. I knew Tosh would be charmed by the fact that, as he reached a kissing gate, one old gentleman had called his wife back so that they could kiss over it. The other woman had a backpack in the shape of a sheep with black legs and face. “You’ve certainly picked the right pack for this countryside,” I told her, but she only complained that that the others had been putting shale into it.

At last we reached the eastern gates of the MOD range at Kimmeridge Bay, passed Britain’s first oil well, and began looking about for a way up the valley to the village of Kimmeridge. We should have stayed on the oil well’s access road because we did quite a circle around some cottages, a parking lot and some loos before I discovered the public footpath sign I was looking for. Our backs turned to the sea now we had about a mile to go along field margins – as all signs of the sunny day disappeared and grey became the dominant tone. It was not too steep and the surfaces not too squishy until just at the end when the final stages were blocked by fallen limbs. We had to scramble under these, passing a little boy playing atop a woodpile. “Will we get to the road if we take this path?” Tosh asked, but the tongue-tied lad could only nod in assent after taking in the sight of these four very strange looking people suddenly arriving in his backyard.

I knew that Kimmeridge Farm House, seat of a large working farm with sheep and cows, was right next to the town church and so I looked for this first and had no trouble locating either. It was 5:45. We were greeted by Mrs. Annette Hole, a very pretty farmer’s wife, who showed us to extremely comfortable and well-furnished rooms, each with en suite facilities. The others came into my room for an impromptu tea party, then I had a shower and tried Dorothy again on the mobile phone – but it was no longer working.

At 7:30 we went down to dinner, which was served by the Hole’s teenage daughter, just as pretty as her mother. She was home on a two-hour break from her waitressing job (she told us she was saving up to buy a car) and so she got to do some more waitressing. The home cooked meal was delicious, cream of tomato and basil soup, chicken in a mushroom sauce, plenty of fresh veg and a raspberry pavlova for dessert. We were offered wine as well, though it was that oversweet German concoction, Liebfraumilch – the Lees didn’t seem to mind and praised every aspect of the meal. It was certainly one of the best b&b meals we had ever been offered.

It was dark by the time we had finished eating and retired to our own rooms. I had a TV set every night of this trip but I never turned it on – I was on vacation from its importunities too. By 10:00 I was asleep but when I woke up a few hours later I took a sleeping pill as well.

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

Day 59: Kimmeridge to Worth Matravers