April 10, 1988: Croyde to Barnstaple
Looking back at Croyde from Lobb Hill
Because I had not had such a good night I was a bit groggy when I woke up at seven on the morning of Sunday, April 10, but I was immensely cheered by the glow of sunshine and the sight of clear skies as I peeked through the lace curtains into the Cath’s backyard. Here the magpie was still trying to steal the rabbit’s food. I got dressed slowly and did my packing and at 8:30 I followed Harold down to breakfast. The knee had not stiffened up at all.
Harold spilled coffee on the tablecloth this morning. “You should add a laundry bill to my charge,” he suggested to Brian – but the latter wouldn’t hear of it. I brought my OS map down to breakfast so I could check out a few things with Brian over the muesli and the full English breakfast. We had paid up and were ready to go at about 9:30. Brian then drove us through Willingcott and Georgeham to Croyde. There were quite a few Sunday drivers about and one made a dangerous quick left turn in front of us.
It was nice to return to Croyde, which is quite a charming village; we sighted the Kittiwell Hotel but I was just as glad that we were not staying in such forbiddingly posh surroundings again. Having repaired the missing link in our walk with yesterday’s passage from Hunter’s Inn to Combe Martin we were now ready to continue where we had left off last August, completing the stretch to Barnstaple that we had abandoned at the news of the death of Harold’s brother. I had intended to follow roads for two and a half miles to Saunton, the official route, but Brian had suggested a much more interesting alternative over Lobb Hill, which would cut out road walking altogether, save over a mile, and give us some fine views. It meant climbing a hill but we were both game for this. Last summer I had used roads several times to cut out extra coastal walking at headlands and points. Now I would use an inland path to cut out a long stretch of road.
Brian gave us directions on how to get started at the foot of Watery Lane. We said goodbye and thanked him for all of his assistance. (Come back in two decades and you would find this efficient and knowledgeable host in the chair as head of the South West Way Association.)
It was a wonderful sunny day as we started our ascent, continuing to climb along tracks until there were turnoffs for Lobb Hill and Saunton. Part of the route up the hillside was in a kind of sunken lane, which was rather muddy. This got dryer as the path turned in a southeasterly direction to reach the crest of the hill. This was covered in thick grass and on this carpet we could behold the lunar landscape of the Braunton Burrows dunes stretching for miles to the south.
The primrose path to Saunton Court
There was a steep descent due south through fields full of cows and this brought us down to a track. Primroses were blossoming profusely here. We followed the track past elegant Saunton Court and out to the B3231. Instead of having to walk along this busy road we only had to cross it to be aligned with the coast path turn off. At the end of an alley a sign (warning us to beware of the bull) put us next to the local golf course and for the next mile or so we were never far away from putts and tee-shots. Fortunately there was a very good series of marking signs; there were so many paths running over the dunes that it would have been difficult to orient ourselves without them.
At the entrance to Braunton Burrows
The Burrows provide an unusual terrain. What looks like a straight line on the map is, in fact, a series of undulating twists and turns over dunes, along hedgerows and under canopies of short trees. Much of the route was quite muddy. On our right a Ministry of Defense range on high dunes replaced the golf course (all the MOD incoms). Nevertheless we had an easy time negotiating the bird-filled wilderness, emerging at last at a public parking area where everyone seemed to have arrived to exercise a dog. Here we had a rest while one driver impatiently waited for black Eddie to get back in the car.
It was 11:30 and we had a decision to make. If we continued in a southerly line we could reach the Taw itself before doubling back along the little River Caen. This would mean a huge dog-leg and a time-consuming march that would almost certainly mean the end to noontime pub hopes. Harold was strongly in favor of another pub-seeking alternative I had worked out – a route along back roads to Velator on the Caen. After a rest we decided to take this option, heading north and then east along little-traveled byways on the edge of Braunton Great Field.
The route proved to be quite interesting itself, a nice alternative to more Burrow walking. We had warm spring sunlight, distant views of the hills on our left and along the roadways many swan-filled canals and antique thatched buildings. We headed north along the embankment of the Caen, pausing to be interviewed by an elderly couple on our progress. Our road led us out to our first junction with the cinder track of the old railway – now used exclusively for walkers and cyclists and permitting the Coast Path to make its way from Velator to Barnstaple. Instead of getting on it immediately we continued walking into Wrafton (which I wanted so much to stand for the Women’s Royal Air Force Town) on back roads because here, just across the busy A361 was the Williams Arms pub recommended by Brian. It was just before 1:00.
We sat at an outdoor table, initially chilly in a strong breeze, and drank our pints. Each of us ordered a sandwich and shared a plate of chips. Families with kids and young couples out for a Sunday date were all enjoying themselves nearby. We felt rather lazy – knowing that we had only a dead level stretch of four or so more miles to go.
Shortly before 2:00 we made our final visits to the loo and I lead us on another back street stroll to a junction with the Coast Path. We turned southeast and followed the cinder track for two hours, pausing frequently to rest our overheated feet (I ended up with a small blister on one toe). The route was crowded with Sunday strollers of all ages and bicyclists enjoying a rare respite from automobile traffic. (Signs warned cyclists that walkers had precedence, but it was always the walkers who had to get out of the way.) A pair of old women with German accents walked in front of us. We decided they were spies because we were now on the edges of the RAF base at Chivenor. Sure enough, as we approached one of the runways, a group of men had gathered to launch a new plane, which was soon buzzing us – Britain’s answer to the spy in the sky satellite… a model airplane!
We continued past barracks, even the medical and dental departments (I wanted to know if Coast Path walkers could present their blisters). Signs invited passersby to look at but not enter the area. Yellow rescue helicopters were parked on some of the runways. It took us quite a while to clear the base and opposite Heanton Court I found an old pier on which we sat for our first uninterrupted view up the Taw Estuary. I got out the OS map and identified places we would be visiting both today and tomorrow. After a rest and a snack we continued on the track, slowly approaching the industrial backyard of Barnstaple. Curiously I found this dead level stretch more troublesome for my knee than anything so far. It didn’t hurt but it had a way of suddenly ceasing to support my body – so that I would give a crazy lurch forward before righting myself with the support of my stick. There were dozens of dogs about, running after cycles, jumping into ponds and the river, having a wonderful time.
It was about 4:00 when we reached Pottington. Here we turned off to walk behind the grounds of Barnstaple football grounds and via a suburban backstreet out to the main A 361 road. Harold asked a local for directions to the Barnstaple Motel, where he had booked our rooms for the night. We were told to head back in the direction we had just come for several long blocks along the Braunton Road; here we sighted the huge complex of the motel and leisure center (and Crossroads just finished!) and headed in to reception. It was 4:30. Harold accompanied me to my room, apologizing for having found a place so far from town center but I told him that it only seemed far to our tired feet and that tomorrow we would be downtown in no time. I surveyed my en suite bathroom and color telly – “I think we will be very comfortable here,” I assured him.
We agreed to meet at 6:30. In the intervening time each of us had a bath and a little snooze. I called Dorothy on my room phone. When Harold and I met we had a look around the motel, regretting – when we entered the indoor swimming pool room – that we had not brought our suits. The bar wasn’t open until seven, so we returned to Harold’s room for fifteen minutes, then went down to have a look at the fancy restaurant menu before deciding to forego the Steak Diane for simpler pub grub.
It was fun watching the locals and hotel guests come and go and the one-man operation of bartender Steve – who seemed to be expertly on top of every situation. I tried to give everyone I saw an equivalent Crossroads characterization. When it was time for us to order we chose the soup of the day, a delicious homemade tomato. Harold had lasagna while I had scampi and chips. It was all very good. Harold spilled some of the lager on his way back to our table. He had some ice cream made with Devon clotted cream, but I was stuffed.
We were in the pub for almost two hours but at 9:00 it was time to go upstairs to see a play about juvenile diabetes on the telly. I tried to watch a little of Hot Metal but I was too drowsy. For some reason the door to the outside balcony wouldn’t close but I put a chair in front of it and prepared for bed, reading a little more Sacks and hitting my own at about 10:30.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:
Day 8: Barnstaple to Instow