13. Picture perfect.

The light filtered through my closed eye lids, a new day had dawned.
For a while my eyes remained closed, while other senses woke to all the other noises around me. The dawn chorus of birds feeding and chattering in their own little chirpy manner. The breeze that gently rocked together the bare branches of the trees and bushes around me.Whilst down on the distant shore, the tide rolled and crashed the sea onto the pebbled shore.

Even with my eye's tightly shut, i knew where i was.
With the firm wooden bench beneath me, a stone wall against my right side. The view to my right was unknown, for i had not seen the garden in it's day lit glory.
All that i knew was the slope dropping away before me and the memorial cross situated somewhere near the centre of the garden. I had passed it last night, vaguely recalling going down some steps to my shelter.


A sudden urgency to open my eye lids forced their muscles to react.
The filtered light was now direct, therefore making me blink as my pupils dilated and the eyes began to focus.
I was now looking straight up at the roof of the shelter, the air was still cool. From the warmth of my sleeping bag, i turned to my side to look out over the sea towards the light.
The sun had just popped out from the liquid horizon and had began it's arcing journey, up and over the far headland. A land I'd once trodden and one that i now felt so far away from.
I fired off a dozen or so sunrise photo's from my bed, not wanting to move into the fresh morning air. I knew it was still fairly early.
When i reviewed the photo's that I'd just taken i made a note of the time. 6:55am, the date was 11/04/2010.
That's over a week now I've been away. Yet on the distant horizon, i could just make out Exmoor. A place i had got to on just the second day.
So many days of walking and such little progress i thought. Then i reminded myself of the day lost resting yesterday.
Also the walk from Braunton to Appledore was a whole days walk, yet only a mile or less apart as the crow flies. Or in a straight line if you're never seen and crow fly in such a direct way, as to understand the meaning of the phrase.
As i reminisced over the past days progress, i remembered the kindness i had already found.
Closing my eyes i dozed off again with content, happy thoughts.


Footsteps and a dog panting woke me once more, a child's laughter somewhere in the garden, talking, faint conversations. I really should get up now.
The air was warmer now with the sun higher in the sky. It must of charged my body with energy, i sat up quickly. I was keen to dress, pack and get going.
An adventure awaited me. The early morning glow had gone, revealing a glorious sun shinny day, with only just a few clouds drifting in the breeze. It would be a good day! I said to myself.


Packed and dressed, i left Clovelly with a smile on my face and a spring in my footstep/limp.
My healing foot was tender, but nothing as bad as it had been a day or so ago.


Rejoining the path i had walked along in the dark, a couple nights ago. And skirting the grassy park land of Clovelly Court. I noticed wooden fences built up around the base of trees, both young and old.
The fences were there to protect the trees from grazing deer.
I'd not seen deer since being on the quantocks. On the day i left those hills, for the first time ever it felt. I did not see even one.


To the South of the cliff side walk, was a very slightly rolling landscape. The 19th century parkland had many grand Oak trees naked in their leafless state.
A large but lone Scots pine, stood tall and proud in the centre of the parkland. By the side of it lay another, this one dead. It's bark less white trunk shining bright in the sun.
All seemed quiet right now, other than bird song and noises from the wind. With the only movement being that of the trees and from the drifting clouds. It was so calming.


A flash of movement suddenly caught my eye. The first thing i noticed was the distinctive white rump.
A Roe deer had jumped the fence in front of me and immediately took fright to bounce off past me.
I was looking elsewhere as it flashed across my line of sight. Stopping just briefly to check me out from a safe distance. And in doing so revealed to me it's dark moustached muzzle and almost white chin. Finally my deer were ready to see me.
I felt this significant to how i was feeling.
When i left the Quantocks and saw no deer, i felt they too, could feel my sadness.
It was like they didn't want to see me so unhappy, therefore hid from me.
Or was it they were sad to know i was leaving them. Did they blame themselves? Perhaps they thought i didn't love them no more.


It may seem odd for you to think of wild animals as loved ones. In the way you love them as if they were family or friends.
But for me they were my friends.
I would track them, find them and watch them undisturbed. Even talk to them. They wouldn't judge me, talk back, advise or criticise me. Unlike the way i felt people did.


This fleeting encounter with the Roe deer, although very brief, made me think back to the times spent on the hills with my friends, 'The Quantock
I tried to untangle the thoughts of why they didn't let me see them.
During that happy moment up there on the cliffs of North Devon, i realised it wasn't because they  didn't want to say goodbye to me. It was that they didn't want me to depend on them solely for support.
I needed more than they could provide me.


As i walked on with the crazy thoughts of animal friendships, i came across a shelter.
A central wooden pillar rose out from the middle of a four sided bench.
From the pillar, four carved wooden wings reached out to the corners of the roof. They were supporting the fascia's that were carved with that of an angels head and wings. They held the frame of the roof.
The underside of the roof was cloaked in closed boarding forming a sort of arched ceiling. This had a lattice of timbers, which resembled ribs spreading out from a spine.
These were shaped and sanded smooth.
The ceiling was clearly a modern improvement.
Above it, the shingled roof curved up on all four sides and was sealed with a lead covering. Standing on the centre point was a large sandstone ball almost half a metre across.
The effort in the build and design was lovely. Built by Sir James. Hamlyn Williams of Clovelly Court in 1826. All the carvings were done by the former butler of the same place.

I spent a while here looking at the design and the more recent etchings by visitors. Their names and remarks scratched into the soft closed board ceiling.
Emily, Nick and Rosie. 14-9-04.
CA 4 Amy in a heart and arrow.
Nath and Ruth Forever.


I had a path to follow and people perhaps to meet to help. Not knowing where they were, just knowing they were somewhere west. All i had to do was find them.
Back through the woods i walked through the night before. Past where i saw the rabbits,then out into the clearing of mouth mill.

Back down onto the beach, i was once again by the big rock formation of Blackchurch rock.
With the sun,  now on the opposite side of the rock and the sky mixture of blue and wispy white cloud. It was the perfect light for some camera work.
Whilst i was down there the loving couple came down to the beach, hand in hand.

Unlike last night, when i looked at them in envy. I now felt contentment with my being alone. I had time to enjoy the scenery, never did it dwell on my mind to want someone to share it all with someone else.

The couple didn't hang about on the beach for long, they themselves took a photo of themselves near the rock, then ascended up a path back onto the cliff top.
I continued looking at ways to capture the raw beauty of the rocks here. Mostly though i focused of the blackchurch Rock and the clouds above.
By now on my journey, i was becoming ever more conscious of the time. Often checking the time on the camera.
It was 12:30 when i left mouth mill beach.
Although i wasn't really rushing to have to be anywhere at a certain time. I was however keen to make progress, along this very long pathway.


I climbed up through a wood and back up on to the cliff top.
Once up there i looked back down to the beach at the rocks I'd been taking pictures of.
The trail i walked down to the beach, was a small pencil line running through the wooded hill side.
Up high in those woods, i could see the wilderness summerhouse.
I did not see it before whilst up there. But through research i found out that it was created in  the early 1900's, by Diana Hamlyn, who was the Daughter of the Angel winged shelter's builder. Sir James Hamlyn.
From it's vantage point Diana, and now more recent visitors,who are mostly wedding guests. There they are rewarded views across to the west.Which i can see would be a wonderful place to witness and share a summer sunset from.


Leaving the views to the east behind, i travel along to my unknown destination.
All the walking now is on the cliff top and upon grass. Hill ponies graze up here, they share only a glance at me as pass them by.

The couple i'd seen on the beach and the evening before must of only been walking at a very relaxed pace, as i caught them up at a stile.
We walked together chatting. They had recognised me from the night before and were intrigued to hear what i was trying to do.

Oskar and Indi were on a few days break away from their lives as Dentists. They were up from a South Devon town. He was Polish, she was french.
I didn't want to join them, they were obviously enjoying time together. To impose wouldn't be a fair thing to do.
They stopped to take a photograph, so i chose that moment to walk on alone.
I told them it as lovely to meet them,  they echoed my sentiment and wished me good luck.


A radar station was ahead of me.
It's sensing tower stood out like a giant button mushroom from the ground.
To my right, shipload bay lies at the foot of the cliff. It seems inaccessible from up here as does many of the coves along this coast.
As i walked on, i wondered whether German U-boat men came ashore here, in search of water.
The radar station was only placed here during the 1980's, as an early warning listening device. It would not of heard the silent submersible traffic from 40 years previous.
A fence guided me around the giant nosey fungus then towards the headland of Hartland point.

I'm now at the end of the Bristol channel. The Atlantic ocean will be by my side for the next few weeks at least.

When i reached the Hartland point car park, a road led down to the light house hidden from view around the headland.
A warning sign and high fence suggested i should not walk down to the light house.
I was wanting to see it, wanting to stand on the edge of the rocky headland and see the line where the Bristol channel meets the Atlantic.

My only option was to leave the main path and clamber up to where i guessed a pathway out across the jutting out cliff edge would be.
A poor quality path stopped at the foot of a scree slope. A path i guessed would be above me, just 8 feet above.
I needed both hands, so swung the camera strap around my shoulder and threw my umbrella up onto what i believed to be a level area above.
The wind was strong and blowing from the south east. As i threw the umbrella the wind caught it and blew it from sight.
I assessed the situation and knew if my footing was lost on the loose scree, I'd slip back to the narrow and vague path i was standing on. Beyond that was a sheer fall of maybe 50feet(I've used metric terms up till now, change is good).

Pulling up on the straps of my awkward pack to get it comfortable and maximise movement from my shoulders, i placed a foot on the slope and felt the rocky side for hand holds.
Being aware that the loose material i had my boot on was made of the same stuff that i was depending on for the grip of my hands.
I should neither rush or hesitate.
The less time i put pressure on either hands or feet, the less time they had to give way and cause me to slide.
Once i was confident in both area's of grip, I made my move. In one fluid motion i pushed down on my foot, whilst pulling down on the vague grip i had on the crumbing rock above me.
Once my weight was on both placed feet,  i then needed to quickly transfer my hands up on to the top level. Then in a motion like that of a press up, but from a standing position, i  pushed myself up and rested my knees aside my hands.
I breathed a sigh of relief.

When i think back to it.  Was it really that dangerous?
Probably not. I think my risk assessment skills were altered. Changing priorities around.
Almost two weeks ago, i had had nearly taken my own life. Yet here i was now, striving to not harm myself physically. Whilst at the same time putting myself through differing levels of fatigue, based on not eating enough.
Of course in time, this will mean I'm exposing myself to danger due to lack of concentration. I was not thinking ahead to much. All i needed to do was to reach the next day and more importantly want to.


From the top i stood and realised i was in fact on a narrow ridge.
I looked to where my umbrella had landed and felt fortunate to not of lost it to the ragged shore below. Directly in front of me was an almost vertical drop right down the sea level. More than 300ft down.
The brolly was now a part of my kit. I now felt it was a vital piece, one that i needed.
It was certainly getting used. From the very first day i learnt that wind would be one of my worse enemies during the night.

The ridge i stood on had a crumbling path that led out across the headland and to a much wider area of grass. The path was maybe 20ft long  and then it would be to safety.
I picked up the brolly and walked the eroding path like i was on a tight rope.
The wind was cutting across the back of me trying to blow me off course. Once again i feared the drop to my left.
Once on the other side, i stabbed the brolly into the soft grass to collect it later, in case i needed both my hands for climbing again.
That wasn't the case, only having to clamber down a  steep grassy slope to the bottom.
A group of four of five people were down there. A family from Germany i discovered when they requested  take a photograph of them with their camera.
They left, leaving me alone on to survey the world about me.
I took off my light weight coat as i was sheltered from the wind down there.
Below on a rocky ledge was the brilliant white lighthouse, i small one compared to others I've seen.

Given the history of the shipwrecking between here and Bude. I assumed a larger lighthouse would be in place.


Off the point lies the island of Lundy. I wished i had been able to visited it. It's home to sikka deer, seals and Puffin. Here at Hartland point,  a helicopter flight can be bought to fly out to Lundy. That's only possible during the summer, boats can also be chartered to sail there from Ilfracombe. One day perhaps but not during this trip.

I spent a while sat in the sun on the grass, snapping picture after picture of things around me. The views, plants with the deep pink flower buds waiting for time to show their unfolded beauty. I even spotted a tiny spider resting on a rock. Was it also just out enjoying the weather? Insects seem oblivious to the strains of life. They don't appear to complicate it like we do.

I walked to the furthest point i could. Stopping on the very edge of a steep and long drop, to the Atlantic Ocean. It's blue and calm filled my mind with thoughts of how small i am.
The sea had been a part of the journey everyday. Even as a child, i'd spend days sat in a small boat with my father. We would pull nets, use fishing rods to try a catch fish or just cruise along in the water, like a passenger of the sea.
Back then i'd always look at the sea as a vastness.  Thinking only really of the shores of wales.
I recall a time when my father would tell me if i looked carefully, i'd see Whales. Well that's what i thought he meant. It wasn't till i was in my teens that i worked out what he really meant. The same goes for the white horses he mentioned.
I smile as i think back to those innocent thoughts. Remembering all the times, that i stared out to sea, in search of galloping mares splashing through the waves.
He of course, did in fact mean the breaking waves themselves. They could i guess, appear to be white horses running through the murky blue.


Since those day's of wonder and confusion, i've grown older and i'd like to think wiser.
With that wisdom, i now know how large the oceans are and how much of the lush green planet, is in fact, just blue.
From here to the west is nothing but water for over three thousand miles. Looking over in that direction i try to picture the distant lands of Canada. Strain as i might, the curve of Earth and of course bad eyesight, means all i see is in fact, just the ocean.
To the left of west, i could look down along the land i would next walk by.


My eye's were drawn to the craggy shoreline awaiting me.  Between me and the not yet visible Bude, sixteen miles to the south west is 'wreckers coast'. Named after it's history for wrecking ships during the 18th and 19th century's.
Not only did the weather and rugged coast line play a part in the tragic lost of sea men along this stretch of rocky coast. Legends suggest that during stormy nights, local farmers, struggling in the poverish times, became 'Wreckers'. They'd carry false lights to the edge of the cliff to lure or confuse the storm ravage sailors to their deaths. The 'wreckers' could then salvage any goods and sell them on.
Over 200 vessels were lost either to the gales or wreckers during this period.
It was also here that many German U-boats were destroyed  during WW1. Over 200 more were sent to a watery grave between 1914 and 1918.  Sunk by the wolf pack a well proven tactic to take out U-boats en mass.


If man didn't take a vessel to it's doom, then nature certainly could. Just looking at the outstretched arms of rock, reaching out into the sea,  i could see it's savage hand lurking in the shallows, ready to pluck anything drifting near to it's fatal end.
Once again nature proving it's might. Little did i know, this was just a taster of what the south west coast line is like. Raw and unforgiving, yet stunning.


Just down on a barely accessible rocky beach was signs of a more recent wreck. The complete stern section of the cargo ship Johanna. It ran aground here on the very last day of December 1982.  It's remains now lying rusting, battered and ruined. Various other pieces of it strewn around it and further up the coastline. I wondered why no effort is made to collect and clear all this man made debris or litter as i see that it is.


Time it was i felt to move on, to get back on the path. I was hungry, i had to find food.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, i shuffled the load into position and set off back up the grassy slope, collected my brolly, crossed the balance beam of ground and carefully descended the loose scree slope down to safety. It was here i realised i'd left my coat behind.
The rucksack came off, that and the brolly was left, along with my camera, on a little safe grassy ledge by the side of the cliff. Once more i scaled the scree, walked the balance beam of loose rock and ascended down to my coat then ran back again.
A care free smile was on my face. This was after all really not a big deal in the grand scheme of what i was doing. In fact it was an adventure within an adventure.


Packing my coat, hauling on the pack and gathering up the rest of my things, of which you now know: my britvic brolly and camera. I set of along that path.
On the edge of the cliff i saw a stone with a plaque bonded to it. It read:
"In proud and grateful memory of those who gave their lives in the hospital ship, GLENART CASTLE. Please remember: Master Lt.CMDR Burt, Matron Katy Beaufoy, the shops officers, crew ad medical staff who died when their ship was torpedoed by UC56 in the early hours of 26th FEB 1918.
The ship lies 20 miles WNW from this stone.
For all those in peril on the sea.
R.I.P."

Only 38 of the 206 crew and medical staff survived the german U-boat attack. The ship was said to be clearly lit up and advertised as a hospital ship therefore being safe from attack.
However the torpedo was fired. In an attempt to cover up the act, the U-boat broke cover near the sinking ship and many people found alive and in the water were shot.

I took a moment by this memorial looking west north west in the direction of the wreck and i gave that moment, to the memory of those lost lives. Staring out to sea, imagining in the distance the old steam ship, sinking taking many lives with it. Such cruel times i thought to myself.

Leaving those thoughts behind me, i turned to see in the distance a familiar sight, two people hand in hand. Oskar and Indi again.
I'd not want to be rude and pass them again, nether could i just dawdle along at a slow pace so as not to catch them up.
Fortunately for me, this breath taking area was rewarding me with so much camera time. The sky was perfect as was the sheer texture and raw beauty of the rocks. Blue's grey, greens, flashes of yellow from the gorse flowers and if i looked closely at the ground,  the red buds of the early springtime flowers.
I was walking in one giant photograph. A panoramic spectacle of pure natural brilliance. An Eden, a paradise.


Most of the path was  well defined, either a dusty boot worn trail, snaking it's way through the cliff top moor. Or a narrow grassy trail often winding it's way down into the valleys, passing little waterfalls along the way.
From the high points along the route i could see the distant path climbing out of the next valley, then disappearing over the ridge of the next. It would then appear in the far distance as a tiny ribbon like line, making it's way up through the faint yellowness of gorse.

At a gap in the cliff top hedgerow, a couple stood hand in hand looking out to sea. I had caught up with Oskar and Indi. Even though i was very busy taking photographs, i was still clearly a quicker walker than them.  They turned as i approached, so we spoke some more. Indi immediately came to me and was rummaging in her bag. She was telling me that her and Oskar had been regretting not being able to help me in anyway. Taking out a few things and insisting i had them.
Apologising for not having anything more, she handed me a small pot of Marmalade, a single Weetabix  and an orange flavoured chocolate bar.
This may of not been much to them, but it was a relative feast to me  i thought as i loaded them into my pockets.
It would've been rude to of eaten them there and them like i was so very hungry. The fact that i was very hungry was now reminded to me by the sheer mention of and appearance of the food.

We walked together now for a while, all of us stopping quite often to take photographs of the scenery that surrounded us. This was usually prompted by me.

Above the village of Stoke stands a large grey stone tower, with it's giant archway  gaping like a massive yawning mouth. The rear wall appeared to have been removed, letting me see right through it from my cliff top location. Through this arch i could see the church of St Decans 128 metre tall tower. Despite being just over a mile from here, it had once been used as a day marker for ships.
The yawning archway framed it wonderfully, well at least in my mind it did. So out came the camera. Followed by that of my walking companions, them talking it in turns to be photographed in the archway. They offered to take one of me, but i declined as often i would along my journey.

It was by the tower that i let the happy couple walk on ahead. I was attracted back to the staggering beauty of the coastline here. Rows of rocky arms reaching out into the sea from the cliff face, Jagged layers of compressed history slowly eroding away into the sea.
A murmur down below as my stomach rumbled with dreams of food  not far from me i hoped.

I could see a small settlement not far ahead. My walking friends were gone from sight. The path met a road at Rocket cottage, where an acorn was engraved into a wooden post, below that an arrow pointing to the right was cut into the wood and painted green. Opposite was a large sign advertising Hartland Abbey.
As intrigued as i was to see it and it's grand gardens, well that's how the sign described it, i was needing food and could now not fight the hunger. Next to the sign for the Abbey was another sign pointing right, informing me of a hotel, restaurant and museum, amongst other things of interest to tourists.
Since i left Clovelly earlier today, all i'd managed to eat was a chocolate bar and a dry piece of breakfast cereal. I had picked and eaten several wild flowers if i saw them. Mostly Primroses, washed with my drinking water, fresh from one of the waterfalls that i came across during the day. They served to give the stomach something to do and to stop the aches of emptiness i had been feeling.

The path missed out the winding hair pinned road that led to the two car parks here. One at the top of the cliff, the other down by the hotel and other premises.
Making a bee line for the bar, once again saw Indi and Oskar, they had just come out carrying some drinks. I don't recall which one offered me a drink, though i graciously accepted and joined them, sheltering from the brisk wind behind a wall.
The sun was warm on our faces whilst we chatted some more, mostly about me. Unfortunately they couldn't hang around to talk for long. They needed to get  back to Hartland village, so needed to walk to Stoke and catch a bus from there.
Before farewells. Oskar went to his wallet and pulled out a business card. He asked me to contact him when i get to Torquay. As they would like to take me out for something to eat and to hear more about my travels. I agreed then shared a hug from Indi and hand shake from her man. That cut out the coldness from the cool spring easterly wind and then with a "Good Luck!" they were gone.


I sat in the glow of the afternoon sun and finished my drink and that of the remaining few swigs of pear cider that was left for me by Indi. How great it felt to relax with a fine sweet drink. It had been ages since i'd drank anything so cool and full of natural flavours. A taste of springtime..Though technically from Autumn fruits!
My stomach was brought into action and sent chemical signals to my brain. The internal wiring running throughout my body,  reminded me that i needed food.  And work for it i must.
The hotel reception was nearby and having looked at the general condition of the buildings i saw a variety of ways to offer to help. Painting, cleaning out guttering, sweeping litter, etc. With my mind charged with these offerings, i entered the reception and rung the bell.
I looked about the foyer area whilst waiting, flicking my fingers through a selection of tourist leaflets on display. Wildlife parks, gardens and other places to visit and things to do in North Devon. Amongst them was a basic map of the coast, so i took a copy and placed it in my pocket. They are free!

I heard the door open so prepared myself and my speech. My confidence was high as i had a great day so far. Lovely kind company, beautiful views all day and such superb weather.
A man entered the room and i asked him if it was at all possible to speak with the owner or manager. He told me he was the manager so i introduced myself and offered the him my hand, eye contact was made. Then calmly i explained what i was doing and that i wished to be able to earn a meal and if possible somewhere to rest for the evening.  He listened intently as i explained my situation and that i was willing to do several hours work, cleaning, painting, well anything really.
With a smile he told me that he couldn't offer me any jobs to do, but if i was to be hanging about, he would happily arrange a meal for me later when the kitchen opens.  He then invited me to hang around and use the bar area to rest up and charge my camera battery if i needed to. "It should be a great atmosphere down here tonight." He told me, then continuing on. " The locals from up the village usually come in on a Sunday night."
I expressed my thanks and told him that i'd find a way to repay his kind offer. There was a few bits of litter lying about, not much, just little salt and pepper sachets, stray food wrappers. That sort of thing. Insisting that i didn't need to,  he soon realised that i would anyway so thanked me and said he'd see me later.


Relieved to know i was going to get fed. I took off my bag and rested it with my brolly against the side of the hotel and set about having a little tidy up. There really wasn't much to do, the garden area was tidy. It was just under the outdoor tables and chairs where a little litter lay. Blown from the tables, not discarded in a thoughtless manner by the customers.
I collected a few empty glasses, gathered crisp and peanut wrappers. Some of which had been folded up and then wedged into the narrow gaps in the table and took them all to the bar. The barman thanked me as i explained that not only was it a pet hate of mine to leave glasses and litter about for someone else to clear, i told him of the managers kind offer and that i needed to in some way help out in exchange.
The barman had noticed my bag and told me to bring it in and to put it somewhere safe. He pointed to one of the long church pew like chairs either side of a table.
Thanking him, i did as he suggested.  Near the table was a socket to charge my AA's.


It really was a fantastic day, even my aching body had not complained at all. The rest i had at Clovelly must of done me alot of good. Whilst indoors i wandered about the bar area looking at the various pictures and fish hung about in the walls. Most of the pictures were of ship wrecks, with an associated write up about them There was also a chart mapping all the wrecks along the 'wreckers coast'.
The fish i mentioned, were in fact carved out of wood at least i think they were. Surprisingly detailed  they were too. All the gill flaps, eyes, fins and distinctive colourings were all in place. They were also labelled for the non knowing visitors. Bass, Cod, Thornback ray, Brill, Sardines and Conger to name a few. There was even a label next to a clock. Amusingly titled, 'Clock'.
At the far end of the room taking pride of place over an opening to the next room, was a fish model over a metre long. A Porbeagle Shark.
If i've not already mentioned, my self named nickname is 'Sharki'. Chosen because of my fascination of Sharks. Since i was a child and caught my first little dogfish, i was drawn to these gilled little monsters of the deep. Then after watching the film Jaws, from the safety that was behind a cushion(just how that was going to save me.?.) my fascination grew so i began collection books and magazine articles about them.
Even to this day i watch and learn more about them, wishing someday to swim with them. Not just the placid ones, the ones portrayed as monsters Carcharodon carcharias, the Great White.

The porbeagle hung on the wall is a close relative to the Great White shark, it belongs to the same family. However by comparison this is but a tiddler to use a fisherman's term.
From where i stood looking at a model shark, the sun bursts through the window lighting the room. I'm drawn by it and walk outside once more with the camera. I wander about taking photo's of sea  and the land around it. Most of the people that had been mulling about had left and all seemed to be getting quite. The last few empties i returned to the bar and sat down to write and review all the photo's i'd taken through the day. There was lots of them and i became immersed in checking them all and deleting all the bad ones. Time ticked slowly away.


Customers began arriving including  three men. I remembered seeing them in Clovelly, both in the village and in the Red lion. I chatted to them for a while, mostly about our shared experience of the coast path. They'd come over from Belgium just for a long weekends walking. They bought me a pint as their meal arrived, so i thanked them and left them to eat in peace.


I didn't make it back to my seat. People had been filing in and somehow i ended up talking to many of them. From local farmers, coast guards to tourists. A good mix and i seemed to not to have to talk about myself to much. I just blended in and joined in with the banter as i drank.

I'd forgotten about food, distracted by conversation and laughter. That was right until the managers wife came over and asked if i'd eaten yet.
"No." I told her, adding. "I didn't want to appear rude and to put in an order given my situation."  " Don't be so silly. Would Pasty and chips be ok?" she replied.
This was at about 7:30pm, i knew it was time for the sun to set. I grabbed the camera and rushed out,  just to late, missing it's descent below the horizon. I managed a few photo's of the pinking skyline, returning to my table just as a plate of food was served to me.

I ate greedily unlike my last proper meal back at the tea room on up-a-long, down-a-long.
Pasty and chips was a simple dish, but it was food and certainly not unpleasant food. I cleared the plate by mopping up a smear of tomato sauce with a last chip and placed the knife and fork together on top, then pushed at all to one side, fed and satisfied.


My journal was on the table with the pen. Opening  the book, i placed the black nib of the pen on the line at the end of my last entry.  Staring at the page i wished the words to form. And then i began to write. "I slept well, being rewarded with a stunning sunrise sky scape....." The words flowed for a while,  the noise of a busy pub around me faded as i became absorbed in writing.
Gone was the loneliness and tiredness, i felt good. I'd eaten and found somewhere to chill for the evening. Shelter for the night didn't even cross my mind. I'd soon learn to be a little more proactive with my search for places to bed down.

More glasses appeared abandoned on empty tables, annoying me a little as the users needed to go near the bar to either leave the premises or to order the next drinks. It's really not to difficult, to take a couple of empty glasses with you. I shouldn't complain though. Collecting these glasses meant i could help, even if it's just in a small way.


Sat on her a own, a lady drank from a half pint glass. I'd seen her also at the Hotel in Clovelly. She was on her own there too and  had with her a small rucksack. She was reading a book of sorts.
A rather plain looking lady, dressed in ordinary outdoor clothes. Mousy unkept hair and characterless glasses gave me the impression that she was perhaps a school teacher or librarian. If such a stereotypical appearance of either profession was appropriate.
The lady looked up and recognised me from Clovelly. She too was spending a few days walking the coast path, though by her own admittance hadn't been covering nearly as many daily miles i had been. She came across alot differently as her appearance suggested she would. I thought she'd be shy, quiet and dare i say it boring. Where in fact she was confident and amusing.
We talked about the coast path together whilst she finished her drink and packed her book into her bag. She was staying in the hotel and was about to leave to her room. I left her to it and wished her a pleasant nights sleep. She had finished her trip and was heading back to her home in the morning.
As she left, i looked up at the wall next to the shark. There was a collection of photo's of racing cars and bikes. Of course! This was the location of one of the southwest hill climbs. There amongst the photo's were two images of people i knew. Richard and Leslie. Ex work colleagues of mine from a few years back. I remembered them telling me many a tale of their racing experiences here at Hartland, not to mention the nights of drinking here in the bar. The race was only half a mile long, from the lower car park to the upper car park. And having now seen the road, it's funny to imagine just how short a distance it was, to have so many thrills and spills whilst trying to get a motorbike up the hill, in the fastest time.

Returning the empty drinks glasses to the bar, i thanked the manager and his wife for their kindness and  joined them for a moments conversation. Talking firstly about the hillclimbs and then as usual about my journey, where i was heading, why and for how long. All things i really wasn't sure of the real answers to.

I knew i was heading around the coast, but for how far i really wasn't sure..I mean what happens after Poole? And then the question of why. Was i running away from life, me, the past, the future? I told them about my depression but was that the real answer to why i was on this journey? I think so, but maybe not.. Then there's how long will it take.
Not knowing where and why, the journey may take longer than forever, or it may end tomorrow if i weaken or hurt myself.

Having these questions asked to me was a good thing. It gave me a chance to question myself, my own thoughts and feelings. And in doing so, i got to evaluate my state of mind. I was noticing the more people i spoke too about it and the further away i was, from the place i once called home. I'd open up more and give more detail. Before i was less revealing, just saying i was depressed and on a journey of self discovery. Often people would fill in the blanks for me and come up with their own theory's on why i was doing, what i was.


As the time passed, so did all the customers. It had been quite a day, my best yet. Everything just flowed into a pleasurable days adventure. It was getting late and i began to wonder where i was going to stay for the night. No options were offered to me during the evening in the hotel, so it was down to me to improvise and find somewhere. I collected all my things and thanked for a final time, all the staff that made me welcome. One last look around at the pictures, paintings and the shark, then i left into a cool dark night.

Opposite the hotel was a terrace of buildings. A cottage, a shop and the museum. Nothing really stood out as good shelter and i knew there wasn't anything else about for a mile or so.
At the end of the terrace by the car park was a shed, it's door slightly ajar. Hope entered my mind for a comfortable nights sleep after a very enjoyable and fortunate day. I checked behind me and saw no one around, so flicked on my torch and shone it through the crack in the door. Crates of empty bottles and beer barrels stood in one corner, cardboard boxes from food packaging scattered across the floor to the side. The stink of stale beer, wine and juices, filled the air from within the shed. The expression my face naturally took on, wasn't one i wished to wear all night. So i walked away fearing the worse. That tonight after my finest day, i would be in the wind during a cold starry night.


I decided to have one last look down the far end of the terrace and perhaps be able to head down to the Quay. Maybe there's building down there.
On the left of me as i passed  the first section of building, a set of stairs went up to a little square patch of concrete. A rear entrance to the museum. I walked up there and noticed the doorway had not been used in a long time. This little area appeared to be a sheltered smoking room. Luckily it didn't smell that way.
The floor was easily 6 foot long and at least 5 foot wide.
Perfect, my choice was made, this would be my shelter for the night.
Three chairs were in this little shelter so i positioned them on the top step so they formed a bit of a wind block. I then got my brolly and opened it fully. It was the same diameter as the width of the stairway, even better i thought. And added that to the chairs.
All my bedding was laid out in an order i had perfected, i stripped off and slid into the cold sleeping bag. Within seconds the heat from my body radiated off the lining making the sleeping bag warm against my bare skin.
I read the book for a while as it was proving to be a great way of sending me to sleep. Images of nanobots and electronic gizmo's drifted through my mind,  my brain trying to recreate the novel in my head. Yet again my eyelids grew heavy, they closed and my headed nodded me awake again. After several attempts to stay awake and find once more where i read up to, i gave in, turned off and removed my head torch to settle down for the night.
The last thing i remember hearing,was the voices of staff leaving and the starting of cars, then all was dark and very shortly my mind was thoughtless and i was asleep.

12. Laundry and rest day.

Cold, it's just so cold.


The squawking of the local gulls, didn't need to wake me to tell me it was dawn.
I'd noticed the light grow outside my time worn grotto. I'd been so uncomfortable all night, learning an invaluable lesson.
That was to avoid sleeping on rocks at ground level. As not only does cold air find the lowest point, rocks hold the cold very well.
This little eroded cavern was North facing, therefore receiving very light from the sun to warm it.
I could of course put on an extra layer, to try to warm me.
However, that inner desire to maintain a level of suffering seemed to be controlling the common sense thoughts i'd normally use at times like these.
I'd drift in and out of sleep as i had done all night. Grabbing maybe minutes of rest at a time.
Only once that i could see the sunlight cast a warm glow upon the beach not far from me, and hear the sounds of people over near the harbour walls, did i decide to get up.


Un zipping myself from my sleeping bag the cold air sent a chill across my bare legs and arms.
I quickly pulled on my shorts  and socks then stepped out into the morning sun.
It had risen out from behind the shelter of the eastern hill and was already up to a pleasant temperature. I must get a photo of my evenings dwellings, before i gathered all my things and took them out into the warmth to fully dress and pack up my things.

With no offers made to me, to help anyone here, the local shop would supply me with food for the day,  I still had money left from the kind couple at westward Ho! the night before.

It's was around 9am that i headed back up, 'up-a-long' and to the little local store, which is in fact, the only shop for groceries and and household goods here in the village.
Once again i had to be conservative. Which isn't easy in these isolated village shops, where the prices were naturally higher than the large super markets able to charge less.

A banana, a loaf of bread, butter, cheese and crackers. Some Pate, and a note pad and pen.
Up till now my journal was scattered thoughts, but i was gradually becoming more detailed in my writings, therefore the original pad i was using was filling up fast.

For the next hour or so, i wandered the various lanes peeling off the main street. All the properties were maintained to a high standard and most if not all had window boxes and hanging baskets adorned with flowers. Their colours vibrant against the white washed walled cottages.

Clovelly has been privately owned by the same family since 1738, the present owner is The Hon. John Rous.
Before the present family, only three other families have owned the village. Unlike alot of the privately owned properties across the country and undoubtedly other countries, no expense is spared in keeping Clovelly immaculate.

In all my years in the construction industry, i know only to well how quickly buildings deteriorate over time. Especially old stone build ones like these.

I walked back down the street as i had domestic duties to take care of. I'd not washed myself or my clothes in days.
I wasn't such a priority, but my underwear i felt was. Especially after the blister had popped on my foot.
My feet were now one of the most important tools to me.  Those at least needed to work, if i was to complete this journey without too much suffering.

Yesterday whilst sat on the harbour breakwater, i'd seen a waterfall of reasonable size on the far beach. This would be an ideal laundry and wash area.

It was now late enough in the morning that most of the tourists were up and about. Many of which were down on the pebbled beach with children, exploring the rocks, investigating the cliffs and having photo's taken by the waterfall.
It would be very inappropriate now to shower here. I could of course worn underwear to not expose myself, but logical thought wasn't present, so i made the choice to just hand wash my face, hands and body. Then to cleanse and bathe my feet.

The water was filtering through the pebbles and running out to sea. I needed a free flowing sink of sorts, so proceeded to fashion a basin by removing pebbles and building a dam.
Once i was happy i began to scrub and beat my clothing. I'd knead it against itself, rub it and bash it against the rocks near to wear i sat.
People were watching, a few asked questions.

Once sufficiently beaten and rinsed out, though i had no soap to use. I propped  my umbrella up with a pile of pebbles and used it to rinse my clothes.

One trick, that i learnt whilst in the army cadets as a young teenager, was to wrap the material that needed to be rinsed, around a fixed object and tightly twist it.
At that time is was a tap. Now my brolly served me well.  Forcing most the water out of the clothes i'd washed.

When i draped my clothes about me in the warm sunlight, children pointed and laughed at my undies on show. I asked them if they were wondering why i was doing this here and not using a washing machine.
They nodded whilst still giggling, so i proceeded to explain that i had no such thing, so made use much the same way, as we all had to many years ago.

I told them, that years ago it would of been common to go down to the local stream or river and scrub clothes on a flat rock. Then rinse in the flowing water, then rinse and dry. Much the same as i've just done.
I explained that we hadn't always had electricity and all the things they took for granted in their modern lives, did not exist in the way they do now.
That followed by asking them to think about all the things they have that run with electricity, and how they'd do things without it.

With the children musing on what the old days must of been like, their parents who had been listening in, proceeded to tell them the stories that their parents and grandparents had shared with them, when they were
children.

As they shared tales and got the children thinking more, i took out my blanket and wrapped it around my waist. Then i began to wash myself.
No sponges or flannels for me, not even soap. Just good old fresh water, filtered through the earth and rock.
I scooped up hand fulls of water and poured it over my head, face then arms.
With bare hands i rubbed the water into my skin trying to cleanse as much of me as i could.
Massaging my feet and letting them sit in the cold running water.  I got more hand fulls of water and once more washed myself down. The excess water ran onto the blanket saving me from sitting around in wet clothes for the day.

As i washed, i drank the water too. It was as fresh as it could be. Complete with germs perhaps, giving something for my antibodies to do.

My skin felt refreshed and alive again, It tingled in the warm sun whilst my feet tingled in the cold water.
I basked there, soaking my feet for some while, with my skin and clothes drying.

Eventually as more people appeared by the waterfall, i was in the way of their moment with a camera. So i got up, gathered my things and moved away from their shot.

I put on a T-shirt, dried my feet with the blanket and packed my bag again leaving fresh socks out.
Once packed, i wedged my damp clothes and blanket, behind the strapping on my bag. I filled my water bottles with water from the fall, then put on the socks and boots and headed yet again onto the breakwater.

A found an area void of too many people, quite close to the lobster pots. There i draped my wet things over them to dry and air.
Taking off my boots and socks once more to let the air get to the wounds, it was now time to eat, i was certainly peckish by now.

I last ate when i first came to the village twenty four hours ago. My stomach was shrinking and i wasn't getting hungry so quickly, either that or i was being able to block out the hunger pains easier.

Today was all about recovery and relaxation.
With domestic duties taken care of. I was now free to please myself and laze the day away. Eating, writing, watching and perhaps even sleeping. Something i was unable to achieve much of, during the night.

Hmm! what to eat? I thought, there's so much choice.
Bread and pate to start with i think.

Using the little serrated knife on my multi tool, i carved off several slices. A 60mm bread knife doesn't quite cut through the thickness.
I found the best way, was to cut to the depth of the blade and work around the loaf.  Then peal back the slice and cut through the remaining  piece of bread in the middle.
Using the same blade, i spread soft butter across the bread, applying a layer of liver pate to finish with.
Doing this to all three slices then sitting back to eat and enjoy.
My appetite and taste buds came alive so i cut more bread and buttered them, this time i cut cheese and ate that with the bread.
Unlike yesterday when i ate slowly, today i ate quickly and soon the whole loaf and tub of pate was used up.

As i was eating, i was able to watch the village come alive even more as people came out from the various properties and hidden corridors spurring off from 'up-a-long' 'down-a-long'.

Couples old and young walked hand in hand smiling, kissing, sharing and experiencing thing together.
They excitedly pointed at the many wonderful sights around the harbour. I watched with envious eyes, as i'd not done anything like that with anyone in what felt like ages.


Over the past four or five years i'd spent so much time riding and becoming obsessed with cycling, i'd become uninteresting to most people, certainly those of the opposite sex.

Also whilst suffering from the various symptoms of depression, i'd turned into quite a bore as well as a loner. Although on the outside people saw me as a happy sociable person, deep down i was losing confidence, forgetting how to be me, the joker.

I had various chances of relationships after my marriage breakup, but it was always my lack of self esteem that would get in the way and effect the potential for me to be happy once more, in being with someone.

Believing i had been cheated on several times whilst being married, also played apart in my failings with love. Trust became a hard thing to do.
I saw myself with so many faults, that i believed if i got close to anyone, they would soon want to be with another. Someone better looking, more successful and with a home.

I'd found love a couple of years ago. However i expressed it to soon and scared her away.
She was everything i dreamt of in a woman, only bad timing and me not being the right man for her, got in the way.
When she told me it wouldn't work out, i was mortified and felt i'd lost everything i needed.

I then just drifted back into the old me, one of gaining confidence by using and being used by women. If i had one thing that women liked in a man, then it was energy and experience.
Riding bikes a lot with the occasional 24hr race meant i had a good engine and a healthy body.
It was fun at first, but unlike when i was in my twenties, i now had morals and emotions. Now it was wrong and not boosting my confidence.
I didn't need the confidence to approach ladies, they'd approach me, that falsely made me confident. Though that's the way it's always been, well once i lost my late teen acne and women suddenly noticed me that is.

I cannot remember ever chatting up a lady. When i was younger and apparently arrogant it would just happen. I'd end up with a girl at the end of the night. It was like i was the latest must have toy.

Once i had put myself into a situation to settle down, i stopped going out so much, therefore stopped interacting with ladies.
After the years of marriage i'd felt i just suffered. All those years of  being belittled, i was now a shadow of my former self.

It wasn't just my low self esteem that affected me after i split with the wife.
Gone too was the physic that aided the confidence.

Depression meant i'd stop working so hard and with all the cycling, although i had developed a stronger heart and lungs. I was reducing the bulk of muscle i had. Therefore the Physic i believed ladies like me with.

A bad diet meant i'd been devouring myself.
I'd barely eat and certainly not the right things for what i was putting my body through.
I was burning more calories than i was eating. That meant the body searched within itself. I had little or no body fat, so that meant muscle would be used.

I was tearing ligaments, breaking bones and damaging the skin from the way i searched for maximum excitement, during an otherwise boring existence.
The body needed to mend broken and worn out parts, whilst also providing the energy to continue that flow of the only drug i've ever wanted.
And that's Adrenaline, sourced from extreme activity and risk taking.


Skinny, most likely smelly and scruffy, here i sat watching people together and happy. I felt i'd never ever experience that feeling again.
The feeling that i will always be without the love of another. All i had left was the children i'd left behind and my friends. All of which i felt i'd let down and  now will have lost.

All the children playing on the beach, their screaming for more ice cream, being hungry, their chantings of, "MUM..." Or "DAD...."
Within their voices, i heard the voices of my own children, Josh, Cody and Anna.

For a while my thoughts wandered and i became saddened by them. Then i remembered what i told myself on the first day of this walk."Do NOT look back!"


With that i knew i needed to distract myself. Give myself something else to think about and look at.
I saw a few gulls stalking around looking for scraps of food left by people. I began taking photo's of them. Firstly they were just stood there squawking, almost as if they were asking for food, perhaps even demanding it.

I fancied seeing them fighting for food, squabbling like gulls do. It would provide me with a challenge to take action photo's of them, flying, splashing and pecking out at each other.
They'd need some bait to lure them near and to get active, that would mean me feeding them my precious food.
Taking out my crackers, cheese and butter, i proceeded to cut the cheese and make a bit more food for me. There was no way i should go without for the birds.
As much as i like all animals, i was still my priority.
Feeding them however, was a form of entertainment and distraction for me.
I could spare a little, just for that.
Would my sacrificing a little of my food be such a bad swap for a moment of amusement and of challenge making?

Biting into the crackers and cheese, i'd throw a corner into the sea and wait for the gulls to take an interest and begin diving for a snack.

Gulls are scavengers and for many are seen as pests,.
However! All they are ultimately doing is surviving on the waste of man, who make it easy for them to feed. For them as a species, they aren't doing anything more different than they've done for hundreds of years.
The only change now, is that people waste so much food product.
In area's where people are sparse, gulls feed as they always have done by foraging along the shore line for food morsels dead or alive.
As fishing became popular on a larger scale, the gulls realised that there was scraps of food, which were thrown from boats, either that of small fish, or the guts, as the fish got processed on board prior to chilling.

They associated people with food, hence now living amongst us.
Unfortunately they are seen as pests and have lost the appeal they deserve.

They are stunning birds when you take the time to look at them. Maybe that's just my love of wildlife. Animals seem to able to adapt to humans just fine, it's a shame the same can't be said for the supposed master race.


It doesn't take long for a dozen or so herring gulls to appear with an interest for my offerings.

The challenge is on and i spent the next hour playing with the settings on my camera. Trying different ones to see what effect they have on the shot.

Herring gulls are very noisy and distinctive birds, often seen in towns inland as well as the obvious coastal habitat.
Adults are the rowdy, predominately grey and white birds. They have yellow slightly hooked beak, which has a red dot. The hatchlings will tap at this red spot when they want feeding. This prompts the adult to regurgitate partially digested food and feed it to their young.
Also the black wing tips seen on adults, which appear as  black tail feathers whilst the wings are closed. Are in fact, only seen during their summer plumage.
The younger herring gulls are a mottled colour and only gain their white and grey plumage after the third winter.


Here in front of me were a mixture of adults and young. The adults usually win the arguments for food though, i see that before me.

Soon my crackers and cheese are all used up.
The gulls left to find food elsewhere. In doing so, they left the water vacant and ready to receive the next visitors.
This time the visitors to the water weren't there for food. Though like the gulls they were flying into the water and certainly making a splash.

The squawks of gulls were replaced by the laughter and screaming of a group of teenagers, who came to the breakwater wall to jump into the sea.
This craze is called tomb stoning, as i mentioned the day before.

For anyone wondering the origins of the name. It is quite possible, it got it's name when the risky undertaking of jumping into the sea from a height was reported in an newspaper article.

This article was about people jumping off a rock in South Devon. This rock is called 'Tombstone Rock'.

I watched and laughed at their antics. As they jumped in and egged each other to jump off the various differing heights of wall. This didn't continue for long, the cold spring water too much for most of them.


I'd been sitting around and lazing for a good part of the day. I thought it a good idea to go and see if i could help out in the hotel on the harbour side.

Although i'd munched on cheese crackers and bread all day, it would make sense and be a good idea to try and get a cooked meal tonight.

Socks and boots were put back on, i gathered and packed my dry clothes. Assembled my pack and went to
the hotel to inquire to help for the night.

Once again i was confronted with a confused look and a shake of the head.
It must of been my mannerism, or was it my image? Perhaps even the approach i was using.

I was in doors now and as it was getting late in the afternoon, i knew people would be soon coming in to drink and eat.

Maybe some locals would come in. Maybe i'd meet my opportunity here if i just stay for a while.

Like i had found out on other nights so far. People would quite often come to me.
With my silly head wear, growing beard and unusual rucksack. I did stand out a touch from the usual crowd. One look at me either led to thoughts of me being a homeless, jobless person.. Which i was.
Or it intrigued the minds of people, who were leading comparatively normal lives.

On this evening however, nobody did come to me.
I ordered an ale  then situated myself in the corner. Here i must of merged into the darkness.
Out of sight and out of mind.

Families and couple's sat seemingly oblivious to this water cleansed, but scruffy man, slowly sipping away at a pint.

I lost i think a couple of hours, with a combination of writing, looking through photographs and people watching.
I also was listening to the loud mutterings of locals. One man enthralled the others with his tales.
I couldn't however catch what he was saying. Due to the back ground noise, of plate scraping and glass chinking.
Also there was people talking over each other and the sound of soft music, playing  through the wall mounted speakers.

One couple caught my eye as they turned up carrying small rucksacks.
I recalled seeing them in the village sometime during the day, though i'm not sure where exactly.
They appeared close. They sat on opposite sides of a small table and took momentary glances up at each other, whilst looking over the menu they'd been given.
With each glance one would speak. The other would reply and smile back.
For a moment i got caught up in watching them.
Once again i was dreaming.
Dreaming of the day that i'd be sat opposite a wonderful lady. One i could share moments together with. To laugh with, to cry with and most of all, to be with.

I shook my head as if to wake myself from a sleep.
Such thoughts were madness. It would never happen, so i must not even think about it.

I tried to immerse myself into my journal, staring at the paper, willing the pen to write.
The music, the couple, the men chatting loudly. It was all to much of a distraction. I'd not be able to write here tonight.

On the wall was old paintings and photos. A chance perhaps to delve a little further into the Clovelly of old.

As i stood, i glanced over to noticed the couple that i'd been watching with envious eyes, had now been served their meals and were eating. Scampi and fries, it looked delightful and i caught a whiff of lemon as was often served with such a dish.

Quickly looking away i scanned the photographs on the nearby wall. They were black and white and mostly  of fishermen with their catch of fish, or of them mending nets and pots.

I like looking at the old photographs of the places i visit. I gives me something to compare the image i have of the place, with  how it really was.

I'd often sit by ruined buildings, close my eyes and imagine what it once was like.
Who lived there, what they may of done, how they dressed.

Maybe deep down, i'm living in the wrong time.

Looking away from the photo's and other things hung about the place, i glanced to look at the couple again. They were gone and so were the men chatting loudly at the bar.

I returned to my seat and managed to write a few comments in my journal.
I wondered where everyone had gone to.
The New Inn hotel, further up the village was the only other place i could think, they could of gone. I'd go there and see if there was life anywhere else in this now sleepy. Cobbled place.


Placing my empty glass on the bar and bidding the barman good night, i left.
The main street up through the village was quiet.
Not a soul but me walked it's dimly lit pebbled path. Not even the cat i'd seen yesterday, whilst collecting my bag from the tea room.

There was little on my mind but rest and conversation and to waste the little money i had left on a drink.

I was past trying, to get anything else from the village. All the good will was given by one, the lady at the tea shop.

I entered the Inn and there she was, sat at the bar, all giggles and flirting with the few others sat at the bar.

She acknowledged me with a smile but said nothing to me. The others said nothing either.

I ordered an ale and sat at a table by the window, got out my book and tried once more to write in it. The laughter and general bar room noises, distracted me too much, just like it did in the Red Lion.
Placing the book back on the table, i remembered the need to recharge my batteries.
The camera batteries not my own.
I'd had a lazy day as it was and should be fairly recharged. Enough so, to get moving along again and get back on the coast path walk.

The bar lady kindly let me plug my charger into a socket, near the end of the bar. I put a fresh set in the camera and began reviewing all the photo's i'd taken since beginning the walk.

I'd been deleting any photographs i didn't like from the memory card every evening, so as to not fill it up to quickly.
Some of the photo's i liked for how they looked, others because they would remind me of certain things i had seen, during my journey.
I like to think i see things differently to how some people do.
I see faces in the bark of trees, rocks that look like animals, even patterns in the sky.

Whilst reviewing the photographs  i had already saved again.
If any were out of focus, to dark, light or just didn't look right, i deleted them.

I'm not really much of a point and shoot person. Often i will take several shots of the same thing, adjusting settings, altering composure, aspiring to take the perfect shot.

I've always been a perfectionist. This i'm quite sure hasn't helped me with avoiding depression.
Anything less than perfect by me, meant failure.
Being very self critical, has meant, i had felt i'd failed at everything i tried to do.
A life time of thinking that way, does little for ones confidence.


A few locals in the inn chatted to me. None seemed to be to bothered to find out what i was doing there. I was probably just another tourist to them.
Having told them i had spent the night in the cave on the beach. They suggested that i should sleep up at the top of the village. In a shelter set in the memorial gardens, over looking the sea.
There was apparently a good level of protection from the weather up there, as well as being a lovely place to wake up at.


Even though i had done next to nothing all day, i was weary and despite feeling like i needed some company. I started to feel that i in fact didn't want any at all.

As the men, i'd briefly spoken to left. I found quiet corner away from the noisy bar.

A large comfortable leather sofa looked inviting to me. And it wasn't long after slipping myself into it, that the soft chair and low light soothed my thoughts.
I dozed off.


A little after 11pm i woke to a voice saying. "Can you drink up please, we're about to close."

I'd been asleep for an hour and was a touch embarrassed.
I finished off the ale i had left and returned the glass to the bar.

The bar lady reminded me to not forget my charger and batteries. She then asked how long i was staying in the area for.
I told her i'd not been able to find any means to earn a meal here, so i would be moving on tomorrow.

The lady from the tea shop, must of told them who i was and what i was doing in the village, as i'd not openly shared with anyone that night my full story. I had only said i'd slept in the cave.

Nothing more was said.
I had hoped that perhaps an offer was coming my way. However one didn't.

Slightly disappointed, i said a thank you and goodnight.

I left into the night to walk one last time on, up-a-long, down-a-long. The sweet cobbled street running through the village. Around the corner where the donkey stood and to the top.

On the right was the memorial garden, i entered and found the shelter.
It was as described.
A seat wide enough to lay on, the roof with sufficient coverage to keep off all but the worse of driving rain and walls to the ends to keep out the wind.
Tonight i would sleep like a king.

I'd previously slept in a cave, a building site, half in a church doorway, a goat shed(which was a luxury goat shed) a cold metal chapel and under some body's garden.

Now i had a lovely garden to wake to and views out to the east to see the sunrise. What more could i wish for? I thought to myself

The routine laying out of bedding and crawling into my sleeping bag was all that was left to do today.

It's now been seven days since i walked away.
I was tired and laying on a bench looking north east at the stars above the Bristol channel.
I wasn't sad, afraid of being alone or scared of the next day.

And then, just like the stars had been turned off, my eye lids had closed. Another day was over and i slept. I slept beautifully.

11. The pain, the pleasure and an apple.

Distance: 87.5 miles
Total height climbed: 15541ft (4737m)

I'd woken to the sound of a bus pulling up at a bus stop nearby.
What time is was at that point, i had no idea. I did know however, it was time to get myself out of here.
If it was morning, then the builders would be arriving on site. The site i was using as a shelter.

I dressed, then when i went to put on my stripy buff, i could not find it.
I quickly recalled, that i'd hung it on a chair back in the village inn last night. It was wet from the ice used to cool my aching heal. No worries i had another one.

Nothing appeared to be open once i'd left the building. Even the builders hadn't turned up yet.
The sky was only slightly cloudy, thin fluffy white clouds hanging like a quilt in the sky.
It would be a fine dry day, so i decided to just get moving and get miles under my feet.
The silhouette of some apartments made a nice cutting edge against the morning sky, i took some photo's the time on the camera said, 7.30am. This was the earliest i'd been up and out on the path and it felt good to make the most of the day ahead.


The early morning dew lay across the grassy hillside, it made my boots squeak as i walked the green path.

Up a little, past a lone dog walker, then a long straight view down across the Cornborough and Abbotsham cliffs.
The sky had cleared further and only a few light wispy clouds streaked across the blue.
The sea too was clearing and had a blue-green shade to it.
It was nice to see the change in the sea colours too.

Back from where i'm used to seeing the Brisol channel, it's narrower and the ever changing tides pick up lots of silt that make the water a murky brown colour.

I'm now nearing the end of the channel to where it meets the Atlantic ocean.


The coast line here has a slight curve to it, allowing me to see the distant line of the coast.
In that distance i see a small cluster of white cottages, i wonder if that's my next chance for food. But right now it's far in the distance and not something, to raise any hope for.


I'd  been walking now for two hours, my Achilles injury was back and it made me adapt my posture to try and lessen the pain. It was an awkward way to walk and i knew that it would translate through my body to create another ache somewhere. That's just how the body works.


At the bottom of a slight rise up through a cattle rutted field, a sign was fixed to a gate post.
On laminated paper i read the notice. It appeared some cattle had got through a gateway and onto the path, during the wet weather recently.
It warned walkers that the path was badly damaged for the next couple of miles, with some sections of steps now very messy and waterlogged.

I passed through the kissing gate and after a small muddy cattle trodden climb, i was passing through a heavily pitted and wet path.
The wet clay and puddles were unavoidable, i tried hard to avoid the deepest bits. However, more often than not, i slipped off the narrow firm verges ad into the slop i went. Somehow though i did manage to stay upright.
During the next couple of miles, with clay laden boots my walking turned to a hobble as a blister developed on the ball of the foot.
Most of the hundred or so steps along this route, were pieces of wood about 12mm thick on edge to form and up stand of 200mm.
Where the cows had stepped up or down the steps, the soil that would of formed the ground that a walker would normally step on, was either worn away, or now a slippery  slope.
I tried to keep pressure off the blister by, stepping so the arch of my foot was on the thin wooden bits. or my heals.

I was now near Babbacombe and finally the mess finished, letting me hobble along a grassy path the through a pretty wood, where a little more wet mud challenged my passage.
A lot of the path now was either small woods or scene less walks. Or was it just that the pain i was suffering from my foot distracting me?


Whatever it was, all i recall is an uncomfortable few hours.
It seemed like ages that i hobbled across fields, then woodlands.
I wondered just where those white cottages were that i'd seen this morning.
My mind was fighting to be positive as with every step, the sting in my foot sent a rush of pain to my brain. I could not distract myself from it.
I'd look out across the fields, up into the blue sky and when in the woods, i'd see the dappled light as the sun shone through the branches up above me.
Onwards i went, to a never place in the never distance. I was suffering, i was low. I wondered just how much of this i'd have to endure along this chosen path.
One thing i did know for sure. And that was suffer it i will and fail i will not.


On the edge of one of the woods was a signpost, it informed me i was close to a place called Bucks Mill.
It had to be the place i saw, the white cottages from afar, my spirit were lifted as were there's house's, there's people, and people would have food and drink.

A new lease of life flowed through my body and for a moment i forgot my pains.

I descended down to the view of a small settlement, maybe a dozen houses. I listened for voices, i looked for a sign to a cafe, and inn a shop..
There was nobody about and no facilities to buy food or get a drink. And with that realisation and as if a trigger had been pulled in my foot. Once more the pain seared up through my leg, up to my head and down to my heart.
All that life was taken from me in one cruel blow and with that i yawned. I now just wanted to drop to my knees and rest here.

Rest here, but why? i asked myself.
There was no answer that said i should. I needed to carry on and had to look for help, i could not expect help to find me..


Attached to a wall, a sign gave me further hope. A place named Clovelly was just a few miles along the path. An engraved acorn marking my way once more.
Once more i found myself approaching steps.
The hard timber edges caused me pain. So instead, i opted to walk the slope to the side.
This felt better on my foot and after a short while the wonderful sights and spring time smells kept the pain to a more comfortable level and i managed to have a better time, enjoying the walk, for the first time today.
Suddenly, a mis-placed footing, caused the most unbelievable pain to shoot through my foot.
This almost made me drop to my knee's in tears.
I'd stepped carelessly on a root and put pressure directly on the blister. It resulted in the blister bursting.
The initial agony was nothing compared to the pain that followed. I put weight on it to keep walking and with every step, it felt like i was walking on razor blades.
A pain i'm unsure i've ever experienced before, not even collapsing a lung, breaking bones or chemicals in the eyes ever caused me so much pain.
I will not fold to this, i will fight through the pain, as pain is only weakness leaving the body.
I'd referred to a saying i've had on a printed tee-shirt.
What rubbish is that? I asked myself.
No let me correct you here. It's actually the body telling you, that you have damaged it and you need to attend to the injury.
It does not mean to man up and walk it off.
I should of course of stopped and dressed it. Prevent germs getting in and making it worse.
Early on when i began this walk, i made a rule. I was not going to use medication, plasters or creams. I was doing this on my own and my body would have to cope and deal with all the mess i put it through. I'd basically make myself suffer.


So following the guidance of an item of clothing i once owned, i put more pressure on my wounded foot and through gritted teeth, marched on.
I'd like to think the pain soon subsided, the truth is it took about a mile to ease. And in fact, it eased so much it was the most comfortable it had been all day.


My new found comfort made the rest of the walk much better and faster, i was soon on the Hobby drive and on the home straight to Clovelly. Well at least i seemed to believe i didn't have far left.


The hobby is a hard packed road built after the Napoleonic wars to give employment to Clovelly's returning soldiers.
I followed it's winding route along the contours of the woodland, crossing bridges where the hills released water into valleys, then down to the sea far below.
As the drive curved back out from the valley bridges, views out to sea and down to Clovelly reaffirmed my hope, hope that soon no matter what, i will soon rest.

For three kilometres,the hobby drive wound it's way to Clovelly, my foot although not so painful now, really needed to rest and i aimed to somehow stay in this area for a day of two. I just hoped somehow to find away to earn my way here.


I'd never even heard of Clovelly so had no idea of the charms that awaited me.
I knew the village was a long way down off the hill, but the visitors centre and car park up the top, told me something special was waiting for me around the corner.

Although the acorn signs told me the south west coast path didn't go down to the village. My head told me to and my feet would over rule my head if it changed it's mind.
There was no road leading to the village, the only road, seemed to head away and said private access only.


My option was down a cobbled lane, fairly steep, with the occasional small step.
The cobbles had polished black marks on them, i figured from car wheels spinning as they struggled to find traction on the ascent up the hill. I would later find out their true origins.


On a corner a Donkey stood, a man sat with him and a board read out a message to people passing by. It was asking for kind donations to help in the care for this and the other Donkeys from the village.
It turned out they were an important part of the villages history and still play apart in it's tourist appeal.

Years ago, any goods that needed to be carried up the cobbled streets were carried on Donkeys. They'd take ash from the fires, fish from the harbour and other things. Goods came into the village on sledges dragged down the streets.
Once the fishing industry declined and other jobs weren't needing the Donkeys, the village inn use the Donkeys to carry up it's goods.
Up until the 1990's, the Donkey carried visitors luggage, empty bottles and barrels, as well as laundry and rubbish.
These days now, they occasionally still carry luggage, but other than that they only give rides to children in their meadow.
In the winter they get exercise from the local children who drive or ride them through the woods.
Today though was it's day off and he was here to have it's photo taken, to be stroked, admired and to tempt people into making kind donations towards it's care and well being.
It was very well mannered and i stroked it in appreciation but took no photo's. I'm unsure why not.
I wasn't going to include a tourists view of my travels, however when i've ventured into such magical places, that almost step back in time, i just have to share just why, to me they are so special. It's all for me apart of the therapy i was receiving during my travels.


Back on the cobbled path, i mixed it with the other visitors and descended down, between the corridors of white cottages, shops, and narrow alleyways.
A tea room was a welcome sight, so i took my chance and entered.
There, i was greeted by a young lady and i immediately requested to speak with the owner.
The owner came over to me and casually i introduced myself.
She listened intently and told me she had no little jobs that needed doing, all odd jobs had been attended too during the winter. And that her staff had everything under hand around the cafe.
However! In spite of this, she asked me to take a seat and she'd make me a coffee.
This was followed by the question of whether i ate fish.
I gave her a surprised look and replied with a "Yes."

A young lady served me with a coffee and shortly after a place arrived with the following delights and i looked in amazement before tucking in.


On my plate was a fillet of Mackerel, two slices of lemon lay on top. There was a good portion of warm baguette, a wedge of bread of another sort and a ramekin full of butter, which was levelled to the top with a knife.
A whole apple sat in the middle, there was grated carrot, some lettuce, red onion, sliced tomato and cucumber. And on the side, a dollop of coleslaw.

I'd been so hungry all morning, it was now almost 2pm. I knew this as i'd turned on my camera to take a picture of my lunch before i indulged.


It's funny how normally when hungry, a person may eat at such a rate, as to not have time to even savour the flavours passing the tongue. Not me, not a chance.
Food for me, was becoming a luxury and that i should enjoy every mouthful i got.
I had no reason to rush it. So bite by bite i closed my eyes and felt the texture of the food, the flavours, and absorbed it all almost in a sensual manner.
The staff if they looked over must of wondered what on earth i was thinking of. It makes me smile to remember those moments again.


The owner came over and made precious time to talk to me.
I couldn't thank her enough for her kindness. It's then she explained just why she wanted to help me.
It turned out years ago she and her boyfriend at the time, travelled the UK coast on a motorbike. They had little money so relied very much of the kind heartiness of others along the way. And in exchange they would try to help people, much the same as i'm trying to do now.
Once again people were passing on the kindness they received from others. I was thankful to them all.


With an empty plate and coffee cup i got up to collect some dishes. Even though i'd been told i need not bother, i still wanted to do something to help.
I checked outside and in to find the super efficient staff, indeed had it all under control.
Thanking the lady once more i went to leave with my heavy load.
Seeing me lift it, she told me i could leave it there, and that she'd place it outside when she had closed the cafe.
It was a welcome relief to not carry my burden for the rest of the day. My foot had began to hurt again after the rest. Therefore having less weight to place on it, would be great.


Leaving the cafe or tea room as it was named, i looked at all the character that the properties had.
One cottage had engraved fruit, vegetables and flowers cut into it's wooden door and window surrounds. Window boxes of flowers gave colour to the street.
Talking of which, the main street through the village is called 'up-a-long, down-a-long'  depending only whether you were going up it or down it.


Clovelly  was restored during the mid 1880's when it was was rescued from decay by the lady of the village, Mrs Chrisitine Hamlyn.
She saved many cottages, had the street completely cobbled with pebbles from the beach and had mains water and electricity installed to every cottage. she also had the stream culverted.
She had an imagination and this is evident in the charming finishing touches and the seats and wooden summer houses she built around the area.
I'd explore for all these maybe tomorrow. I like it here so i will stay and rest my feet a while.


Hobbling down the streets, i look at the sledges outside all the properties.
There's a gentle flow of tourists shuffling up and down the streets. Many like me with a camera pointed at some unique feature within this village.
Large arched doors, tunnel like openings, narrow secret stairways and then a look out point.
I stopped with the tourists and took photo's of the harbour below, the sea was calm, and the sky still bright and blue.
As clovelly was deep in the cleft of the hillside, i would think it's a fairly shady place for most of the year.
It was now early April and the sun was getting slightly higher in the sky, shining down onto much of the village. The whiteness of the lime washed buildings was brought out in all it's natural splendor.

There was so much to look at here, that would be for tomorrow. Now i was to rest a while.
I came to the harbour and walked out onto the quayside wall. Right out to the end of it and sat down. I removed my boots and socks and inspected the damage.


For all the pain i'd felt, all i had was a small blister, the skin wrinkled and white. I massaged my feet and then let them air for a few hrs in the mild sunshine.


Groups and couples came and joined me for the views, both out to sea, along the coast both east and west and back to the village.
Whilst i idled my time away, four small yachts sailed towards the harbour. One by one, they moored along the harbour wall. In a well organised manner they all got lashed together and the four owners gained the attention of most of the visitors as they shared banter and drinks with each other.


A couple of local lads were tomb stoning off the end wall. Which meant basically jumping into the water from a height.
He knew the depth of the sea based on the tide times so knew he was jumping in a safe depth.
The water was clearly still quite cold. This i could tell, because as soon as they  emerged from their salty dip,  they would stand and shiver, then jump straight back in. This i watched with amusement, a small part of me wanting to jump in too.


Along the harbour wall was a row of lobster pots, herring used to be the main catch here, now it appears that lobster and crab are the more commonly caught. Speaking to a local fisherman, the catches weren't yet plentiful.


In the shallows of the harbour, a dog had taken a fancy to a mooring rope. It was trying to retrieve it to it's master. However due to the rope being tethered at both ends, the dog was only able to go from side to side through it's efforts.
Myself and the other visitors were all looking and waiting for the dog to give up and the commands from it's master to, "drop!" Fell on very wet fluffy ears.
A prompt from a man in one of the yachts, sparked an little rescue from one of the young tomb stoning lads.
He intelligently ascended a ladder at the shallower end of the harbour and swan over to the dog.
The soggy and tiring mutt however, wasn't keen to give up it's prized possession and gift to it's master. It continued it's splashing paddle to nowhere, "drop..drop it!" The lad commanded. Finally after a couple minutes, the dog released the rope and to an applauding crowd, it and the lad swam to the beach.
A waggy tailed shake from the dog and the harbour side audience fell back to a tranquil hush.


Time stood still for a good while and i just sat the glow of sun as it arced it's way across the sky in front of me.  Gradually the tourists left, and filtered from the village in an almost ghostly fashion and once more i was alone. Even the four men in their boats had retreated to the nearby Red Lion Hotel.


Now almost in the shadow of the 400ft cliff, i decided to get my bag and look into a way to earn a little supper. Although i had all afternoon to do this, i was content to just absorb the feel of this place and appreciate being here.

Once i'd re-booted my feet. i began walking back and up the steep cobbled up-a-long street, over the blackened rub marks on the pebbled surface, left by the sledges.  Incidentally someone told me they put butter on the sledge rails to help them slide by reducing friction.
A cat sat on the deserted cobbles. The village now so silent, so still.  I reached the tea room and found my bag under the porch. Picking it up and placing it on my back, i wandered back up as far as where the donkey stood, then turned back. It was a ghost town. Not even the local inn was open right now.


I turned and returned to the breakwater, the quayside i'd sat on earlier. The peaceful emptiness meant i could take photo's whilst it was deserted.

Behind the cliff tops the sun was still shining, though it would soon be making it journey down beyond the horizon, i'd like to see that tonight. The thinly clouded sky, should make a wonderful sunset scene. I'd need to move from here and head along the coast to see it from a better spot.
I went down to the rocky shore line and headed out towards a headland.
On my left, a shallow cave gave me somewhere to store my bag. I took off the yellow wrap over bag and placed it in the cave. I'd need spare batteries, perhaps my book to read, my torch and of course my camera.
Placing the camera around my neck and the book and batteries in the old rucksack, i then clambered over the rocks along the shore.
The cliffs rose tall and dark to my side, the rocks under my footing where smooth and rounded, polish by the movement of the sea.
I slipped quite a few times on the wet rock, nervous of my weak knee being further damaged i tried to walk cautiously.
If i landed on my right foot and the footing was uneven, my leg would twist and knee joint pop out. I had to protect it, i must stay focused.
It was either large rounded car sized boulders or ones the size of footballs, making it slow and difficult. I didn't even know if there was a way back without coming back the way i came. In the dark this would be even harder. Yet still i carried on, determined to reach a point, somewhere to watch the sunset.


The cliff turned a corner where it lit up the rocky wall. In places the rock turned and rolled creating shaped like fossilised rainbows.
A large rock formation was ahead. 'Black church rock' as it is named turned out to be an amazing natural rock structure jutting out in the tidal zone.
From the side i first saw it, the layered features were hidden by shade. I could however see it's triangular shape, with the two eye like holes. I had found the place i wanted, somewhere interesting and dramatic to photograph.


I made my way across to it. To the left there was an old mill house with a path along side. My way out i thought.
Glad to not have to walk back via the shore, i went round to the sunny side of black church rock. It's then i found further appeal to it.


The rock was made of layers of tilted strata. The layers of rock were at about 45 degrees to the ground.
Leading up to it were the remains of it, left a sea level. The remaining layers had little oasis's of life, saved in lines of trapped sea water.
I spent some time trying to make use of the falling sun, which i'd not be able to make full use of tonight. It was setting beyond the next cliff and had already dropped from sight.


It was time to leave, i was a mile or so from Clovelly, tired but content.
From pain to pleasure i hqd felt today, further rest would serve me well.


Leaving the beach looked at the old wall and buildings at mouth mill, then found a path leading back up onto the cliff top.
Through a small woodland startled rabbits ran for cover as i ascended heath above. Through a gateway and past the Gallantry Bower. A tumulus, it's stone and earthy mound clearly visible.
Reaching a gateway, a backpack laden walker headed my way. I'd seen him earlier in the day, whilst in the village. He asked me if i'd seen anywhere suitable to pitch a tent, advising him about a area of grass, back down at mouth mill, we exchanged good nights and resumed our walks.
One last look back and the sun had descended below the distant land, a row of trees silhouetting against the orange canvas.


It would soon be getting dark, as the path entered another wooded area, the remaining light struggled to find it's way through to light me way.
Down, down, down the path gently wound, across and through the woods it went, then i reached a road. The road must of been the access road, leading to the villagers car park and the place for visitors to catch the landrover back up the the main car park at the visitors centre.
I turned right here and found myself back at the top of the cobbled main street, the one i first walked down when i got here earlier in the day.


For the last time today i'd walk down this path, i'd decided to sleep in the cave, back where i'd left my bag.
I didn't wish to eat, i didn't want a drink, i wanted to settle into a cave, to read and to fall asleep.


The dimly lit down-a-long looked much different at night. Yellow light casting subtle shadows cross the ground, whilst also reflecting back off the polished pebbled floor.
As i joined the beach, my torch that i'd taken from my bag lit my way. I could see two lights on the beach from people fishing.


On reaching the cave, i surveyed my location, it wasn't ideal. My mattress would be a piece of uneven smooth rock.  It lay upwards slightly into the rock face. At the base of which was a level area of pebble's, wet from the trail of water that seeped through fissures, and along spines of calcified lime, to then drip or run to the ground.
My bed would need to avoid the wet, and be in the most comfortable place as possible on this rock. It was nowhere near ideal, but i'd made my mind up, through laziness and stubbornness i made my bed and lay in it.
The usual order of bedding was laid out. I undressed and felt the cool air from within my room, i quickly entered my sleeping bag, pulled up the zip, turned on my side and opened the pages of my book. By the light of my head torch, i read a few pages of the book, till my eyes drew heavy.


Turning off the torch i rolled onto my back to realise where the beginnings of a bad nights sleep lay.
On my  bed of rock, where the rubbing of rocks eroded it to it's present shape. Were slight hollows and humps. I tried to shuffle around into a position that was comfortable, but nothing was.
The angle of the slab, it's shape, the chill it held, everything was wrong with it.
I tried on my side, at different angles or curled up. Nothing was good,so the best i could find i tolerated and finally with sound of the sea i fell asleep.


During that night i woke frequently, tossing and turning. I was either cold or uncomfortable but thankfully not unhappy, well not to much.

10. kind folk

I'd slept lazily through a dreamless night. It had been light for some time now, though i had no clue what time is was.
The light had been filtering through my green brolly but now it was even brighter, i guessed that the sun had risen and come round  lighting up my southerly facing shelter.
The water that had been lapping gently at the shore was now silent and the gulls that called to me earlier as i slept were distant too. I could hear voices, footsteps, bicycle bells and children, all passing along the popular path behind me.

It was time to rise and get what i knew to be a less enjoyable in terms of a scenic walk done. Today most of the walk will be along the old railway line, linking Barnstaple to Bideford via Instow.

Whilst packing my stuff i remembered my pie, so i ate that as i looked out across the river Taw which i'd previously thought was the estuary.
The sky was clear save for a few wispy clouds. Vapour trails from jets streaked across the sky rushing people to and from their holidays or on business.
Once i'd taken some pictures of the view and of my shelter i checked the time on the camera. 11:05am. Wow! A lie in, i thought.  Then i remembered my damp sleeping bag, so laid it out in the warm morning sun to air a little.

Up to now i'd been wearing scruffy paint splattered jogging bottoms and i wondered whether i was time for shorts and therefore a slightly tidier image. I chose to wear my shorts, up top a sports tee with my light weight raincoat, so packed the rest and after maybe 20mins of airing, i packed the sleeping bag too.

I set off up the now tarmac path and got into a good stride. It was a day to be polite and friendly to all i met, as today would be a very busy day on the path. Not only was it part of the south west coast path. There were various cycle hire centre's along it's route, so a lot of bikes were being ridden along it too.
Also i think it may of been a bank holiday, though by now i wasn't sure what day it was as it didn't matter to me.

As i neared the bridge over the river, i was warming up so removed the coat.
Over the bridge  and passing a large national cycle network sign, i was now on the old railway line and heading back in the direction i'd just come from. Only this time i was on the other side of the river Taw.
With little more to see than the salt fields and mud banks, my eyes were averted to that of all the lovely cute ladies that seemed to be using the trail today. Fit body's wrapped in tight lycra would of normally sent me chasing after them. All i could manage now was an appreciative smile. My once high level of confidence around the opposite sex, was now very low. Essentially i was homeless, jobless and worthless to them, so why would they even want to know me right now.

A family on bikes passed by, only for me to catch them up again several minutes later. The dad was stood there with the handle bars of his sons bike in his hand and he had the look of confusion about him. He fiddled with the bars to try and get them to slide back on. So i offered to help.
As i rummaged about in my bag for my bike tool, to which i now found the reason why i needed to bring it. I explained that i was a keen cyclist and  that i knew my way about bicycles well enough.
In little time the handle bars were refitted and at a height more suitable for him. I too adjusted the saddle, as i'd observed it being to low, then i went on the get the gears working better. The brakes were damaged so i advised them to get them fixed.
A thank you was my reward and off i went feeling great about being able to help.

For the next few miles i happily walked the ribbon of grey, reading plaques along the way. They explained the importance and role of the salt marshes that were to my right. As well as providing sea defence and habitat for many types of plant and wild life.
They are still grazed by Soay sheep to maintain the marshes. This has been practiced here for more than a century. Thus keeping it healthily and diverse. This area is classed as a Biosphere.

 A head of me a man and a lady walked, though maybe not obviously together. As i reached the man, he spoke and took an immediate interest in what distance i was walking.
Obviously the pack on my back told him i was out for more than a days jolly.
As i told him my tale. The why's and where fors, about Steffan, depression and family. He shared with his experience with doing a similar thing, years ago when he was younger and fitter.
I'd guess that he was in his sixty's. He carried a slight limp, the lady had a dog, it was slowing her down, from being very interested in the many smells that were along the trail side.
The man called Rob, told me of a time he slept under a boat and another time in the shed of a couples home. They heard him enter and came to investigate, yet let him stay, without hindrance. This gave me hope of the possibilities i could have along the way. He also told me of his various exploits travelling and seemed friendly enough.


I'd learnt a few days ago to just accept generosity like this. In kind, i'd earned it a while back when i fixed the bike.
My faith and belief in karma was growing. If i helped others without direct reward, somewhere along the way, that kindness would be re payed.

We continued along the path, passing a little cob hut, then on approach to Instow the north Devon cricket club stood to our right. I'm not a fan of cricket, a little to slow paced for me to watch.
What caught my eye was the thatched pavilion. The club has been running for around a hundred and ninety years and the ground is beautifully kept. It was also the home ground of the late David Shepard and well respected World class umpire was from the area.

A dispute between Rob and his partner/non partner occurred about whether the route went onto the beach  here or there. Not getting involved i chose to head on a little more in search of my so far good guide, the acorn.
Alas it appeared and myself, followed by a now grumpy Rob followed a path leading onto the beach. Rob stomped out across the beach ahead of me, he was heading towards the sea and not along the shore line.
As his lady friend appeared in the distance, he began whistling at her as if she was a dog, then started shouting.
This all seemed quite unnecessary and a touch arrogant. I decided to not be near this behavior and went to tell Rob i was off and to thank him once more. Suddenly he turned and seeing me approach him, took a step towards me and said, " I think i'd like to continue now, just with her",  he pointed to the lady.
He said this in such away, as if to infer i was following him.
I told him, i'd only followed him, to tell him i was to continue on with my walk and to thank him. He mumbled and shouted at her again..
I managed to catch his eye, thank him and wish him well, then headed back across the beach, to the shore line. The sound of his voice booming across the beach towards his friend quietened.

There were shops up beyond a wall, with many people sat upon it eating and drinking. I decided i should eat now too. I wasn't sure when i would next get a chance and i knew from endurance racing and experience, i should eat before i get hungry.
There was a little pub that looked really busy and shop next door.  I opted for the shop as all i really wanted was a snack. I'd checked the time whilst reviewing photos and it as was now 3pm.
I bought fruit, a large pot of yogurt, a chocolate bar(Steffan ate and shared alot of chocolate with me) and a Cola. Then went outside to sit in the sun.

It was such a stunning day. Still wispy clouds drifting high in the blue sky.
The outlook from here was out across the water where the river mouth of the Taw met the river Torridge.
The Taw enters the sea via Barnstaple and the Torridge at Bideford. They both merge together here then join the Bristol channel by Saunton Burrrows in Bideford/Barnstaple bay.
I sat on the wall and took out my multi tool and self made spoon. Popped open the big pot of yogurt and commenced chopping fruit. I had apple and banana.
As i ate, i looked around at the other people eating burgers, hot dogs and other fast processed foods. I was trying to make sure everything i ate provided as much goodness as i needed. Protein to repair me, carbohydrate and sugars for energy, vitamins to try and maintain a healthy working body and some fats to build up a reserve. Not that in my 38 years had i been able to gain noticeable layers of fat.

I could of sat here for longer as a group of young people had sat next to me. One of them was an attractive girl with her large but lovely Staffordshire bull terrier. It was rummaging in the dried seaweed that was laying next to the wall. I saw fries amongst the weed and pitied the dog for either wanted food, or being used to and familiar to the smell and taste of crisps.
However i wanted to keep going, so i packed my stuff and wrapped my unconventional cargo up into a now some what organised fashion.
I had formed a technique that kept the weight fairly high on the back, which in effect, made it feel lighter. Along the way, my ability to adapt and improvise in dealing with difficulties and challenges was growing. Improvisation in the practical sense was always something i was good at.
Well at least in my own mind, i could get over physical difficulties by way of 'a little making it up along the way'.

I'd began to get a dull ache down the back of my ankle, my Achilles had developed an injury, whether this was from all the walking or the rucksack, i wasn't sure. Whatever the cause, it would need treatment before the end of the day. But not from medication of any sort. I wanted to do this without anything like that.

Beyond Instow i passed another cycle hire centre.
Several more old boat hulls lay rotting and green on the bank of the river Torridge. I wondered whether the owners where still alive.
You couldn't leave a car to rot roadside without it being removed. So why should the rivers be subject to man kinds neglect like this?
Of course now the rotting hulls are homes to wildlife and have become part of the system.

As the  path enclosed from views of anything but hedge and litter, i had to go down some steps under a bridge to join a road. Really so far i'd struggled to use the camera. My eyes were failing to see images worthy of a photograph.
Some of the while, i'd been thinking about the past few days with Steffan. And how i had let myself down by not being stronger and seeking out ways to get self sufficient.
I worked out he must of spent over twenty pounds on me, even more. That made me think. Is it possible do this through actually earning the things i was needing and so far getting. For as yet i hadn't been able to on my own.
I was questioning myself alot, which for me is very much a sign of depression.
However! I was determined to do this. I just needed to have faith in myself and to try alot harder. A heck of a lot harder.
I now had nothing to loose, as deep down i started to believe that i had lost everything, the moment i left.

I passed over a large bridge called the Bideford long bridge leading to Bideford. It's twenty four differing sized arches have supported the bridge since the 13th century.
A thundering sound could be heard approaching from behind me, making me turn to see what is was from. An old Motorbike rumbled by. I'm not sure what make it was, though the sound was powerful.

My Step father introduced me to the combustion engine when he entered the life of my mother and sister when i was about 12 years old.
(As i write this, it reminds me how l little i remember about the times from my father left and my step father arrived and most of childhood)
He was an merchant navy man who when he came into our lives, worked down in the depths of the QE2 and other ocean liners.
He'd spent alot of time taking things apart and putting them back together.
Adrian my step Father(though he never married my mother), first got to know her whilst he came to help repair tractors and other machinery that our neighbour used for his business. The business of  mostly tree felling and the selling of firewood, with the occasional work of fencing and farm work for a few local farmers.
At some stage he moved in and helped bring myself and my sister up.
He would often have old cars to repair in some way, whether mechanically or structurally. I'd stand watch and ask questions, sometimes being  aloud to help, by handing him tools or other little things even a boy couldn't easily mess up.

As the motorbike rider and other road users went about on their journey's so did i.
I turned off the bridge and followed the main street along the riverside.
Shops appeared to be closing, i checked the camera for the time, it was 5:30pm.
I felt ok apart from the heal, so decided on keep moving on, the pavement joined an area of playing fields. Some public toilets gave me a chance to relieve myself, so i stripped off my pack then placed it down outside.
It was good to get the load off, so once i'd used the facilities, i thought i'd grab a moments rest and sit in the sun for a short while.
I had a little food left over from Instow, so ate that and watched families play, and other people pass me by as i lay on the grass for a while.

Aware of the rough time that the sunsets. I knew i have just an hour or two of daylight left, in which to find food and shelter for the night. I had eaten and had money so there wasn't any excuse for going hungry.
I knew Appledore was the next place i'd come to and that was not far away.
Up to now i was still in fairly familiar area. Beyond that was Westward Ho! and then it becomes a bit of a mystery what comes up next.

Loading up my pack onto my back, off i went, now heading north.
As the crow flies, to use the term again, i'd not really covered much distance from when i began the walk. Now five days ago, or was it six? I wasn't sure.
The nature of the  of the UK's coastline and consequently  the coastal path, meant i was often back tracking as i crossed rivers, steep sided hills and inlets or headlands.

At the end of the playing field area, the acorns pointed through a small estate, then down a muddy walkway. Crossing a small beach for maybe five metres then back up. A  small copse took me away from the river a little and i was glad to be off the tarmac finally today.
I could see a large shipping building ahead of me across a low field. More boats lay to rest along the banks of the river here. Though these were moored further out.
Two were large fishing vessels made of metal, i guessed their owners were no longer catching enough from the sea, to make the job viable. A long thick mooring rope ran from the bow to the shore, green weed hang from below tide line.
 Then there was a much smaller wooden hulled boat with a small cabin. A small charter fishing boat i'd think.
Then there were the old decayed wooden boats. Now partially submersed in the silt beds. Green with weed and algae.
A further metal boat, one lower built than the two other metal ones, was abandoned closer to the river bank. This was such a graveyard for old boats.

As i got to the shipping building, i lost sight of the water and boats as i headed into Appledore.
Down a street it led where i said a cheery good afternoon to a lady who was walking in the opposite direction. I then saw an open door to a workshop, with in a large Hudson car of around the nineteen thirties. He had the side panel up to reveal the side of the large engine. Once again my knowledge of old vehicles and mechanics made me interested, and i offered what knowledge i could in helping him get the car running.
He was to take it and his wife out for a drive the following day, It wasn't firing well and when cold wouldn't run smoothly.
I suggested a few remedies to which he told me he had already tried.
He was down in his holiday cottage, and went on to tell me, he ought to go in for some food as he'd get an ear full for spending all the time in the garage. He was from London but came down to his cottage and classic cars for a week every month or so.
I too needed to eat and get shelter, i didn't even try to find a meal here from this chap, i was happy to just talk about cars for a while and take another break from walking.  As he cleaned his oily hands, i wished him a good evening and that the car would be ready for a nice day out tomorrow.

Down a little village lane passing more fish houses on the right. Then i was back on the river bank, or was this the estuary bank?
I was looking over to the water when i heard someone comment on my rucksack
It was the lady i previously spoke to. She found it an interesting contraption and truly guessed  that i was on a less than planned trip.

The lady it turned out loved the water and owned a boat, though much smaller than she'd had in the past. Sailing was her pastime.
I told her what i was doing and a little of why, she offered me fish and chips and her words of, "the best in the country," made it an offer hard to refuse. Still i explained that i needed to earn it somehow.
"So here's the deal" she said, "I get you some food, because i'd hate for you to go hungry tonight, and you promise to pop by my pottery in 'Welcome' to see me when you get down that way." Welcome was a small village on the border of north Devon and Cornwall, inland about a mile or two.
I agreed as suddenly i had the image of me working away on a potters wheel, which appealed and was suitably random for me.
We sat on a bench looking out over the water and at a gig being taken out for it training row.
The lady went on to tell me about gig's, as although i could see it was a large traditional rowing boat with six rowers and pilot. More mini viking than the sort you'd see in the annual race along the Thames by the teams from Oxford and Cambridge Universities.

A gig was traditionally used as a work boat, with one of their jobs to ferry a pilot out to vessels coming in from the Atlantic. There was a big risk of the vessels running a ground on rocks, so it would be the job of a local pilot to guide the vessels safely into shore.
Back then the race was between the many gig crews, to try to be the first to get their pilot on board the vessel, thus winning the job and getting the payment.
During other years the boats were known as the first shore based Lifeboats, used for helping distressed vessels. The earliest rescue is dated back to the late 17th century.
These modern gigs are now just for racing but are strictly based around the 1838 gig 'Treffry'

We watched 'Siren' the Appledore gig get rowed away whilst i talked more about my life and why i got so down, to choose to do such a walk. She did not judge, she just agreed i needed to do things in a way that i knew would help me feel happier.
As hard as the day had been so far, i was now actually happy.
Experiencing the kindness i 've recently felt, was restoring all the faith i'd previously lost in humanity.  There were many good people out there, ones who's genuinely wished to help and through luck or chance, i was meeting them.

The sun had dropped behind the buildings that stood behind us. We were facing northwest and without the sun, the temperature soon lowered and the kind lady was feeling the cold.
I thanked her once more and wished her a good evening. I then promised to find the pottery and see if i could help out there.

Once more i was alone, only now i had the warmth of the food heating me up inside.
Discarding the empty fish and chip wrappings in the bin, i followed the pavement around and into the sun.
My heal was getting more painful now, thankfully i knew a rest was not far away.
Two Jackdaws were collecting hay from a nearby hay pile, no doubt lining a nest in someones chimney with it. They will begin breeding in a couple weeks.
This was a nice reminder that spring was here and that awful long cold winter has passed. I had all those wonderful spring time things to come, the flowers, the trees turning green once more, longer spells of daylight  and the warmth of that sun. The thoughts made me smile to myself.

The sun dropped further as i crossed near a golf course and then was onto the beach at Westward Ho!
 This is familiar beach for me, having been here several times with friends who surf.
The tide was out a fair way with the soft flat sand wet and mirror like.  I took many pictures as i walked casually across the beach.
The sky was turning orange as the sun dipped beyond the watery horizon.
I watched a young lad cycle his bike out across the beach, leaving a tyre mark out to the sea. The impression made for a good photo opportunity, the line streaking through the wet sand and into the reflected sky.
I reached the end of the beach as the sunset, i was ready to rest for the evening. It was now 7:56pm.

I walked through the town looking for an inn or somewhere to rest. I didn't need feeding, but still wanted to offer to help somewhere. Also i needed to look for a place to stay whilst it was still a little light.
I past a small building site so i found a way over a wall to survey the suitability of a roofed building there.
The building appeared to be a toilet or shower block and would provide a good place to stay if a better offer didn't materialise during the rest of the evening.

Leaving the building i saw an Inn up the road.
The village inn as it was named seemed a welcoming place, so i entered and approached the staff.
It as fairly quite inside, just a few locals. My relaxed offer to help out, was well received but not needed. I'd eaten and just wanted to rest now. Do some writing and look at the few photos i'd taken.
So i just ordered a pint as i had some money left from Rob and sat down. I found a power point to charge my camera batteries, which i'd been doing in other bars when possible. It was important to me to not miss out on a photo.
Sitting writing my journal, a couple took an interest in me and spoke.
Once again i began my story, and was being more open about the situation to why i'd left in such a way.

It was not boring me to go over it over and over again with everyone i met. In fact it was helping me to share my thoughts and feelings.
The more i'd tell people, the more i began to understand what was wrong in my life and when it all went wrong, but not yet why.
I was invited to join this couple and they even offered to buy me a meal. It wasn't needed after the fish and chips earlier so settled for the drink that was also on offer.
As i stood to join them, i was reminded of the pain in my heal. So went to the bar and asked for a glass of ice. Wrapping the ice in my 'buff' which is a tube of material i used as a hat. I sat down, then took off my boot and sock and held the icy buff against the Achilles tendon.
I shared with them more of my journey so far, showed them photo's and talked more about what made me do this crazy thing.
They were impressed and inspired. I was laughing and joking with them. My mood nice and high after the mellow days with Steffan.
He bought me another drink and we all talked some more, almost like i'd known him and his girlfriend or wife for years. Eventually they needed to leave and he gave me £15 to help me along the way. He told me i was inspiring and brave, that it was a pleasure to help me this way.

The ice melted in my buff, the heal was cold as was my hand. Though it mattered not. It had turned out to be a wonderful day. A day of not so pretty walking but very beautiful people. And in so many ways.
More people chatted with me through the evening and the night went fast, finally it was soon time to close and for me to go into the night to sleep.
The several drinks i had, the company and the walking had tired me. I wished to sleep and knew i would be safe and dry tonight, my shelter was decided upon.

I left with a thanks and walked down to the building site, hopped over the wall and picked a wind free corner in which to set up bed.
The usual bed was laid out, then i stripped off and crawled into the sleeping bag.
I made a mental note i was on a building site so i needed to be gone at first light, to not be caught there.
I was happy and content.
Tomorrows walk remained a mystery to me. All i knew was that i'd be keeping the sea to my right and to follow the acorns. The rest would be just one big surprise.
Placing the head torch onto my head, i read a few more pages of the book and quickly my eye lids grew heavy, i dropped the book and fell asleep. Waking once to turn off and remove the torch.
And all was dark and quiet again.