Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing

Out for an early run ahead of Sunday dog walking. The original plan had been to go to the dog show at the Double Locks, but the others were busy sorting out all sorts of domestic chores and we were too late. Instead, we all went for a walk down by the river and the dogs had fun chasing tennis balls.

The only minor problem turned out to be ensuring everyone got a chance to retrieve a ball. Because Martha won't fetch things if there are bigger dogs around — she's quite small and remembers having things taken off her when she was young — we had to engineer things so that someone threw one ball for the spaniels and, while they were distracted, someone else threw another one in the opposite direction for Martha.

This strategy worked successfully the first few times we tried it. It was only when Dasher, swimming back with her ball, noticed that the other one bobbing in the water that things started to go askew. She swam out towards to the other ball, putting Martha off, but couldn't actually bring it back because she already had a tennis ball in her mouth and couldn't fit both at the same time. Eventually, she brought her ball back — dropping it in a very muddy puddle in the process — leaving the other to float away. Fortunately, the crisis was averted by a passing labrador, who kindly retrieved the second ball for Martha.

Partway round the field, the others got talking about a fence post A had tried to climb a few days before. After making a decent attempt this time round — in her defence, she was wearing wellies — I reluctantly let myself get talked into it. Although it was a decent height — maybe 1.5m — it was probably 25cm in diameter and actually pretty easy to mantel, even if I did use a cheeky knee, rather than go for a proper hand-foot on the top.

After a couple of hours — the time flew by — we fetched up back at the quay. I'd originally planned to go for a climb, but my left knee was nagging slightly, so I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and went home to watch the finals of the bouldering from Munich.

Up reasonably early but not so early as to hit Exeter's rush-hour traffic. The journey down to the South Hams was pretty smooth until we reached Loddiswell, where we got caught behind a tractor towing a JCB on a trailer. Fortunately they turned off after ten minutes and the rest of the journey was pretty uneventful. We made it to South Sands by around 10:30 and parked in the National Trust car park up.

We set out on a walk that my dad called "unfinished business" — a walk that he'd failed to finish a few years ago before his hip was replaced.

My mum walking the cliff path above Starehole Bay.

The route followed the familiar pattern of the cliff path round to Starehole Bay and then on towards Soar Mill Cove.

Starehole Bay on a turbulent spring day, with the shadows of the clouds clealry visible on the water. Starehole is famous as the last resting place of the barque Cecilie which struck the rocks off the South Hams in 1936.

Once we reached the top, my dad took the opportunity to consult the map on his iPad...

Long-time readers may notice that the natty fleece he is wearing looks familiar, if so, they might notice that it sports the slogan "NUG VXII, May 2005, Exeter UK" For a conference freebee, it's certainly gone the distance.

...while my mum used the same bench to fish out her bottle of water.

A very characteristic photo of my parents: my dad consulting yet another map; my mum offering either food or drink; and both of them slightly off-kilter!

Rather than go all the way to the Soar Mill, we turned inland at the admiralty signal tower, walked along the road to Higher Rew — where we used to camp every summer we came to Salcombe when I was a child. The road ran parallel to the village of Malborough, high on a hill with its extremely distinctive church spire visible from miles away.

Malborough with the sunlit uplands of Dartmoor in the far distance.

Taking the footpath that leads up through the back of the Higher Rew camping field, we reached Bolt Head air field — once an RAF station and once a regional seat of government, should a nuclear war wipe out the rest of the country. Walking the perimeter, we reached the new — to us — National Trust East Soar car park and followed the path it recommended round the southern edge of the airstrip and then through the woods to reach the back of Overbecks.

A spectacular view of both the gardens of Overbecks, with its magnolia tree in full blossom, and the houses and beaches of Salcombe in the distance.

The gates of Overbecks House, complete with palm trees — something I remember from my earliest visits both to Salcombe and to the National Trust house.


We had lunch in the South Sands Hotel for old times sake before jumping on the sea tractor to catch the ferry to Salcombe itself. My parents were slightly surprised when the ferry went to the new jetty rather than the Ferry Inn steps and more surprised when the ferryman told them the destination had changed 15 years ago!

Salcombe was very much as it ever was: busy with people, although not quite a mid-summer levels, and full of very on-trend fashion shops. There were some survivors from way back when and I was amused to see that the Victoria Inn was not just dog friendly but even went so far as to offer a full-on canine menu, featuring such delights as pig's ears and roast bones! Once we'd done a bit of shopping — more precisely, once my mum had bought a pair of boat shoes and my dad had picked up a free sailing magazine — we walked back along Cliff Road, first to North Sands, and then to South Sands and the car.

We returned to Malborough and found our B&B, which proved to be a large house with a huge kitchen, games room, terrace, several suites of empty rooms, and, if my parents are to be believed, a limited number of working lightbulbs! We went out to try and get food in the village, failed utterly, and went to the Crabshell Inn in Kingsbridge. After a good supper — mum & I had pizza while my dad had soup and a burger — we returned to the B&B, still completely unoccupied, and went to bed, tired but happy.

To Leamington for a circular walk from the edge of the town along the canal to Offchurch. We'd originally planned to go across country but someone else who'd tried it recently warned us that the land was completely saturated and muddy beyond belief around the styles, so we decided to walk along the towpath of the Grand Union instead.

The walk took us an hour and a quarter — in our defence, a couple of the walkers had dodgy hips — and we arrived dead on time for lunch at the Stag. I had roasted root vegetables with goat cheese while others mostly went for fish. We finished in good time and, worried about the forecasts of heavy rain, we retraced our steps back to town, arriving fifteen minutes before the start of a torrential downpour.

Sunday outing during which I caught up on the latest news from the others' trip to Kalymnos — I really should have gone. We did a bit of bouldering and I led a couple of very easy routes from the first time in six or seven months. Having spent some time recently thinking about longer term objectives, I've decided I'm determined to lead more and push myself harder because I'm accutely aware that I've been coasting of late.

After that we went for a walk which wasn't quite as successful as might have been: we picked a route that turned out to be much boggier than expected; the light started to fade; and I discovered too late that although I'd been sufficiently prepared to bring a torch with me, I hadn't been organised enough to check that it was actually charged...

Having decided to walk the North Devon coastal part, we left Exeter early in the afternoon and after a somewhat tortuous route across country, arrived at Hartland Quay at around four. It was a beautiful day for walking, despite seriously gusty winds, with brilliant yellow gorse flowers, little ragged robins, foxgloves, and all manner of flora I couldn't identify. Here are a few highlights from the walk — the full album is over on Google+.


As soon as we arrived we were struck by the weather: driving Atlantic winds and louring clouds alternating with strips of brilliant sunlit sea. The tidy was coming in as we arrived, driving the sea onto the rocks in front of the quay.


Looking east, with the cliffs framed by the hotel and the visitors' centre.


Spectacular rock formations on the other side of the from the hotel. As we set out, an intrepid soul was getting out of the water after his afternoon swim.


Two flat planes of rock sticking up out the surf like knife blades. Not a good place to land your boat...


E watching the waves break on the rocks. We spent a great of time trying to match these rocks to information in the guidebook, only to discover much later on that the section of the book we'd been using referred to stuff west of the quay, while we'd spent our afternoon walking east...


A popular spot for climbing, judging by all the anchor points at the top...


Walking back towards the sea after a short inland section to loop around a small stream.


A beautiful little waterfall marking the outflow of the little stream on to the pebble beach.


Hartland Point Lighthouse with the island of Lundy in distance.


The cliffs of Hartland Point, up from the lighthouse, with the shot carefully framed to exclude the less than photogenic Coastguard Station.

Realising that the original plan to walk to Clovelly and back was somewhat over-optimistic — the signs indicated it was 10 miles in each direction! — we walked as far as the headland east of Shipload Bay and turned to retrace our steps. As we were walking back, the sun broke through the clouds, granting us some truly spectacular views of the path we'd just walked.


Looking west from Hartland Point on the on the return leg of our journey, with the sun catching the face of a huge wall of rock.

We got back to Hartland Quay at around ten to nine, arriving just in time to put in a food order before they started to wind down for the night. After a lovely pub supper — just what was needed after a walk of 8-9 miles with plenty of ups and downs — we hopped in the car and headed back to Exeter. This time we ignored the satnav's advice and went via the A39 to Bideford, the winding A386 to Okehampton, and the A30 for the last leg into town. We got back at around twenty past eleven — slightly later than planned! — but if we'd come back any earlier, we'd've lost the setting sun breaking through the brooding clouds to catch the cliffs in all their glory.

What a wonderful way to spend a perfect spring Sunday...

Yesterday we walked from Exeter through Stoke Woods and Columbjohn Woods to Killerton House, where we stopped for tea and cake — a really good gluten- and dairy- free lemon and cardamom cake from The Exploding Bakery. As might be expected, given my current enthusiasm for taking lots of photos, here are a few of the better ones.


A tree in blossom on the university campus

( Pre-lunch pictures... )

We arrived in the usual place for lunch at around half-past one and an advanced party was dispatched to scope out the ground.


Lubo and Clare beneath what was to have been the lunch tree. Unfortunately the ground was too wet for sitting, so we migrated to a drier spot by the edge of the wood where there were old bits of wood to sit on.

( A break for food and a journey resumed )

Immediately on arrival at Killerton we ordered teas all round, shook out the picnic rugs, and broke out the birthday cake.


Clare gestures at the view in best, sweeping, aristocratic style. Or maybe she's just shading her eyes from the sun. It's hard to tell...

( Tea at Killerton House... )

Finally made it to the Red Lion in Broadclyst after a nine mile walk.


From left to right: Mark, Gery, Lubo, Paula, Simon, Anne-Christine, Stuart, Clare, Frances. Behind the camera: me and JC. Note Gery's very muddy boots and Mark's incipient sunburn.

( Gratuitous movie star close-ups! )

Once everyone was ready, we moved inside for food. I had a vegetable enchilada but the fish pie was popular as were the steaks. And when Frances' pudding arrived, it came complete with a birthday candle!


Sadly I missed the actual moment of Frances blowing out her candle but here is the immediate aftermath. The framing and general angles show just what a terrible indoor photographer I am and just how bad I am at anything that requires flash...


Another shot of Broadclyst war memorial this time at dusk with Venus rising in the west above it. There was a certain amount of debate about whether the planet really was Venus or Mars — I checked and Mars rose later — and whether the photo was going to come out, but in the end it all came together rather well.

We caught the bus back to town — happily, I confirmed that my bus Exeter pass was valid all the way out to Broadclyst — and rounded off an absolutely lovely day in with an uneventful journey home.

Off to Lapworth for the traditional Christmas canal walk and lunch at the Boot. Rather daringly, we reversed the usual direction and did the whole thing anticlockwise. Despite some doubts about the various turnings, this was a great success, not least because it actually gave us a decent view of Packwood House.

Packwood House looking brooding and gothic on an overcast day. It's not hard to imagine it as a backdrop for a Sheridan Le Fanu novel...

Packwood's stable block, which normally goes unnoticed because we traditionally turn east at the main drive to leave the house behind and walk along the avenue to cut through to Chessetts Wood Road.

Lunch was nice — I had courgette pancakes as a starter with a Mexican bean chilli as my main course — and our waitress was particularly good, picking up on our desire not to be placed close to a rather rowdy group of people out for their works Christmas lunch and offered to move us to a quieter table. I suppose it serves us right for going out before Xmas, but this year's date was determined by T&J's flights and Christmas falling on Thursday.

Rather than crackers, The Boot provided red and white Christmas hats for everyone. Pater wore his like some sort of Victorian nightcap — something his carried off in fine style!

Our table at the far end, away from the rowdier elements. Although the photo hasn't done J any justice and D has been completely hidden by T, I like it for the reflection, which captures pater and gives a good view of the rest of the dining room. Regular readers may notice that we're actually sat at the same table as last year...

Lunch was only slightly marred by an argument about who was going to drive home. After reluctantly agreeing, pater promptly ordered a giant glass of wine, ensuring he'd be over the over the limit. Fortunately mater had time to switch her order to tomato juice to allow her to do the driving — I'm no longer on insurance, so I couldn't offer even if I'd wanted to. But because mater doesn't like driving in poor light, we had to cut and run partway through coffee leaving the others, somewhat bewildered, to finish their lunch alone.

Not feeling at all well this morning but fortified by tea & toast & painkillers and equipped with packets & packets of hankies, I joined the parents to walk the Dart Valley Trail from Totnes to Dittisham.

The Dart at Totnes, looking south from the bridge, with the island on the right. Despite the grey clouds, it didn't actually rain.

Dodging around the building work on the west bank, we joined up with the trail and headed south along the river for a couple of miles. Although it wasn't terribly muddy — not, at least, by the standards set by the trail closer to Cornworthy — pater still managed to fall in the mud while trying to read the history of a cottage on the hill on his iPad. A couple of miles south of Totnes, because the walk isn't all that far, even though it goes up and down a lot, we stopped for a few crappy phone camera photos:

Looking north up the Dart towards Totnes.

From the same spot, L looking east over the valley. Looking south, it was possible to see the roof line of Sharpham House and on into the distance to Stoke Gabriel.

At this point we turned in-land, towards Ashprington where we paused in the bus shelter to decide where to go next and found a missing pair of red gloves — it was obviously my parents' sort of place because the gloves were almost identical to mater's usual sort. We followed the road down to Bow and, on pater's instructions, turned left towards a crossing over the Harbourne only to discover it was a set of stepping stones over a very fast flowing river. Both mater and I refused point-blank to attempt the crossing, stopped pater from doing something foolish, crossed the river at the nearby bridge.

We then followed the road round to Tuckenhay, which my parents thought was empty but I thought was merely the victim of Friday afternoon quietness, and then followed the path along a seriously boggy section close to the bank of the Harbourne:

A house on the edge of Tuckenhay a few hours before low tide.

We walked along the river bank for a while before turning in-land again to get to Cornworthy, where we decided to call it a day after a rather pathetic five miles — albeit with many ups and downs. As we came up from the river we saw a couple of buzzards riding the strong winds over the top, their presence alarming a flock of birds hidden the woods who flew off trilling alarm calls, not that the buzzards seemed at all interested in chasing them. On reaching Cornworthy church, we got a taxi back to Totnes, stopped for a cream tea — a reward for skipping lunch — and drove back to town through the crawling traffic.

A very busy morning, starting with a run before getting home in time to make beetroot soup for H's lunch and our supper. I then jumped into the shower and got myself washed & dressed & in the car with a whole minute to spare before we were due to depart for Lapworth. Inevitably we didn't leave on time due to series of last second glitches, but despite leaving ten minutes behind schedule we arrived exactly on time to meet S&D and S.

( The canal walk... )

Worried about the waterlogged state of some the fields along our usual route we altered things slightly to avoid the fields around Packwood which, we assumed, were likely to be in a completely marsh-like state, and to head along the road to the Grand Union. It was probably just as well we did: even the canal towpaths were in a pretty terrible state, with huge muddy puddles making it a bit of struggle, and I quickly discovered that borrowed wellies weren't nearly as watertight as I'd hoped.

We got to The Boot a couple of minutes late — not that it mattered because they weren't particularly busy. Lunch was as reliably good as ever. I had a goat's cheese tart — which, I'm reliably informed, I have every time we go there — and squash arancini as a main course while the others all went for fish or flesh: a burger; various types of chicken; a steak; and fish & chips.

( A lunchtime snapshot )

After a throughly nice afternoon — it was good to see S again, who I hadn't seen since last year's walk, although pater had seen him a couple of weeks ago in Hong Kong — we went our separate ways.

Having watched the weather forecast and not being greatly motivated to walk down to the station to book a seat, I decided to defer my journey back to Devon until Saturday when the wind and rain situation looks more advantageous. Instead I stayed home and fussed around with a few things before a light supper of bread & soup & salad and an early bed, tired out by all my running and walking.

Traditional biannual walk and lunch with J&T who were over from the US for Christmas. Although the weather was not quite as cold as it had been, there was a lot of slushy snow on the ground around Lapworth and the canals were still largely frozen, and some of the bridges were lethally icy. Lunch was as reliably good as it ever is at The Boot — I had a goat's cheese tart, a lasagne that included some type of bean, and finished with an extremely good crème brûlée.

My quote of the day comes from J who, as a keen kayaker and cyclist etc, often gets accused of being a sports fiend. When this happens she replies, "I don't do sports. I do activities." Which, I've realised, completely captures up my attitude to the things I do.