A Good Think – South West Coast Path

South West Coast Path – Stage 1 and 2
Minehead, Somerset. Saturday in June.
“Houston, Houston …this is Apollo 11, the Eagle has Landed …Over”…
I stepped out of the camper onto Minehead’s promenade with full outdoor kit mimicking Neil Armstrong’s 1969 slow walk scene from the moon landing.
Niky rolled her eyes.
In a radio-voice “This is one step for Dixy-boy and one giant step for Cornwall and Wales …”
She left me to have 5 minutes with my astronaut-imagination.
A common occurrence in our house.
There was no missing me with chunky water proofs, over-packed luminous ruck sack, boots, woolly hat and even an aqua pack. I didn’t know what one of those was until last week.
I’d have been happy with a pair of daps and Tesco carrier bag. If you’re welsh you’ll know.
This is what happens when you have a son with a weekend job in a outdoor retail shop and a wife who saw the opportunity to maximise a decent staff discount for my 50th birthday.
Bling’d-up like a Berghaus advert in SAGA monthly.
Over-kill really. I was walking 30 odd miles uphill not climbing K2.
Not over-kill really. I found out couple of days later.
It was time to curtail the spaceman-dance despite getting laughs from strollers on the sea-front.
One dog walker thought I was a mime artist busking. The dog…not so sure.
We had some obligatory photos at the iron sculpture of hands holding a map marking the start of 630 miles of coast covering Somerset, Devon, Cornwall and Dorset.

“See you in 6 hours Gooseman!” I said to wifey, keeping the aviation theme.
A second eye roll from Niky…and a smile…
(she is an amazing lady … more in a later blog)

Yep, decided to do 630 miles walkabout. In stages.

Why? Inspiration from Raynor Wynn’s book The Salt Path. Time to reflect on things I’ve learned from lives loved, lost and laugh-with over 50 years. Relieve a weird stir crazy-ness that has come with 18 months of lock-ish down. Be in nature and practice what I preach in the day job… moving your body is the elixir of thriving. Write some songs in my head… I like musicianising. Spend decent time with Niky (‘You do walking, I’ll do chilling’) Dix. And maybe ask a few questions of God. I’m calling it ‘A Good Think’ _

Minehead to Porlock Weir, brought 9 miles of walking up through steep cliff face forests and into open ground, yomping past Exmoor ponies as they horse-speak to each other ‘here comes another Billy Berghaus with one of those water pipes’.

Talking of the aqua pack…a posh lady came towards me on mile 3 explaining to her friends that many people who walk the “whole” path are “professional ramblers with very expensive equipment and some even have aqua packs with water-tubes…like this chap here” (pointing at me).

I told her it’s Treorchy Vodka …she laughed.

There’s a right ol’ 500ft scramble down towards Bossington Village after 7 miles. Point of note… the daps wouldn’t have worked. Thankful for the bling-boots.

Bossington Village, Somerset…woah, so beautiful, part of the Holnicote Estate on edge of the Bristol Channel with thatched cottages, locals selling home made cider in wooden boxes at end of their pretty wildflower gardens and a river with fresh flowing water from the Exmoor Hills.

Couldn’t resist. I went skinny-dipping. Not really just skinny-feeting. I’d done 8 miles and feet were throbbing.

From there I headed over to Porlock and stopped at a memorial on the marshlands marking the spot where a US Liberator Bomber came down in October 1942 with the loss of 11 brave American lives. I was both sad and thankful for these men. I said a prayer.

The campsite wasn’t far away from Porlock Weir, I’d added another few miles (13 miles done) and met Niky there. Good start.

The next day, a bigger, longer walk. Porlock to Lynton another 13 miles or so. “Strenuous in parts” it says in the guide book. I’ve since emailed editors to delete “in parts”.

Before leaving I payed a visit to the campsite facilities and met Gordon the caretaker, 20 stone, 6’4 and no hair. He asked in Somerset-ish where I was ‘Geeing to’. I told him walking over to Lynton. He started telling me to be careful and stay on the path … I found it hard not to freak-out because he was standing with his head perfectly positioned in front of a coat of arms that was on a garage behind him. The coat of arms had antlers protruding, it meant that Gordon genuinely looked like he had a brutish set of Exmoor horns coming from his noggin. Slightly unsettling.

I was knackered after 3 miles climbing into the forested Cliffs. It felt remote. And a bit lonely.

I was thirsty quickly. My aqua pipe didn’t work. I took off the pack, adjusted everything. Still didn’t work. I texted Niky and said it was rubbish. She texted back ‘turn the valve in the mouthpiece to left’. I did. It worked. Fantastic piece of kit.

On route is Culborne Church. The smallest Church in England dedicated to the Welsh Saint Beuno (an irony I’m still working on). Incredible how it is even built there. I sat quietly and ate a soft cheese roll that had compressed into the size of a plum at the bottom of my ruck sack.

I noticed the grave of a welsh guard. It said he was killed in 1946. I felt gutted for him. His age made me think he is likely to have fought through WW2. I thought of my Uncle Fred from Welsh Guards. Uncle Fred was a front line soldier in Europe in 1940-45. He didn’t sleep in the same bed with Aunty Eve after the war as he would wake up violently defending himself. I don’t know what happened to him. My Nan said he took many lives and his spirit died many times.

It’s a bit spooky up in the clouds. Some clouds were below me. I found a gateway that had 2 boars heads on it. This felt even more spooky.

I got to the top of the cliff (reference the beach) still amongst the woods and came across beautiful valley of purple foxgloves. Here I Facetimed my Mother and Father in Welsh Valleys. They still think FaceTime is science fiction. My mother saw the Foxgloves and went on to to tell that if my heart has a ‘dodgy-pull’ chew on the Foxglove… they use it in cardiac meds. Thanks Mam (for anyone reading this don’t eat a foxglove…thx)

As I came out of the Forest onto the final section to Lynmouth, I felt a bit scared. Its 1000 feet up, the wind was increasing, rain coming down, haven’t seen anyone for 3 hours, the path is small. I started singing. I had a go at a welsh hymn ‘Guide me O thou Great Redeemer’. Full blast. As I came around a corner there were 2 lads who burst into a round of applause. ‘Cracking tune mate’.

They said they had been in the pub all afternoon in Countisbury and were off for a stroll. Nutters.

The final 2 miles into Lynmouth were a-m-a-z-i-n-g. The joy of completing a 3000ft ascent over 13 miles and doing 27 miles over 2 days across incredible cliffs, and all reflections and emotions from the power of nature and people that go with it.

As I descended I saw Niky who had walked over a mile and a half to meet me up the cliff path with a bag of nuts.

“You took your time – slacker” she said,

I was glad to see her, and the nuts. She helps me be a better person…

But do not ask me how she got the camper van down to the bottom of Lynmouth.

We ate chips together. And laughed.