Woolacombe to Barnstaple, North Devon, 21 miles

“I’ve got COVID” said our youngest facetiming me in the kitchen from his bedroom

(facetiming parents from another room in the house is a common characteristic of the teen of the species)

“What???” I replied.

“Yeh, it’s the Boardmasters strain!”

It’s there we pick up the story. For those that don’t know Boardmasters is a huge music festival near Newquay, Cornwall.

It was something he’d looked forward to for a year whilst navigating lockdown, missing friends and having a pretty rubbish time of online education.  

Boardmasters also preceded the weekend of the next stage of the walk from Woolacombe to Westward Ho over 2 days.

We had a campsite booked and van loaded to go. All cancelled and into isolation we went.

Some facts:

He was one of thousands of young people who returned from the festival with COVID.

The Boardmasters strain It isn’t actually a strain of the virus (although it could be I’m sure).

He went into full isolation for 10 days in our bedroom. We moved onto a mattress in the lounge.

He had some nasty symptoms but was fine, although he exclaimed that he nearly died from Cabin Fever. Not helped by watching Tom Hanks in Castaway on day 5.

Myself and Niky didn’t get it. Nor did his brother Sam who also went to the festival. We are all double jabbed. Lewi isn’t.

I’ve been reflecting on the impact of COVID on all our lives. The way I see things feels very different.

I’ve reflected on how important it is to be truly present. How important it is to squeeze the juice out of life whether you’re ready or not. How important it is to be kind to ourselves and each other in a complex world.

Hence the title Go, Now, Messy.

More on this at the end.

Back to the story

We decided we could only really do a day’s walk and the plan was to take a 2 hour drive from Wadebridge up the Atlantic highway to start at Woolacombe by breakfast.

Nearing Bideford we were redirected due to a road traffic accident. We sat for hours bumper to bumper on a rural diversion still miles away.

I was frustrated. I began venting. The radio came on.

“A man has died following a crash on the A39 this morning”.

It stopped me in my self-centred tracks.

I reflected on the brevity of life.

I said a prayer.

Don’t wait for perfect.

Go…. Now….. Messy

Woolacombe late morning and 21 miles to walk. It was end of August and the place was packed with scantily clad people (mostly breathing in) whilst carrying dolphin inflatables.

A quick goodbye to Niky who no doubt will be appearing somewhere on route with a huge “cooooeeeeee” when I least expected it.

It feels a bit like Cato Fong, Inspector Clouseau’s sidekick in Peter Sellers Pink Panther movies. Niky will read this and have no clue what I mean so here’s hoping she doesn’t do a youtube search for Cato Fong.

As you walk through the dunes of Woolacombe to Putsborough you come across signs about unexploded bombs. Woolacombe was a US training camp pre D-Day due to it’s similarity to Normandy. Grenades are still being discovered today.

I began to tread carefully.

Eventually on the beach I took the steps up out of ‘Putts’ heading towards Baggy Point. It was a fair climb.

As I began to summit I saw in the distance what looked like a 6 legged Camel coming towards me.  

I have actually ridden a Camel in Qatar. But this didn’t look right. I stopped and double checked.

As it got closer I saw a highly tattooed gentleman with a large gold chain carrying the biggest inflatable camel I’ve ever seen. He was heading down the path towards the beach. With wife and two mini-me’s in tow.

“F***ing hell mate!” gasped the Camel in a cockney accent.

“they said it was only a mile or two! We’ve been walking for bleeding hours!!”

I told him ‘they’ probably meant a nautical mile, which are much longer than normal miles.

“Ohhhh” he responded “that makes sense.”

He repeated the fact with confidence to Mrs Camel and the mini-camels.

(It’s actually not a fact. It just came out. I don’t know why.)

I headed on towards Baggy Point. It is called Baggy Point because of the bag like caves and holes (apparently).

As I headed around the ‘baggy’ corner I heard “Cooooeeeee!” from the path below.

And there she was with the big smile and the big hug. We walked towards Croyde Bay chatting away. There I left Mrs Cato Fong and moved beyond Croyde towards DownEnd point.

Sidenote: In September 2003 a hurricane swell hit Croyde during the Jesus Surf Classic competition. I paddled out on the Saturday evening as a young chap. And to this day I have never surfed better, faster, scarier, more powerful waves.  A moment in time paused in my mind forever.

As I climbed out from the beach over towards the swathing Saunton Sands I thought I’d facetime my Dad and show him the view from 600ft up.

He answered in an emotional state and spoke non stop for 30 minutes. My Dad is in his 70’s he and my mum care for my nan and aunty in their 90’s with advanced Dementia. He was having a tough day. My parents are both former health professionals with long NHS service.

They will always be health professionals, they will always care, they are selfless and the epitomy of all that is ‘good’. I am proud of them.  

I listened, reassured and encouraged. Then I showed my Dad the view across Braunton Burrows. The perspective was healing.

I headed down through the perimeter of Saunton Hotel sidestepping the bling Range Rovers (do rich people have any other cars?) and made a note that if I won the lottery I’d take Niky there for a holiday.

Then changed my mind. Niky would rather a decent campervan.

From the Saunton car park I began the next 8 miles across the sandy Burrows towards the lovely small town of Braunton.

The dunes are a maze. It is so easy to lose your way. However I have had so much experience of camels I feel I’m at one with my humped friends, “think like a camel” I said to myself. “Use your natural navigation senses and conserve water”.

Half an hour later I was wandering aimlessly in a desert of sandy hills. Completely lost. I switched on google maps. Back on the track.

As I came out of the labyrinth I started walking towards Crow Point at the head of the river Tawe. The land was flatter and it reminded me a little of Northern France and Holland. I then tracked along up the river towards Braunton. It was my favorite part of the walk and on another day I’d have got my sketch books out as the sleeping boats in the low tide estuary were so characterful.

 I’d completed 15 miles and was pretty tired. I checked in with Mrs D who offered a pick up in Braunton.

“But the goal is Barnstaple!” I retorted.

Within minutes I’d spotted the Tarka trail entrance and put the earphones in for one of my favourite bands (The Head and the Heart) leading me into what felt like a spiritual glide along the trail for 7 miles past the Chivenor base towards Barnstaple.

I had to switch out of my mental nirvana 4 miles later as ‘Barbara’ and ‘Margaret’ appeared from around the corner on their mobility scooters coming at me like Smokey and the Bandit.

Jumping quickly towards the hedge as they passed one of them shouted “nice day for a walk love!”.

It was a lovely day. I was walking. And glad that ‘Babs and Marge’ were getting their steps in too lol.

I met Cato-Niky in perfect timing in Barnstaple as she was just pulling the van in opposite the Pilton Fryer in near the town centre. She could get that van in any space, anywhere. Years of driving the school mini bus to sports fixtures I reckon.

“I’ve ordered fish and chips, they’re ready now”.

The best I’d had for a while.

South West Coast Path Woolacombe to Barnspaple (stage 6 – 8 in SWCP guide, 21 miles lower elevation)

End note:

We sometimes think we can only move or make a change when we are ‘ready’ but what is ‘ready’? If we have the intention and the goal sits well in our dreams there is no ready. “Go, Now, Messy!” who cares if it doesn’t work out. There is no fail, just learn. Because ready may never exist, and for some, never come.