South West Coast Path Barnstaple to Westward Ho! (19 miles – low elevation)

Have you ever thought you’re not making any progress? You feel like you’ve barely moved, despite giving it all you got. Almost as if you’re still on the starting line?

I’m thinking about life and work stuff here, as much as I am about walking.

It all revolves around Saunton Sands Hotel. That ‘posh’ place I’d already walked past 13 miles back in the other blog.

We arrived near Barnstaple Railway Station. It was a Sunday in September. There were some tired grumps due to early morning (and a 3 hour surf the day before).

The grumps weren’t helped by the fact we had Marlon Brandog with us. He is our little 11 year old dog who hates walking. He is the DogFather. He usually stays with Grandma.

His hatred of moving does however change radically if he sees a cat. At this point his dog-flux-capacitor kicks in and he becomes a demented canine version of Usain Bolt.

Marlon was not moving today. Causing some frustration.

He was dragged by Niky for the first 400 m peeing on everything he could, to make a point.

Niky decided it was best to turn back shouting with a smile “you go on! I’ll surprise you on route somewhere”.

“Uh, Oh!” I thought. “The return of Cato Fong”. See previous blog for Cato Fong description.

I headed onto part of the Tarka trail taking me towards Instow. It was relatively busy. After about 2 miles I noticed runners passing me at speed. Groups of 2, then 5 then 10, then blummin’ loads of them.

“STAMPEDE!!!”

I had only stumbled on the BARNSTAPLE HALF MARATHON!!!

Yep, here I am in my boots, walking shorts and fishing jumper with ruck sack and aqua pipe (which I still can’t work) being passed by people branded by Nike and Asics. 

What happened next needs to be explained by a Psychologist.

I started moving from a fast walk to a jog. Was it my competitive nature? Was it needing a sense of belonging? Whatever it was, I latched onto a small group of slower participants all numbered up with their Half Marathon timing tags.

I saw a crowd ahead. People shouting “well done!”, “keep going!.”

For some reason the crowd went a bit quiet as my group passed. I noticed some slightly confused expressions on the faces of a few clappers as they clocked me.  

In the corner of my eye there was one supporter with his hand up in the air, taking high fives.

I gave him a confident high five before he could take his hand down.

I rounded a bend and reduced my run back to a walk. “Well done guys, you crack on” I said to my ‘new’ crew. “Keep pushing!”

More confused looks.

I’d done 7 miles of walk – run – walk. I turned off the Tarka trail towards the coast on Tawe Estuary. Stopped for a Chorizo (from Lidl hyper-linked just in case they sponsor me) roll.

I looked up and to my surprise there it was again Saunton Sands Hotel across the bay on the other side. If Devon had a President, it could be the White House.

“Have I barely moved?” I thought. “I passed that place on the last walk. Like 20 miles ago.” Weird.

Moving on, undeterred by my feeling of going nowhere I rounded the point passing the beautiful Isley Marsh RSPB site. Stumbling across a small wrecked ship I marvelled at the flamboyant spray-can flair that decorated it, as if to say ‘this boat won’t die, it will become art!’

The route took me past North Devon Cricket Club, a quintessential coastal ground that seemed like it was at the heart of the community. It reminded me of the 35 years of competitive Cricket I played in Wales, Gloucestershire, Dorset and Cornwall.

Niky thinks I lasted longer in cricket than competitive rugby because rugby didn’t provide cucumber sandwiches, swiss rolls and buttered scones at half time.

Perceptive lady.

As I headed into the charming Instow it was clear that today was the day everybody from the village would be out walking. The estuary was at low tide and the banks were full of dog walkers, dog runners, dog carriers.

Marlon would have hated it.

Coming off the sand, I continued down the trail for a couple more miles ambling happily along this low level section under the Bideford fly-over without a care in the world.

Until “WAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Out she jumped from behind a bush in her red and blue outdoor coat not dissimilar to a pouncing Cassowary (look it up) .

“Holy Poop!!!” I shouted as I picked myself out of the brambles. “You totally done me there”.

Cato-Niky was wetting herself.

I then noticed the van parked just behind the bush and saw Marlon Brandog, chuckling, like Mutley in Catch the Pidgeon and Whacky Races cartoons.

After a hug and letting Niky know I was only pretending with my reaction. I wasn’t scared at all (ahem). I cantered towards the old Bideford Bridge, one of longest medieval bridges in England, before crossing the River Torridge. Time to stop for lunch with Mrs D on the other side.

Bideford is a lovely small river-side town. You can see it has had challenges with the ship building industry recoiling, but it feels it’s on the up. Like a brilliant comeback. After all even Hubba the Dane couldn’t defeat Bideford despite giving it everything in 860 ish AD.

Attempting to transition from Bideford to Appledore was not easy.

Despite the walk being low level, this section was one part where local owners were not too keen to allow their river front properties to have a path at the end of their water lapping gardens.

As a result the trail became a convoluted set of streets, back alley tracks and decisions to go past signs saying private property.

I was undeterred. I got lost. Found my way again.

 I was busting for a wee and found a spot taking a moment of reflection until I was disturbed by a happy yomper passing, chuckling away.

At the 15 mile mark I began to head into Appledore. Passing Harland and Wolff shipyards.

This was a huge surprise to me as the week before we’d been in Belfast, Northern Ireland for a holiday. An amazing place with deep-hearted people. And where famously the Titanic was built at the Harland and Wolff shipyard.

We actually went to the Titanic Museum. It was well worth the visit. One of the lasting memories is the preserved yard outside the museum, where the Titanic was shaped by thousands of ship workers.

It was the size of a few football pitches. Poignantly, grass and wood decking had been put down over the concrete. There were three grass sections representing first class, second class and third class passengers who had lost their lives. The decking sections represented those that survived.

Sadly it goes without saying the third class grass area was huge. Of 1317 passengers who perished 75% were third class. The wealthy commanded the life boats.

When I looked out at the expanse of green and thought about ‘privilege’ it sadly felt like I was seeing a picture of western society in 2021. Inequality is louder than ever. But I don’t think the answer is in rescue craft.

 I think it’s about how we make different boats. I’m excited about communities who think about a different way to shape their lives. Maybe more on that another time or in a  different blog.

At the end of the experience I said to Niky “I’m just nipping into the museum shop for a look, can you hold my bag?”.

She took my bag and responded “I’LL NEVER LET GO JACK…never let go!” chuckling .

(Leonardo DiCaprio and myself are very similar.)

Appledore is everything you can image in a Devon fishing village. Known for Hocking’s ice cream, Appledore is full of nooks and crannies and higgledy-piggledy terraced fishing houses, all hugging each other like interlocking nets.

As I was rounding the point of the River Torridge heading out of Appledore towards Northam, I passed a sign giving me two options a High Tide route or a Low Tide route. It made me think about the mindset choices we make everyday. Take the high ground or the low ground?

Taking the high ground I looked out and there it was again. The Presidential Palace of Saunton Sands Hotel.

I laughed to myself “have I not moved? I’ve walked miles. It must be 50 miles since I passed that place and there it is. I can almost reach it!.”

Perhaps the best thing is not to even look. I descended out of Northam Burrows Country Park towards Westward Ho! With The White House behind me.

The tide was still quite low so I figured I’d walk on some path then the beach. My feet were killing. I called Kate Winslet to say I was about 3 miles away.

Westward Ho! Is the only place in England with an exclamation mark.

I told my lads it’s actually called Westward Hot because it’s always sunny but the local sign painter in the 1800’s accidentally made the ‘t’ like an exclamation mark and it stuck.

Of course I got eye rolls from the teens. Pretty sure I heard one of them mumble “pollocks” … I think that’s what he said. Something to do with fish.

It’s actually named after a novel by Charles Kingsley written in 1855 about a young man who follows Francis Drake to sea.

I noticed as I walked through Westward Ho! there were words sculpted into the pavement in a linear form for 70 odd metres. It made out the first verse of ‘If’ by Rudyard Kipling, known for his time spent writing and resting in the town.

If you can keep your head when all around you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you

But make allowance for their doubting too

My favourite line isn’t in the pavement ‘Or walk with kings, nor lose a common touch’

I was so distracted by the poem (and the potential for surf) that I took a wrong turn and walked along a concrete path sewn into the rocks underneath the car park where Niky-Winslet-Fong was waiting.

I could have done without that bit of extra walking and turned around, once again in full view of Saunton Sands Hotel this time it finally seemed miles away in the distance.

After a climb up off the rocks I located Niky and Marlon Brandog in a car park.

Niky gave me that hug that is worth all that comes with a life-long loving friendship.

Marlon was looking at me, no doubt thinking“ FOOL!”

End note:

Continually viewing Saunton Sands Hotel made me feel like I’d gone Nowhere

But Nowhere is still Somewhere.

If you are ever lost and think you are Nowhere. Remember it is still Somewhere.

Take a breath and begin there. One step at a time.

Eventually you will be somewhere, remembering how you reframed Nowhere.

Thanks for reading.