15 miles in 7 1/2 hours. We started with the climb out of Clovelly. Tough start. At the top we turned into Hobby Lane, an enchanting woodland pathway that surrounded us with more greens than we could name. Life was sweet, peaceful and easy for an hour or so. Birdsong, wildflowers, trickling stream and moss covered bridges.
Then the rain came. Gently at first so I didn’t put on my waterproof trousers, but by the time it suddenly grew more steady it was too late. My hiking pants were damp and it would do no good now to cover them. Better to just get soaked and let them dry when the sun came out again later. It was inevitable; the previous days I kitted myself out in full waterproof clothing when rain was forecast, it didn’t rain. I don’t put it on and we get soaked. The path grew muddy. Then it grew hilly. Then it grew treacherous. It ended up being 10 miles of very slow going picking our way from rock or root or grass clump to the next solid footing, slipping, sliding. There were some very steep slopes. I was immensely grateful for my poles because I needed four appendages on the ground to keep me upright. I was also grateful for the little edge of my rainhood that allowed water to drip off the sides and kept my glasses clear. Drip, drip, drip went steady streams out of the corner of my eye all day. We were a mess, but it was pretty in the woodlands of coastal Devon. And our minds stayed active.
Eventually the rain let up and we stopped for lunch at an old coach house the National Trust has preserved. Shelters are valuable. This one had a drinking water tap too! We were not the only crazy people out in the rain and mud. Plenty of people were walking the path southbound, and we warned each other of the dire conditions of the path ahead as we stepped to the edge of the muddy puddles to let whoever was trudging uphill to pass. It seems the polite thing to do is allow the walker coming uphill to keep their momentum up and get out of their way.
Highlights of the day were the wooded hillsides bursting with bluebells, new wildflowers not seen yet on the trip, a bird of prey (a kestrel maybe?) hovering closer and closer to the ground as we stood and watched it for at least 10 min before it zoomed into grab something, and the fact I didn’t fall into the mud. After a mile long walk off the SWCP we pitched our tent, stripped off muddy clothes and got them in the campsite’s washing machine, took showers, and walked another hill mile to the village pub. Food, pints, and we’re taking a taxi back to the field our tent is waiting for us in.
