West lulworth to worth matravers

Despite the noise at the holiday park I slept much longer than I intended and after breaking camp and boiling the 6 eggs I bought I didn't head out until after 10. The first several hours were spent in the lulworth ranges, an army artillery range that is only open on the weekend. In fact, I was going to walk in the other direction but went in the direction I did so that I could arrive at the ranges on a weekend. I don't know whether it was the anticipation or the amazing sights of the previous day, but the ranges walk failed to live up to my anticipation. It was beautiful, of course, but I am surprised it was touted as one of the most beautiful on the coast path. The coolest part was the giant holes in the landscape which were obviously the result of artillery fire. And the numerous bombed out tanks laying fallow in the fields. I wished my husband had been there because I think he would have liked that part especially.
Half way through the ranges I was coming down toward a beach and I saw the lights of an ambulance. I dreaded what I would see as I drew near. Not someone with a heart attack. A drowning. Someone mangled after a fall from a cliff or an accidental artillery explosion as the result of an unwise wander off the marked path. I did not want to see what the crowd of onlookers were gathered around. The hypochondriac in me tends to latch on to accidents and tragedies and make unhealthy obsessions of them. Two ambulances became six, four EMTs, twelve. Oh god, I won't look. But everyone milling around farther from the hudled group was happy, acting carefree. How can these people be so unconcerned? Surely if it were some dire calamity they would look more upset. I sat down well away from the crowded people and emergency workers to eat my lunch. When I glanced over I noticed that some of them were laughing. But six ambulances, so many emergency workers... then I heard one of them on the radio, "yeah, quite a bad sprain. We are going to take him into East Lulworth." WHAT? 6 ambulances for a sprained ankle? Seriously? Well I guess its good to know that there is so little for them to do that they are sending the full fucking cavalry for a sprained ankle.
After the ranges, I passed kimmerage bay, where the mom and son from before had told me they were going to camp. It was only 7 miles from where we started though, and even though it was already 4pm, I decided to walk the other 6 to Worth Matravers. Sure the guide I had called those six miles severe and hairy (I don't think that's the right kind of hairy, but spelling isn't really one of my strong suits). Sure the wind was blowing and clouds were looming and the campground was really a few miles past Worth Matravers. Would that stop me? No.
Right away the roller coaster path started climbing steeply. And where there is many times a fence between you and the cliff, this time the path was squeezed between the fence and the cliff, close enough that if I fell over I would pitch over the side. Normally I don't worry about suddenly lurching off balance, but the wind was strong, and the kind that blows in different directions and with unpredictable gusts, blustery I think you would call it. And it was raining as well. No doubt it was perfectly safe, but it brought to mind another rainy cliffside experience and with a heavy bag making my balance comprised I decided to crawl under the fence and walk in the neighboring field.
Unfortunately it wasn't possible to walk parallel to the path in fields the whole way so I ended up further inland and so I missed out on St. Aldhelm's Head, which is a shame, but on the bright side, I was not paralyzed with fear or flung to my death, so not a total wash. My inland detour added a few miles and after hours battling the wind and rain I arrived in Worth Matravers. After concluding there was nothing to eat or do there and I was going to have to continue on to the campground several miles away . Then I realized that what I had taken for a fossil museum was also a pub, the Square and Compass. Tired, cold, and hungry, I was glad to find anywhere, but when I set my backpack down under a table to protect it from the rain and went in, I realized I had stumbled upon an amazing place.
Low ceilings and an uneven floor gave it a cave like feel, clearly unchanged from earlier days. They served several home pressed cinders and meat pasties (I had both) and there was a large crowd of happy revellers dancing to some proper English folk music. It was an absolute dream come true at the end of a long day. I went outside to drink my cider and wait for my pasty. A sort of strange looking guy I had seen making his way through town as I had been was there. I talked with him for a bit but when I got my food I moved to a neighboring table next to a very handsome 20 year old. Sweet, at that age. But after 5 minutes of his boastful accounts of the climbing problems he was going to face and the sweet arret next to his amazing bivouac cave he would roll out of and onto the rock, I decided I'd really rather talk to the weird guy. He turned out to be not at all weird and Dimitri (names have been changed to protect the innocent) and his 'partner', Katie, invited me to stay at their place so I didn't even have to walk any more. A good thing as I was not that steady on my feet after 3 pints of strong home pressed cider. All and all a very happy close to the day. To top it off, Katie had lived in Eugene one summer in her youth during some 70's north american grand adventure and loved it (I think that connection was what really sealed my invitation) . Oh eugene, I heart you,  giving me gifts though time and across space.

Weymouth to west lulworth

Nothing really entertaining happened on this days walk. I put one foot in front of the other and took the most pictures in any one day. My husband asked me if i had had any epiphanies on the phone the night before and seemed surprised and disappointed that I had not so I spent the day trying to have one. I didn't.

Near the end of the day I came to the Durdle Door, the limestone arch that is the most photographed place on the Dorset coast. Then headed to Lulworth cove and the town of West Lulwtorth. I walked around looking for a campground that Google maps lied about and then doubled back to the Durdle Door where I knew there was another large holiday park and campground. I paid a horrendously high tariff for a very crowded and noisy pitch and headed down the the protected beach by the arch to cook my dinner. Apparently even beautiful surroundings and great hunger were not enough to make the only can of soup they had at the store in West Lulworth, chicken and vegetable, taste good, but the meal was none the less enjoyable. On the way back I met the mother and son from the day before wearing identical silk button up shirts. She called me Lavinia, which was close enough, and her son actually smiled a little and muttered unintelligible things that might have been a greeting.

West fleet to weymouth

I woke up quite early and headed out of the camping ground. In half a mile I came up on Moon Fleet Manor, I have no idea what its function is, it was alone next to the lagoon bounded by chesil beach. For some reason it brought to mind an expensive mental institution. Someone should write a story about that. After I passed it, I caught up with the first two fully loaded walkers I have seen. A mother and son who had walked the rest of the path in pieces and were on their last section, to finish in Poole like me. I walked with them and talked to the mom while her teenaged son alternately glowered at and ignored his mother. She added a few things to my list of thing to try: whiskey, cake and a strong cider with a funny name I don't remember now (strumpy I think it was). She also told me that the coast path was originally a series of paths between villages that locals used to warn their smuggling neighbors that the tax man was on his way.
It was a short and easy 7 miles to weymouth. Except on bit when I fell down and twisted my ankle because I was talking to the mum instead if looking where I was going. I wasn't really hurt though, so that was lucky. We parted ways at weymouth where I went to find my hostel and they carried on walking.
Weymouth was full of seagulls and men. Twice I barely missed being hit by a shower of Seagull poop. I live a charmed existence I guess. Weymouth is a very touristy town with fish and chips places every other building and ice cream places in between. Once you get off the beachside and main streets however, it is less picturesque. A bit dirty, really. And every person I saw on a side street was a man. Alone or in pairs skulking down the street. Either there are no women there, or they are staying in to avoid the men.
When I got to the hostel I entered the keycode they had sent me and went in to reception. No one was there, no one was in my room of 4 beds, no one seemed to be in the hostel at all. Later in the afternoon, when I heard footfalls on the stairs outside my room, I hoped I would be the only one in my room. I went out to get some food and wine from the grocery. When I got back there was quite a strange man in the downstairs lobby area. I can't explain how he was strange, just got the feeling he was very aware of my presence even though he studiously ignored me.
When I went up to my room, sure enough, I saw one other bed had been claimed, a mans pullover sat on it. I took a shower then sat on my bed considering all the terrible things that a weird man might do to me once we were alone in the room. What if I woke in the night to his face right above mine staring?  When I went doewnstairs to eat I was relieved to see two very blond Swedish girls in sailing team jackets eating curry at the table. The strange man was watching the TV, ignoring them. They Swedes were there for the sailing world cup, not part of the Olympic national team they had been relegated to a hostel while their country men and women were staying in a posh hotel somewhere else in town. We discussed their royal family and they explained that their king, Karl, was really the youngest child, but when he had inherited the thrown, queens were not allowed to rule. They have since changed the law and Karl's eldest child was a girl, and her first child, recently christened, is also a princess, so they will have 2 queens in a row next.
After our conversation and several glasses of wine I decided I would bring a knife to bed with me and if the weirdo decided to make an appearence over my face in the night I would use the knife and yell very loudly and the Swedes would doubtless come to my rescue. I fell asleep in a wine induced stupor, the knife next to my bed. In the morning I discovered that it was not, in fact, the strange man I had seen downstairs who was sharing my room, but a very small man with a bad leg and a crutch who had long grey-red hair and a bushy white beard. I'm afraid to say he reminded me strongly of a leprechaun gnome cross, and when I saw him in the kitchen he told me he was in weymouth for the folk festival. The previous night he had been to a laser light show, but he though the lasers had been broken because it was rubbish. He seemed very disappointed.
I didn't take many pictures on the way and none in weymouth.

Seatown-Bridport, bus, Abbotsbury-West Fleet

Feeling tired after the previous day's long walk, I decided to take a little break and give my feet a rest. The guide I downloaded said that the interesting parts of the days walk would be at the beginning (mostly looking back with a sense of accomplishment on yesterdays hard work), and at the end at chesil beach and the town of abbotsbury. I decided to skip the middle bit by walking inland after a few miles to bridport and catching a bus. 
I have a sort of list in my mind of things, food and drink, that I'd like to try while I'm here. Things get added as I go, but fish and chips was probably the fist thing on my list. I finally had some for lunch in West Bay, before heading inland the Bridport and the bus. It was cod and chips and I watched the lady actually batter and cook the fish while I stood there. To accompany the deep fried food I got more deep fried food: freshly cooked donuts. They actually plopped the dough into the fryer (a different one than the fish thank god) while i was waitin, from this funnel donut machine that makes a ring of dough, then dredge them in sugar. The battered cod so far surpassed and fish and chips I've had before, I can hardly understand what we are doing wrong. The 'chips' were only okay though. The first three donuts they made me were "a bit overcooked," according to the man who handed them over, so they had to make three more. They gave me all six. Sad.
After eating --I only ate one donut with lunch, sheesh-- I headed to catch the bus. It was a double-decker. Abbotsbury was exceptionally quaint and loomed over by the 14th century chapel I mentioned previously.  In my mind I was camping there, but in reality I had to walk another 7 miles to get to my campsite. Oh well, I guess it was really a stroke of luck that I got lazy and trimmed off the 8 miles from West Bay to Abbotsbury or I would have walked 18 miles again instead of 10.

Seaton to seatown

I hardly know what to write. The walk was supposed to be 14 miles, according to the literature. I got up this morning to pay for camping and was met, not by the older gentleman (I use that term very loosely) who I met when I arrived the previous evening, but by Tim and Tina, a couple my age. Tina offered me a cup of tea, and while I drank it we talked about their absolute madness for American cowboys. A love which led them to visit Texas the previous year.
While we talked two kids, goat not human, suckled Tina's fingers and tried repeatedly to climb up Tim's shorts. I can only assume it was unsuccessfully attempting to get at his underwear. Goats on TV are always eating underwear off of laundry lines. After my tea, Tina offered to drive me to the top of the first hill. At first I thought, "no, that's cheating" but I eventually relented when I thought of the 14 miles. I thought I could shave off a mile of hill and arrive earlier.
In reality, due to many land falls, the path was rerouted 3 times and 14 miles turned out to be more like 18 miles. Ending in a climb to the top of Golden Cap, the highest point on the south coast. And I ran out of water at the bottom. I really thought I might just stay there, half way up. 620 some vertical feet might seem like small change, but after 17 miles of rugged terrain and uphill walks on single lane roads, it was brutal.
The first 3 hours were spent on a very uneven path through a wood on an old landfall from 1839. It was very craggy as a giant part of the cliff fell to the sea and broke up into giant clods. When it happened, there were still crops on it and the residents went down and harvested their crops off the newly fallen land. Two famous geologists of the day witnessed it happening and it was the first event of its kind to be recorded scientifically. Today it is densely wooded and is a nature reserve. Only the coast path goes through it and there are dangerous fissures and crevices even after so long. While an interesting story, the reality of 3 hours walking was rather boring with no views of cliff or sea and just dense thicket on either side and very strenuous because it was all roots and boulders and many short series of stairs to get over the jagged landfall.
At the end of the day, after Golden Cap, I reached Seatown, which blessedly had a lovely campground and pub right on the beach.
That's me at the top of Golden Cap,  alive and more or less in tact

Sidmouth to seaton

The highlights of this days walk came at the beginning and end. The first being that since I had walked up that brutal hill the night before, I didn't have to do it this morning. I cut down to the coast path from my camp site. And when I got there it was amazing. There was soft short grass and wildflowers covering little hills and depressions, and all this on top of a high cliff overlooking the sea. And the weather was perfect: sunny but not too hot. I wore my shorty shorts and no sunscreen. I bet you know how that turned out.
Then the path entered an area of bushes which were just overhead, meeting and different flowers blooming,  as well as trickling streams. The path was steep here, winding steps down toward the beach below. And I discovered something I hate to admit. All those years I secretly thought my mother was being a bit dramatic always talking about her "bad knees," well, god damn it if I didn't inherit them. I guess either I am getting old or I just never walked down so many hills with a fully loaded pack, sigh, I hate it when I find out I have been being an insufferable brat for years. You'd think I'd be used to it by now.
Finally I reached an all but deserted beach, stretching off in both directions. I rested there looking at the blue water and throwing stones before an equally steep climb up to the next hill. This one was also covered in wildflowers, meadows of them. And I happened to overhear a National Trust worker saying they were going to have to move the coast path back from the cliff cause the cliff is receding,  falling away into the sea below. You can bet a stayed as far from the cliff as possible. One off-cliff adventure was enough for me.
I only had mature cheddar and some almonds when I left camp so I was beside myself with joy when I came to branscombe mouth, and the cafe there. I had cream tea, which as I mentioned before is scones, jam, clotted cream and a pot of tea. It was wonderful, and after I took a little nap on the grass at the edge of the beach.
I really think I am in love with this place. Everywhere I go its like I am walking into my imagination,  or a BBC special (my imagination, in fact, looks very like a BBC program).
All day the people I passed kept saying, "wow, that looks like a heavy load."
"Yep"
From my nap I continued past some impressive cliffs and rock formations to the town of seaton, where I stopped at a pub to have a cider and use the internet. The publican looked like a pirate and jovially harassed all the women who walked by. He let me taste all his ciders for free and gave me a small plastic union jack so I "wouldn't feel left out of the Diamond Jubilee celebration." If you don't know what that is, look it up.
He also found a Asian style straw hat, you know, the ones that are a very wide cone. He put it on and put shot glasses in his eye sockets then walked around saying "you need flied lice?" It was pretty special. But when I left he asked me if I was sure I'd be okay,  with real concern, and told me if I needed anything to just knock at the pub door, he's always there. So friendly.
Now I am in my tent settled down for the evening. For dinner I had tinned oxtail soup I heated with my alcohol stove and unsliced white bread. Again, I must just be starving all the time cause it was fracking delicious.

Exmouth to sidmouth +

I got a bit of a late start because I missed the first train to exmouth from Exeter.  So I didn't arrive in exmouth until 10:30. I walked along the seafront which was quite busy on a Sunday morning. I was sorry I couldn't stop at a jumble sale at the community center but since it was my first day I wanted to get on my way. After walking through town I finally met up with the coast path which traversed the face of a steep hill leading up to the top of the cliff which cuts off the exmouth beach.
The start of the day was gentle up and down over rises and falls of the hilly clifftop. Nothing was open when I left town, storewise, so I stopped at the store in a holiday park to buy my very first 'pasty', curry chicken, and an oat cookie bar called a flapjack. I don't know if it was my hunger but they were the best convenience store food I have ever had.
About half way I came to a town with a lively beach which had large stones instead of sand. After that the terrain was much more strenuous,  the steepest climb being the final one before sidmouth. It was essentially stairs up to a wooded hilltop. The wood was beautiful and smelled amazing. Then a steep decent into the seaside town of sidmouth. 12 miles, and my feet were very tired.
Unfortunately,  I had another 2 miles to go to get to my first night camping place, which turned out to be 2 miles up the steepest hill yet. I saw a woman at the top walking her dog who said, "you just walked up that hill. I saw you at the bottom" she seemed impressed.
The campground was quiet and had a wonderful hot shower. My first night in my new tent was great, well the tent was great, in that it was easy to put up and succeeded in being a tent. I think i didnt inflate my sleeping pad enough, or maybe my poor body was just too tired to sleep well. But either way, I'm ready for what my guidebook describes as "strenuous to severe" terrain.