Day fifteen: Hartland quay to mortehoe

A big day for this little island with the start of Wimbledon and the summer solstice.

While the masses are descending upon Wimbledon to eat their strawberries and cream and Stonehenge to begin their pagan rituals, I decide to take a bus.

It was hard saying good bye to Mike after sharing so much with him over the last few days but it was also exciting to be off on my own again.

I turned away from the coastal path and headed inland towards the village of Hartland. I found myself on a deserted country road lined with hedgerows and trees that formed a pleasing shady tunnel. It wound steeply through sleepy hamlets containing thatched cottages and ancient churches. I was again in awe of this beautiful country drenched in history and simplicity (in this part of the country anyway). No strip malls, no big box, generic, boring chain stores. No home depot, no Mac Donald's, no office max. Ah bliss.

Just another beautiful cottage that I would be happy to call my own:



An intriguing bridge led to a 12th century abbey but unfortunately I didn't have time to explore. I was on a mission to catch a bus. Not that I knew what time it left.


As luck would have it, I turned up at the bus stop just in time to catch the 10:15 bus to Bideford. It was such a treat to be on a bus and a double decker bus no less. This mass of metal and diesel wound it's way along the country roads, scraping just below the tunnel of trees and frequently backing up to let cars traveling in the opposite direction pass. It stopped in at villages and appeared to collect anyone just standing on the side of the road. It was a friendly bus and everyone seemed to know each other. "good mornin' Ethel", " oh arr, good mornin, to you George". I got talking to a couple of elderly women, off to Barnstable (about an hour trip) for the day to collect flowers and plants for their garden.

Barnstable was my destination so I followed them and changed buses at Bideford.

There I waited in the station cafe for Mick to arrive.

Mick has been a friend of mine for the last 25 years. There have been years where we have been out of touch but we have always managed to find each other and he has now bravely agreed to join me on the path for a few days.

While trying to establish a plan of action Mick quickly discovered that we were without guide books or maps for the next section of the path. Mick had made a last minute decision to leave these at home, thinking I had a guide. Unfortunately my guide inconveniently stopped at Bude. This was fine with me, but it made Mick twitch ever so slightly. Maps are a guy thing. But as I have said before I find them over rated.

Welcome to my world Mick.

We took the bus to Croye, located the SWCP and started walking.

My new walking companion:


About five miles that's all, to another beautiful village called Mortehoe with an absolutely vertical hill to conquer before reaching a pub perfectly situated on top.










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