Day Eight (Lynmouth to Combe Martin)

When driving back down to the Coastal Path, the road signs warned of severe weather conditions. It was truly a turbulent night ... sleeping was a challenge.

I woke to a sky which felt lighter and promising, but I set off fully kitted out in waterproofs.

According to the Guide Book today’s walk is “strenuous”. It’s 13.7miles and includes Great Hangman - the highest coastal peak in England.

The walk continues from Lynmouth up to Lynton, a Victorian Coastal town, which can be reached via a Cliff Tram. The shops, cafes and B&Bs are fancier in Lynton; craft shops open their doors, waiters in long black aprons prepare for the day, and B&Bs advertise their uniqueness. It’s amazing how these houses and hotels were built in a cliff, over 100 years ago. Nowadays architects would 'um and argh' over the complexities and expense. Grand Designs would be called in!

As the tarmac path leaves Victorian England, it take walkers into the Valley of the Rocks. Huge harsh rocks consume the landscape. Local legend claims the rocks are the acts of the devil. It certainly doesn't feel a welcoming place. There’s lots of walkers, a few dogs, a couple of runners and a minibus collecting a group of young people. It all feels formidable and busy ... not the path I love.

I’m missing Pegasus. It’s not the same being here without him.

I walk past a Christian Retreat and Outdoor Bound Centre, in an old Abbey. It must be a challenge creating calm and peace, alongside sweat, mud and excitement. Further on a gorgeous tea house peers out among hanging greenery. Another time I'd be overjoyed to sit and savour its delights, but today I want to walk.

The path is quiet now. The Saturday strollers have disappeared. The sun is trying to peek out between the clouds, I risk removing my waterproofs. All feels good.

Glimpses of the sea below edge the path. I love looking through the leaf framed views

On and on the path takes me. It's surface changes, it's surroundings change, but it does not. It keeps taking me on and on.

When I reach Heddon's Mouth, I am tempted to walk a mile off track to visit a near by Inn, for lunch, but decide another mile on top of the Guide Books 13.7 miles of strenuous walking, plus the 1-2 miles to then get to the campsite, might just be too much. Best crack on, while the sun is still smiling. Instead I enjoy a quick sandwich, on a bench, and I'm off!

So far the walk hasn't felt 'strenuous' but that might be because I'm not loaded with water and snacks for Pegasus, so my load is lighter. OR ... perhaps I haven't experienced 'strenuous', just yet!

The path took me up and up and down and up and up.

The next large expanse of landscape felt stark.

The sky began to darken. The breeze gathered strength. I watched as clouds began to gather. Then I saw it! A wet mist moving off the sea. I wasn't waiting to be told. Quickly I threw myself on the floor and lunged into my waterproofs! None of that graceful moving, I'd done the first time. Two ladies I'd over taken before lunch, laughed as they ambled past, "It won't rain, now you've put that on!" They then turned to feel the full force of a deluge hit them straight on! To say they squealed would not do credit to their response.

(This horrendous photo, is the only way I could think to give you an idea of the ferocity of the wind and rain. I had a hood and a hat on!)

I'm assuming I was on The Great Hangman. The highest sea cliff in England. Head down, I walked on, while the wind howled and the rain lashed into me.

Then as quick as it started the rain ceased and the wind settled. It was as if, it had never been. I looked at my map and knew I still had quite a way to go; my legs were starting to feel weary.

Blue sky started to lift my sodden spirit and I kept going, daring to take off my jacket! As I emerged from a wooded dip, I saw what according to my map was, The Little Hangman. Surely not my legs screamed ... it's huge!

The heather all around looked beautiful set against the blue of the sea. It was certainly a hardy plant living here.

The next three miles or so seemed to go on and on. Each up was followed by a down, each down with an up and endless bends.

I walked the last mile with a South African couple. We compared 22 year old 'children' and the challenges they bring, until eventually there it was Combe Martin!

I stopped at the first Inn and enjoyed a well deserved glass of wine and dinner looking out at a tranquil cove, before I made my way to the campsite, the other side of the next hill!