Day Ten (Woolacombe to Braunton)

It was the wind howling and the rain lashing against my blackened window which awoke me, not my alarm, possibly because I'd not noticed it was a saturday and the alarm was set for 5am on a weekday! If resilience wasn't ingrained I'd never get through a day.

When my son woke from his TV induced slumber he remarked groggily "You've got some balls going out in this Mum." As a tired woman in her 50s, I felt an innate satisfaction in this response.

After a wet slippy drive down, I bade farewell to my youngest and set off from Woolacombe wrapped up ready to celebrate with the rain and wind. I felt bereft with no Pegasus by my side, his soul was keen but his body was not. Adopting old dogs brings joys and increasingly lonely walks.

True to form, I couldn't find the Coastal Path, so wandered along in the hope I would discover a familiar acorn at some point. As in Ilfracombe, it amazed me that the locals hadn't a clue what I was asking for. The path entices people from all over the world, but people who live on it's doorstep don't know of it's existence.

The rain was persistent as it did it's best to latch on to all who braved its energy. Runners splashed by, with sodden up beat strides, highlighting my cosseted attire.

Eventually I found an acorn sign and all was good, after a little confusion. I'm not sure I should ever walk a trail without a coast line to follow! Goodness only knows where I'd end up. I'm sure the signs are obvious to the fella who planted them, but they are not when you didn't know you were standing on the path. Educated guesses don't always work, so it's a case of trial and error, or in this case down a steep set of steps and then back up, once you'd worked out 'educated' doesn't necessarily mean it's right.

Now confident I was on the right path, I fought my way through the rain, as it tried hard to test the 'rainproofness' of my Amazon raincoat.

It occurred to me as I entered a sheep sprinkled field, the ease at which I did so. With no Pegasus to focus on there was no drama to manage. In stark contrast to Forest of Dean sheep, the sheep looked at me, decided they didn't like the look of what they saw, and created a sheep free path. I thanked them for their courtesy and continued on my way. As I walked away I reflected on their response, compared to Forest of Dean sheep, who look at walkers, and cars for that matter, with disdain, only moving when a car is inches from them or a frenzied dog is hurling abuse; even then a few will stand their ground, much to Pegasus' frustration. I do believe one or two reveal in the power.

Rain water rushed down the footpaths until it found somewhere to rest. I tried hard for that somewhere not to be my boots, but without a portable drawbridge that wasn't easy. It wasn't long before I was met by the sight of a misty Croyde Bay, basking in a hushed silence. The sight looked very different from the heaving beach I'd seen several years ago.

I enjoyed a spot of lunch sat in a cafe garden, under a wooden shelter, while the rain tried hard to reach my map. I'd taken one look at the neatly manicured clientele and decided my dripping attire wasn't conducive to the shabby chic atmosphere inside the cafe.

Journeying across the beach I was struck by the Britishness of the scene: surfers braved the waters, dogs hurtled in all directions loving the effect of skidding in the beach streams, children explored rock pools and Coast Guards tried hard to be heard through the wall of rain.

Once across the beach, I spotted a Grand Design property. I knew I'd recognised the coastline when I'd watched the episode, but just couldn't place it. There is stood empty and unfulfilled, just like the marriage of the couple who'd begun the ambitious and all consuming project. I wondered at the dynamics of the couple and what finally tipped them into separating; was it the relentless pressure of building a home and the never ending issues or was building the perfect home masking something deep within. After pondering this for a while, I came full circle and felt sad at the waste of a relationship which once had been good, now abandoned.

An easy walk bought me to this hazy stretch of beauty, Staunton Sands. I remembered getting out of the car to look at the view before me, with my boys when they were younger. So much has changed in their lives since that time; school, college, cars, work, travel and girlfriends.

Moving on, I encountered an unfriendly dog stile, which would have caused me problems had Pegasus been with me. Getting a 51kg GSD over or under such a stile is no easy feat.

I then judged the path by gut, as I could see no acorn signpost any where. I considered asking the cows looking at me with puzzlement, but got the distinct impression they were deep in discussion, so decided against it.

"What's that moving towards us?"

"I think dear, that is a city human."

"How do you know it's a city human?"

"It's stopped and thinking what to do. I recon it's someone that's seen that documentary

which said more people die as a result of cows stampeding than shark attacks. It doesn't know what to do, does it. A country human wouldn't have to stand their deciding what to do."

"Oh, why's it dressed all funny?"

"Goodness only knows dear. There's nothing stranger than humans."

Having worked out the safest route I made my way to the gate, watched closely by many inquiring and beautiful eyes. Silently I vowed to return to not eating beef; these magnificent creatures should not be reduced to meat on a plate.

Eventually I discovered an acorn signpost and all was going well until I came to this gate.

Oh no! Why didn't I listen properly when Country File was on? Surely going into this field wouldn't be wise, but then why would a farmer put a bull in a field, which forms part of the Coastal Path, unless of course the farmer has a sick sense of humour. I decided to brave it, I wasn't wearing red and I didn't speak Spanish, so the odds were in my favour, after all bulls can form bonds with humans, I rationalised. I remember seeing the photo of the desperate bull in a Spanish Bull Ring, seeking the help of the human who had raised him. But what if the bull in the field wanted to seek revenge for the cruelty his Spanish cousin had endured, what chance did I stand then? Thankfully I didn't have to ruminate for long.

The field was bull less.

The path then led onto a Golf Course, with warning signs to look out for golf balls and golf buggies, followed by a Military Training Ground, which warned walkers not to pick up military debris and avoid fast moving military vehicles.

I was about to ask "Blimey, what am I going to encounter next?" But before I had could mouth the words I had my answer "naturist activities", although forbidden, were a possibility in this UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. Who in their right mind would want their bits dangling near all these thorns, prickles and sand? The mind boggles. Thankfully I didn't have to content with any golf balls or buggies, any military artifacts or dangly bits, only shin deep puddles! My eagerness to maintain dry socks ended at this point. I offered my services to a distress girl stranded the other side of this delight! Her Mum and brother had chanced their luck, but she wasn't so confident.

The last stretch of today's walk offered views of the estuary I would be walking tomorrow and the elements made every effort to blow me over. My faithful hat, with its elasticated strap, stayed firmly on my head, securing a hoody hood and thus keeping my ears toasty.

A pair of cows stood transfixed as water bubbled busily by the banks; when the bubbles exploded loudly and violently, the entire herd charged to watch the spectacle. They were mesmerised for some time.

A wander through bursting Braunton bought me to North Cottage, my rest for the night.

After a much welcomed hot shower I ventured out in wet boots to try the local Indian restaurant. Upon entering the establishment I was welcomed by an eclectic array of artifacts in a white walled room. There were tealight holders and ceiling lights from Turkey, beach scenes from England, a picture of the Taj Mahal, Chinese plates, English pop music playing, a neon sign in the window, lanky house plants disguising windows and tired furniture cleanly presented. I'm not sure the proprietor embraced India when setting up shop but the food tasted good!

The little fellow who served me had trouble with a single woman in his restaurant. I'm not sure what he had trouble with the most, the single bit or the woman bit. It did make we wonder if I'd stuck a blow up 'man' on the chair opposite me, whether he'd have felt more comfortable with my presence. Who knows!

My bed was very welcoming at the end of the day.