The alarm goes off at 4 am — not that I needed it. I woke up every couple of hours to find myself squished at the bottom of the slope. Thankfully, it’s a relatively short day, as my back is stiff and my glutes are like set concrete. The beautiful morning more than compensates.
The River Erme at dawn looks magical. I could be anywhere in the world.
Removing my boots, the water is only just above my knees. I pause in the middle. There is nothing to disturb the view in all directions. Silence. Breathtaking.
I have breakfast on the far side as the sun rises and the birds start to sing.
The walk to Noss Mayo is lovely. The path starts heavily overgrown but emerges into an open cliff-top walk with fine views.
It’s early afternoon when I reach the River Yealm ferry crossing to Wembury. Bill, the ferryman, raises an eyebrow, like a character from the old Hammer horror movies, on hearing that I plan to stay at the Pilgrims Rest Campsite.
“Not sure if he is open. Strange chap.”
That sounds ominous.
My first stop is the Old Wheel, a lovely, welcoming pub. Ham, eggs, and chips washed down with Tribute and Salcombe Pale Ale.
The owner appears with two lurchers, who pad across to check me out. A second lady arrives, surprised to see the dogs so docile. She’s a dog trainer brought in to teach the newly acquired rescue dogs not to bark at the punters. In the words of my daughter, Hayley, I am a dog whisperer. Or perhaps it’s just the chips?
Suitably mellow, I stroll up the hill to the campsite. The owner, as predicted, tells me he is closed and there are no facilities. I must look weary, as he relents. There’s a lone water tap, and he kindly brings me some washing utensils. He is certainly a garrulous, engaging, old character, giving me the historical backdrop to his business and the area. It’s a luxury to pitch early and lounge around reading before falling asleep on a wonderfully flat surface.
Walk distance: 11 miles.
Total distance: 559 miles.