Day 11, June 11, 2011 -- Boscastle to Bude

My personal welcome sign

Today was a long day. I left Boscastle at 10:00 and finally dragged into my hotel at Bude at 7:20. The SWCP in this section is extremely difficult, which explains why I didn’t encounter very many walkers along the way. Because there are so few walkers who actually come all the way from Boscastle, the Bude village officials put out a personal welcome sign for me when they heard I was coming. I was touched.

Boscastle is a pretty little village, much of it having been rebuilt after a massive flood in August, 2005.

Much of today’s walk was through preserve land owned by the National Trust. At one location, wild horses have been introduced. 

Ethel and Jennifer

After four hours of very difficult terrain, I arrived in Crackington Haven. As I entered the village, two ladies sitting on a bench remarked, “Didn’t we see you in Boscastle?” I said that was possible, and asked them if they had walked all the way. “Of course not, Boscastle is only a short drive – why would anybody walk?”

The rest of the day was occupied by more scenic views. The steep descent into Millook revealed a geologically interesting cliff face.  Enlarge the photo and look at the switchbacking layers.

Patriotic Brits

Scenery is getting old without interesting people along the way.










© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 10 -- Port Isaac to Boscastle

Rain before seven, clear by eleven.” Hah. It rained hard all morning, accompanied by a cold wind. No, a cold gale. Surprisingly, I came across at least a dozen couples out for the day. They were all staying locally, so they weren’t required to be out in the bad weather. They were just typical English walkers, who didn’t care about the weather.

I left Port Isaac at 9:30 and arrived in Boscastle at 6:45. I wasn’t dawdling, and my feet were not slowing me down. And I probably didn’t spend more than an hour talking to people on the trail. OK, maybe 90 minutes. It was a very difficult day, and I don’t see how Andy Robinson could have thought the walk to Boscastle could be done from Wadebridge in one day. Had I tried to do that, mountain rescue would be out looking for me tonight.

Just outside of Tintagel, I came upon a well-dressed gentleman sitting on a bench staring forlornly out to sea. I asked him if everything was alright. He said, “No. Tintagel is famous for the Tintagel Castle, and all of the lore about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”

Pub named after Art

I told him that I had passed Merlin’s gift shop in town, and that it seemed that every store was selling replicas of Excalibur.

“That’s the problem," he replied.  "The whole economy of the village is built around tourists searching for King Arthur. And without the castle tours, I couldn’t afford to keep the castle.”

“You own the castle?” I inquired.

“Yes. I’m King Arthur, and if the tourists ever find me they’ll stop coming to Tintagel, and the village will go bankrupt and I’ll lose my castle. So every morning I’ve got to leave the castle and come out to this place on the trail where tourists never come. You aren’t a tourist are you? You shan’t – how do you say – blow my cover?”

“Oh, of course not. I’m a highly-trained lawyer, and preserving confidences is my stock in trade. Ask my friend Professor Ron.”

“All I ask for,” replied the King, “is to be able to walk around town without the tourists identifying me.”

“Not a problem, Art. Here carry my backpack. If you carry a backpack the tourists will not even see you. Even if you greet them with a hardy “Good afternoon,” they will avert their eyes and pretend you aren’t even there.”

"Should I remove my crown?”

“That won’t be necessary. If you carry a backpack you are reduced to the level of homeless, and even if you are wearing an $85 hiking shirt and $100 hiking pants and carrying state-of-the-art carbon fiber hiking poles that cost more than any tourist could afford, they will still treat you like you were homeless.”

“Homeless??? I own the castle!!!”

“It doesn’t matter if you own three castles. Carry a backpack and the tourists won’t even see you. If you want to remain anonymous, you would do better carrying a backpack around town than trying to find solitude on the trail.”

“That’s wonderful news. For your service to the crown, I will confer knighthood upon you.” And after contemplating the array of maps in my pocket and the GPS hanging from my backpack, he drew his sword and gently tapped me on the shoulder. “I dub thee Sir Lost-a-lot.”



Unusual Stile

 And that’s the truth. Honest.



© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 9, Wadebridge to Port Isaac

“Rain before seven, clear by eleven” was the advice I received from another breakfast guest. I hoped he was right, because it had been raining before seven and was still raining hard at 8:00 breakfast. By the time I left the B&B at 9:00, the skies had cleared. Never question a local’s wisdom.

The B&B I stayed in last night was built around 1670. To be sure, changes and upgrades have been made over the years, but the building remains basically as it was. The plumbing is probably from early 20th century. Electricity, probably a little later. WiFi was probably the most recent improvement, which is how I did last night’s posting.

The route from Wadebridge to Port Isaac by the South West Coast Path is 17 miles. Andy Robinson’s guide book for the End to End trail departs from the SWCP by passing through pastures and following country lanes until reaching Port Isaac, and then continuing on to Boscastle the same day – a distance of 19 miles. Since today was intended to be my rest day, I decided to follow Andy’s route only seven miles -- as far as Port Isaac --  and save the 12 additional miles to Boscastle for tomorrow.

It’s a good thing I did. I've developed blisters on the balls of my feet over the past two days, and despite treating them with every technique known to medicine, my feet were very painful today. I’m not sure I could have done 19 miles, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have been very happy. I’m hoping that the short day today, and only 12 miles tomorrow, will help them heal faster.

Port Isaac

When I arrived in Port Isaac, a television crew was filming an episode of Doc Martin. I had never heard of the program, but as was explained to me by a security official, it is a drama series based in Port Isaac. I thought I might have the good Doc look at my feet, but it wasn’t in the script, and actors have forgotten how to ad lib. I should have tried the old “Do you know who I am?” routine and promised them a ratings boost with my vast number of followers. Oh well, their loss.



A FEW WORDS ON MY MAP

As often as I can, I am inserting a marking pin where I spend the night. On the main map, very little progress can be seen. If you click on the link under the map, a larger map opens in a separate window. By continuously clicking on the + or – buttons, you can zoom in or out. (You’ll have to re-position the map by clicking the < or > buttons or the up or down buttons.) If you are interested, that will provide a better idea of what little progress I make. You can also switch between satellite images and the map. Finally, in some of the villages, you can drag the little man to a street and walk him down the street to see what I was seeing.

You can also click on my pictures to enlarge them in a separate window – so if you really want to see the rock Marley was carrying yesterday, you can.



© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 8 -- Harlyn Bay to Wadebridge

Locals say that the weather will be getting progressively worse for the next week. Today was a mixture of sun and rain, with constant wind, and temperatures alternating between pleasant and very cold – depending upon whether or not the sun was out. I don’t carry a thermometer, but measure temperature by the number of layers I need to wear to avoid shivering while walking. Hot is one layer – a T shirt. Pleasant is two layers – adding a long sleeve shirt. Cold is three layers, adding either a vest or a wind/rain jacket depending upon the wind chill factor. Very cold is all four layers. Extreme cold requires the addition of gloves and a wool cap. That’s all I’ve got, so anything beyond extreme cold results in hypothermia if not treated promptly at a pub.

Some of you may think this isn’t very scientific, but with enough gradients, it works quite well. For example, warm is between hot and pleasant, and the option of one or two layers is probably dictated by whether the trail is ascending or descending. Similarly for pleasantly cool. Those of you familiar with the Beaufort wind scale will recognize how well this works.

I’m getting tired of sea cliffs and beaches, so I’ve detoured slightly inland to walk through farmland. In England, public footpaths have been around for a thousand years or more, and public rights of way often pass through farmers’ fields. In the U.S. a farmer would shoot someone walking through his crops, especially if his crops are being grown in the national forest.





Padstow Harbour

 I was joined for part of the walk along the Camel Trail between Padstow and Wadebridge by a delightful gentleman named Neil, whose wife – believe it or not – was attending a cooking class today. I think it’s reprehensible that a husband would go out walking while his wife slaves over a hot stove – unless, of course, it’s for an emergency rescue.





Marley




Two questions for the day:


Why does Marley play fetch with a rock?

Do British fire engines float?











© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 7 -- Trevarrian to Harlyn Bay

The day started out with the usual full English breakfast – bacon (ham), tomato, hash browns, mushrooms, egg, baked beans, toast. I could have had sausage also, but why overdo it? That’s the main course. It’s preceded by cereal, milk and yogurt. Top it off with a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice, and I’m ready to float to the next destination. And you thought this would be hard work.

Ruby, Mary Jane and Maisie

The past few days I’ve been coming across an incredible number of people walking their dogs – most of which are either Labradors, golden retrievers, or border collies. The dogs are wonderfully friendly, maybe because I smell like them. But I smelled like them when I was in Ireland, and the dogs there kept attacking.

Dogs aren’t the only thing I smell like. I decided to leave the coastal path today due to high winds and spitting rain. I turned inland through the farm country, and almost immediately distracted the cattle from their grazing. They must have thought I was another cow leading them to greener pastures. I’ll spend more time in the shower tonight.

The English treat their animals very well.  I'm a little concerned about their children, however.

I’ve been seeing more and more Volkswagen buses. Many of them had surfboards on top. I thought I was in a time warp back at UCSB in the '60's (that’s University of California at Santa Barbara for anyone challenged by abbreviations). The west coast of Cornwall seems to be the surfing capital of England. The Beach Boys should do a gig here.






© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 6, June 6,2011 -- Perranporth to Mawgan Porth (Trevarrian)



Observation post/pill box

 It was 17 miles to Mawgan Porth today, over grass-covered coastal bluffs scoured by coastal winds. The weather was dry, sunny and windy, but I never really noticed the terrain or the weather. All day I was consumed by an eerie presence.



Gun emplacent looking towards ocean


Sixty-seven years ago, hundreds of thousands American, British, and Canadian troops were gathered in southern England undergoing training. Reminders of their presence remain all along the coast. England was a dangerous place back then.

On this date in 1944, the troops left England for a more dangerous place – the Normandy beaches of France. They were boys, really – 18, 19, 20-year old boys breaking through the surf. By the time they reached the top of the beaches, they had become men.

Barracks

They left this place long ago, yet I could still sense their presence. I could sense their tobacco smoke. I could hear their chit-chat, their nervous laughter, their silent prayers. They knew what they were facing. I could hear their pencils scratching out final letters to parents, sweethearts, wives – to children they would never know.



Munitions bunker

 Three thousand of them lost their lives on that one horrific day 67 years ago today. The ensuing days, months, years, decades have taken many more. Some are still living. A few have changed into toothless old men, now confined to wheelchairs. Others can still drive a car. Or a golf ball. But not one of them has the same vitality he had on that fateful day.

Saying thank you seems so inadequate, but what else can we do? Thank you for your valor, your sacrifice. Thank you for making it possible for me to walk where you once stood. Some day I may walk where you fell, where you got up, where you did your job.

Because of you, tomorrow was a better day.


© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 5, June 5, 2011 -- Portreath to Perranporth

I stayed last night at the Cliff House B&B in Portreath. It seems that some B&Bs have improved over what I have come to expect as the typical bathroom set up. Cliff House had modern facilities, and conveniences for traveling guests – like mixer faucets and a heated drying rack for guests who wash clothing. The shower was actually large enough so I didn’t hit my elbows on all the walls. Too bad I stayed only one night.

Today I felt like an ant walking a washboard must feel, constant ups and downs all day. I prefer the ups, because my knees don’t like the downs. But all in all it was a good day, with sunny, clear weather.

One of the descents took me to a busy café on a small beach where I had a fresh crab sandwich – a nice departure from the pasties (pronounced past’ – eez).  One of the ascents took me across long-ignored tin mine tailings.  It was not very picturesque - indeed it was ugly, but it served as a reminder that everything we have comes from the ground, and there need to be places like this if we going to have even minimal comforts.

Except for the tailings, the scenery was outstanding all day, and I met quite a few walkers, including a couple from Pittsburgh who have been hiking 100 mile segments on the South West Coast Path for several years. Regrettably, I didn’t write down their names, so if they see this posting, I’m hoping they’ll send me an email so I can add more detail. (Actually, this is a good way to find out if all the people I meet actually look at the blog like they say they will.)

Tim and Simon

Two men, Tim and Simon, were walking the coast path for charity. Simon’s daughter, Octavia, has spinal bifida and they are raising money for advancing treatment. Incredibly, they have already raised £120,000 – almost $200,000. I overlooked taking their picture, which would have made a nice addition to this blog. I’m hoping they will email me a picture of themselves in their “walking for Octavia” shirts. (My mind was on scenery mode today, so I wasn’t even thinking about photographing people until Tim and Simon and I were 100 yards apart. I wasn’t about to chase them down.)  Here's the link to their blog.

Even with all of the trail chit-chat, I arrived at my Perranporth accommodation at 5:30, tired but happy. Fish & chips for dinner tonight – maybe I’m becoming English.

© 2011 Ken Klug