Across the seas to Lundy

Lundy Island sits in the middle of the Bristol Channel. It's had a chequered history, having been owned by, among others, in the thirteenth century a gentleman who plotted against his king, lived by piracy and was eventually hanged, drawn and quartered, in the eighteenth century by a corrupt MP who got a contract to transport criminals to America but took them to Lundy and used them as personal slaves, and in the nineteenth by a gentleman whose life's ambition was to build a church. Long (3.5 miles) and thin (half a mile) it also presents a hazard to shipping and boasts three lighthouses, one at each end (working) and one right on the top (abandoned because it was too often above cloud level).

Before yesterday all I could have told you about Lundy would have been where it is and that is has puffins. That's what we went for, basically, looking for puffins, but what we got was much, much more. It's a long way, too, from here to Bideford - a two hour drive - for the 7.30am boat ride, so the adventure got extended to an overnight in Barnstaple beforehand. Four of us set out from Plymouth on Monday evening, arriving in Barnstaple in time to have a very pleasant and reasonably priced meal in a lovely old place called The Cedars, which sadly was closing for refurbishment almost immediately afterward. And an early night for a 6.00am start for Lundy!

The weather's been settled, hot and sunny, for weeks now - it has become my habit to cover my face with factor 50 sunblock straight after my morning shower - but the forecast for Tuesday was a little uncertain. There was nothing uncertain, however, about the downpour which woke me just after 3.00am. And it was certainly still raining when we got up at 6. Still, we'd come all this way to visit Lundy, so I turned my sunhat inside out, put on all the layers of clothes I'd brought and off we went.

The Oldenburg makes regular trips from Bideford to Lundy. It takes supplies, passengers, post, everything. Assembled on the quay yesterday morning in the pouring rain were 262 souls, all a little dejected. Most, like us, were taking a day trip, a few would be staying in the holiday accommodation on the island. The other members of our group consisted of two from Exeter who had driven down in the morning and a family of five from Salisbury who had only arrived back in England from Sri Lanka the day before and were a little jetlagged, to put it mildly. We all filed on to the boat. Due to the inclemency of the weather, the interior accommodation was very quickly bagged by the people at the front of the queue and four of us found ourselves squashed on a bench for three outside by the aft gangway, sitting on a wet wooden bench in the wet air.

And we were off. The captain announced the sea state was 'slight' by which it quickly transpired he meant slightly choppy. A young crew member spent the whole two hour journey walking round solicitously dispensing sick bags. Our small corner of the deck quickly became even more crowded with unhappy clingers to the rails. On the plus side, it stopped raining, and there were bacon sandwiches to be had. A bacon sandwich, I always find, helps in a choppy sea. We reached our destination just after ten. As we arrived the captain announced that a (voluntary) round-the-island trip would be available in the afternoon before the scheduled departure back to Bideford - I didn't see much enthusiasm for the idea.

Our whole trip had been organised around the availability of our own personal guide to the island, and he was waiting for us on the quay. He was brilliant as a guide, was Simon, both knowledgeable and enthusiastic about all aspects of the island, its past, present and future prospects, the wildlife (puffins and other birds) and the introduced life (sika deer, soay sheep). After some brief introductions and a quick check on preferences as to what we'd like to see, off we set.

It's in the nature of islands, particularly small ones, that one arrives at the bottom and all the interesting bits are at the top. Four hundred feet up, to be precise, which was a bit of a challenge, but I got there. It helped that it was in short stages with stops for explanations. At the first stop, only fifty feet up or so (Trinity House landing stage) I was happy to get rid of the waterproof and fleece I'd started the day in, by the time we got to the Village (about two thirds of the way up) my sunhat was back the right way out, but I waited rather too long to get the anti-sun applied and went a bit pink in places by the end of the day - so did almost everybody else!

In the village there's a pub/tea room and a shop, and a mini museum which consists of wallboards with highlights of the island's history and a small display case in the middle. On top of the display case is a stuffed gannet in a glass case. I like gannets, but when I later enquired whether we would see any I was told that they don't nest on the island any more. I wonder whether this is in solidarity with their poor motheaten brother in the glass cage.

Upward and onward from the village to the central plateau of cultivated fields. As we passed through a gate there were a small herd of sika deer (a stag and a dozen or so hinds and young ones) posing beautifully on the skyline. They were far enough away to be unworried by us, but close enough for inspection through binoculars and photographs. Eventually they wandered off, down to a fence which they leapt in turn into an area of bracken and bushes. We went on through fields of sheep to a more open moorland area where there were Lundy ponies. These were originally a cross between New Forest ponies and a Welsh Mountain stallion but are now classed as a breed on their own. Tall for ponies, quite elegant, with beautiful gold or copper coloured coats.

By now we had crossed to the cliffs on the west side of the island and our guide took us to a clifftop where we had our picnic lunch and puffin watch. I must admit that given the amount of fuss they make about the puffins - almost every item in the shop was puffin branded, for example - I was expecting a large colony. Our guide explained that the colony had almost been wiped out by black rats, and was only just now recovering after the eradication of the rats. There are appoximately fifty birds, with about ten active nests, that's all. But they posed for us nicely on the other side of a little cove, halfway up a cliff. There were other birds on the cliff as well, guillemots and razorbills and a few gulls, but the puffins were the prize.

It's interesting that everybody present accepted the need to get rid of the rats to preserve the puffins without demur. When I mention to people that my nephew in New Zealand is working on the eradication of hedgehogs from his islands they are usually horrified. But the hedgehog in New Zealand is just as much of an introduced pest destroying the native wildlife as the black rat was on Lundy, surely?

After lunch we walked back inland, across moorland full of wheatears, skylarks and chocolate brown soay sheep, up to the original lighthouse on the very highest point. Built in 1819, designed by the same man who created Dartmoor prison, it wasn't a great success because it was too often invisible due to fog or low cloud. It makes a great vantage point, though; the one member of our party who made it to the top claimed he could see America! From there it was time to descend a little way back to the village for a most welcome tea break in the welcoming Marisco Tavern, which had a generous library of reference works, bird and wild flower field guides, and I amused myself by identifying an unknown pink flower we had come across as Centuary, one I'd not met before. One or two of our party opted for the trip round the island (they saw seals!) but most of us stayed on land, checking out the church and the castle, looking down on the South Lighthouse (unreachable from where we were) and generally wandering about until it was time to go home.

There was no sign of the sick bag dispenser on the way home; an altogether much more peaceful crossing. I did see one gannet and a few cormorants but, alas, no exotic marine creatures at all - I'd hoped for a basking shark or two. Altogether it was a memorable and thoroughly enjoyable day. The weather was kinder to us than we had anticipated, the deer and the puffins posed nicely, the island lived up to expectations. But it would not have been anywhere near as good a day without our guide. On the cliffs we met quite a few disappointed walkers who hadn't seen a single puffin, mostly because they didn't know where to look. Simon took the time to steer all of them in the right direction, as well as treating us to a proper display. But there was a lot more to the trip and the island than just bird watching, and it was thanks to him that we were able to get so much out of it.

I'd love to go again, I'd love to stay and explore Lundy properly. Unfortunately, however, the one strict rule they have there is that dogs are forbidden. And a day trip is about as much as I can manage without my dog. Or my man, come to think of it...

Following the Camel Trail (didn't see any camels!)

Once upon a time there was a railway which ran from Padstow inland to Wenford Bridge, a matter of about 18 miles, running alongside the River Camel and carefully engineered to follow the river valley as levelly as possible. Since it ceased to function as a railway back in the 1960s it has been resurrected as a hiking and riding (bike and horse) trail and is hugely popular with visitors to Cornwall. Or at least part of it - the 8 miles from Wadebridge to Padstow, largely along the estuary with views of golden sand and seabirds when the tide is out and the possibility of fish and chips or something posher on the coast at the end of the journey - is hugely popular.

Go the other way, though, and it's a completely different story. Inland from Wadebridge the trail passes mostly through woodland along the river valley, although the river itself is often quite a distance below the path. There are sunny stretches and (welcome) shady patches, birds and flowers and butterflies abounding but hardly any people, and those that we met were well worth meeting.

The day began with one or two minor logistic problems involving motorbikes with dead batteries (lifts can be arranged) and no reservation for lunch (picnics are nice). A somewhat reduced party of four dogs and three humans convened at the car park by the Borough Arms at Dunmere to walk, well, as far as we felt like, really, which turned out to be a nicely appointed picnic area in Shell Woods, just a bit less than five miles from our starting point. Because this end of the trail is so quiet we were not constantly having to marshall dogs at the side of the path out of the way of careering cyclists, and they were freer to explore, dashing down to the river wherever it was possible and generally racing about as they do. At Helland Bridge the path crosses a road, but apart from this it is flat, gently curving and free from hazards all the way.

Since joining our pack the spaniel, Harvey, has become quite adventurous. He has discovered a passion for swimming, and having been taught by the master swimmer, Ty, he follows his favourite technique of barking all the time he is swimming. Which got us into a little bit of trouble, just past Helland Bridge. The dogs had dashed down to the river. Ty and Harvey were swimming (loudly), Jake and Megs were paddling. We were joined on the path by two more people and their three dogs, who also went down to the river to play. Lots of fun was being had by all until a lady on the opposite bank asked us to stop, as the noise was scaring her piglets! Very embarrassing.

We joined packs then for a mile or so, until they turned back and we stopped for our picnic lunch. The return journey passed pleasantly but without incident, although we did try to visit a pottery but it turned out to be shut. We had done almost ten miles in about four hours, including our lunch stop and several dog paddling stops. Nice easy strolling, enough to be tiring but not too exhausting, and on the flat I can keep up quite easily!

We took a slight diversion on the way home to join Ron and the gang at the Inn on the Shore in Downderry. Ty insisted on being taken down to the beach, but when he got there he was quite happy to come back and lie down after five minutes. The beach was quieter than I would have expected, with very few people playing, considering the perfect seaside weather. The sea was looking beautiful, flat and blue and inviting. Sadly, (!) I had forgotten to pack a swimsuit, so I settled for liquid inside on the pub terrace instead of a refreshing swim. So did Ty, so he must have been tired.

Day Out in Somerset

A very long day out, as it happens. Sixteen hours of nonstop activity, and all thoroughly enjoyable. But not my usual sort of thing, not like a normal Saturday at all.

It was a sort of a party; a gathering, anyway, of people from all over the south west of England. From Salisbury and Saltash, Bideford and Bristol, we all converged at a cider farm near Taunton. Entertainment was to be provided, and one of the entertainments was to be bell ringing.

There is a mini belltower, complete with bells, which converts to flatpack for transport and can be taken anywhere. It looks like this when assembled. The problem was that it needed a vehicle large enough to get a 7ft heavy box of bits on the roof and six bells in a frame inside. My car, in other words. So I got up before dawn, walked my dog, fed the birds, had a quick coffee and was on the road at half past eight.

Picked up the organiser in Plymouth, picked up the belltower in Kingsteignton. Was instructed in the method for fitting the bits together like a jigsaw in the case for transporting, but as it was on my roof and above my eyeline I didn't get it all...

And then I drove very slowly and carefully to Three Bridges Farm, where Sheppy's Cider comes from. Because the weight on the roof was all on one side, corners were quite interesting. So, given the total weight of about five tons (perhaps a tad exaggerated, but quite heavy), was going down Telegraph Hill. I was quite glad to get there, to be honest.

A few willing volunteers got it up and running just as easily as I'd been told it would be, and it was a successful part of the day. We also had a talk on bellringing in general which was interesting, a very nice lunch (for 60 in a smallish room) and various other activities, most of which I missed. Although I did try my hand at Smite. A little known (because rarely televised) sport, Smite involves throwing one piece of wood at other named and numbered pieces of wood to achieve a perfect score of 50 and win the game. I'm not very good at it, although other people were pretty impressive. Somebody took a picture:-

After a long and enjoyable afternoon messing about, talking to people I haven't seen for years and some I'd never met before, it was time to disassemble the bell tower for transport home. About ten people helped to take it to bits very quickly, but then spent hours arguing about how to do the jigsaw of getting the bits in the box. We got it wrong, but it was functional. I only had to take it somewhere in Taunton and wait for someone else to come and collect it, but it took hours - long enough to have a meal in the town, then sit watching swifts circling until it got dark and they went to sleep to be replaced by bats - finally it was collected and I could drive home. I arrived at half past twelve, tired and ready to sleep. Ty, however, who had been out with Ron all day running round and going to beaches etc, was worried in case I hadn't been getting enough exercise, and insisted on taking me out for a good walk before bedtime. After he'd had the cookies he deserved for being abandoned, that is.

Oh, it was nice to lie down, when I finally got there...

Summer finally comes to Dartmoor

Not the wildest part of Dartmoor, just the edges, but warm enough for shorts and a shirt for the first time this year. A circular walk, generally gently down on the way there and gently up on the way back, nothing strenuous, lovely after the long day I had yesterday.
We started from the carpark at the edge of Roborough Down, behind the Paperweight Centre in Yelverton. Getting there was a bit of an adventure in itself - as I was driving through Yelverton a large black bird dived into the front passenger window of the car. Luckily (for me) it was shut at the time. Yelverton was full of some sort of cycle event, including tandems and bikes with kids on the back, so I couldn't really stop to check on the state of health of the crow (almost certainly, but possibly jackdaw or rook).
According to the map, the first part of the walk was a National Trail Recreational Route but it wasn't at all obvious, and our leader led us through the gorse bushes with a compass. When we were due to turn off the downs onto a public footpath leading to Buckland Monachorum, we found that the waymarker at the beginning had been deliberately sawn through and cast aside. Which is not good. Even worse, five minutes later, was the discovery that a short section of green lane between two fields was so overgrown as to be almost impassable, especially for the shorts wearers amongst us. One wonders which came first, the removal of the waymarker or the failure to keep the path clear. And is it worth reporting it? Probably, yes...
The path was in better condition further down, although some of the stiles were difficult for the dogs as they had been wired up. Another black mark for the landowner. Ty, who learned the hard way by spending a lot of time on boats, can work out how to get over most obstacles, and he'll also trust me to show him the way by tapping the places I think he should put his feet. Jake, who spent most of his formative years in kennels and didn't know how to get up steps at all when he was first liberated, isn't very agile at all and struggles. He's also the heaviest of the pack. Megs has a tendency not to see the paw traps and sometimes gets caught up. Harvey's a spaniel, with a totally different technique - dig through if possible, if not let yourself be picked up!
We entered Buckland Monachorum from behind the church, which has what seemed an excessively large graveyard for a small village. The village was decked overall in bunting, but it wasn't to welcome us; we'd missed the village fete by a day. A stroll round, a quick visit to the pub (two minutes after opening time) to use their facilities, then upward and onward. Coming out of the village the path leads around the edge of The Garden House. From what we could see by peering over the bridges and through the fence this probably deserves its 'magical' description, but apart from a bit of 'Do you know what that is?' and 'I'd love one of those' we had to pass it by. Going round the garden proper would have taken too long, and, of course, is not free.
After the Garden House we met a lot of horses. Proper horses in small fields, not loose ponies. I'd never seen horses in beekeeping helmets before, but I was informed by someone who knows about horses that they are for the prevention of flies, and can be seen through from the inside perfectly well. I believe this. Ty was several times sniffed by curious horses again, and Micheal was pursued like a pied piper by a couple who wanted to go home with him!
Around Axtown we had a slight diversion. We were following the footpath signs until our leader's trusty compass indicated that we were going in the opposite direction to the way we should be, so we had to backtrack a little and find the right path (not so well signposted) up back to Roborough Down and across to the car park.
For lunch we drove to the 16th century Who'd Have Thought It Inn at Milton Combe. I was intrigued by the blue cheese, spinach and walnut bread and butter pudding, which proved to be delicious, served with an imaginative and delicious salad featuring more walnuts, grapes, apple, cherry tomatoes and green things. It was surprisingly filling too, which was a pity in a way because there was Eton Mess on the dessert menu, and I didn't have room.
After lunch we had another little adventure, driving down to Lopwell, where the River Tavy is dammed to form a reservoir which provides water for Plymouth. Below the dam it's possible at low tide (which it was) to walk across a wall to the salt marsh on the other side. It isn't possible to swim, not even for dogs, although it's possible for spaniels to find quite stinky mud to frolic in, apparently.
And so home, tired, but happy. A lovely summer day out.