Isle of Wight Costal Path. Day 2.

Poor old Eric would not settle in the huge porch of the £600 tent we bought especially so she had enough room. She was determined to come and sleep in the main vestibule which was absolutely only big enough for 2 humans. We tried, on a couple of occasions to zip her out of the inner vestibule, but she just kept forlornly poking the net with her nose looking for a way in. And we, are absolute suckers for that big orange forlorn face.

We spent the best part of 2 hours toing and froing over her sleeping arrangements, trying to make a bed for her in the porch, at the very bottom of the tent, the top, the middle. Ultimately, she just wanted to be on us – she likes to be close. Or, more likely on our ridiculously expensive and very fragile down sleeping bags which don’t fare well with a multitude of stilleto claw-paws haphazardly lumbering around on them.

Now, I could sleep upright, naked on a building site, nevermind the mere discomfort of a 22kg poodle on top of me, but Snakes is a little (a lot) more sensitive. So by the end, of the pretty stressful kerfuffle, Snakes was in the chilly porch and Eric and I were inside the tent.

I think she was being extra princess-y about her sleeping arrangements because of the ever increasing winds which we causing her angst.

By the early hours it was blowing an absolute hooley, the component which attaches the pole to the tent, snapped and I hadn’t packed enough pegs to peg out the entire tent plus guy lines. The Copper Spur Hotel is lump of a thing and isn’t,  in any way you pitch it, ergonomic when it comes to wind. Of which there was much. The tent was blown so hard the poles were bending inward and almost touching my face as I lay there waiting for a break in the THUNDERING rain so I could sort it.

My good friend Simon calls camping ‘fucking camping‘ and as of last night I’m inclined to agree with his terminology.

So, poor old Eric was whisked out of her bed which we took far too long to settle her in and made to wait while Snakes and I moved the entire thing to the lee of the chip van. I stole pegs from other people’s wind breaks like a thief in the night  (naturally they were not currently using them) then Snakes used our walking poles as pegs to complete the set.

We made this happen in all of about 6.3 minutes, but it was still fairly unpleasant throughout.

Fucking camping.

The morning was bright and full to the brim of hope. It felt like the morning was laughing at lasts nights drama, saying, “What the HELL was all that fuss about?” After a night of relentless rain and relentless being awake. We made tea and packed up at leisure.

The coastal road from here has been diverted. The IoW council go to the trouble of sticking a sign up, directing you to their diversion and then, feeling extremely proud of their efforts, they obviously all went on a tea break, and forgot about the project entirely. 1.5 miles up the road, on such a diversion, we arrived at our first decision point, with no signage to assist us we’ worked out a rough alternate, because luckily we’re not thickos, but, just what are you supposed to do if you are in fact a thicko?

The rubbish websites and closure signs only tell you where a landslide is and therefore exactly where the path is closed but not where the closure ends… So we made a bit of a guess based on our extensive geological knowledge, our local expertise and randomly chose when to drop back on to the trail.

None of this faff really mattered as, it wasn’t raining.

We made it back to the route and figured we’d just keep walking until we were told not to / fell off the cliff. We stopped for breakfast a couple of hours in, can you spot the half bagel in front of Eric that she decided she wasn’t interested in eating? Can’t be that hungry.

By midday the clouds had rolled in, but the rain was holding off. We passed two chaps walking the other direction and exchanged intel on the journey so far. The most important advice being that the coffee we’d come across next was instant.

After some cliff hugging, glorious rape smelling, and rolling fields with wet slippy muddy paths, we plummeted down a steep hill in to St Lawrence and straight into the Post Office, where I ordered a cup of tea.

Eric engulfed a full tin of Burger King (Butchers dog food) while we ate 2 day old sammies and supped on hot drinks.

From here the temperature dropped a little, we hugged the cliff edge and wound through muddy tracks overhung with spring greenery. The going was pretty, and slow. Eric remained attached to me at all times on account of her being liable to rush off the cliff in hot pursuit of a squirrel.

By the time we made it to the next town, the rain had set in. The last three miles were fraught with trespassing beyond road closures, path closures and quick reroutes through people’s property to make our life easier. The rain increased in ferocity but, luckily for us Snakey legs had booked the one remaining pet friendly 2* room in Shanklin. Luxury.

With the water coming down at the pace of a shower head, we ducked into the first pub we came across, which was 10 minutes from our hotel. Leaving a little later, having only partially dried off, stepping back into the deluge was pretty awful and I was very happy we weren’t crawling around in the undergrowth looking for a suitable camp spot with our broken tent, but instead arriving gopping wet with mud stricken legs and a muddy poodle to the most welcoming, immaculate, cheap and friendly 2* hotel I’ve ever stayed in. All hail Harrow Lodge in Shanklin.  10/10.

Miles on the day 17.3.

Whales spotted: 4