South Hams Way day 1

We woke bleary eyed to a semi frantic bellowing of “DO YOU THINK I HAVE SEPSIS?!”

The night before, your old pal Groany Mitchell (you’ll remember her from such blog editions as the North Wales Pilgrims Way) came to visit. It was not an unexpected wake up call as she’d been concerned for her general state of wellbeing since she contracted a cold some days before. This lead to a chest infection, antibiotics and, even though ten days later she’d seen much in the way of an improved condition, she jumped to the conclusion of sepsis after discovering a faint and not particularly itchy rash on her forearms. 

She doesn’t have sepsis, obviously, and after much in the way of sensible comfort from Snakes and the displaying of many disgusting actual sepsis rash pictures from me , our planned morning ablutions could take place. 

We were all instructed (by me) to be ready by 7am , but #rashgate delayed things somewhat, as did Groany Mitchell’s lengthy morning rituals, so we were on the road by 7:30. 

2 hours drive south saw us driving up my good pals driveway in a deepest richest Devon. When I say driveway I mean forest track. They live in a Lorry up a massive hill in the woods just outside Totnes. Parking in Totnes central isn’t easy so they secured us a safe patch at their place for the next 6 days. Thanks pals. 

During which we’ll be walking a 102 mile loop across iconic Devonshire landscapes: Dartmoor National Park, 50 miles of cliffs, coves, and estuaries along the the South West Coastal Path, (where we’ll negotiate 5 estuary’s via either: ferry, perfectly timed tides, unfortunate swims or annoying long detours). We’ll then turn back inland meandering though Devon’s magic deep valleys and holloways, back to Totnes. 

This is a new trail (naturally none of the paths are actually new as people have been moving around Devon since the nomadic, hunter-gatherer population inhabited the area intermittently during the Palaeolithic period ) but the trail is new in terms of modern day long distance walking paths. It opened in October 2025.

We set off down the hill into Totnes to find the start of the trail which happened upon us in the form of the first green arrow sign.

Before long, Groany Mitchell announced  you’ll have to check my rash”- which became a repeated command throughout the day.

We reluctantly bypassed the charity shops, offers of crystal magic, bake houses and managed to avert our eyes past the extremely seductive coffee houses, bustling with Good Friday trendies, beanies perches so high on their fluffy head you wonder how effective they can possibly be.

We passed the castle and descended to the Dart. You’ll know by now that the ‘edgelands’ are my favourite, where urban-side and countryside blend and merge into some kind of enticing, melding graffiti and fox glove art form. 

We followed the dart, popping in and out of mossy woodland glades before passing through a gate which lead us onto the Dartington estate.

Even after thousands of miles we still always perform the same amount of early trail faff. Layering up, taking layers off, talking in depth about our individual layering system, seeking advice on the aforementioned, asking what the other persons layering system consists of, one person needing the loo, another one needing the loo 3 minutes after the last person went. Etcetera.

The trail was varied and beautiful. The weather was less so. Mainly mizzle (misty drizzle) and an amount of wind that was acceptable but not welcome. 

After around approximately 1.35 hours of continuous walking we stumbled upon a 1930s working railway carriage tea room and decided that, even though we had a 17 mile day ahead we would be remiss and stupid not to take this opportunity to be welcomed in by cheery ladies and have them relieve us of cash in exchange for tea and cake. It was delightful, and we caught it on its last ever weekend before it takes to the rails and moves its self up the tracks to Totnes. 

Thoroughly but not deservingly refreshed we took to the lanes uphill, all four of us; which was surprising given how long Groany Mitchell deliberated over whether or not to take the train to the next town and meet us there (on account of the suspected sepsis you understand).

The topic of conversation was ‘what is the name of this plant?’ with Snakes’ knowledge being as extensive as to point out the ‘common Ivy, regular nettle and average bramble’. 

We checked Groany Mitchell’s rash again. Still not sepsis. 

Before long we collapsed on the floor to eat some food, well in advance of our half way point and not that long after that naughty tea stop. We ate pre-made sandies and carried in up a hill with full tummies. We’re full of good decisions today. 

Rash check.

Eventually feeling like we’d walked much further than the 8.5 ish miles we had, we landed in Buckfastleigh. I didn’t feel we had the time to visit the excellent sounding museum here (a pub that was vacated in 1960 and left pretty much as it was – we’ll have to come back for that). Snakes went and bought us lucazade, Groany Mitchell, meanwhile, took out her ‘pulse roll’ leg massager and started massaging her butt in the town centre.

We carried on up our main climb of the day which took us up and out of town and on to Dartmoor. It became increasingly cold and wet and windy and bleak as we climbed. Dartmoor should only be encountered in extremes of weather – really bad or really good. Because it’s really good in really bad weather. 

We climbed up onto the moor into a headwind which increased with every metre of height gained. Flat Eric’s ears were flying parallel to the ground out behind her and her face was deep with concentration. She has a great face.

After a flat summit we descended swiftly to Avon Damn reservoir and down further to eventually get out of the raging and chilling wind. The good thing about the wind? No rash checks. We followed the Avon flanked by gnarly ancient trees. Eric was too muddy and slippery to safely negotiate stiles at this point so relented and accepted help. We were all pretty knackered. The rain increased, we traversed muddy tracks, holloways and fields and were very happy to eventually descended to South Brent and the packhorse inn where we had two rooms booked.

It was HEAVING in the pub , happily so, but on entry it was so stiflingly hot it felt far too much like you were sharing DNA with everyone in the bar just by being in the room. I dived in while the others waited in the foyer, we were shown to two ample ancient and just about clean enough rooms by a very friendly lady. 

A couple of hot showers later and we were completing a quick breakfast resupply at the co-op where I was aggressively told I was absolutely NOT allowed to take a (empty cardboard) box from the shop (to carry out shopping in) “without permission”. 

I asked for permission. 

I was not permitted. 

I told him “that was weird”.

He told me “GDPR ”. (Complete sentence)

If cardboard boxes have any sensitive information on , should they be on the shelf? Where can take pictures of them? 

We fell next door into the fish and chip shop which was EXCELLENT. Mainly due to frickles. 

We took these and a couple of beers to our room where we were reunited with Eric who was no longer flat but was extremely tired. Sweet girl. 

17 miles and 747 metres on the day