South Hams Way. Day 3

The day begun with tea in bed. As all days should always begin. The heating-less farmhouse posed no threats to this adequately insulated square of a human. I slept soundly and completely.

We dined downstairs with a family of three, who were completing the south west coastal path in stages – we chatted all things trail and this, accompanied by a pretty perfect breakfast and sunshine through the window made for a joyous start to the day. My new mate Phil even brought in a meaty sausage for Eric, horrified that she might be on a vegetarian diet (she’s not).

Eric engulfed her sausage and by 9 we were on the road – this may seem decadent and I suppose it was, but we had a tidal estuary to cross which we were advised was three hour walk away and could only be crossed one hour either side of low tide.

We set off making our way to the coast in the glistening sunshine, lighting up bright yellow gorse which flashed against the azure blue of the English Channel. The paths were gentle and wide and we were full of the joys of a rainless morning.

We made 6.6 miles before too long though it being Easter Sunday we’d seen more people on the path then the days previous and this meant that my inordinate number of wild wees was hindered by the inability to drop trou whenever and wherever I liked.

Also the amount of people commenting on how great it was that ‘he’ (Eric) is carrying all his stuff increased ten fold to the point that I ran out of fake laughing.

We arrived at Mothecoombe beach in good time and Eric lost her mind as she always does on the beach. She joined in (completely took over) a ball game some gregarious new to the world puppy was playing and had to be dragged away.

We rounded the corner to the recommended spot for crossing the Erm estuary and re- checked the tide times before realising we were almost two hours too early. The internet informed us of about 8 different tide times and Phil added a 9th to the mix- seemed like all of them were wrong.

The estuary was emptying but it wasn’t empty enough for us to safely wade through. Especially if we were a 2ft tall poodle.

We deliberated over getting a taxi to shuttle us the half hour drive / 9 mile alternative walk around the estuary to save time (as we still had 10.5 miles of trail to walk the other side of it) but it wasn’t going to work out. We decided to sit and wait it out and relax in the sun before trying to wade across.

After a couple of reenergising cheese and cucumber sandwiches and an entire bag of FLIPZ- I was eager to move. I ventured out to check the depth of the estuary taking my little fluffy headed pal with me. Eric halted at the first inch of water (not like she was bread for duck hunting or anything) and howled at me while I waded the 100m across to test the depth.

We weren’t due to be able to cross for some time but I guess tides are funny little gravitationally pulled creatures and who the hell knows….

I waved the others over while a little patient Eric sat the other side of the estuary thinking I’d left her for ever.

I came back for Eric, donned her rucksack and we all waded over as a family – Eric wishing she was part of any other family who dint make her do things like this.

It only ever came up to her belly but she thought she was drowning

We motored the next 5 miles to Bigbury , one brutal hill after the next, the elevation profile was like peaked T waves on a cardiac monitor. But the lure of beautiful Burgh island and the magical mystic of it kept me chugging on towards it.

I’ve never really understood the lure of lonnnnnng coastal paths such as the South West Coastal path, which we’d now joined for three days. They’re always incredibly hard work , feet slanted continually to the seaward side, ridiculously steep knee altering descents and energy sapping ascents not to mention pretty rubbish views.

A lot of people have expressed deep concern for Groany Mitchell’s welfare – I haven’t mentioned the rash on here since day one as I’m trying not to draw attention to it – but you’ll be very pleased to hear it a gone (obviously it’s gone).

In Bigbiry we drank coffee / ate ice creams and dreamed of being able to afford a night or four at the hotel on the island opposite. One day.

A quick l stomp over the hill and down to the Avon estuary and we landed at the second big crossing of the day- the Avon. Still low tide but not low enough to cross we walked out to the channel across the flats. We’d missed the last crossing by 40 minutes and stood staring at the other side of the frustratingly close bank wondering if it was swimmable. I saw a small boat the other side, I could commandeer it and paddle it back for the lads. No I couldn’t. We called local establishments to see if anyone knew the ferryman, that they could convince him to come back for three stranded babes on the beach. No such luck.

Option 1 was to swim – no.

Option 2 was to get a taxi the long way around the estuary- yes.

We had to walk a mile back up the hill to Bigbury golf course furiously calling taxis on the way. We found a nice, local chap who would take little Eric and would be with us imminently. Perfect.

Before too long I was sat in the bar of the cottage Hotel in Outer Hope drinking a negroni – which the barman shook and served with no ice and a straw (until he was politely but firmly corrected) and watching the ocean swirl about. The hotel was like going back in time, it reminded me of Roald Dahl’s Hotel Magnificent. Snakes was beside herself with joy.

For £22 at booking we had a £55 four course meal included, served to us expertly by 5 individual immaculately dressed and impeccably efficient servers. it was the kind of hotel which makes a really big deal over the chocolate mints served with coffee after the meal, and why not?