Today’s walk divided into two halves. In the morning, we had more Devon hamlets and churches, and a lot of hills, in ever increasing heat. In the afternoon we entered Exmoor, and followed the pretty river Barle. It was another 14 mile, seven hour walk.
In the first few hours, we passed through the villages of Knowstone, Yeo Mill, West Anstey and later Hollowcombe and Hawkridge. Between them were fields, hedged paths and lanes with steady climbs all the way. We climbed nearly 600 metres overall, but it felt more than this, with many descents in between.
Crossing into Exmoor, the landscape changed quite suddenly as gorse and scrub, heathland and moor took over from hedges and farmland.
A steep descent led us to Tarr steps bridge, thought to date back to the Middle Ages, and the longest example of a clapper bridge anywhere in the country. This is a well-known beauty spot, with kids paddling in the river, an ice cream stand and a nearby pub. On the Tuesday we visited it was relatively quiet, although we still saw more people here than for the rest of the day put together. But it’s popular here and I can see why.
The next four miles for me was the highlight of the day- a lovely riverside walk that we followed into Withypool. Most of this was shady and easy walking, apart from a stretch where horse riders were directed to ford the river, while walkers like us had to negotiate a trickier section involving tree roots and rocks.
Scourge of today was the horse fly. You don’t feel them, but suddenly notice one of these nasty critters on your arm and leg. When you brush it away, you are probably already bitten and bleeding. I’m covered in their bites after today’s walk.
But horse flies apart, it was a lovely day, if a little tiring because of the heat (in the upper 20s I think) and the many uphill stretches. At the end of day, we arrived at our accommodation for the night in the little village of Withypool, actually in Somerset, which we crossed into during the afternoon. Nearby, in Winsford, so we heard, is the family estate (or one of them) of Stanley Johnson, father of our current occupant of number 10. Or at least at the time I am writing this. Luckily, we won’t be crossing his land.
Across the Alps to the Adriatic 