Kilve to Blue Anchor 1.9.19

We are dropped off at Kilve church and walk down the lane to the coast path.

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……..where an information board tells us about the practice of glatting on Kilve Beach.

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Someone could not resist a quick sabotage of the photo so here is one from the internet. I’m afraid I cannot eat eels at the best of times and a conger eel……………..just look at what I found………

Congers are predators and can attack humans. In July, 2013, a diver was attacked by a conger eel in Killary Harbour, Ireland, at a depth of 25 metres. The eel bit a large chunk from his face. The diver reported the creature was more than 1.8 metres (5 ft 11 in) in length and “about the width of a human thigh” Eeeeeek………

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Today we are walking along the edge of the Quantock Hills that are famous for being England’s first designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. The dramatic sky looks like rain but the forecast says otherwise.

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Off to the left is a grand country house but it is not shown on the map…………..

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We follow the England coast path through fields and along the pie crust cliff edge – the dramatic beach striations reveal themselves as the tide retreats.

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At one point we come to two or three fields of maize standing to attention in neat lines. I may be a bit slow on the uptake but I suddenly realise why the African/Caribbean hairstyle is called “corn rows”.

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At St. Audries Bay we meet one of those signs ……………..

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……..but fortunately there are a few people on the beach walking dogs or looking for fossils and they seem to know that the tide is going out and will turn again at 1 pm – plenty of time.

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At the end of the beach is a spectacular waterfall – wonderful to stand under on a hot day I would imagine, although the top of the cliff doesn’t look too secure.

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Around the corner is a metal staircase to take us up to the top of the cliffs – from here the path winds around a holiday park and then joins the road into Doniford.

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We are by now gasping for a cup of tea but when we reach Watchet harbour there is such a lot going on that it takes a while before we find the right place. The harbour front is full of colourful stalls and happy crowds – this must be a regular Sunday market.

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…………..and in the midst of it all is this – a sombre reminder of the wages of sin –  The Ancient Mariner (Coleridge’s poem was written while he lived with his wife in Nether Stowey, a village 10 miles away).

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………..the desperation and sorrow in his face is chilling.

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Time for a nice cup of tea, which we find in a delightful little tea house on the corner.

The path out of Watchet follows the main road west out of the town and then branches off to take us up onto the cliffs again. From here to Blue Anchor are long stretches of mud and sand and it’s pretty monotonous walking but the clues cast mesmerising shadows.

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Eventually we reach Blue Anchor and I get a chance to take some photos of the station.

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…………….priceless……….

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………there’s tea and biscuits and pots of jam for sale. Books and magazines too………

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……………..and after a short wait, here comes our train, a steam train this time! Hurray!

 

Distance: 12 miles

 

 

 

 

Blue Anchor to Minehead 31.8.19

The South West Coast Path is done but now there is another path to follow, as we still have some time and energy left. The ammonite emblem directs us along the promenade and up to the station, where we catch a train to Blue Anchor, some five miles up the coast – the plan is to walk back to Minehead. The fortunes of the West Somerset Railway have ebbed and waned over the years, and it has been pulled back from the brink of extinction a few times. Currently it has fifty paid staff and a key input from 900 volunteers. Running both steam and diesel trains up the twenty mile line to Bishops Lydeard, it is the longest heritage railway in England. Unfortunately for us there is no steam train for another two hours so we take the old diesel train.

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Two stops up the line is Blue Anchor where we are met by this slightly worrying sign – but the sea is miles away so we hobble off down the pebbled beach.

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It is hard work walking on the pebbles, not helped by a strong headwind but around Dunster it changes to mud and stones and then later to proper sand.

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For a quarter of a mile a row of quite substantial beach chalets stand guard………..

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We have now reached an area called The Warren where the path skirts the golf course at Minehead. This warning is a new one on me………………………………………..

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And last but not least we arrive at the gates of the Promised Land………………………

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I think I’m right in saying that my parents were very scornful of a Butlins holiday but that could just be me. Looking at it now that I am a parent (and grandparent) I can definitely see the allure for families. Offers include indoor and outdoor pleasure pools, a circus, live entertainment (including a weekend of live electronic music), a funfair, family friendly restaurants and if you ever need to escape the pressure of so much fun there is a long sandy beach and woodland walks in the hills above the town.  Talking of which I also discover that the stainless steel scallop shell, placed at regular intervals along the front, is an attempt by the local authority to tempt the inmates of Butlins out into the streets of the town. There is a mile of them starting from the entrance to Butlins all along the promenade to the harbour – the Maritime Mile Trail.

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Distance: 5 miles

 

 

Porlock to Minehead 31.8.19

Golden Gate Park in San Fransisco is the only other place I have seen such glorious Dahlias – our BnB lady tells us she feeds them with chicken pellets. Although a little on the showy side I find myself admiring the size and colour of these beauties. We are in Porlock by the way, a very pretty village with two good pubs and extremely good homemade pork pies.

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This morning we follow an old lady’s advice and cut down through a lane that leads out to the coast path – we are going in the opposite direction from yesterday’s walk. At the end of the lane we turn right across flat featureless marshland and very soon afterwards it begins to rain – heavily. We clamber into our wet weather gear and shimmy on – as if.

I personally hate walking in waterproof trousers, ungainly gait, restricted movement, irritating swishy noise and as soon as you take them off it usually starts to rain again –  but I am always so thankful I have remembered/decided to take them with me.

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We are heading in the direction of a small village called Bossington and then up an extremely steep hill to Hurlstone Point.

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From the top we stop to catch our breath and see where we’ve come from. It’s a grey day but at least it has stopped raining.

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From Hurlstone Combe the official coast path splits into high and low road – we take the low as I would rather walk through green fields and moorland than take the “rugged route” which probably involves walking on a narrow path round the sides of steep cliffs, not my favourite kind of walking, especially on a windy day – and yes I know I’m a coward.

The path over Selworthy Beacon is wide and flat and although it is a little monotonous we make good progress.  We are though a long way from the sea.

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On the approach to Minehead there is a network of woodland paths leading down to the town and it is very easy to take the “wrong” one. From Culver Cliff we do unintentionally veer off from the coast path and find ourselves coming down close to the harbour.

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And then suddenly we are there! The end of the coast path – 630 miles through Dorset, Devon, Cornwall and Somerset – a really important milestone on my walk. There has to be a photo……….or two…………or three.

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We celebrate with a cream tea which (I kid you not) is probably the worst cream tea I have ever eaten. Ah well………………it is what it is.

Distance: 10 miles

 

 

 

 

 

Purlock to Countisbury 30.8.19

Instead of grassy paths across the top of cliffs or narrow lanes through deeply wooded valleys, our walk today starts off on the stony beach round the back of Porlock and continues across flat marshland and fields until we get to Porlock Weir.

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Damian has one of his Dr. Doolittle moments………………

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Just outside Porlock Weir this sculptural breakwater catches my eye……………………….

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Porlock Weir is sleepy this time in the morning – we have a quick look round before heading up behind the main hotel to skirt the edge of a patch of woodland to come out onto the road once more.

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But we are not allowed onto the road – the sign on the gate says “no walkers” and for cars, motorbikes and motor homes there are toll charges and warnings.

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P1040615For those like me who have never heard of non-feasance or misfeasance the word means a transgression, especially the wrongful exercise of lawful authority. I can think of a few instances where this word may be used in the circus that masquerades as a government at the moment.

No – we are sent off to the right and up into the damp dense woodlands of Yearnor Wood that shuts out the sunshine for a couple of miles, but eventually opens up into the tiny settlement of Culbone – presided over by the smallest parish church in Britain.

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The church is dedicated to the Welsh saint Beuno and recorded in the Domesday Book of 1086. It is just 35 feet long, with the nave taking up 21 feet of that length and even though there is no road access, there are still regular services. These two windows below are believed to be 1,000 years old. And there is obviously no electricity………………………………….

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Apart from the church there are two other buildings in Culbone, both of them houses – here is one of them.

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I do love walking through forests but what follows is a bit too much of a good thing. We plod along through Culbone Wood then Embelle Wood and Yenworthy Wood. We can see nothing through the dense covering of trees with only the occasional patch of dappled sunshine and a lucky find!

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Until eventually the terrain changes and at a junction we meet this monster.

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This machine can apparently fell, strip and saw into neat logs, whole swathes of forest with only one man at the wheel. As we investigate, a horrendous roar starts up to our left which sounds as if some mighty pre-historic animal has just discovered our presence and taken objection.

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Sure enough up the hill trundles one of these machines – we scramble up the nearest bank as it sways and snorts its way around the tight corner and past us. What it leaves in its wake is a mile of unpleasant trudging through churned up mud and puddles.

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Eventually we leave the logging industry behind and move into calmer territory. The Sisters Fountain is a natural spring which was enclosed in stonework in the nineteenth century and named after the daughter (or daughters, or nieces, depending upon who’s telling the tale) of the first owner of the Glenthorne estate.

There is a legend that Jesus drank here, as a youth, when he passed this way with his uncle, the Phoenician tin trader Joseph of Arimathea, on their way to Glastonbury. Joseph is said to have struck the ground with his staff, prompting the flowing of the holy water. We stop for a while in this quiet peaceful place.

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The walk from here now opens up a little allowing us views of the coast for the first time for hours.

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………..and soon we are walking on a path lined on both sides by a dense cover of rhododendron bushes planted in the mid 19th century as part of the Glenthorne Estate – it must be an amazing sight to see them in flower in Spring.

On further investigation however I learn that the plant is responsible for the destruction of many native habitats. The reason for this is simple. Where conditions are suitable, Rhododendron will out compete most native plants. It will grow to many times the height of a person, allowing very little light to penetrate through its thick leaf canopy. This effectively eliminates other competing native plant species which are unable to grow due to insufficient light. This in turn leads to the consequent loss of the associated native animals. Who would have thought it?

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By the time we have reached the end of Glenthorne Cliffs we are both very tired and thirsty so it is with joy that we discover a tea/drinks/fruit stop organised by some enterprising souls who live nearby.

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Moving on we walk through the strangely scabbed hillsides of the Foreland – the path is endless, I use my pole a lot to get me up the slopes, I feel a hundred years old.

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………….until finally we look down on the wonderful sight of Countisbury Church and then it’s through the church yard and out the other side to the pub.

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Distance: 14 miles

 

 

 

 

 

 

Countisbury to Lynton 29.8.19

The path at Countisbury runs behind the church, so we walk straight through the churchyard and out the other side.

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We then follow a wide track across the top of the cliffs and can soon see Lynton in the distance.

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Coming down into Lynmouth however is a little more complicated – one sign points up the hill, the other down. We go down, hoping that the wonderful cliff railway is still working – this will take us up a steep cliff from Lynmouth to Lynton.

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Lynmouth town and harbour are not too busy – it has that end of season feel – in fact our taxi driver told us that the population of the town in winter is not much above 50! I can hardly believe that………..

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Anyway – to our relief the cliff railway is running so we wait in line for our turn. The lift is totally water powered and if you’re interested in how it works here is a link which explains the mechanism much better than I can.

https://www.cliffrailwaylynton.co.uk/about-the-railway/how-it-works/

What the website does not tell you is that the water is drawn from the river high above the town and that it is gravity which sends it down the pipes. The clever Victorians had worked out just how high they needed to go when laying the pipes.

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Distance: 2 miles

Lynton to Hunters Inn 29.8.19

Just half a mile up from our B&B is the Valley of the Rocks – ridges of grey granite along which visitors like to scramble. But the ridges are dead ends and not on our route, thank goodness. Instead the coastal path winds round the back of one of them, overlooking the sea and cliffs – it is quite narrow and it’s a long way down, so I move closer to the cliff face and away from the drop.

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We then follow the sign up the hill (this shot is take looking backwards) until a turn off to the right takes us on a slight detour through a herd of goats!

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They look extremely comfortable, sitting munching away and they are completely disinterested in us despite Damian’s attempts at sociability.

Through a gate at the top of the paddock we are back on the tarmac road which passes through what used to be toll gates. I have no idea what this cryptic message means.

 

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The next message is easier to understand – is it too early for tea?

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Up on the hill Lee Abbey announces itself………………..

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This is a side entrance with an information board telling us that the abbey is now a Christian activity/retreat/conference centre. Just opposite, a banner has a suggestion for the weary………………

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The main building is huge with extensive grounds. People sit on benches looking out over the bay, some are busy tending the grounds – a young girl drives a tractor and trailer past us.

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At the bottom of the hill we find the tea house, set in a beautifully landscaped garden with the plumpest rose hips I have ever seen. The cafe is run by a bunch of fresh faced youngsters and the young girl who takes our order at the hatch has a smile that makes me stand to attention. It seems to illuminate all those lucky enough to receive it – maybe there is something in this praying business.

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Refreshed, we follow the road and then a path through woodland up to Crock Point and down into Woody Bay.

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We walk down behind the hotel and past a rather pointless signpost – it is also here where we could go down and have a look at the beach but a 10 mins walk down and 30 mins up does not seem that appealing.

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A little further on a gap in the trees reveals this magnificent view of the coastline – the building in the distance is Lee Abbey.

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The trail now passes through dense woodland with a few waterfalls along the way. I would love to be able to photograph moving water properly, maybe I will learn on my photography course that starts next month.

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Eventually we reach the point where the path turns sharp right and plunges down the cleave of Heddons Mouth, on the opposite side to the one I picked my way down some weeks ago. Below us is the beach with a few people milling about.

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We start the slow descent which takes us down to the pretty stone bridge over the stream and a sculpture trail of sorts – all signs that we are nearing Hunters Inn.

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It is still early when we reach the inn so after some lunch we decide to head back to Lynton in a taxi (there are no busses here) and walk a couple of miles east of the town. This will make tomorrow’s walk shorter and easier.

Distance: 9 miles

 

 

 

 

 

 

Machynlleth to Aberdyfi (Aberdovey) 25.8.19

Today we are walking down the other side of the estuary and we start by crossing the river over the stone bridge to the north of the town. A large slab of slate heralds our entry into Snowdonia.

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A right turn after the bridge would take you up to CAT (Centre for Alternative Technology), an educational charity that has been researching and communicating positive solutions for sustainability since 1973. I wish there were more places like this.

https://www.cat.org.uk/about-us

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We are however turning left along the very busy road but thankfully it is not long before we are directed off to the right up a narrow tarmac road with plenty of shade. This then turns into a forest track through an area of woodland known as Foel Gôch. As the track meets a tarmac road again, there is a sign warning of tree disease. We are asked not to carry any mementos away from the forest and clean our boots before any future visits. I am old enough to vaguely remember the Dutch Elm disease of 1967, which spread through the countryside when I was a child. Since then more than 25 million elms have died in Britain and the only remaining mature elms can be found in the Brighton and Hove area where they are somewhat protected from the disease by being sandwiched between the English Channel and the South Downs.

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A little later we come to the village of Pennal, our lunch stop but we have no lunch. The pub is very busy preparing for the onslaught of Sunday lunchers and there is no shop open in the village. We stop for a drink and I make a mental note to always carry a few emergency rations in the future.

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Outside the village the coast path turns left off the main road and up the hill to a holiday resort. The accommodation consists of rows of neat cream coloured bungalows – I keep expecting to see a “Stepford Wife” gazing wistfully out of the windows .

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Further up the road, outside reception, are signs to remind people they are on holiday………I dash into the bar to load up with peanuts, to be met with frosty stares and sullen service.

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A sign on the path above the resort makes me wonder what they’re hiding in the undergrowth.

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From here the path rises up through woodland – through a gap in the trees we catch sight of what I think is a railway bridge not far from Dovey Junction station. This is where the line splits, one bound for Aberystwyth and the other is the Cambrian Coast Line to Pwllheli. I am amazed by the fact that there is a direct line from Birmingham to Aberdovey, which accounts for the number of holiday makers coming from the Midlands to West Wales.

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On we walk, through Penmaendyfi, a collection of wooden holiday chalets dotted around an original stone coach house, now for sale – one of the original buildings has seen better days.

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And out, crossing the A493 onto a narrow road through woodlands and fields. The path is now a rough grassy track lined with ancient stone walls covered with moss.

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It is very quiet so we are startled by the sound of an engine behind us. The noise is coming from a mud spattered quad bike – we scatter. Is this a joy rider or a farmhand? We are about to find out.

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Round the corner we run into the quad bike again, which has stopped at the bottom of a very steep rough track. The rider is talking to the drivers of two land rovers who then with much crunching of gears and screeching of tyres, execute a 6 point turn and roar off back up the hill.

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It appears that the quad bike is being used to scout the terrain for another group of off- road vehicles behind us. At the top of the hill are the two land rovers, one of which now has a puncture. The drivers are all male and accompanied by a 12 year old boy in sunglasses.

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We exchange a few pleasantries, they appear to be a little self conscious of the noise and chaos they are creating, asking us how we are and if we have enough to drink – do we look that old and decrepit?  Further along the path turns into a bog which is a bit difficult to negotiate and we wonder how the cars are going to manage to drive through the deep mud, we decide to sit to wait and see.

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We do not have long to wait. With loud cheers and cries of encouragement, the first vehicle races through the water, promptly sinks and nearly tips over. We watch spell bound as the driver clambers out of the window with strict orders for the boy to remain in the car. I think if it was my son I would like him out of there as quickly a possible.

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Undeterred and obviously having fun, the driver of the vehicle behind attaches a line and attempts to reverse back up the hill to pull the stranded vehicle out. The land rover does not move an inch. More laughter.

The next ploy is to turn the second vehicle and try in first gear up the hill. This pulls off the back bumper and the rescue vehicle also sinks, and not wanting to be left out of the dance slowly tips to the left. More laughter, although by now it is tinged with slight exasperation.

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By now a few other vehicles have joined the party and an attempt is made to rescue the second vehicle, which works initially, but in the process is pulled over to the other side of the mud and sinks again (I do hope you are following). At this point the driver of one of the newcomers suggests a winch.

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This does not work either so after 30 minutes of gripping drama we leave them to their fate.

After all that excitement it is wonderful to walk across the moorland in peace and quiet. To our left the estuary can now be seen clearly and to our right are beautiful views of fields and distant hills.

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We branch off the minor road that leads down into Aberdovey where dinner with Damian’s sister and family awaits. This is a quiet morning shot from the house we are staying in.

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Distance: 13.5 miles