Barnstaple to Bideford (11.3 miles) (in which we leave behind Colonel Mustard and follow an otter)

Mum and Dad on a murder mystery weekend in Ilfracombe? What a hoot! Jim and I called them Colonel Mustard and Miss Scarlet all the way to Barnstaple, along with other Cluedo-related wisecracks. In the circumstances we were probably lucky to still receive a free lift to the coast path, and not be ejected somewhere down the M5.

We’d been thinking we might be able to bag Dunkery Beacon (the highest point in Somerset) as our 100th county top on the way, but as we approached Exmoor the weather grew progressively worse. Rain lashed the car as we climbed into the low cloud, and we decided that with visibility close to zero there was no point in doing a hill renowned for its views. Fortunately the weather eased off a little as we came into Barnstaple; even so, all four of us donned waterproofs as we went into town for lunch.

We quickly located a nice-looking independent café by the time-honoured method of squinting myopically down the side streets off of the high street. Café Karumba turned out to be quite a find – an hour or so later we staggered out the door stuffed full of enormous paninis. I highly recommend the place.

Miss Scarlet had always wanted to go to the Pannier Market in Barnstaple. Personally I didn’t think it anything special but Miss Scarlet loved the exotic fruit stall, and purchased a couple of the bizarre looking dragon fruit. I've tried them before and found them fairly unappealing - the flesh is a greyish-white, and the texture of kiwi fruit but with little flavour. It's no wonder they've never really caught on - their only use as far as I can see is as a talking point.

Colonel Mustard and Miss Scarlet were most noble. Rather than leave us to walk from the town centre, they instead offered to drive us to Barnstaple station so that we could pick up exactly where we left off from two years ago without burning up excess shoe leather. It seemed churlish to refuse, although by the time we’d had to queue up to cross Barnstaple’s sole town centre bridge it might have been as quick to walk. To reach the station we had to drive up through a large industrial estate. After “start of walk” photos outside the station, Jim & I made a parting quip of “the butler did it in the study with the candlestick” and marched off to the end of the station car park, where two years ago a path had headed off through a tunnel under the road to join the coast path. Today, however, we found that the tunnel had been closed off, as had the steps up to the road above.

We managed to wave down the Colonel as he turned the car, and got a lift a little way back down the industrial estate, where we were able to climb over a low wooden fence to emerge onto the main road that we had been meant to pass under. Jumping off the far side of the fence I truly felt the weight of my pack for the first time – a sobering moment! We wandered up the road to the point where it went over the path we had wanted to take. Fortunately there were SWCP diversion signs here, which (despite a couple of wrong turns due to inadequate signposting) took us through Victorian terraces and eventually out between an ugly industrial estate and an enormous construction site. The noise was horrendous; we found ourselves choking on airborne dust. This wasn’t the coast path we knew and loved. We had known that today would not be the most enjoyable section of the path, as it involved merely estuarine walking with no coast in sight, but we had certainly expected better than this!

It was a while before we worked out exactly what was going on. A huge new bridge was being built across the Taw estuary, and the coast path had been diverted as a result. This would certainly alleviate the traffic problems we’d encountered on the existing bridge in the town centre. More to the point it would hopefully provide a short cut for coast path through walkers and save a bit of the dismal walk to Barnstaple around the Taw Estuary – not that that is much help if you’re section hiking and need to get a train to or from Barnstaple.

The construction traffic considerately stopped and let us pass when we reached the main road through the site, and the workmen gave us a cheery salute – they were obviously well used to seeing heavily laden coast path walkers. We were glad when we finally left the site and the dirt and clamour behind, but less than pleased to see that the path had been tarmac’d for as far as the eye could see. We knew from harsh experience on the other side of the estuary that this would leave our feet in agony. Whilst I know that this surface has been put in to help cyclists, it’d be nice if the powers that be would also consider the needs of walkers and find a surfacing material that was equally amenable to both communities (and one that was nicer visually). We noted from signposts that, as on the other side of the estuary, the coast path here shared its route with the Tarka Trail. It seemed that a very high proportion of the Tarka Trail was tarmac’d, and as a result we were starting to hate that stupid otter!

The lunch stop in Barnstaple combined with the poorly-signed diversion had cost us a lot of time; it was now about half-past two and we still had eleven miles to cover. We had to get a wiggle on, and started to stride out the distance. Whilst the long flat tarmac path was bad for the feet (and the morale), it certainly helped speedwise. The GPS showed us doing 3.5 mph, which we felt pretty chuffed with given that it was our first day with heavy packs. To be frank, there wasn’t much to see anyway. At first the path ran along the banks of the Taw, but there’s only so many times you can look at sludgy greyish green estuarine mud. Soon the “coast” curved away to the north, leaving us with views of muddy creeks and marshland instead.

Whilst we were using the usual Aurum Press guide (with it’s 1:25,000 scale maps) for navigation, we were also referring to Paddy Dillon’s book, which seems to carry more information in the actual text. He had said that there were various odd shelters along this section of the path. The first was bizarre, looking more like a heavily grafitti’d stack of driftwood than anything else. Of course, as soon as we had passed it, it started to rain – not particularly heavily, but certainly persistently – it was clear it was going to be a wet day’s walking, and a good test for our new waterproofs. Jim’s Regatta failed almost immediately as a popper fell off (that said, on complaining when we returned, he was quickly sent an immediate replacement). My supposedly very breathable Berghaus seemed to leave me sweating just as much as my old barely-breathable Peter Storm. The second shelter looked like a concrete bunker left over from the war, and was full of rubbish and smelled of wee even from a distance – we decided to give it a miss.

The estuary returned to meet the path at Fremington Quay, and here there was a reminder that the path ran along the trackbed of the old Barnstaple to Bideford railway. The restored buildings of Fremington Station now housed a rather nice looking café. We were very tempted to stop, but it was a bit soon after lunch to be eating large slabs of cake, and with so far still to go we weren’t sure whether we could spare the time anyway. Instead, after crossing the mini-estuary of Fremington Pill on a girder bridge we stopped for a brief water-and-trail-mix break on some handy benches. The view out over the Taw estuary was no more attractive than it had been earlier on.

After Fremington the coast path dived inland again on a stretch of path that was, if anything, even more straight and dull than before. Our earlier confident strides had turned into a bit of a trudge, especially on my part – for some reason (possibly the heavy rucksack) I was finding today very hard going. We saw the next shelter when it was still the best part of a mile off – after all, there was nothing else to look at. This one turned out to be the strangest of the day, looking like an upright wooden prow of a boat. The rain had got heavy, and we shared the shelter with a couple of cyclists for a few minutes.

Whilst you can follow the trackbed (and that rotten otter) nearly all the way into Bideford, there is an alternative coastal route you can take for a while. While it’s a bit longer, it has the advantage of (a) not being on tarmac and (b) being closer to the estuary so you actually get some views. We didn’t hesitate – we were sick to the back teeth of the Tarka Trail and only too glad to get off of it.

The coast path ran around the outside of an area marked on the map as East Yelland Marsh. We were very surprised to see that it seemed to have been used for landfill. We had thought that our coastal marshes were meant to be rare and valuable and protected and stuff like that. It didn’t make for attractive walking, especially as the banks of the estuary below us were also covered with industrial detritus, but was still much better than the Tarka Trail! We passed an old jetty with views across the estuary to Braunton Burrows – it was a sobering thought that we’d walked through those dunes over two years ago when walking down the far side of the interminable Taw estuary.

Thankfully, the jetty marked the end of this estuary – but the start of another. We were walking past the confluence of the Taw and Torridge estuaries, and – for the first time on this trip – we were briefly able to see out to sea. The path was exposed to the full force of the Atlantic winds for the first time today, which was rather refreshing – it had been rather humid inland in the rain. It didn’t make the landscape any more attractive though - we took our second break of the day sat on an industrial outflow pipe by another old wooden jetty (fortunately the rain eased off at just the right moment).

Leaving Instow Barton Marsh we hit a spot of navigational bother. The path entered a small area of dunes, and eventually came to a wall with a gate in it. There was no SWCP signpost, and it looked private (it turned out to be the back entrance to the North Devon Cricket Club). However, as the wall seemed to run all the way to the edge of the dunes where there was a bit of a sheer drop to the beach, we didn’t have much choice but to go through the gate and walk around the edge of the cricket club. Behind the cricket club, a couple of small lighthouses up the hillside were clearly designed as guiding lights to lead boats from the sea in through the safe passages in the estuary.

Beyond the cricket club, we picked up coast path signs again, leading through the edge of the dunes. This was quite hard work, so instead we headed down onto the firmer sand of the beach and followed that into Instow. The Torridge estuary seemed much nicer than the Taw estuary, although this might have been to the fact that the tide had come in a bit and covered up some of the mud flats. I did keep thinking of porridge though…! The hills on the far side were fairly steep making it feel more like a river valley than an estuary. The town of Appledore on the far side looked very pretty straggling back up the hillside, even in the dismal weather. Ahead, further down the estuary we could see the high bridge where the A39 “Atlantic Highway” straddled the river. This gave us a bit of a boost, as we knew that Bideford lay just beyond.

In the summer there’s a ferry service from Instow to Appledore, saving coast path walkers the long walk down the Torridge to Bideford and back. We had booked accommodation in Bideford assuming that it wouldn’t be running at the wrong end of September, and our assumptions seemed correct – the “Next Departure” board was blank. We wondered if the short ferry season had contributed to the sad closure of the Instow youth hostel, or if it had just happened because the YHA was ridiculously situated at the top of a hill way above the village.

At Instow the alternative coast path rejoined the Tarka Trail and the old railway, meaning another long straight tarmac slog into Bideford. We were treated to the sight of the old Instow station, complete with restored signalbox and level crossing and a peculiar is-it-a-seat-or-is-it-a-sculpture. The coast path actually runs along the platform, which must be a unique occurrence on Britain’s long distance trails? It does seem very strange that stations and their accoutrements have been restored all the way along this railway line that has little hope of ever seeing trains again.

Now, in addition to the torment of tarmac and the boredom of the Tarka Trail, we had a noisy road running alongside the path. Although the rain had slowed down to a drizzle, I can honestly say that I didn’t enjoy this part of the coast path very much at all. I was hot, my feet hurt from the tarmac, and I was much more exhausted than I expected to be. There were a few sights; unfortunately one of them was the enormous block warehouse of Appledore Shipbuilders scarring the far bank. A particularly surreal vision was an electric substation, fenced off with the usual high fence topped with barbed wire, but with a well kept and pretty flower bed inside. Rather more impressive was the tall, wide span of the Atlantic Highway bridge, a stunning piece of modern architecture.

The new bridge isn’t designed for walkers, but a kilometre beyond it, we saw the old “Long Bridge”; an odd assortment of low arches of irregular width strung seemingly haphazardly across the wide river. While the new bridge ostentatiously shouted “POWER”, the old simply oozed olde worlde charm – you could imagine Americans saying “how quaint”. For our part, we were glad to finally leave the Tarka Trail behind at the restored (but useless) Bideford Station, and head across the Long Bridge. From the centre of the bridge there was a particularly fine view up the estuary to the new bridge, with an arcing illuminated fountain showering out from Bideford’s quayside to our left.

Reaching the far bank we started to walk back up the Torridge estuary on Bideford’s quayside. Even on a wet out-of-season Friday evening it seemed quite a bustling place. A fair few people were out for a stroll, or leaning on the quayside railings. Boat trips to Lundy were advertised; even though it was somewhere I’ve always wanted to go I’d have to give it a miss this time. We passed off the quay through a car park and onto something called the Landivisau Walk. Soon after we turned inland past a school to reach our B&B for the night, the Ellerton Guest House on Glenburnie Road.

I hope I didn’t distress the landlady too much; I was well aware that I reeked. I was also dog-tired, but still alert enough to be shocked by the intensely purple bedroom we were led to. The reflected colour made us look sunburnt! From my point of view, the main thing was that it had a decently powerful shower to get rid of my unpleasant aroma. I also attempted to rinse out my now minging T-shirt, but the addition of soap and water just seemed to make it smell worse – Jim moaned about it all night and in the end I had to seal it up in a plastic bag.

The rain was torrential as we left the B&B, and we sloshed through huge puddles all the way into town. It seemed a long way in the rain and I was glad it hadn’t been this bad while we were actually walking. You could tell it was our first day on the trail because we were still fussy about where we ate and turned our nose up at the first few places we came to – “too noisy”, “poor menu” and “too expensive” were some of the accusations levelled at perfectly reasonable establishments on the quayside. Heading up narrow winding streets leading up the hill behind the quay, I became quite enamoured of the town.

We eventually settled on a place called Cafécino for dinner. This was a delightful little brassiere, with modern yet warm and welcoming décor, and we felt rather out of place in dripping wet macs, jeans and sloganned T-shirts. Nevertheless the staff were most affable, and offered us an astonishing range of cuisines – Mexican, Chinese, Indian & Spanish tapas were all available. I normally have a taste for the weird and wonderful, and if I hadn’t been walking half the day there were a number of things I’d have liked to have tried. However, if you’ve walked the coast path, what you want is something hot and filling. I went for a chiliburger, and Jim had a huge bowl of chilli con carne that was served at a volcanically hot temperature and even after half an hour hadn’t cooled down at all – we felt it may have been radioactive!

Having just had soft drinks with dinner, we had planned to go on to a pub for a pint or two and a game of pool afterwards. Somehow in the rain we couldn’t be bothered – I still felt shattered, and I think that Jim was more tired than he was letting on. We headed (or in my case hobbled) back to our very purple room for an early night. Feeling as bad as I had done today, I was very worried about tomorrow. We would be walking nearly twice as far as today, and over much rougher and steeper terrain. I just hoped I could make it…