The South Hams of Devon Paignton to Torquay – 9th September 2019
It is the first day of our 2 week coastal walking holiday in South Devon. Up until now our England and Wales coastal walking/cycling project has involved day trips in the South East of England, so this a new departure. The South Hams coast runs some 100-odd miles from Paignton in the east to Plymouth in the west. We anticipate 8 days of serious walking, with a few ‘rest-days’ inserted where needed.
Home-base – a field near Slapton Sands
Reluctant to begin our holiday with a long walk, we decide to tag a short walk onto the planned Paignton to Plymouth section by adding the largely urban section of coast from Paignton to Torquay. Weatherwise, the omens don’t look good, with today being largely wet and miserable, so it is the perfect day to tackle the least scenic bit of coast in the area.
First day laziness sees us emerging from our tiny touring caravan, pitched near Slapton Sands, like a couple of dormice crawling out from their winter hibernation. We make a rather tardy start to our walk, not arriving in Paignton until gone 12.30pm. Paignton Station appears to be a suitable start point, enabling us to catch a train back from Torquay and easily retrieve the car at the end of the day. We find a nearby quiet back-street and make our way through the nearby Goodrington Park, happy to find bit of greensward to walk on.
Cow (and Betty) at Goodrington Park, Paignton – with adopted baby hippo?
Within 5 minutes we have encountered 2 fibre-glass cows, 2 similarly fabricated donkeys, a bear carved from a log and several swan-shaped pedaloes on the boating lake. I wonder if the Twelve Days of Christmas have come early, but remain hopeful of seeing some real wildlife somewhere in Torbay. Alas, the promising looking nature reserve attached to the park is closed.
The sounds of gulls, barking dogs and lapping water draw us the short walk to the promenade, where we get our first view of the Torbay beaches. We are taken aback by the radiant orange of the sands, wondering if they were created by the same artist who created the fibre-glass animals in the park. Closer inspection however, reveals that bright orange is the natural colour of the local iron-rich rock from which the sands are derived.
Roundham Head and beach
Rock Samphire with cliff material
Despite the cold and drizzle a few hardy dog-walkers are out on the beach, but hardly anyone else. To our north, Roundham Head butts out into Tor Bay like a giant orange fist being brandished at the grey English Channel. Closer inspection of this modest headland reveals that it is the parent material of the nearby sands. The red sandstone is laced with rounded pebbles laid-down in the Devonian Period, which takes its name from the immediate area.
Betty is fascinated by the strata which reveal what the climate and local environment were like 400 million years earlier. The iron-rich, red rocks indicate that most of the sediments were not laid down in the sea, but under terrestrial conditions. The variously sized pebbles suggest that flash flooding must have been commonplace. Today these well cemented, hard rocks are the resistant material that the local seas have worked on to give the unique Devon coastline that we are set to walk over the coming couple of weeks.
Rock samphire adorns the well-worn cliff face, somehow managing to make a home out of a substrate that offers little by way of soil and lots of challenges from the salt spray of the sea. The promenade extends along the base of the cliff, bordered by a line of brightly painted beach huts. The South West Coast Path follows the winding path that leads up to the top of the cliff, before following the cliff edge round to Paignton Harbour. Despite the inclement weather a lone fisherman stands on the rocks below us, hopefully casting his fishing line out into the slate grey sea.
Wind-grazed Sycamore, Roundham Head
A wind-grazed sycamore demonstrates the impact of salt-laden air upon any tree daring to shoot up in this exposed location. Any leaf buds on the seaward side simply cannot develop, leaving the tree growing like a lop-sided topiary at Disney World.
Paignton Harbour nestles in the shelter of Roundham Head, the original Anglo-Saxon fishing settlement which later became known as Paignton. I am surprised to come across a cluster of thatched cottages overlooking the harbour, which look incongruous amongst the 20th Century and early 21st Century seaside architecture.
Paignton Pier is one of the towns older, 19th Century, structures – jutting out into Tor Bay. Paignton Pier lacks the Victorian grandeur of many of the piers of that era, since much of it was destroyed by fire in 1919. Having time on our hands, we decide to stroll along the pier and experience the delights on offer. Typically most of the delights involve clients parting with their money in exchange for the unlikely prospect of winning riches ‘beyond the dreams of avarice’. It is easy to see how gambling can become an addiction, especially for those who can ill-afford to indulge. Most of the punters stand near-motionless, as though transfixed by one of the Gorgons, apparently powerless to intervene in the unfolding demise of their fast disappearing holiday money.
We tear ourselves away from their inevitable fate and decide to invest our holiday money in yet another typically English institution, the tea shop. A quick consultation with Mr Google reveals that few cafes are currently open on the Paignton seafront. However, we are directed to a seaside hotel with a cafe, which despite its limited patronage, does offer us the prospect of two cream-teas.
Cream-tea served in lipstick-stained china cups
The arrival of tiny, tea and lipstick-stained china cups induces an exchange of knowing glances between us both. I like my tea hot, preferably not in a drinking vessel designed to be held by the finger tips. I confess I am a mug man. Without words, or even knowing looks being exchanged, I am fully aware what Betty thinks about tea-stained crockery.
As we await the scones and cream portion of our order a Tesco van pulls up outside. The significance of this is that no scones arrive for the duration of the transfer of goods from van to hotel. Our order has obviously been put on the back-burner whilst she is dealing with the delivery. To stop my tea cooling in its cup I place my saucer on top.
A few minutes later, the Tesco van departed, the proprietress rescues the situation by topping up the hot water in the pot, which to her credit contains proper, loose, big-leaf tea. A full ten minutes after we were served our tea, the scones arrive – and lovely they are, accompanied by masses of cream and jam. Betty whispers “All is forgiven” as she tucks into the delicious, if overly-long anticipated scone. Delicious scones notwithstanding, she still drinks her tea left-handed – to avoid the lip-stick stain on the lip of the cup.
An accountant friend of mine once disparagingly said to me “A good product sells itself”. However, a cream tea is more than just a product – like so many things in life, it is an experience, where presentation has the power to enhance or diminish it. Seller beware!
Our bodies and souls fully restored, we return to the beach and scan the strand-line for shells. No trip to the beach is complete without this ritual, especially as it provides free materials for Bettys’ much-loved garden mosaics.
Last Sand-castle of the Summer
The ‘Last Sand-castle of the Summer’ sits forlornly on the shore, above the tide mark, doubtless abandoned a day or two ago by a family enjoying weather much more amenable to beach activities than today.
Beyond Hollicombe Head the coast path is forced away from the sea, crossing the line of the railway, before being forced towards the A379 with its thundering traffic. We pause for a minute to examine the map to see if there is an alternative route. There is not.
A man with a dog, seeing us map-in-hand, shouts “Its over there!” pointing towards a railway arch.
“What the sea?” I respond.
“No the box you are looking for.” It is obvious that he thinks we are indulging in the modern craze known as Geocaching. This phenomenon largely relies on mobile-phone users following co-ordinates, to discover a box carefully hidden somewhere. It is an excellent way to get out and about, instead of staying indoors. We however, prefer to use a map to explore the great outdoors.
I say “We are walking as much of the UK coast as we possibly can – before we eventually can’t.”
Half-a-mile further, as if by divine intervention, a pain suddenly announces itself in my left knee and suggests “before we eventually can’t” might have come sooner than I thought.
I am forced to hobble along for some time, uncertain how serious the knee problem is. At least being forced to walk along the main road to Torquay is less threatening to the knee joint than a 100 metre cliff climb.
Besides the discomfort in my knee, the walk alongside the busy road is overwhelmingly noisy. It is ironic that I have a bit of a hearing impairment, but for some reason traffic noise seems even louder!
From Livermead Head Torquay looks like a marble city set in a green forest, although with every step along the noisy A379 the image is revealed to be but illusory, as the buildings grow ever larger and the tree clad hills diminish.
By the time we meet Corbyn Head the mirage has disappeared completely. The English Riviera label has been attached to a somewhat shabby copy of St Tropez or Port Grimaud, especially on a wet day in September. In fact a recent report in Devon Live reveals that Torbay has the 4th highest rate of cared-for children in England and twice the national average of deaths from drugs related poisoning.
As we enter Torquay, we are able to take some light relief from the traffic and walk along the beach. The sea wall here is made of large blocks of local stone, with the exception of one, which is totally swathed in gobbits of used chewing gum. It would appear that some compulsive individual has spent many weeks carefully placing their ‘chewings’ on the block, either that or it is some kind of art emplacement delivering a social comment on Torbay.
Unique chewing-gum encrusted stone in the Torquay sea-wall
Just beyond the chewing-gum an elderly couple walk towards us. I get the impression that large numbers of people who have visited Torquay for their holidays in the past have gone on to retire here, seeing out their lives in their holiday paradise. I wonder what changes they will have seen over the last few decades. As we get closer I notice the lady is on the large size and could easily pass for a Buddhist monk, with near-shaven head and wrapped-up in a maroon sari. She is all smiles, obviously enjoying the enlightenment of this ‘Riviera’ paradise. Her emaciated husband however looks totally fed up. A little later on, he passes us from the opposite direction – without his wife. I wonder if perhaps 60 years of marital bliss has all got too much for him and he gave her a nudge off the promenade. I swear he has a bit of a spring in his step!
Finally we can escape the A379, as we explore Torquay Harbour. The original harbour has been extended several times, with the latest involving an extension to the pier – adding a breakwater. This encloses a marina packed with sea-going pleasure craft and gives this part of Torquay a feel of Honfleur, or even St Tropez.
Torquay Marina – or possibly St Tropez?
Torquay Pavilion awaits restoration
The new marina is overlooked by the disused Torquay Pavilion, which is crying out to be restored. After 107 years its crumbling fabric looks likely to fade into obscurity before anyone is prepared to shell-out the £3 million pounds needed to restore it. It seems nobody in these difficult times wants to take on a financial white elephant.
Torquay used to be a busy fishing port, but most of the local fishing fleet now operates out of Brixham. A salt-caked trawler occupies a small dock area, sitting incongruously next to million pound yachts. It offers a welcome bit of rusted industrial interest amongst the monotony of white fibre-glass.
A modern footbridge takes us across to the South Pier, where an interpretative board tells us all about the barking furnace that once resided here. Apparently tree bark was formerly boiled up into a kind of creosote to preserve the fishermens’ cotton nets. The smells from this process, mixed with the smell of fresh landed herrings, must have been quite distinctive. Modern nylon nets have made this process redundant, with the barking furnace now little more than a memory.
One of the last trawlers at Torquay Harbour
Billy is however, worried about the rain clouds coming our way
My leg thankfully appears to have loosened-up, so we decide to press on a little further towards Babacombe, passing the Living Coasts’ impressive net shrouded aviary. Living Coasts provides a close-up experience for visitors to learn about British and more exotic coastal wildlife. However, it is offshore in Millstones Bay and other parts of Torbay, where the most significant wildlife is to be found. Here is an area of marine plants known as seagrass bed. Seagrass is actually a flowering plant, which most people will be blissfully unaware of. It is only exposed at the lowest tides and looks like a strip of lawn in need of mowing. In fact the equivalent of 110 football pitches of seagrass exist in Tor Bay. Within this submarine green-sward a vast variety of marine invertebrates and fish breed, having a direct influence upon the local commercial fishing industry. Throw in its importance as a sediment stabiliser, water oxygenator and pollution absorber and it is easy to imagine its importance for coastal protection and water quality.
Living Coasts’ impressive aviary overlooking Tor Bay
The South West Coast Path is not very well marked here, other than as we pass one of the more upmarket hotels of the area. I suspect this last is an initiative driven by the hotel getting heartily sick of muddy-booted walkers seeking directions, whilst standing on the pristine carpets of the hotel’s reception. Well done them. It is one of my pet hates that landowners so often put signs up saying no entry, when a simple sign directing walkers along the correct route would much better serve all concerned.
The path continues to wind up and down cliffs, giving excellent views over the rugged coast. We are now into the posher end of Torquay, with palatial properties embedded within a sea of green that cloaks the rising ground. By the time we reach the intriguingly named Daddy Hole Cove, our legs are complaining that they are not yet used to the demands of climbing and we think it a good time to return home.
A short walk back to the harbour, followed by a bus ride around Torquay and Paignton brings us back to our car. Tomorrow our walking begins in earnest.