Salcombe Circular from Soar Mill Cove Hotel – 15th September 2019
Having completed the Salcombe to Torcross section and all its logistical problems yesterday, we have to consider how we might go about the next section – to the west of Salcombe. Though walking is rarely a problem, it is the parking and transportation links that are the more challenging. I managed to find bus connections that might work for us, but when we passed the site of the bus stop yesterday, on our way into Salcombe, we quickly realised that the chances of actually being seen by the bus at the designated bus stop would be slim. Further, the road is so fast, narrow and bendy that our chances of survival would be equally uncertain!
In the end we decide to go for a circular walk, even though this means only half of it is going to be coast walk, with the rest being cross-country and inland – on the return trip. We settle upon Soar Mill Cove Hotel, about 2 miles west of Salcombe, as our best start and finish point.
Soar Mill Cove
We roll up at about 2pm, since today’s walk is going to be relatively short. The parking for the whole day is a very reasonable £4, with payment done on a trust basis – anyone parking is just requested to go to the hotel reception to pay. This also enables us to indulge in their nice toilets, as well as the prospect of a welcome pint at the end of our walk.
From the hotel it is but a short walk down to Soar Mill Cove. Once there, we pick up the Coast Path heading eastward towards Bolt Head. Almost immediately we have to make a steep climb up the cliffs to 130 metres. As we climb we find ourselves entangled with a group of young people who look well equipped – appropriately suited and booted – bearing rucksacks and full of energy. One of the women, evidently a young mother, instead of carrying a rucksack is carrying a baby on her back, tucked into a carrying frame. I’m full of admiration for young parents who rise to the challenge of walking with infants and in so doing sow the seeds of a love of nature in their offspring. I exchange a few words of humorous banter with the mother, which is returned in equal measure.
As we get to the top of the cliff, they decide it is a good place to pause for lunch, overlooking the clear, dark-blue sea, bathed in the September sun. Those of us who have only just set off have no such right to pause and we press on along the path.
One of the distinctive aspects of the South West Coast Path is all the short 100 metre climbs and descents. You can easily clock up 1,000 metres of climbing in the course of a day, although it doesn’t compare with the constant upward slog encountered on a Munroe – followed by a knee jarring descent at the end of the day. The SWCP is much more enjoyable to my mind and just as much exercise.
We have only been walking 10 minutes or so, when I somehow get a bug in my mouth. I spit it out immediately, but it leaves a foul taste behind – probably a ladybird or some other small insect that is ensuring I don’t attempt to eat it, or its brethren ever again. Had I actually seen the bug in question, I’m sure I would have found it exhibiting ‘warning colouration’ – luridly coloured markings. These colours have evolved over millions of years just to advertise to any predator that it is in for a bad experience – an hour of spitting in my case!
The walk along the cliff top to Bolt Head is easy and flat, with a brisk cool breeze blowing and clear blue skies above us. It brings to mind when I lived near Minehead, at the other end of the South West Coast Path, where it seemed to rain more often than not. When I later moved to East Anglia I was delighted to have many more dry days, than wet. I wonder if the West Country has become markedly drier in the intervening 40 years? I’m not complaining though, since the weather is superb, if a little hot for serious walking.
It doesn’t take long to reach Bolt Head, where waymarkers and map conspire to confound my map reading and I have to admit to getting lost. This is only a temporary ‘senior moment’ and we soon find ourselves walking down Starhole Bottom towards Sharp Tor. That’s what I like about coast walking, you always have the vastness of the sea to ensure any loss of way is soon rectified.
From here we have a short climb up steps to Sharp Tor, which presents us with a spectacular 270 degree viewpoint of the coast, Salcombe and the Kingsbridge Estuary. The path here is narrow and provides the reassurance of a stone wall to prevent any unplanned falling off cliffs. This is not as daft a suggestion as it may seem, as on rounding Sharp Tor a strong gust of wind nearly blows my hat off.
Betty at Sharp Tor
Beyond Sharp Tor the path drops and enters a strip of woodland eventually leading to South Sands Beach (the one we nearly took the ferry to by accident yesterday, on our way to Tor Cross).
We decide to stop here for lunch, overlooked by some very opulent cliff top mansions. As we dine we indulge in a favourite activity of ours, watching other people – always fascinating entertainment. We generally find ourselves discussing the objects of our observations, imagining their lives and how they came to be here.
The first person to come under scrutiny is a lady, perhaps in her 40s, equipped with paddle board and paddle. She has a dog with her, which is very advanced in years and makes no attempt to run around in the way that many dogs do at the seaside.
An elderly gentleman accompanies her, whom we suspect to be in his 70’s or 80’s, maybe her father. He is brandishing a video camera. She carefully dresses the dog in a life jacket and places it on the front of her paddleboard. Very gingerly she paddles out into the shallows, the dog standing on the front like a ship’s figurehead. As she paddles, her old dad captures the event. The scene is a little sad since it will probably be the last holiday this particular pet will have with them.
South Sands – the elevated beach tractor collects passengers from the ferry
As we move from our sandwiches to our fruit course, the ferry arrives from Salcombe but is unable to get beyond the waters of the shallows. Few visitors would be prepared to wade ashore, so the operators have come up with a modified tractor which has an elevated platform fitted with seats. This drives into the sea and rendezvous with the boat, transferring passengers between them. Two young children in wet suits chase down to the water, bearing large water-pistols, which they mischievously point at the newly arrived passengers, as the beach tractor returns them to the top of the beach. Fortunately for them, their jets of water fall short and the new arrivals are able to alight – dry of foot.
An elderly lady comes wandering along the sand, her sandals held in her right hand, whilst her left hand pulls the hem of her long skirt up, so that she can paddle at the water’s-edge. She is elegantly dressed with her white hair stylishly arranged. For all we know she could be some aging screen goddess. She has a wistful air about her, as though she is remembering holidays spent here in years gone by. Why is she alone? Did she and her late husband perhaps come to Salcombe every year and walk hand-in-hand along this beach? People come and go, but the beach changes little.
As we sit, the rising tide drives us further up the beach, until we eventually tire of being failed King Canutes and decide to continue our walk.
The road takes us over a steep hill to North Sands and then on to Salcombe, with its posh hotels, one of which is hosting a wedding reception. The immaculately dressed wedding party could be wealthy residents of Salcombe, ostentatiously showing-off their finery to the general public as they pass by. In their turn, the ‘great unwashed’ gongoozle at the whole affair. Some even press their noses against the glass of a ground floor window of what is obviously a private house, just to get a their full dose of the soap opera that is Salcombe Life. We decide Salcombe is not a place we particularly like and are glad to head back to South Sands.
We now look for the shortest route home, which thankfully takes us away from the holidaying masses by way of a winding footpath up towards the bigger properties on the hill above. On reaching the top a footpath sign directs us through pleasant woodland before we eventually come out on a small tarmacked road that leads to Combe and then on to Rew.
At Rew another footpath takes us through a large caravan site, before we complete our climb to the village of Soar. Just before we get to the village we encounter the former World War Two airfield of RAF Bolt Head. This was built in 1939 (apparently not until the harvest was gathered-in) and was the front-line fighter base protecting Exeter. Coincidentally Betty’s dad was an evacuee near Exeter, so she has a debt of gratitude towards the RAF fighters that were based here. All that remains today are some dilapidated buildings and an elderly couple sitting in their classic 1960s Riley Elf. Of course I’m not suggesting they have been parked here all that time, but it would be nice to think they might perhaps be indulging in an illicit tryst! However, the outdated mobile phone the gentleman is using suggests that they come up to this elevated location out of necessity, to get a decent signal in order to ring family and friends.
On arriving at the car park we succumb to weariness – too weary even to go for that drink at the hotel. We’ll just settle for a bottle of Shiraz back in our caravan instead.
