County Gate to Porlock Weir (circular walk) – 20th January 2022

The A39 is still closed at Countisbury Hill, so once again we have to wend our way across the East Lyn valley to the Devon/Somerset border at County Gate. This will be our last day in the Somerset part of Exmoor. County Gate is a great start point, since it saves us petrol, the parking is free and it is half way between Porlock Weir and Lynmouth. Tomorrow we can either return here and park the car again, followed by a circular walk to Lynmouth, or just do a circular walk from our accommodation in Lynton to here.
There is normally a bus between Lynmouth and Porlock, so in theory the whole coast path between the two could be done in a single day – the hole in the road at Countisbury Hill has buggered-up that option this week.
As a Botany undergraduate in 1974 (based in Minehead), I came to County Gate to study the heathland and woodland ecology. Considering the rate at which plant succession and tree growth occurs, I am unlikely to recognise anything from that visit of nearly 50 years ago.
Not relying on public transport means that we are entirely masters of our own destiny today. We start off taking the bridleway to Yenworthy Common, before it morphs into part of the Coleridge Way, which we will follow all the way to Porlock Weir. An alternative route of the South West Coast Path follows the same track for part of our way.
One problem of starting the day across open ground is that I am not quite into the navigation groove and I nearly turn off left towards the coast. This is compounded by the fact that we lose way-markers on the ground and have to cross onto the reverse side of the map. I am sure my map reading skills are up to it. We have perfect walking weather – bright sunshine, cool air and no sign of any rain. Passing through one of the fields, it is easy to see how marginal the pasture here is. A local mole has turned up some of the underlying soil, which appears to be largely lumps of Old Red Sandstone. Great for growing heathland plants, but otherwise pretty poor grazing.
A sunken lane, bordered by high earth banks, takes us to Broomstreet Farm, where we eye a border collie, expecting some form of confrontation. Luckily, the collie has no interest in us and we continue in peace along the Coleridge Trail. This long distance trail, marked by yellow feathers, is a new one on me. Created in 2005 and extended in 2014, the trail connects Lynmouth with Nether Stowey on the Quantock Hills, where Samuel Taylor Coleridge lived for three years. There’s a possibility he never walked the whole of this route himself, but it provides a good excuse to walk through some
fabulous countryside. Once we have completed our coastal walking it would be nice to return and do this one, if only because it manages to avoid many of the overpopulated tourist areas on the coast.

“ Perfect walking weather gives us glorious views across the Bristol Channel.”

“A local mole reveals the poor quality of the underlying soil.”

“Distinctive Exmoor finger-post – can you place it on the map?”

“Typical Exmoor sunken lane, with stone lined earth banks adorned with navelwort”

“Betty – laden with essential walking gear, but uplifted by Mother Nature.”

Two hundred and twenty five years ago, Coleridge would quite possibly have followed this part of his eponymous long-distance path, as he walked from Lynton to Porlock. The deeply sunken lane, bordered by steep banks and clinging to the hillside is barely wide enough for a horse and cart. I don’t know how they would have fared, if they ever met a cart coming the other way. I am sure the route pre-dates Coleridge by many hundreds, if not thousands, of years as it contours along the side of the steep Exmoor slopes.
By the time we get to Silcombe Farm the track has been upgraded to a tarmac road suited to tractor use, with much of its previous ambiance swallowed-up by 20 th Century progress. We are miles from anywhere, yet Exmoor hill-farmers continue to eke out a living from the poor soil and unpredictable weather. We pass a local farming family – a mother and 2 children (one in a pram). Two dogs complete the group. The father is away, doubtless wrestling with sheep, or busy with his well-used tractor. In 20 years time the two children may well be running the farm. Perhaps by then they will be being paid to grow native trees and manage the wildlife on their land – to conserve Exmoor’s biodiversity.

“The 20th Century has upgraded this centuries-old trackway – with a total change in
ambiance.”

“A young farming family at Silcombe Farm. What kind of farm will the kids be running in
20 years time?”

At Parsonage Farm we are greeted by a couple of angry Jack Russells. We hear their yapping long before we see them, so are prepared for the altercation that follows. It seems we are trespassing on their territory and they are keen to explain the finer points of the law of trespass. Suitably contrite, we tug our forelocks and apologise for walking along their public highway, before the tranquillity of Exmoor is restored.
A few hundred yards further along is Ash Farm. History records that Samuel Taylor Coleridge stayed-over one night, on his way from Lynton and was inspired to write his poem Kubla Khan. He does confess to being under the influence of a couple of grains of opium at the time. It is not long before we are on one of the toll roads that wind their way from the levels at Porlock to join the A39 which runs along the top of the hill. However, a clear sign discourages us from walking the toll road, although a public footpath runs alongside it. Paying cars are most welcome it seems, but not ‘ladies and gentlemen of the road’ such as we. Not that we care, as we strike off following The Coleridge Way, high on poetic enlightenment and the joy of being off the beaten track for a little longer.
The gnarled oaks that border the track would not have been here in Coleridge’s day, being significantly less-than 200 years old. I suspect this was open moorland or fields in his day, but the landowner probably just gave-up the fight against nature – such is the paucity of the local soil.
Soon I have to revert to map reading mode, as we are required to say goodbye to Coleridge and follow a precipitous descent to Porlock Weir. I take out my mobile phone and start quoting from Kubla Khan, to inject a bit of culture into the walk. Betty is not impressed however. Whether it is a slight upon Coleridge’s gifts as a poet, or my theatrical talent is never explained, but the poetic moment passes.

Towards the bottom we encounter that scourge of British Woodland – the rhododendron (Rhododendron ponticum specifically, as opposed to other Rhododendrons). In her book “The Salt Path”, the author Raynor Winn defends the virtue of this much maligned plant, with its bright pink flowers. However, the apparent beauty of this invasive non-native is eclipsed by its spread throughout British woodland, casting shade and toxins onto plants of the woodland floor and threatening an aggressive take-over of this island’s ecology. Like many introduced species, it forgot to bring its natural predators with it, so has no natural check to its movements.
Eventually we tumble-out once-again onto the toll road, half-expecting the owner to pull up and give us a tongue-lashing, before a short stretch of footpath brings us out onto the B3225 at Porlock Weir. Here we rest and enjoy eating our sandwiches, whilst watching the wildlife go past – a very tame robin, a cat and a young Indian family. I spot my first winter heliotrope of the year – a speciesI was unfamiliar with until February 1980, when I visited the area for an interview at Nettlecombe Court Field Study Centre. The flower and the place will always be inextricably linked.

“Glorious views across to Porlock Bay – can you have too much of a good thing?”

“Off the beaten track – in the footsteps of Coleridge.”

“Winter heliotrope – a most Somerset of spring flowers.”

Lunch consumed we are ready to strike back up the side of Exmoor for a short distance, following the South West Coast Path. This is achieved by way of a flight of stone steps next to Porlock Bay Oysters – a recent start-up at Porlock Weir. It seems oyster dredging in Porlock Bay started in the 1830s but was brought to a halt by competing Colchester oystermen destroying the Porlock Bay oyster beds back in the 1890s. The pens, or weirs, they were kept in prior to shipping to London by train, gave their name to the village. However, other sources claim that salmon weirs existed long before the oyster trade – so pick your story.
The recent start-up uses Pacific Oysters instead of the native Atlantic Oyster. Whenever this happens a part of me questions whether this introduced species might one day become an unwanted invasive – like the rhododendron.
The South West Coast Path then takes us yet again along the Worthy Toll Road before turning off at the rather distinguished toll-house. I suspect the laws pertaining to third-party liability have changed somewhat since the toll road was first constructed. In day’s gone-by it appears all an owner had to do was to warn users that “shit happens – so don’t blame me if it happens to you (see photo below).
From the coast path we have an elevated view down to Gore Point, which lies to the west of the village. It was here that I would often bring 6th form students to study both geography and ecology. A small freshwater stream crosses the pebble beach here, playing havoc with the feeding biology of the local carnivorous dog whelks. As a result, their preferred prey – mussels – grow in abundance.
Ecology students had to record the numbers of each species and attempt to explain what was going on. Doubtless the process continues and will do so for many years yet.

“Betty takes the South West Coast Path up the stone steps at Porlock Weir.”

“Ostentatious Toll-gate with historic ‘small print’ in case of an accident.”

“Gore Point – where mussels avoid predation by dog whelks. You can also pick out
several fish weirs (triangular ponds in the beach).

At Yearnor Wood the SWCP climbs past and through some fascinating tunnel structures, which are more aesthetic than functional (further research reveals that Lord Byron’s daughter engaged some Swiss engineers to build the tunnels for tradesmen to use, thereby shielding herself from their view as she bathed on her private beach. So, functional – but barmy!).
From now on the route is fairly straight-forward and not too demanding. In fact I am intrigued by the relatively level nature of the track we are following. I can’t find out whether this was a carriage-way, an old railway line, or just a folly built by an eccentric landowner (we came across a similar track way near Newton Ferrers, in South Devon – built by Lord Revelstoke). Whatever the reason, we are able to follow a pleasant route all the way to Culbone, with the occasional short detour due
to landslips.

“The tunnels of Worthy built to save Lord Byron’s daughter’s blushes.”

“The level trackway cut into the hillside between Worthy and Culbone.”

“Culbone Church.”

At Culbone we get great elevated views through the trees, of St Bueno’s Church – which lays claim to being the smallest church in England. With seating for only 30, it is still well-used today, although the congregation has a significant walk to and from the church. A small spire sits on top of the building, which is surrounded by a small graveyard. It is mention in the Domesday Book, so is pre-Norman in age. A large stone (The Culbone Stone) stands in nearby wood and is believed to
be of 7th to 9th Century origin. Today one or two houses are to be found in the hamlet immediately surrounding the church, with a few other dwellings scattered across the hillside. We are delighted to discover that the church is open and step into the rather dark interior. The church is divided into 2 parts. The nave permits people to sit in pairs, on several rows of rather
short pews arranged on either side of the central aisle. This part of the church is separated from the chancel by a rood screen and there is a small alter at the far end of this. Serving communion must be quite a congested affair. At the back of the nave, under the small steeple, the words of the ten commandments are written for the benefit of any of the congregation who might have forgotten Moses’ handiwork on Mount Sinai. Alas, Betty traps her finger in the door and mutters something under her breath. I check the fine print of the commandments and reassure her that she is not guilty
of breaking any of them.
We wander around the church yard and are surprised to note that some of the graves are as recent as I’m assuming anyone dying within the tiny parish has the right to be buried here, although possibly a 4×4 would be needed, to deliver any coffins.
It was after walking from Lynton by way of Culbone, that Samuel Taylor Coleridge penned his poem ‘Kubla Khan’. I can well understand how he might have been inspired by this section of the Exmoor coast. His poem sums it up perfectly:

An extract from Kubla Khan – Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

With Coleridges stirring words ringing in our ears we continue along the narrow cliff path with ‘the sunless sea’ some 100m below us.

“Culbone Church interior.”

“Bell-ropes and the Ten Commandments”

“Carolyne Lytton is one of the more recently interred parishioners.”

“The cliff path and the ‘sunless sea’ 100 metres below.”

From Culbone-onward, the path takes us up and down several times in order to avoid numerous landslips. Despite still more young but gnarled-looking oaks clinging to the cliff-side, much of the vegetation is of the type found on moorland – heather, bilberry, sphagnum moss. Possibly sheep grazed even the steep cliffs in the past, suppressing any woodland regeneration until relatively recently.
We hear a distinct ‘cronk’ from the skies above, as a pair of ravens see-off an unwanted buzzard. In places the woodland has a much more ancient appearance, with an understory of male fern giving it a primeval ambiance. This part of the coast path however, is turning into a bit of a slog, with the lack of distinct landmarks making it difficult to determine at what point we need to turn-off and return to County Gate.
Eventually, we feel confident that we must be at Yenworthy Combe and need to follow the SWCP for just a short distance before turning off to County Gate. I’m not sure if it is tiredness, refusal to use my reading glasses, or the bane of double-sided map-reading (the point at which you have to flip from one side to the other), but I confess to making an error and take us up Yenworthy Combe to Yenworthy Farm. It is a pleasant, if stiff climb and I soon realise that we are in danger of being harangued by the landowner, as there is no right-of-way. However, I take a degree of solace in following a path obviously trodden by scores of previous walkers (a childish excuse I know), so we continue our necks ‘fully-brassed’, but our consciences ‘slightly-pricked’.
Yenworthy Farm, as marked on my 2017 OS map, turns out to be the Yenworthy Hotel – on checking an on-line version. So I don’t suppose they would know if we are residents or not. Either way we pass through a large wooden gate at the top of the combe and take the tarmacked track up to Yenworthy Lodge. We passed this way earlier in the day, so can now dispense with my unreliable map reading skills and make our weary way, retracing our steps to the County Gate car park.
Despite it still being daylight, but we decide a packet pizza and a bottle of beer will do us fine for tonight’s supper.

“Gnarled oaks cling to the cliff side

“ And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills”

“And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever”

“Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover”