Lynton to County Gate – 21st January 2022

We are onto our final day of walking during our brief winter visit to Exmoor. We will probably return later in the year to continue our westward migration along the North Devon Coast, before turning south towards Barnstaple. We have been blessed (as ever) with good walking weather, some excellent scenery and the chance (for me at least) to indulge in a little nostalgia.
When I moved to my dream job in West Somerset 42 years ago, I thought perhaps I would live here forever. Even when I reluctantly moved-on, I still thought of it as my second home. The open moorland, deep tree-lined valleys and the rugged coast all conspired to seduce me into a sense of ease with my surroundings. Life moves on and you discover other places of similar beauty around the UK and realise any one of them could be the perfect home. However, Exmoor will always be
particularly special.
The joy of today’s walk from Lynton to County Gate and back again has to be the avoidance of using any form of transport, other than our own steam. No need for bus or train timetables, no risk of covid and no need to detour around Exmoor to get to our start point. It being mid-January, it is no surprise that the plummeting temperatures left us with frost on the
ground this morning. At 150 metres and exposed to the Atlantic Ocean, the wind off the Bristol Channel cuts us to the quick.

“A chilly start 150 metres up in Lynton”

The first mile of today’s walk is not difficult, taking us by way of the steep cliff path down to the twin town of Lynmouth below. We criss-cross the cliff railway twice, pausing to inspect the rich coastal vegetation growing out of the vaulting stone walls adjacent to the path. Across the valley of the River Lyn the imposing Tor Park Apartments dominate the steep western slopes of the aptly named Wind Hill. A large crane is busily moving construction materials back and forth. Perched
atop his crane, which in turn is perched 50 metres above the valley floor, he has a spectacular 360 degree view of some of the most impressive cliffs in the UK. I wouldn’t have his job for all the tea in China though, especially if the typically brisk sou’westerlies get up.

“Ivy-leaved Toad-flax

“Polypody”

” Ivy and Hart’s Tongue Fern encrust a wall along the Cliff Path”

“The Cliff Railway takes a winter slumber as it clings to the side of Exmoor”

At the bottom of the cliff path we pass the Rising Sun public house. It was here that we sat a few years ago drinking a pint of cider after a long walk up onto Exmoor and down the East Lyn Valley. As we came down through the woods next to the East Lyn River, I chanced to notice a wallet sitting on a wooden bench. After a bit of sleuthing, using the wallet’s contents, we were eventually able to determine the recent movements of the wallet’s Dutch owner. We rang the cafe she had stopped at for lunch and explained that should the Dutch lady ring them about her loss, we would be having a drink at the Rising Sun.
Fortune smiled upon her. At about 6.30pm a car pulled up outside the Rising Sun and a beaming Dutch lady emerged, waving at us. Once reunited with her wallet, she and her companions thanked us profusely, shaking hands and offering to buy us a drink.
But at this early hour, no Dutch ladies are anywhere to be seen. We do however, resolve to visit the Rising Sun for a pint at the conclusion of the day’s walk. With that particular rendezvous arranged, we take the bridge over the River Lyn to the other side.

“The Walker – putting one foot in front of the other.”

“Betty makes a mental note to have a pint at The Rising Sun this evening”

Students of physical geography will be familiar with Lynmouth and the disastrous fate that awaited it on August 15-16th 1952. A massive cloud-burst dropped unprecedented volumes of water onto Exmoor overnight. This followed many days of heavy rainfall exceeding 250 times its normal level, which had made the ground totally saturated with water. The overnight rain quickly descended down the steep slopes of Exmoor and into the East and West Lyn rivers which converged on Lynmouth, carrying some 90 million tons of water. This fast-moving mass of water carried with it large boulders weighing several tons, as though they were mere pebbles. Thirty-nine houses were completely destroyed and 34 people lost their lives. 70 years later, the river bed, the harbour and adjacent shoreline are still covered in flood-borne material.

“Flood-strewn boulders in the straightened channel testify to the power of moving
water 70 years on”

As we approach the A39 at the bottom of Countisbury Hill it is apparent that the road is still closed and that the workmen are still working on it. They tell us that it should be finished today, but this news no longer has relevance to our holiday movements. We will be heading westward tomorrow to visit friends in Braunton.
The start of our walk requires us to climb some 300 metres to Foreland Point and then on to County Gate, before returning via the East Lyn River. It is going to be a significant slog up to Foreland Point but at least we’ll be getting most of the climbing done in the morning. After 20 minutes of winding footpaths we are level with the hole in the road which terminated our drive 4 nights ago.
An elderly couple approach from Countisbury and pause, a perplexed look crosses their faces on discovering that their access is blocked. Unperturbed, the old lady executes a ten-point turn in the road and returns a little further up the hill to park in a lay-by. As we pass them, we pause for a chat. He is evidently blind, being led by a dog and explains that
they are visiting friends in Lynton. They are certainly going to get their quota of exercise today. Hats-off for their doggedness.

“Road repairs will not be finished in time to benefit us.”

The early morning chill is now giving way to mid-morning sunshine and we are feeling it – a bodies heat from the climb and layers start to be peeled-off. As we pause to rest, we are passed by a runner, a young lady making light work of the climb. We exchange a brief pleasantry, including Betty admiring the red highlights in her hair. Evidently pleased with the attention, the young lady continues her run and we return to our much slower grind up the hill.

“Foreland Point sits brooding in the Bristol Channel.”

By 11.30 we are close to Butter Hill and Countisbury village. This is an excellent time to look-back and enjoy the fruits of our labours – the fabulous view of the village of Lynton nestled 150 metres up the cliffs at the entrance to the Valley of the Rocks. Below it, Lynmouth is largely hidden by the westward jutting spur of Wind Hill. A wide fan of river-borne material extends either side of the River Lyn’s mouth, much of it I suspect carried down in 1952.

“ A fan of flood debris at the mouth of the River Lyn reminds us of the 1952 flood.”

As we pause, Betty relates to me a story told by Raynor Winn in the ‘Salt Path’. She and her husband camped on the path near here after a brief visit to the Blue Ball and Countisbury. Early next morning she had to pop-out for a ‘number 2’ only to be disturbed by the Blue Ball landlord walking his dog. We have slightly more comfortable accommodation and only need to find secret places for a ‘wild-wee’. Even then I can recall Betty having one of these next to the 7th green of a golf course and nearly being rumbled by several middle-aged stick-wielding gentlemen. The trials of the fairer sex.
Our breath and energy returned, we have the pleasure of a gentle downward path towards Foreland Point. As we walk, dizzying 200 metre vertical drops remind us how high we are, with significant sections of the cliff being actively eroded into steep-sided gullies. We decline the option of going all the way to Foreland Point some way below us and follow the SWCP eastward keeping a small collection of dry-stone walled, grassy fields to our right. Closer inspection of the OS map would
have revealed that a rapid descent is required here, but instead I drag an increasingly uncertain Betty through tall heather and into a side valley. She expresses doubt as to our course, especially when our route is blocked by tall walls of stone,
topped with barbed wire. However, before I have to execute one of my infamous ‘U’-turns, I spot a small herd of red deer watching us from the other side of the valley. After 5 minutes they get bored of human-watching and wander-off – looking for something more interesting to do. Likewise, we about-turn until we find the rather obvious steep track down into Coddow Combe. Here we pick-up a tarmac road, giving access to the Foreland Point lighthouse. However, our route is to follow it back uphill in an eastward direction, before it turns off towards the A39.

“A steep-sided gully marks the quick way down to the sea – 200 metres below”

“A small herd of red deer disturbed by two lost humans.”

“Betty bursts into the opening song of “The Sound of Music” as she climbs out of
Caddow Combe”

The SWCP now takes us past Rodney’s Cottage, an isolated cottage overlooking Countisbury Cove. A great place to hunker-down and write your memoirs. Our path however, takes us uphill, parallel to the coastline. A small herd of sheep block our way and immediately turn-tail and scurry ahead us along the path. I am a little concerned that they might jump off the cliff, so we hold back until they eventually dissipate into the woodland above us.
The coast path now winds, clinging to the steep hillside in much the same manner as it did from Porlock Weir yesterday. At one point a fallen tree must have blocked the path, but somehow an enterprising tree surgeon has engineered it into a natural arch for walkers to pass under. It’s trunk is covered in all manner of mosses and polypody ferns – evidence of how wet it is on the Exmoor coast.

“A mystery hand renames Glenthorne Cliffs”

“Mosses and Polypody ferns encrust a fallen oak”

From now-on the path climbs steadily to approximately 250m above sea level, with the cliffs to our left falling away (literally) in a great scar, forcing the path ever higher. To our right the rhododendron is turning into something akin to high forest, blotting out all light to anything that might attempt to grow beneath it. On our left, the landowner has attempted to deal with this pernicious weed by spraying with glyphosate or similar. No mechanical damage has been done to
the shrubs, with the only sign of life being a few evergreen leaves sprouting from their base (these will need to be dealt with soon, before the cycle begins again).

“Rhododendron scrub lines the cliff path. Glyphosate has knocked-back those on
the left.”

“Despite herbicide treatment, Rhododendron takes a lot of killing.”

Checking the OS map I realise that the coast path drop almost 100 metres before we arrive at where we climbed up to County Gate yesterday. Throw in the inevitable additional ups and downs of this route, as well as the short day length in January and I realise that there is no-way we are going to get back to Lynton before dark. However, one solution presents itself – to cut along the footpath past the dwelling marked “Desolate” on the map until we get to the A39 at Dogsworthy Cottage. It will then be just a matter of walking along the A39 to County Gate before we drop down into the East Lyn valley.
That decided, we think it a good time to stop for a few sarnies. It would have been wiser to do this whilst swaddled by the massive crowns of the rampant rhododendrons. Instead we are forced to sit on a turf ‘tuffet’ exposed to cold north-west winds and once again feast on panoramic views across to South Wales. The footpath takes us across Countisbury Common to the A39.

“Further Rhododendron plants threaten to spread across Exmoor as we lunch on the
exposed cliff side.”

Just as we arrive at Dogsworthy Cottage, a significant amount of traffic starts to come from the direction of Lynmouth – the road repair must have been completed. Just our luck, since we now have to walk along the A39 for 1.5 miles. If we choose to, we can take a shortcut down a minor road to Brendon. We however, decide that the extra couple of miles won’t kill us, so stride out for Cosgate Hill along the A39. Fortunately, a rough footpath runs along the south side of the road, offering a degree of respite from passing traffic.
At Cosgate Hill we turn south to rejoin the Coleridge Way and start to drop into the valley of the East Lyn River. A lone female hiker breezes past us – one of those hardly self-sufficient souls who don’t mind walking solo. At least she provides us with a ‘hare’ to pursue, since it is evident that she knows her way.
The East Lyn valley is a thing of beauty, even in January when the oaks below us stand leafless awaiting the coming of spring. The Coleridge Way holds an elevated course until it drops down to Brendon. The south-facing slopes are littered with fields of scree which engulf the heathland below. The valley has a distinctly glaciated look to it, with steep sides and a flat bottom across which the river winds its course seaward. However, no glaciers got this far south-west, so the processes here would have been periglacial or tundra-like. The deep snows of winter melted each spring giving the East Lyn the volume of water needed to carve its deep valley. Today the river is something of a ‘misfit’, rarely capable of serious slope erosion – other than in August 1952 of course!

“The East Lyn Valley in all its January glory.”

Passing a group of hardy dark-brown Exmoor Ponies, we eventually catch-up with our lone female ‘hare’, as she pauses to feed an emu at the side of the road. Yet another invasive species for the future I wonder? We get into conversion as we walk with her along the road to Brendon. It transpires that she has a house here, although she works in London. I suspect there are many more like her who can afford to buy Exmoor properties. Alas Exmoor’s villages are dominated by the
older population, with a shortage of suitable dwelling for those who were born here.

The final leg of our journey takes us along the north side of the East Lyn by way of an ancient cobbled trackway. The ambiance presented by the lush woodland and the dancing river is mesmerising, although the noise is almost overpowering. I wonder if you have to be pretty hard of hearing to survive here – no wonder it suits the older members of society!

“Hardy Exmoor Ponies have grazed these moors for millennia.”

“A cobbled trackway attests to the antiquity of Man’s movements across Exmoor.”

“The boiling East Lyn deafens the otherwise tranquil ambience of this place.”

At Watersmeet we pause to eat the last of our lunch, assisted by a pair of tame robins, prepared not only to eat out of my hand, but fluttering full in my face in the process. Betty has a phobia about feathers, so fluttering birds are not her thing. However, even she is impressed by their tameness. Watersmeet is yet another location that my late parents visited during their honeymoon stay at Minehead. I don’t imagine they hiked over to here, so the bus service was probably much more
comprehensive in those days. I have photographs of them outside the cafe, which doesn’t appear to have changed one bit in 73 years. It is strange how places can connect us with moments in history, be they our own, our relatives or otherwise. A little further on we pass the bench where we found the Dutch lady’s wallet and I am reminded that we have an appointment with a pint at the Rising Sun, in Lynmouth.

“Watersmeet provides tame Robins to entertain clients and any passing walkers.”

“Watersmeet – looking much as it would have done in 1949, when Billy’s parents
honeymooned here.”

By the time we arrive in Lynmouth darkness has descended upon the valley. Looking at the 150 metre climb to Lynton, we decide that we prefer to have our pint with our dinner. With some misgivings we give the Rising Sun a miss. The final mile of walking is nonetheless most enjoyable as we pause frequently to enjoy the light show below us which is Lynmouth at night-time.
Tomorrow we drive to our friends at Braunton, scouting out the route of the South West Coast Path
as we go – in readiness for the next bit of “Legging Round Britain” later in the year.

“Lynmouth by night”