Minehead to Porlock – Wednesday 19th January 2022

Having survived last night’s hole in the road at Countisbury Hill and the dark, circuitous alternative route across Exmoor, we at least know the score as far as the A39 is concerned.  In daylight the previous night’s Exmoor traverse was a relative doddle.  There is a little more in the way of traffic, with some passing on narrow lanes to contend with, but once we have cleared Brendon and the East Lyn River valley it is a piece of cake.  

In the interests of experiencing routes other than the A39, we decide to take the toll road from Pittcombe Head (Map Ref 842, 463), which wends its very pleasant way off the heather moors and through woodland to Porlock.  At Porlock the B3225 connects to Porlock Weir, where we find ample parking for the day (£8).  There is even a toilet here for me – and at no extra cost.  

With about 30 minutes to spare we wander around Porlock Weir, which I have been to many times – between 1980 and 1982 I conducted weekly field trips here, guiding excited 16 and 17 year-olds on A level geography and ecology courses.  Since then I have also returned frequently, bringing Betty here early in our relationship.  We walked out to Gore Point, where I carried a stonkin great pebble back to the car to prove my undying love.  We still have the self-same pebble as a door stop by our back gate.  Hopefully it is not in the mould of the ravens at the Tower of London – our love being dependent upon the pebbles continued domicile in our garden.

We are thankful to see the bus arrive at 11.32, since it is only a minibus.  My fear was that the number of potential passengers may have exceeded its capacity.  As the only people getting-on, my fears prove unfounded.  A couple of similar age to ourselves disembark first and I suspect they are walking the coast path in the other direction.  Perhaps we will pass them mid-way? 

We chat to the driver about the bus service and discover it is run by 2 separate bus companies.  The two companies appear to have limited co-ordination regarding their service.  They don’t recognise each-others weekly rover tickets, with each company’s ticket only valid on the issuing company’s buses.  This smacks of the early days of home insurance and firefighting companies – who would only put out those fires occurring in houses insured by them.  

“Sorry sir, we can’t save your house – perhaps you will insure with us in future?”  

On the web site I used, they don’t appear to list the pick-up times of the other company’s buses either and it turns out we could have caught an earlier bus.  All a bit stupid in this modern day-and-age, but it shows how self-serving ‘the market’ can be, with the consumer the ultimate loser from it all.

The bus jogs through Porlock and along the A39 to Minehead, where our jolly driver drops us off at the open-air photo exhibition on the Esplanade.  As for yesterday, we retrace our route towards the Harbour, but instead of repeating yesterday’s crossing of Minehead Bay we are to strike out westward along the Exmoor coast, back to our parked car at Porlock Weir.

The start of the South West Coast Path (SWCP) is deceptively easy as we pass the massive SWCP sculpture marking the start of the path and continue beyond the harbour along Quay West.  It is a sunny day, if a little cold perhaps.  However, this is our favoured walking weather.  Quay West does not last long however, terminating at a roundabout, with all traffic beyond being of the pedestrian variety.

Two typical plants of the Exmoor Coast are found in profusion here.  First is the edible Alexanders, Smyrnium olusatrum, a common plant of the open cliff tops sometimes known as Horse Parsley or Black Lovage.  The second is Navelwort, Umbilicus rupestris which frequents walls and slightly shadier locations.  The Alexanders is well named since it appears to have conquered the whole of the known world – well the local one anyway.  Growing to a height of 150cm or more it dominates what might otherwise be a large patch of amenity grassland.  They’ll need more than a lawn-mower to shift that lot.  Navelwort is well named also, bearing a spike of small, yellowish flowers and a basal rosette of round leathery leaves.  Each leaf is attached to the mother plant by way of a stalk which protrudes from the back of the leaf’s centre. Turning the leaf over to examine its front reveals a deep ‘belly-button’ indentation which gives the plant its name.

We pause briefly for a commemorative photo before beginning the long, steep climb through the woodland up North Hill.  A light drizzle christens our start of the SWCP, but it is not long before any wetness is augmented by our internal cooling systems.

“Alexanders an umbellifer which grows in profusion by the coast” 

“Navelwort leaves have a neat little ‘belly-button’ at their centre.”

“We can’t resist a photo before some serious ‘legging’ up North Hill”

A third coastal plant, Holm Oak, offers us protection from the drizzle but can do little to cool us as we stretch sinews on the upward path.  Just before Greenaleigh Farm we pause to admire a building with a green roof.  This one has however, been decorated by nature.  It’s a good illustration of ecological succession – what can happen to any moss covered roof if not cleaned periodically.  I would stop clearing my roof in favour of polypody fern and navelwort at the drop of a hat, but I suspect her indoors might object!

As we climb steadily through sycamore woodland undersown with ‘Jurassic’-looking ferns, I half expect to see a sharp-toothed velociraptor emerging from their midst.  An oncoming fellow-hiker marches grim-faced down the hill and I bid him “good-day.”

“Nothing good about it.” He responds unsmilingly.  

I’m not sure if he’s referring to the weather, or if I’m likely to pass an equally miserable wife following behind him.  I confess that even happy souls such as Betty and I have had walking ‘domestics’.   However, I suspect it is the weather that is the cause of his upset, since North Hill is evidently cloaked with mist.  Pausing briefly to observe a lone roe-deer picking its way through the woodland, we soon emerge on top of North Hill.  We have the good fortune to be blessed with clearing skies and the prospect of a dry walk ahead of us.  

“Natural succession on roof tiles near Greenhaleigh Farm”

“Male Fern presents a primaeval landscape, but thankfully no velociraptors here”

At 200 metres, this is all the climbing that we’ll have to do today, since the path takes us along the near flat top until we get to Hurlstone Point and Porlock Bay beyond.  I am surprised at the absence of sheep amongst the heather, although they occupy adjacent grassy fields in quite large numbers.  This is becoming an increasingly common sight in upland Britain, with heather often left to grow tall due to the absence of sheep grazing.  Perhaps in 20 or 30 years time North Hill will have reverted to oak or sycamore woodland as a result.

A quick check of the OS map reveals that we have a choice of routes.  A more rugged, up-and-down path takes us on a more circuitous trail closer to the sea.  We however, opt for the more direct route since our late start (you may recall the timetable shortcomings of the rival bus companies) means we could well end the day stumbling over beach pebbles in the dark.  

We decide to pause for our lunch, just as the sun begins to shine through.  I can almost hear our grumbling, hiking friend shouting from far below “Bastards!”.

However, even the sun is no match for the cold January wind and we are soon marching along with spectacular views across the Bristol Channel which gives us a panorama stretching from Swansea in the west to the island of Steep Holm in the east.

“Panoramic view across the Bristol Channel – we should get the reversed view one day – when we walk the Welsh side.”

The heathland here is dominated by heather and other heaths, but the most striking shrub at this time of year is gorse.  Gorse is often viewed as a weed by farmers, being of little economic value and is often burned-off.  However it is increasingly regarded by conservationists as having a number of redeeming properties, not least the protection it affords wildlife.  Ecologists are now coming around to the thinking that gorse, hawthorn and other armoured shrubs once acted as natural tree nurseries thousands of years ago, when it is thought large herbivores roamed the UK in those pre-Anthropocene days – much as on the Serengeti plains of Africa.  Without gorse and the like, no young tree could have avoided the attentions of large herds of grazers.  Re-wilders are now favouring gorse over tree planting to return our lost woodlands by a more natural process.  I hate plastic tree guards anyway!

We stumble across a small herd of Herefordshire bovids, which I suspect graze in a more acceptable way than their ovine cousins, which are widely perceived as “fluffy white eating machines”.

The edge of North Hill’s heathland was probably enclosed several centuries ago, with high earth embankments thrown up to separate the fields thus won from the heather ‘waste’ beyond.  These embankments would have been lined with local stone to protect them from burrowing animals such as rabbits.  Today these are known as Devon Hedges and are a typical sight on Exmoor, often topped with dense shrub growth to increase their stock-proof qualities. 

“Young, yellow-flowered gorse growing under the blackened limbs of burned gorse shrubs”

“Devon Hedge – an earth bank lined with local Exmoor stone.”

Approximately half way through the day, we chance upon the couple we saw getting off the bus this morning at Porlock Weir.  We pause for a brief chat and compare notes about the erratic bus timetable arrangements between Porlock Weir and Minehead, before moving-on in opposing directions.  In fact we have the greater distance to go, especially as we want to take-in Hurlstone Point and walk the length of Porlock Bay.

Selworthy Beacon, the highest point on North Hill is only 200 metres to our left, but we leave its cairn unvisited – we are not peak twitchers.  

I am surprised to come across a young couple with a small terrier, dressed in light weight shoes (the couple – not the terrier) and I wonder how they manage on this terrain.  A check of my map reveals that a road takes cars from Minehead up onto North Hill, where it reveals there is a car park.  It seems you only have to walk 400 metres to add Selworthy Beacon to your tick list!

It is not long before Porlock Bay and the Exmoor plateau start to come into view.  The cliffs of Exmoor are generally not the sheer kind, like those one encounters at Dover, for example.  Mostly they are what are often referred to as ‘hog’s-back’ cliffs – forming a convex slope largely covered in woodland.  However, further along, the highest sheer cliff on Exmoor, The Great Hangman – at 244 metres, is also the highest in England and Wales.

“Porlock Bay, Exmoor and the ‘hog’s-back’ cliffs we will be scaling tomorrow.”

As we approach Hurlstone Point from the south east, we have to negotiate Hurlstone Combe, a steep-sided dry valley, probably carved out of the side of North Hill as a periglacial feature – whenever the winter ice melted back during the last ice age.  Today it is dominated by scree boulder-fields – derived from freeze-thaw of its south west facing slope.  Our descent takes us from above 200 metres to close to sea level before we encounter a cross-path which takes us away from the SWCP and towards Hurlstone Point.  

This is a personal milestone, as I am keen to revisit a place frequented on a weekly basis back in the 1980s.  My visits then were mainly focussed upon the headland at sea level, especially the incredible pebble deposits at this end of Bossington Beach.  Higher up the headland one is treated to excellent views west across Porlock Bay, north over the Bristol Channel to Wales and East up the coast towards Minehead.  It is no surprise that for much of the 20^th Century a coastguard lookout tower existed.  This 2-storey stone tower is still in place, but has long since become redundant – however the view will never be so. 

“View north east down Hurlstone Combe towards Porlock Bay”

“Looking up Hurlstone Combe with the scree slope on the left.”

“The old coastguard station at Hurlstone Point”

“Bossington Beach – a massive pebble ‘dune’ stretching across Porlock Bay”

Returning to the SWCP we take the steep path down to the beach to examine the countless number of pebbles that have accumulated here.  The Ordnance Survey’s “Getoutside” web site tells us it is 2.2 metres tall.  They should get outside more and measure it!  It being more like 10 times that height above low water.  Back in the day, visiting students would measure the size and shape of the pebbles at 1 metre vertical intervals.  What they discovered was that the pebbles are smaller at the bottom, with the largest ones on top of the storm beach.  It is believed that the more frequent wave action on the lower beach erodes them more rapidly (a process known as attrition).  

Likewise, they discovered by comparison with the Porlock Weir end of the beach, that they diminish in size as they are carried eastward by longshore drift to Hurlstone Point.  Once, I dug a hole in the beach and discovered that they also get smaller with depth.  I suspect, that as with any disturbed, loose-grained solid, the larger particles rise to the surface – justb like flour shaken in a jar.

“Hurlstone Point and the final destination of millions of Bossington Beach pebbles”

Down at beach level the mass of accumulated pebbles and the sheer size of Europe’s highest storm beach is spectacular.  Leaving Betty inspecting the top of Bossington Beach I slip and slide down the steep face trying hard to stay upright – like a surfer, or a skier constantly having to adjust his balance.  From the bottom the mass of pebbles is if anything even more impressive.  With just the lapping of waves on pebbles I take a short video, trying to capture the magic of this place, wondering how many thousands of years it has taken for all these pebbles to arrive here.

High above me the sheer rocky cliff face of Hurlstone Point soars up to become part of North Hill.  The rocks here are a good deal older still than Bossington Beach.  Laid down close to 400 million years ago, during the Devonian period.  They have since been folded and faulted by tectonic activity.  As the power of the sea breaks on these resistant rocks, you have to wonder how the limpets and barnacles are able to hang on.  In fact many of the plants and animals in the intertidal zone below the cliffs are specially adapted to cope with the force of the waves.  Measurements have shown that that limpets here are generally squatter than their counterparts across the bay, whilst a subspecies of bladder wrack has evolved which is much shorter and lacks the otherwise distinctive floatation bladders of the gentler water version.

“Tectonic folding in the strata of Hurlstone Point cliffs”

“Waves, fading light and beach pebbles at Hurlstone Point.”

Scrambling back up the steep face of the beach, Betty and I pace-out its width at the top, which I estimate to be in excess of 40 metres.  Doubtless someone, somewhere, has estimated how many pebbles there are in total, but numbers don’t match the awesomeness of nature. 

Were the day a little younger and the tide a little lower, I might be tempted to climb the lower rocks of the cliff to where the adventurous can find a cave and a small inlet beyond.  But the light is quickly fading and we still have at least an hour of walking ahead of us.  The South West Coast Path actually follows the former cliff-line to Bossington Village and then westward inland of the marshland behind Bossington Beach.  However, always keen to adhere to the natural coastline, we elect to walk along the pebble bank – something I have never done before.  Striding along the top of the beach is not difficult, with the large flat pebbles behaving more like paving slabs than their smaller, looser cousins at the bottom.  

The flat top of the storm beach is well above even the highest of high tides, being only ever affected by the largest of storm waves.  The pebbles here are encrusted with grey lichens, particularly towards the back of the beach.  These can tolerate the salt spray and the absence of both soil and freshwater for most of the time.  In places, even salt-tolerant flowering plants such as sea beet have managed to gain a foothold. 

One of the most striking features of Bossington Beach is the alternating flat terraces and steep facets created by successive high tides.  These run the length of the bay, diminishing in size and number the further west you go.  

“Bossington Beach with terraces and beach ridges created by successive high tides”

“The storm beach at Hurlstone Point must be 40 metres wide and still growing.”

Before long we arrive at the River Horner, or Horner Water, which starts its life to the west of Exmoor’s highest point – Dunkery Beacon.  Rising as Chetsford Water and Embercombe, its name changes to Nutscale Water, before finally settling on being called Horner Water as it passes through Horner Woods and on to the sea at Bossington.  The river channel almost never enters the sea, having to make do with the ignominy of percolating through the mass of beach pebbles that block its way.  Every now and then, after heavy rainfall, a mass of water builds-up behind the beach and bursts through, allowing it to enter the sea as a river channel – for a while at least.

“The River Horner never reaches the sea, but percolates through Bossington Beach.”

“A lagoon forms behind Bossington Beach when the River Horner levels are higher.”

On top of the beach and further back, the coastline is littered with man-made structures such as World War Two pill-boxes, stone walls and even a lime kiln.  Most of the land behind the pebble barrier is subject to periodic flooding from rivers, or from the sea.  In the past Man has had to drain it, in order to scratch a living out of the soil here, with some very geometric channels illustrating this work.

Periodically the sea has something to say about this and breaches the pebble bank, flooding the land beyond with salt water and creating saltmarsh.  In 1996 the sea swept over the beach, carrying masses of pebbles inland in great lobes, not unlike lava fields, but consisting of rounded beach material.  We encountered a similar feature whilst walking the Norfolk Coast in 2020.  I suspect rising sea levels will see repetitions of this in both areas of the UK over the coming century.  The Exmoor National Park website explains this activity in some detail: https://www.exmoor-nationalpark.gov.uk/learning/coastal-management-in-porlock-bay/5-why-did-the-storm-of-october-28th-and-29th-1996-cause-a-catastrophic-breach-in-porlock-ridge. 

“A well camouflaged WW2 pill-box on Bossington Beach.”

“A disused lime kiln and WW2 pillbox.”

“Intriguingly geometric ditch-work in the marshland behind Bossington Beach.”

“Sea Purslane dominates the salt-marsh.  High tides bring salt water, turning the wetland brackish.”

“Lobes of beach pebbles, driven by storm water, have swamped parts of the marshland.”

“The extent of the 1996 Bossington Beach breach.”

“The same area in January 2022”

Once we have passed the fields of pebbles covering the western end of the saltmarsh, we encounter something I had failed to anticipate – the course of Hawkcombe Water.  It too empties into Porlock Bay, but is able to push through any pebbles that might accumulate after a storm.  Fortunately it is currently low tide and the waters are shallow, spread widely across the beach.  In the diminishing light we nearly come unstuck (or more correctly ‘stuck’) where the river and sea have conspired to expose the soft Holocene clays laid down about 10,000 years ago, after the last ice age.

“Exposed Holocene Clays present a shore navigation hazard.”

“Likewise, Hawkcombe Water spreads across the shore, but only to a depth of a few centimetres.”

These turn out to be the final natural barrier to our traverse of Porlock Bay, which is just as well, since by now it is dark and we are walking by torch-light.  Eventually, we find a footpath up the concrete revetment, bringing us out onto the last couple of hundred metres of the B3225.  The torches also save us from being run-over by passing motorists and we are glad to eventually be reunited with our car.  Unsurprisingly, it is the only one left in the car park at Porlock Weir.  On a cold January evening most folk are sensibly tucked away inside by now.  We, as luck would have it, still need to negotiate the steep slopes and narrow lanes of the East Lyn Valley before we make it back to our accommodation in Lynton.