Tuesday 1 April 2025

 

Sidmouth to Branscombe  5 1/2 miles

Weather is still glorious, but there is a cold wind strong enough to send spray over the sea front.  Becky comes with us, bringing Luna the Dubai rescue dog.

We begin by climbing Salcombe Hill.  The path I used to go up with Granny-ma doesn’t exist any more due to cliff erosion.  I will be doing a separate post about this.  Instead, we go up residential roads for the first stage of the climb.  I have happy and powerful memories of helping Granny find the first violets and primroses in the nineteen fifties. 

Although it’s all familiar, this is a really tough section.  Salcombe Hill, then Dunscombe are steep.  The trail guide tells us we will climb 2,000 feet by Beer.

This time we are only getting to Branscombe.  Luna is mainly well -behaved, but just before lunch above Weston, she spots a deer and nothing can stop her.  There is a hedge and fence separating them so the deer gets away easily, but there were brambles in the hedge and Luna gets prickles in her foot.

We had lunch sitting on the grass above Weston Mouth.  Many memories.  Our parents rented a house in Weston called Little Slade.  As boys we spent many hours in the combe and on the beach.  There were buzzards here – a rarity in the fifties before the banning of DDT.

A guy trundles up on a quad bike.  He tells us he has a cottage on the beach and is getting it ready for the summer.

“It looks like a public lavatory but it’s nice inside” he says, before descending the steep steps to the beach carrying a large hedge-cutting tool.

There is the usual dispute about where the path goes next. 

“We have to go right down to the beach,” I say.

“That can’t be right, surely we need to go up, not down”

I get the guide out to settle the argument. I am right (of course).  But in the kerfuffle, I drop my sunglasses.  On the beach I realise they are gone.  It is a long steep climb back.  Becky offers to go back for them, but I say no.

We reach Branscombe by 16.15, buoyed up by the hope of a reviving cup of tea at the beach café.  It is shut.

Becky has alerted John to pick us up, and he arrives shortly.  It has been a tough day with three big cliffs to climb.

I take everyone out for supper at The Golden Lion in Tipton St John.  £143 for four.  I had pork with bubble and squeak – delicious.  Apparently, the pub is under new management.  It is packed and all seems to be well.