BACKGROUND
The Two Moors Way is a long distance path across Devon spanning 117 miles between Wembury on the south coast and Lynmouth on the north. It was established in 1976, but much of the route retraces much older paths, such as the ancient Mariner’s Way. The route plumbs the depths of England’s third biggest county as well as the two moors of Dartmoor and Exmoor; plus a tasty buffet of rivers, forests, fields and valleys that show off some of the best of what the English countryside has to offer.
I decided to attempt the Two Moors Way in May 2022. I left my busy job and home in Cornwall a few days prior to starting the trek, and so not only did I finally have some time to attempt a bigger adventure, the opportunity would prove useful to get some headspace after a rollercoaster few months. I love walking and have done some good two day treks across deep Dartmoor before, but I had never walked more than 26 miles in one trip. The time was ripe for my biggest adventure yet - even if the only real exercise I had done for the previous three months had been my step count at work!
Part of my inspiration for this trek was the story of Igor Pedin, 61, and his dog Zhu-Zhu, 9, who walked 140 miles across war-torn Ukraine from the besieged city of Mariupol to Zaporizhzhia, to escape a dark fate at the hands of Russian invaders. If Igor and his dog could achieve such a feat without being kidnapped, blown up, or simply losing the will to persist, then I could certainly endure any shadow of hardship compared to what they faced. I decided to use the opportunity to raise some money for British-Ukrainian Aid, a charity established to help out vulnerable Ukrainians like Igor displaced by the Russian invasion.
To make the trek more of a challenge, I decided to attempt it in 7 days (just under 17 miles a day) although it is usually completed between 8-11 days. I also decided to carry everything I needed with me on my back, including my trusty bivvy bag so I could travel light and sleep rough, rather than depend solely on nightly accommodation or a luggage transfer service to carry all my stuff from stop to stop.
Usually my walks are all about appreciating the journey, rather than a sprint to the destination, but this was to be a real test of personal endurance and planning. That said, I ended up winging it for much of the way, but it was still the most planning I’d ever done for the walk, by necessity. Not only was there geographical treachery to contend with (getting lost, getting stuck a bog, covering the distance each day without injuring myself) there was also a calculation of the rare supply stops to top up food and water which were few and far between; plus making sure I knew roughly where I would stay for the night, as there are few worse feelings than the exhausting twilight crisis of hunting for a place to sleep after a hard day’s walk without worrying about being hounded by a farmer, ranger or herd of angry cows. I could easily have spent more time planning every meticulous detail, but you know what they say about best laid plans - they often cock up - so a measure of considered flexibility would be important once the walk had commenced.
As usual, the adventure is whatever you make of it. On this occasion it was a mainly a challenge of endurance across some of England’s most wild and wonderful land, but it can easily be done at a slower pace, with accommodation, as more of a walking holiday to better appreciate the beautiful scenery. It is also easy to do in stages, as opposed to all in one go - so can be done over a series of weekends if you like. On this occasion I was lucky enough to have a crack at the whole thing!
DETAILS
When to go
I went in late spring (end of May) and would recommend it as a superb time of the year. It was warm but not too hot, and I was rarely cold other than the first start in the mornings. I caught the end of the wild garlic and bluebells which was a big bonus, plus everything was green and lush. Autumn would be another good time. In the summer it would probably be less wet, but I can imagine the heat taking a toll. I still think you wouldn’t see many people at all though if you went in high season. As for winter, people do go during the dark time of the year, but I’m not hardcore enough to even think about that
Duration
If you do it all in one go then the most common timeframe is between 8-11 days. I did it in 7, which was quite arduous, although I could easily have taken longer to soak up my surroundings. I started on a Monday morning and finished on Sunday evening. If you work during the week then you could take 5 days off for a 9 day adventure, including two weekends - although leaving some time to rest at the end is advised! You can also easily do parts of the route rather than the whole thing in one go
Terrain
You get a bit of everything really - river valleys, fields and meadows, rugged open moor, forests, a few steep hills, plus some boring tarmac stretches that really make your feet and brain complain. It will almost certainly rain at some point, whatever the time of year, which can complicate things (submerged paths and river crossings, muddy paths, poor visibility) so prepare for that whatever happens
Rest points
For the majority of the route, these are quite rare. Depending how you split the route, there are some days where you won’t see a shop or pub at all - so think ahead to make sure you’re not caught out with no food or water in the middle of nowhere. That would be dangerous. I generally stopped in most pubs for a pint at least, and tried to get one square meal a day, so planning my trip around these rest points was important. Same goes for overnight accommodation - I ended up booking a bunkhouse on night 1 and an inn on night 3 - if you want to be 100% sure not to be caught out without a place to stay, you can book these places in advance. The things you do find are generally amazing and great examples of Devon hospitality!
Travel
Consider how you will get to the start and away from the finish at the end. The route is traditionally done south-north (start at Wembury, end at Lynmouth) which is what I did, but depending how you are organising your transport you may wish to do it in reverse. I was lucky to have some lovely friends who lived near Wembury, so I drove to theirs the night before the walk, stayed over and left my car there for the week, got a lift to the start point, got picked up at the end of the walk by my wonderful girlfriend, who took me back to where we were staying in Taunton, before I got public transport back to where I left my car the next day. You may not be lucky enough to benefit from all these elements! You can get public transport - travel to Plymouth and then to Wembury, and from Lynmouth to Barnstaple, Exeter or wherever you require. You can get cabs to make it easier but then the cost builds up
Directions
Here's a link to the route from Wembury to Ivybridge. The path is mostly quite well sign-posted, although there are some parts over the moor where extra direction is necessary, especially if the weather turns on you and you can’t see where you’re going. You could guide yourself with a series of maps, although I used the OS Maps app on my phone to eliminate needing to carry paper maps, plus the advantage of having GPS so I could see where I was at all times. Some may call this cheating, I say do whatever you want
Other
I bought a really good Two Moors Way guidebook by Sue Viccars which has detailed information on all the above, plus interesting nuggets of detail that spruce up the walk which you would otherwise miss out on
HIGHLIGHTS
You start and end in two different seas which is pretty cool
The first part of the journey takes in the rolling meadows and peaceful woodlands of South Devon
The second part takes you across the length of majestic Dartmoor, from moorland high to valley low - and strewn with prehistoric remains, from ancient settlements to bronze age barrows
The third part takes you across sleepy mid-Devon, with very old buildings that make you feel like you’ve stepped through a time machine
The last part takes you across Exmoor, which is a softer but no less sweeping sister to Dartmoor in the south
The two moors are described as some of England’s last wildernesses (yeah ok not as wild as Alaska or Mongolia but remember, if beauty is in the eye of the beholder then adventure is in the soul of the traveller!)
Magical woodlands of all shapes and sizes - you will see all kinds of flora that you just won’t see in other places in England
Some extremely quiet stretches where you see no-one for ages
You go deep enough into nature that you really feel like you’re switching off from everyday worries
Nice varied terrain that keeps things interesting, without any particularly steep or difficult bits
In Lord of the Rings terms this is a straight cross of the Shire and the Plains of Rohan. In Game of Thrones terms it is some peaceful place where nothing bad ever happens so it probably never came up in the show
Some absolutely cracking pubs
OVERALL REVIEW
I loved it. It definitely ticked the box of being my Biggest Adventure Yet and I am better for it. Yes it was arduous at times; yes I assumed it wouldn’t rain much only to have been completely soaked through by the end of day 1; which meant big bad blisters by day 2 and agony thereafter; but I found the whole thing to be an amazing experience.
I really liked the varied landscape, that included coasts, fields, forests, rivers and high moors. Some of the mid-Devon countryside started to get a bit tedious but I think this was because I was trying to cover ground so fast that I spent much of my time thinking about walking itself, and I didn’t have time to stop, relax and enjoy the majesty of it all. I liked the history of not only prehistoric remains along the route, but also the thatched hamlets and ye olden villages frozen in time. It’s rare that you get to see England look, sound and feel like that.
I saw enough people to keep me sane but not enough to bother me - the animals on the other hand were plentiful and (mostly) welcome company. And the whole thing helped me to decompress from having worked very hard at my job - weirdly it was a relief to switch to a different kind of challenge! The route was fairly well signposted, although in some places it was overgrown and in others it disappeared entirely - but that’s all part of the fun. In short, I would do it again!
SHOULD YOU DO IT?
Yes. If you’re not sure that you could or would then that’s all the more reason to do it! You will be taking on a grand challenge and learn new things about yourself - and obviously have a thrilling time!
The beauty of it is that you can really make it your own. You can make it a challenge of endurance like I did; in which case it’s long enough to be a terrific challenge but not long enough that you need to do daily training for a year in order to undertake it; alternatively you can break it up into chunks and still feel like you’ve accomplished a great adventure.
Everyone has a varying capacity to endure hardships, and there were a variety of those - but that’s what made it so good. You prove to yourself that you are capable of that sort of thing. Being by yourself in some pristine countryside for 7 days and surviving off your wits is a sure way of resetting your brain out of the toxic allure of everyday comforts that you thought you needed just to survive. As they say: there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing. The human body is capable of amazing things, including tolerating more than you might think!
My top reason for recommending that you do this walk, rather than all the amazing scenery and flora and fauna you will encounter, is that it is a chance to temporarily unplug from emails and pings and little red notifications that probably control your life as much as they do mine. The walk can be tough but that's what makes it such a welcome break from all that - plus, when you return to it you feel all the better for it. It's hard to put into words how the feeling of a great adventure refreshes your spirit, but I promise you will feel much better for it.
MY 7 DAY ADVENTURE
Below is my account of the walk. The start/finish locations are approximate.
PREP
Most of my prep was done by packing a bag while moving house a few days earlier. I went straight from moving house and last day of work to a stag do on Dartmoor, where we went for a good adventure on the Saturday that served as a warm up, but we also partook heavily of the booze and did not get much sleep before Sunday, where we had a morning fry-up in Princetown and then went our separate ways. To kill time I went to Burrator and had a nap in a den someone had kindly made, then stopped at a Lidl to furnish myself with snacks for the walk. Then I made my way to my friends’ house near Wembury, who kindly gave me a place to sleep, plus a nice big dinner to carb-load me up.
DAY 1 - WEMBURY TO IVYBRIDGE
Got dropped at Wembury in the morning and started the walk at 10am. The first mile was mainly spent trying to find a spot in Wembury village with some phone signal so I could begin my route on Strava that would tell me how far I’d walked but also lay down a GPS beacon so that all those who had kindly donated could track my progress. From here, my route along the Erme-Plym Trail wound through green fields and cow-filled meadows, with the occasional dark smudge of Dartmoor looming on the horizon: pleasant scenes that would come to define most of the first day, along with the driving rain that kicked in 4 hours earlier than expected and lasted all afternoon. In the village of Brixton, both the café and church were closed, frustrating my plan to have a break from the wet weather. After a banana break in a church doorway, I pressed on, stopping under trees for cover whenever the rain really started pelting down.
Eventually I made it to Yealmpton, my halfway point for the day. I sought shelter in the only pub that was open, the Rose & Crown: quite a nice gastropub, so my dramatic entrance in dripping waterproofs was likely a sorry sight for all the people there for a nice lunch. I thought it was cool to come in from the rain like I was Aragorn or something like that, but in reality it was probably more of a Hagrid-rescuing-Harry-from-the-Dursleys vibe. My boots had already gotten soaked through so I tried to dry them out the best I could while I had fish and chips, charged my phone and planned the route for the rest of the day.
It was still raining hard when I left the pub, so I sheltered in lovely Yealmpton church for a bit, until pressing on more more into the South Devon countryside. Walking through wet grass and bush was somewhat miserable, but made up for by the smell of petrichor (wet rain smell) bringing the earth to life, mingling with the vivid scent and sight of bluebells and wild garlic, of which there was still plenty around. At the quaint village of Ermington, I stopped in the pub for a shandy and crisps, just as the locals were coming in from work. Different vibe from the last pub - some of them had done the Two Moors Way before so were keen to share tips. ‘A lot of tarmac in mid-Devon’ one of them said. I decided to ignore that. After trying and failing to dry out, I continued on the trail for a few more damp miles, with the river Erme flowing alongside me for company.
I made it to Ivybridge in the early evening - early enough for a good top-up of supplies in the Tesco Express before crossing Dartmoor. After being surprised by the amount of rain during the day, I had located a bunkhouse a mile further north in Harford where I decided to stay for the night. It was a detour from the trail, but it would give my clothes a chance to dry out, plus I didn’t fancy sleeping on wet ground on my first night. After a gruelling final mile up the country lane, I arrived at the site, and was immediately roped into trying to install a hose with a part that didn’t fit. I didn’t succeed. I was then shown to a glorified shed with no power, light or heat, and a thin plastic mattress. Maybe if I’d fixed the hose I’d have gotten an upgrade. I slept in my bivvy anyway so I was nice and warm. There was a peacock nearby that simply would not shut the f**k up, hooting away every five minutes for possibly the entire night. Good job I was exhausted after a big first day.
DAY 2 - IVYBRIDGE TO HOLNE
I awoke at 5:30am to the sound of the peacock that had plagued my dreams. Most of my things had not dried off. I went to the communal area to charge my phone over breakfast of banana, croissant and meal deal cappuccino. The beginning of the day’s walk was picking through ancient paddocks of sheep, mossy boulders and dew-frost covering the grass. I got the sense that the piskies (Dartmoor pixies) were lingering in plain sight. From here I officially entered Dartmoor National Park, with the oak lined lanes giving way to sparse, sweeping grassland. I made a detour to see the hut circles at the ancient bronze age settlement at Butterbrook, pondering how much of the scenery had changed since the last inhabitants lived there thousands of years ago - essential viewing as a history nerd. Thereafter I continued my long ascent up onto the high moor to rejoin the Two Moors Way (which I left in Ivybridge to stay at the bunkhouse) and then a long, straight march into the depths of the moor.
After a while I spotted Piles Copse, one of Dartmoor’s three ancient rainforests (yep) nestled down in the valley of the now fledgling river Erme. It was a steep climb back down through the scrub with no path but I just couldn’t resist. So I ambled down there. It was worth the detour: a truly mystical greenscape of shaggy mosses carpeting rugged boulders, with long beardy lichens hanging from twisted dwarf oaks. As I left to resume my trek, it started to rain again. Shit. Had I invoked the wrath of the piskies for disturbing the sleeping ents? Or maybe they didn’t want me to leave? Dartmoor you are a fickle mistress. I quickly waterproofed myself and hid under a tree on the hillside waiting for the worst to pass before a hard climb back up the hill to pick up where I left off.
The next few miles all blended into one: undulating moorland rolling away into the distance on all sides, with blue sky punctuated with big beefy clouds menacing to and fro, threatening to pass above me and piss down. Fortunately they didn’t. Other than the odd abandoned tin mine, there wasn’t much else to draw the eye, but that didn’t matter because the feeling of being deep in the desolate wilderness is hard to beat. It truly does wonders for the soul that I can’t even fully appreciate. After reaching the middle of the moor and picking up the river Avon, my knee started to really ache - as it got worse, this was the first moment that I thought I might be done for, and not finish the challenge. I stopped at an old hut circle and rested for ten minutes. I gave my knee a talking to and willed the pain to go away. Miraculously it worked! Wary of my tricksy knee of this and of the fact that the next day would be my wettest, I spent most of my descent off the moor trying to book a place to stay in Chagford while I was high up enough to have any signal.
I left the high moor and eventually arrived at the pub in Scorriton, where I stopped for a pint of shandy, before pushing on the final mile to Holne where I rewarded my day’s trek across the moor with another shandy, plus a sandwich and chips, at the recently reopened Church Inn, first built in 1327. I also restocked my supplies at the community shop. It was here that I discovered that my feet had developed some sorry blisters: one of which burst after trying to ignore it for a bit. So began the constant stopping to address my feet that would add many hours of tedium to the rest of my week ahead. Despite this, I had made good time to Holne, and so I decided to get a head start on the next day while the weather was on my side. I descended into the Dart Valley (probably the best river valley in the world) but instead of crossing at Newbridge as per the route, I made a detour up the river to Sharrah Pool, one of my favourite places. It was as beautiful as I remembered but with a water level higher than expected: with no natural crossing point over the river except boulders at the top of the rapids, it took me twenty minutes to figure out how to cross with my pack without getting wet. Probably would have taken longer if not for my trusty stick which helped me to ungracefully navigate the treacherous rocks without falling in. All good fun though!
After that, I had decided to climb directly up the side of the valley to check out Hockinston Tor as a place to camp. As it happened the forested valley side was a lot longer, steeper and bushier than I realised. How I avoided getting any ticks is beyond me. The tor wasn’t even worth it - nowhere suitable to camp out of the rain that I would likely be waking up to. Onto the next one. Continuing up to the top of the valley, I exited the treeline only to find a dense thicket of gorse beyond me - after some scouting there was no option but to push straight through. My stick came in handy again to push some of it out of the way but I got absolutely scratched to hell. That’s a detour for you. After finally re-joining the path, I finally made it to Mel Tor - surrounded by baby cows and their mean looking mothers. It was getting late and I knew this was my only suitable spot to spend the night, so I snuck past the cows to finally get to the rocks that lorded over the twilight of the wooded valley. I picked myself a nice spot out of the wind under a gorse bush and shacked up for the night, pleased with the day’s progress.
DAY 3 - HOLNE TO CHAGFORD
It was grey but not raining when I got up. After breakfast and stretches, I set off for Widecombe-in-the-Moor: another detour off the route, but I planned to use my time advantage to hide there from the worst of the rain predicted that morning, and get a good breakfast to prepare me for the day. My walk along the West Webburn river was particularly beautiful: so many bluebells I wished I could eat them with my eyes. Here I had the sense of being close to ancient nature - more piskie magic probably. The rain started as I crossed Dunstone Down before arriving at Widecombe-in-the-Moor at about 8am. The café didn’t open until 10:30, so I got a coffee and a pasty and slept outside the old Church House on a bench, sheltering from the rain under the long covered porch. I got about 20 minutes kip before being joined by a vortex of frantic toddlers and fussy parents: I hadn’t realised there was a pre-school was taking place in the church house today. There was only one bench and it was still raining. That was fun. Fortunately the church, dubbed ‘ the cathedral of the moor’ by its impressiveness, opened up at 9:30am so eventually I was able to go in there to seek refuge from the storm. It doubled as a museum for the village so learning about everything was cool, including the Great Thunderstorm of 1638 where the church was struck by ball lightning (and/or the devil) killing 4, injuring 60 and confusing many ever since. After this I visited the café for a hearty breakfast and to plan my next move.
At this point there was an alternative route I could have taken that avoided climbing up onto the high moor again, in case of poor weather. Bugger that, I thought, I’m doing this walk properly. It was only drizzling after all. So I set off to climb the Hameldown ridge as planned. Oh boy. As soon as I got back on the moor, the drizzle intensified, reaching a blustering crescendo as I trudged up the long bleak hillside. The ripping rain formed a thick mist that pervaded in all directions. Ever wondered what happens when it rains inside a cloud? Well the rain comes from all directions. And once your clothes get wet, it comes from the inside. There weren’t even any points to shelter from the wind. It was simply a matter of powering on. If I could handle this I could handle anything.
After three miles of slogging through what I classified as a Grade 4 Dartmoor Madting, I reached Grimspound: one of England’s finest examples of a bronze age settlement, and one of my favourite places on Dartmoor. With a vast ring of granite boulders now present on the hillside like an industrious fairy circle, it looked almost as amazing as the distant Warren House Inn where I would be having my lunch. As if to greet me, the rain let up somewhat and the skies cleared. I marched down the hillside into the enclosure and hunched down in one of the well preserved hut circles, complete with an impressive porch designed to shield the inhabitants from the very same winds now blasting me. I had a good go on some of the fudge I had bought that morning and pressed on: a rollercoaster over hills and open cast tin mines, until I finally reached the inn, stood alone upon the road with no other building for miles around. By the time I got there, my feet were in a sorry state indeed, as the dampness had made the blisters much worse. Adrenaline had gotten me this far, but even after a rabbit pie and bitter shandy, things took a turn for the worse. Having fed and watered and made a paltry attempt at drying my damp clothes by the famous fire that has never gone out, even when the original inn on the other side of the road burnt down 300 years ago (didn’t do much for me) I eventually picked up and set out once more.
I had another six miles or so ahead of me, so there was nothing for it but to pound across Chagford Common and try to ignore the pain in my feet which was now quite intense. I think I started unravelling a bit at this point, especially when I realised I was hobbling like Mad Eye Moody with my stick. I had to be so single minded with one foot in front of the other, I even avoided a detour to see one of the longest prehistoric stone rows in Europe. Eventually, moor turned into lane, lane turned into road, and after what felt like a very long time indeed, I finally made it to Chagford. Thank god I booked that inn. While the staff sorted my keys, some guys at the bar asked me where I’d come from. With my stick and a soul burdened with the mysterious gloom of the moor, I now felt more like Gandalf the Grey than Hagrid. The staff kindly did my laundry for me as I retired to my room upstairs. Here I had a shower, found a tick in my leg, pulled it out with a set of nail clippers, ate a quiche, dressed my blisters, accidentally burst two of them, panicked that I’d messed up the whole walk, called some friends for sage advice on what to do about it (disinfect the would and then wrap a bandage around it to allow it to breathe rather than sealing it with more compeed), did that, and went to sleep, wondering how many travellers in this room had suffered a similar fate since the first hostelry was apparently recorded here in 1170.
DAY 4 - CHAGFORD TO MORCHARD ROAD
It was hard to get out of the very comfy bed but I did. I put on my still-not-quite-dry boots and was directed next door to the Three Crowns for a nice breakfast and some diesel-strength coffee. I went to the pharmacy (fortunately the only one I would have a chance to visit on the entire walk) to stock up on a variety of blister-themed paraphernalia, plus I visited the famous old ‘we sell literally everything’ shop for a tarpaulin just incase it rained overnight. After a conversation with the innkeeper about the best walking snack, in which he recommended a solid bit of Devon cheese, I went nearby to acquire some of that. With dressings on my feet and cheese in my snack sack, only then did I set off from the town at 10:45am: not good news considering today was to be my longest day. I made my way down to the river Teign and Castle Drogo, England’s newest castle, where I climbed up and walked along the spectacular Teign valley. Here I bid my formal goodbye to Dartmoor and headed to the charming village of Drewsteignton where I fell into a lovely old pub and had fish and chips for lunch. After this I set off and left the moor proper.
A short while after this, I crossed the A30: I was now entering the mid-Devon heartlands. I was greeted by serenely waving fields, which were calming and hypnotic, like Bob Ross explaining how to paint them. I had never been to mid-Devon, which was strange considering I had explored all around the rest of the county, so I was excited to see what was in store. As I pressed on, a procession of field, farm and forest slowly floated past and carried on behind me. I started to get the impression I had walked through a time warp into an England long gone, which impressed me all the more by the sweet isolation in all directions. I was really appreciating the opportunity to be so unplugged from modern life - somehow this was different to the loneliness of the high moor. It would have been better if I could have had more time to stop and ponder - but much of my headspace was taken up by focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping it together. Right about the time my breakfast coffee wore off, I hit a three mile stretch of tarmac. The road surface made a notable difference as not only were my feet in agony, but my knee started to go again. It felt like 30 miles and nearly drove me mad. I could see why they called it the biggest day. Without seeing a single car, and half expecting a horse and cart to appear instead, I kept plodding on. I was about halfway to Lynmouth by this point: roughly 60 miles behind me and 60 miles in front.
The next four hours were characterised by a dogged determination that I didn’t know I had. I suppose the wilderness will do that to you. At the rate I was shuffling along, I thought I was going to have to give in long before I reached Morchard Road. I can’t even remember what I thought about other than my f***ing blisters. Perhaps the Devon gods pitied me once more: somehow I managed to make it all the way to a small wood outside Morchard Road which I had identified on the map as a good spot to to bivvy up for the night. It was indeed an idyllic spot with comfy leafage to sleep on. I had timed it perfectly: the last light was fading as I set up my spot for the night. I could see a deer close by, alternating between checking me out and incessantly barking about the fact I was on her turf. I could see owls flitting through the canopy above me: I could hear them screeching and even the swooping of their gliding wings. That was awesome, but I soon became paranoid about an owl mistaking my fleshy face for a tasty dinner. I pulled my new tarp over me as a disguise. A good job I did, as soon afterward it started raining!
Sleeping on the forest floor in the rain with a host of hooting animals is a real experience: not one conducive to sleep. Apparently sheep don’t ever go to sleep, they just stay up and bleat all night. With the rain smashing the tarp above my face like cannons, and an animal cacophany to endure. Even while wishing that the rain would stop and I could get more than 10 minutes of uninterrupted sleep, it was still an exhilarating experience. Note to self: learn how to peg a tarp properly, and bring earplugs.
DAY 5 - MORCHARD ROAD TO KNOWSTONE
The rain let up at about 5am, after which I managed to get a solid few hours sleep. I was tired and grumpy that morning. Fortunately most of the rain had dried off by then, so I packed away half-damp stuff to be dried out later in the sunshine. I spent ten minutes dressing my blisters only to get sharp jabs of pain within ten steps. Is this what parenting is like? Another day, another 17 miles. I passed by Morchard Road and set straight for Morchard Bishop a few miles away where there was a shop. At this point some of the hedgerow paths I was using were completely overgrown from lack of use. That morning, one lane in particular had such thick cow parsley that I got completely soaked with morning dew when pushing through it. It was not a long walk to Morchard Bishop, but it felt like a hard one.
Eventually I made it there in the late morning. At the shop I topped up my water, got a pasty and a few other bits for my snack sack (Tunnock’s caramel wafers, a Purdey’s sparkling fruit juice and some peaches). I sat on the bench outside scoffing my food while trying to dry off my boots in the sunshine and yet again readjusting my blisters. What a sight to behold. I wasn’t really sure how I was going to make it through another day with my feet like that. Anyway, there was no other option so I sucked it up and hobbled onward.
The next stretch took me through Morchard Wood: a tiny fragment of what used to be a gigantic forest covering all of Devon (Morchard Wood is Celtic for ‘great wood’). I had noticed so many old buildings and farms in this part of the world - probably more thatched roofs than regular ones - and buildings made from cob (old timey mix of earth, stone, straw and stuff). After passing through a number of fields between 5 and 500 (hard to be sure) each remarkable in their own way but lost on my blinkered brain at this point, I made it to the village of Witheridge in time for the Two Moors Gallery café to serve me lunch. The owner took one look at me and gave me what she knew I needed: a brie and roasted pepper toastie, bean salad and local apple juice, which was indeed a booster for my morale. Adjusted my blisters again. Went to the Two Moors Shop (there’s clearly not a lot else going in this once bustling town other than Two Moors Way travellers) bought some Haribos and a Twister lolly. Adjusted my blisters again. Pressed on for my final big stretch of the day to Knowstone.
Some time after leaving Witheridge, I was hit with a bout of the runs. I asked my body to hold off until it could get me to the nearest patch of woodland, which I did, and I narrowly avoided being spotted by a group of walkers ambling merrily along a path I had not realised was about 10 metres away from my spot in the trees. I prayed to the Devon gods once more to make this episode a one off, lest my walk be cursed with the runs. Surprisingly, this came to pass and I was not bothered again. Lucky me!
After a time, I noticed that some of the meadows were beginning to take on more of a boggy moor appearance: the culm grassland that once covered much of Devon, noted for being species-rich and able to hold high volumes of water. This was the sign that Exmoor was approaching, and the village of Knowstone with it. There was no shop in Knowstone, and only one pub, which had 2 Michelin Stars: and while I did think about booking in for an ultimately delicious meal as a reward, I decided against it and instead settled for a nice spacious bush on the village outskirts, where I tucked into some Devon cheese and other bits. This would be a great place to make a den. I watched the dappled sun set through the leaves, and was pleased with the time I’d made today. I had a feeling the worst was behind me.
DAY 6 - KNOWSTONE TO WITHYPOOL
Woke up feeling good, with the morning sun illuminating my little green leaf-cave. It smelt fresh and warm and wholesome: an entirely different sleeping experience than the night before. I packed up and set off, passing straight through sleepy Knowstone and then along more fields and roads, until eventually I was climbing the long steep ascent up onto the moor. My feet were complaining all the way, joined by my sore shoulders which were angry about the heavy bag on my back, and my knee occasionally piped up, threatening to take me hostage. Nothing for it but to continue. As AC/DC once said: it’s a long way to the top if you want a sausage roll. I stopped at the very nice church in West Anstey for a breather - otherwise I just kept piling up the road, until I finally hit the gate to the moor and bam - I had made it to Exmoor. I turned around and could see the dim crest of Dartmoor on the horizon. A reminder of how far I’d come. Even my feet were cheered up. It was a great moment.
I crossed over some of the moor before dipping down into a river valley and up out again, and then through more fields and commons. I stopped in the village of Hawkridge for a bit, frozen in time for a century or more, to appreciate the slow passage of time. I then resumed shuffling along until I reached Tarr Steps: one of Exmoor’s most popular spots. An ancient clapper bridge (a bit like a Stonehenge bridge), the longest and oldest of it’s kind in Britain. Some date it being 3,000 years old, although several times the mighty river Barle has washed some of it away and it has been replaced. Still pretty cool though and definitely beautiful. It attracted a hell of a crowd compared to my otherwise lonesome walk thus far.
I was very lucky at this point to be joined by Beth, my girlfriend, partner in crime and favourite adventure companion. She brought relief in the form of hummus, vegetables, Doritos and some nice cold cider. I got an ice cream too because I had realised by now the importance of keeping up the calorie count. We snacked and supped in the sunshine before setting off up the Barle valley to Withypool.
The walk along the river Barle was maybe one of the best stretches of the entire walk. It was reminiscent of the Dart Valley - also an internationally important site for mosses, lichens and liverworts - and yet it was somehow. Broad beech trees cloaked us in a green canopy around us as the meandering river flowed merrily by. The atmosphere was tingling with life and yet slow, serene. We followed a heron upstream for a while. This was paradise.
After two hours of the river path while we caught up on our respective weeks, and pointed out the marvellous things to feast on with our senses, we arrived in Withypool. We parked ourselves in the Royal Oak beer garden for a big dinner - a carby celebration of brown and beige. Beth found my walking quite amusing - once I’d stopped walking it became awfully hard to continue again.After our meal we went off to find a spot to camp in the tent Beth had brought. We soon realised that finding a spot out of sight on Withypool Hill would be hard, and so we just carried on walking right up the top to find a suitable spot to pitch up. A depressing climb of altitude at the end of the day, directly onwards and upwards across the rough moor grass, but entirely worth it once we’d reached the beacon at the top. The sunset was to die for - one of those sunsets that just keeps giving - sponsored by Desperados (why does tequila beer taste so nice?) Sleeping in our tent was a superb luxury compared to the bivvy bag. Funny how a challenge will reset your gratitude thresholds!
DAY 7 - WITHYPOOL TO LYNMOUTH
The final day. As we packed up that morning and I surveyed the day’s terrain from my vantage point atop the hill, I reasoned that If I could endure six days of tired muscles and angry feet then surely I could do one more - plus I was looking forward to seeing what proper Exmoor had in store. We marched down the hill back into Withypool, having decided to wait until 9am when the village tea room opened to fuel us for the day. We shared a big cheese scone plus a cream tea - utterly delicious. I resupplied in the shop for the last time (this time choosing trusty Wine Gums over Haribo) and was ready to roll. I left Beth to retrace yesterday’s route back to Tarr Steps to get the car, while I pressed onward.
From Withypool I climbed up again onto the open moor and cracked on. The scenery was gorgeous and it was enjoyable to see how Exmoor seemed to compare to Dartmoor: softer, greener, less moody. My blisters ensured that I remained moody though. I decided to cane it all the way to Simonsbath without a break, which was about three hours striding across the moor with the Barle snaking beneath me. I passed Cow Castle, an Iron Age hillfort, resisting the urge to climb up it for the sake of the mission. I reached Simonsbath in good time, and so I stopped for a bowl of fancy chips. During my stay it started raining again. Bummer. I finished up, waterproofed up and set off for the final stretch.
Soon I reached the moor again, arriving at the foot of the Chains: a particularly remote stretch of the moor, with few features except a monotone of green grass stretching off to the horizon to meet bounding hills and menacing rain clouds. At this point I prayed to the Devon gods once more - spare me from the rain as I cross the blanket mires! And my prayer was heard. It didn’t rain for the rest of the day! A hugely useful development, as at one stage the path completely disappeared. Good job I had OS Maps with GPS on my phone, otherwise that would have been even more of a test to figure out exactly where I should be heading. Eventually I rejoined the path near the source of the river Exe (which curiously doesn’t flow a few miles north to the sea but instead winds all the way down through Devon to meet the sea on the south coast) and then through some lush steep-sided valleys to the Hoar Oak, which used to mark the boundary of Exmoor forest (before it fell down 100 years ago and was replaced with another oak). After a snack break here, I piled onward and upward across Cheriton Ridge, where I was greeted with not only sea views but a clear vista of south Wales, before eventually reaching the edge of the high moor. I was too tired to appreciate the significance, stopping only to plead with my feet to get me over the line: by this time the muscles in my feet were complaining loudly, joining the blisters to make my walking experience even more miserable.
As I entered the valley that would eventually wind down to Lynmouth, I met Beth again who had walked up to meet me. She was a welcome relief and morale booster, because at this point my body was starting to give out, with not only sharp pain in my feet but also waves of nausea washing over me. Whether it was my body sensing the end was near, or just something dodgy I’d eaten, I wasn’t sure. The views to Wales were amazing, but my rest stops became more and more frequent. But I pressed on and on and held it down without being sick and then suddenly - we popped out from the trees into beautiful Lynmouth. I had made it. I limped to the sea, took off my boots and symbolically washed off my blister dressings. I’m sure I looked quite mad, I’m sure I actually was - but I was overcome with relief and ecstasy that the adventure was over. We celebrated with a quick glass of coke in the pub, before an hour’s drive back to where we were staying in Taunton for a hot shower and chicken korma. I would later calculate that I had walked 123 miles in my allotted 7 days, which was 6 miles worth of detours above the 117 official route length.
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