Exmouth to Weymouth

Wednesday 26 June 2019: Exmouth to Beer, 21 miles.

I’d completed my first TGO Challenge a month before, and I reasoned, I’ll never be as fit as this again, so why not go for a really big day out.

It can be that 21 coastal miles can be straightforward enough, but along this length there is a Ben-Nevis-plus 4600ft of climbing, so it’s a challenging stretch.

I started at the slipway of the Starcross Ferry, where the Path ‘comes in’ by sea from the eponymous village on the other side of the Exe estuary.

The first few miles are along Exmouth’s prom before low climbs to the next seafront town along, Budleigh Salterton. I had a little break here as Barbara had met up with family friend June at the Longboat café.

It was all a bit grey so far but things started to improve as I climbed out of Sidmouth after crossing the estuary of the River Otter.

Ladram Bay is a dramatic little place, with its sandstone sea stacks. Walk-wise, things get a bit more serious from here on, with a couple of sharp ascents to around the 400ft mark, before descent to Sidmouth. This was my planned lunch stop, and with the sun out now the Fort café, just after the beach, was a great stop. I kept my trekking poles handy to help deter the hungry seagulls.

But although I was now over half way in distance, I still had most of the climbing to come.

Broadly, there were three ups and downs to around 500ft in the six miles to Branscombe Mouth, its village lying just off route inland. There was then a tricky undercliff section below Hooken Cliffs to bring me into Beer.

Helpfully, the Anchor Inn is right on the path, for a celebratory pint. Barbara was on time too, and we dined on fish and chips in the churchyard, seemingly out of bounds to gulls.

Tuesday 18 July 2023: Beer to Seatown, 17 miles.

Not quite as full-on a day as last time, but it’s a Snowdon-plus 3700ft of climbing, so nothing to be sneezed at.

It’s barely half an hour on a metalled path to Seaton, where I thought I would grab myself a bacon roll, but it seemed far too early to stop.

Beware of the Undercliff

Welcome to the golf club

After crossing the River Axe, there’s a golf course to be crossed, thankfully in a straight line and with few golfers around. Signage on the golf club lane made it fairly obvious where us walkers lay on their priorities.

There’s another warning sign a little later on, on the way to the Lyme Undercliff. No means of escape, it cautioned, and 3½ to 4 hours walking. If true, that would have buggered up my schedule no end, but like so many of these signs it’s designed to deter less regular walkers who might indeed struggle somewhat. My 2001 SWCP Association guidebook reckoned three hours, and even at my age it was an over-estimate. (Walking this path in winter mud would, of course, be entirely another matter.)

There’s always a risk though that one can take a section like this too fast. Though the path is always clear, it twists and turns so that you’re hardly ever walking a dozen paces in a straight line, and there are frequent stepped ups and downs.

Not surprisingly it’s a National Nature Reserve, and has been described as “the closest thing you’ll get to a rainforest in the UK”. There’s barely a view above to the cliffs or below out to sea, so dense is the vegetation; ferns and orchids line the path, and the last faint whiffs of wild garlic wafted over from time to time.

There’s one area of relief, early on, chalk grassland called Goat Island. It was the result of a massive landslip in 1839 – smaller slips are still regular – of such fame that Queen Victoria herself visited.

The Undercliff ends surprisingly abruptly and launches you into Lyme Regis, one of the most treasured coastal resorts in England. A café called Kiosk had deck chairs on the beach and was selling local crab sandwiches too. Perfect.

But I wasn’t even half way. After a good break I set off on the much more ho-hum section to Charmouth, far from the sea because of landslips. The Path has at least been relatively recently re-routed away from the main road above the latter town, and there was time for an ice cream on the beach.

Beckoning on was the day’s last cliff section, a couple of big ups-and-downs culminating in the highest cliff of the southern coast, Ingleborough-shaped Golden Cap (627ft). It’s a wonderful four-mile stretch, with views from Portland across to the South Hams.

Mostly the walk is on open clifftop – such a contrast to the Undercliff! – but dipping down to an enclosed meadow I found a crowd of cows and calves the other side of the gate. All my mooing and gesticulating would not force a move; maybe they would have made way for me, but equally any slip or butt I could have been under their feet forever. I checked the map, and there was an easy retreat to and detour via Westhay Farm, thank goodness.

Off of the Cap, I foolishly followed a couple whom I presumed were coastal walkers and found myself making another diversion as a result. No matter, I was soon in Seatown, a coastal hamlet with holiday park the size of a small town attached. I took the lane through it into Chideock, for the bus to Lyme, and another fish and chip supper with Barbara.

Tuesday 9 January 2024. Chideock to Cogden Beach, eight miles.

Rather an early start out of Essex to get to this part of Dorset for a 1pm start but no alarum thankfully on the journey. That was to come later …

It’s been clearly evident, looking east along the coast on the previous stage, that while Golden Cap is the local highpoint, there are a few more bumps to follow, Thorncombe Beacon (515ft) the highest. It’s just over a mile from sea-level at Seatown, with a couple of intervening humps in the way, so it’s a nice way to get the pulse racing.

The bumps after Eype Mouth are less significant. The official SWCP website warned of a landslip diversion on West Cliff, but the ground showed no trace of it, and it’s an easy saunter into West Bay. Quite a metropolis this, Bridport’s harbour these days now that Bridport has no port, but with early sunset this time of year I can’t linger.

Though by the time I’m at Burton Bradstock I clearly need to slow down, to avoid an inordinate wait for my bus later. There’s a recommended café at Hive Beach where I might kill some time – but it’s out of season, silly. So there I am at Cogden Beach, an hour before the bus, and it’s chilly.

I’d been experimenting with night walking at home so Plan B began to form. Walk to the Swann Inn at Abbotsbury, my bed for the night. I’d have an hour in darkness, but it can’t be that hard can it? West Bexington was clear ahead, an easy stroll, and nothing on the map looked tricky thereafter.

It was a few hundred yards after Cogden Beach that I got a bit tired of the pebbles and realised I should be on a firmer path the other side of a reedbed. There seemed to be a shortcut path to it – and within 50 yards I was thigh-deep in smelly grime. I pulled myself out. What a mess. Not walking to Abbotsbury like this. Back, disconsolate, to Cogden Beach for a few running repairs and a shiver.

Wednesday 10 January 2024. Cogden Beach to Chiswell, 19 miles.

Thankfully, I’d been able to clean the worst of the crud off my gear at the pub.

I was ultra-careful now to be the correct (landward) side of the reeds. Rather surprisingly, there is no signage, so I can’t have been the first to go wrong, though maybe the first to foul myself up so spectacularly. This path though is a bit ho-hum and it was a relief to come back onto the beach just before West Bexington – until, I realised, more pebbles.

Now, a word about pebbles / shingle is in order here. One of the most remarkable features of this part of Dorset is Chesil Beach, a nine-mile shingle spit that links Abbotsbury to Ferry Bridge. Once, walking the spit was an allowable SWCP alternative, but it must have been hellishly hard. It’s simply not that physically easy to walk on this draining surface. Indeed, the little bits I’d suffered around Cogden Beach and West Bexington were purgatory enough.

For it seemed that the pebbles were encroaching on this part of the coast too. The SWCP out of West Bexington follows a once-motorable track, helpful passing places still duly noted, but I wouldn’t fancy taking even a 4WD along it.

There’s relief, with tarmac, at coastguard cottages a mile along, but it’s illusory. The road is often flooded, or iced, so a lot of care needs to be taken – once, it’s even easier to take to the pebbles. I’m looking forward to the move inland, towards Abbotsbury, and despite a bit of slush it’s an improvement on the coast, at the expense of an annoying dog-leg. (This can be avoided by a permissive path, but the sadists of the SWCP don’t allow it.)

After Abbotsbury there is a genuinely pleasant three miles of inland Dorset, up to Merry Hill, no sea in view much of the time, but by far the best walking of the day. It comes down to The Fleet, the tidal lagoon (largest in Britain) that separates Chesil Beach from the mainland. It’s a remarkable feature in itself, though its ins-and-outs resemble Essex coastal walking far more than anything the SWCP has hitherto had to offer.

And that includes the mud. Intermittent, to be sure, but vicious when it wanted to be. One stretch, uphill, into the setting sun, around the Chickerell Ranges, will never be forgot.

There’s one more kick, at the end. A diversion notice, dated just two days previously, takes me away from the coast and up into the suburb of Wyke Regis. It’s not an awful lot further, but I could do without it. Still, I end up at Chiswell, just onto the Isle of Portland, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.

The Isle of Portland, near the end of the day

Thursday 11 January 2024. Chiswell to Weymouth, 15 miles.

And indeed it is. This, or at least the bit that’s actually on the Isle of Portland, is a super walk.

Portland has of course been in view for many days. In profile, it’s a wedge shape, with the high point at the northern end, dropping slowly to the south. Hence, I start with a steep climb, to the first of the many quarries on the walk, the now-defunct Tout Quarry.

Portland stone, a Jurassic-era limestone, has since Roman times been one of Britain’s, if not Europe’s, most renowned building materials. Reserves not yet depleted (ask again in 2066), it graces buildings such as St Paul’s Cathedral in London and the UN building in New York, and is an important sculpture medium too. But quarry sites inevitably become exhausted, and several of these are passed through. Tout Quarry has the happy fate of being donated to the Portland Sculpture and Quarry Trust.

I knew there would be a cliff-fall diversion here, but there’s no signage, until a wooden hurdle bars the way. It’s not too difficult to work a way round, but the diversion signs only appear later. I don’t mind working things out for myself, but I wish the SWCP authorities were more consistent in their approach.

Beyond the quarry, it’s easy walking on comfy grass, slightly downhill – what a change from yesterday! I’m at Portland Bill in no time. There are three lighthouses here, plus a café that’s a compulsory hot chocolate stop.

The eastern side of the island is rather different, first past a group of beach huts (no beach), then through more abandoned quarries. It feels though like rugged cliff-side walking, bringing Cornwall more into mind than Dorset. This brings with it some sharp ups-and-downs, firstly the steps up from Church Ope Cove to Rufus Castle (Norman, and the first known Portland stone building). Later, a long stretch on the old railway line ends with an even longer ascent, ending bathetically at Portland’s Young Offender Institute.

Islands are good for prisons of course. Technically, Portland is a tied island, joined both by a modern road bridge (and once a rail bridge too) but also by Chesil Beach. Escapees from this and the adult prison, known as The Verne, would try (still try?) to outwit the authorities by fleeing along the Beach, only to find themselves easy meat as they floundered. (My great aunt Audrey told me this. She brought up children at the big lighthouse.)

The short mile from the YOI to The Verne is not Portland’s finest hour, or 15 minutes, but it does bring you close to the island’s 495ft summit. Getting down is something special. Predating the railway, a cable-hauled inclined tramway of 1826 took stone from quarries to harbour down a steep course at a gradient of about 1 in 7. It lasted till 1939. Now, it lets the SWCP drop quite precipitately back to sea level.

Apart from the Tudor-era Portland Castle, the harbour area is almost entirely modern, at least from the perspective of the SWCP. Marine activity is principally now for leisure, and there is plenty of it, with chandlers and repair yards as well as modern bars and apartments. There’s even a multi-storey boat park!

The route off the island is along the old rail track. Just before Ferry Bridge there’s the Wild Chesil visitor centre, worth a stop.

Back on the ‘mainland’, there’s another mile on the old rail track, before the SWCP goes through the suburb of Rodwell and down to Weymouth Harbour. This was the main ferry port for the Channel Islands until 1987; the last of the old rail tracks to the quay were being removed as I was there. A short walk along the prom, and I had plenty of time for pub fish-and-chips before my train home.