It’s not just cricket, says Roger Butler
THINK OF SOMERSET – orchards, cider and those soggy Levels. Now think again – steep hills, glorious moorland, sea views and one of the most unusual beaches in the South-West. OK, it might be a mile of large pebbles; but that often means you can have it all to yourself. Throw in a fair chunk of coast path and you’ll soon realise there’s more to this county than just cricket and cream teas.
But the weather down south isn’t always calm and balmy. A tornado – yes, a tall dark twister – rose from the heights of Exmoor on the drive over from Winsford. Dark curtains of rain hung somewhere over Cornwall but here, high above the great sweep of Porlock
Bay, bright sunshine was able to penetrate the wooded defiles below Hawkcombe Head.
Clusters of scarlet rowan berries decorated the paths down into the trees and bold silver-washed fritillaries drifted through the dappled light. The ash trees that had colonised gaps on the forest floor were now sadly brittle and their gaunt trunks were tattooed with the dreaded black diamonds. This is another nasty pandemic and we must not forget the impact ash dieback disease could have on our wider countryside.
The path met a flowerstrewn lane where a large Victorian water wheel still proudly carried its original plaque: ‘Made in Porlock’.
The village street was full of arty distractions but it wasn’t long before we were climbing through the dark woodland above Bossington. Our route emerged onto open heathland with memorable views to Culbone Hill and distant Foreland Point. Seed capsules on the gorse bushes played ‘snap, crackle and pop’ as they split and scattered across patches of dry parched soil.
Selworthy Beacon looked out across the Bristol Channel. The Brecon Beacons formed a shadowy backdrop to the creamy cliffs of Glamorgan, while Worm’s Head, at the far end of the Gower peninsula, appeared like a cruise liner on its way into port. A steep sun-trap valley, lined with patches of scree, tumbled down to Hurlstone Point, where the old battlemented coastguard station became redundant once new-fangled radio arrived. A section of path, east above cliff-girt Selworthy Sand, might have been made by mountain goats.
Porlock Bay is Somerset’s very own version of Chesil Beach, and any walk across its grinding gravels was going to be hard work. In places this really was a case of one step forwards and three steps back, but we picked up a useful path between the top of the shingle and the extensive salt marshes. These are the result of a storm that breached the shore in 1996, and natural processes have now been left to take their course.
A Persil-white egret was one sign of the newly evolving habitats as we turned uphill to face a sharp thousand-foot climb back up to the moors. Worm’s Head was now an island cast adrift in a sea of dreamy pink mist.