Day 9. Hartland Quay to Bude

Had a sheltered, cosy corner of the field but the wind was whistling through the telephone wires all night.
Had no idea what time I woke up because the phone was dead again so I walked out in search of a socket to charge it.
Nothing available on the camp site so I walked down to St Nectan's, the huge church in the village and got lucky there.
It was so early that even the farmer wasn't up yet.
The overnight rain had stopped but the wind was still howling.
I retrieved my phone from the church (and left a suitable donation), packed my gear away and set off with words of warning from two locals to be careful on the cliffs in these gales.

A short walk from Hartland Quay is the waterfall at Speke's Mouth.

Speke's Mouth

This area is like a big geography field trip with the cliffs, valleys, waterfalls and rock formations and a close up of millions of years of geology, of wave-cut sandstone platforms, granite striations and remarkable folds and faults in the cliffs.

It's also very tough walking up and down the deep, steep valleys and the locals were right about the wind on the cliffs.

I'd be leaning into a strong wind on the cliff top when suddenly the wind would change direction sending me stumbling to the cliff edge and looking down a three hundred foot drop.

The deep, steep valleys just kept on coming.

After about three hours I took some relief from the wind in the Duncan Hut.

Ronald Duncan was a writer and poet who would sit in his hut gazing out to sea for inspiration - nice work if you can get it.

From the hut it's another steep drop down to Marsland Mouth and the border with Cornwall.

There were no border guards or Cornish inquisition, just a footbridge over a stream and a wooden sign carved with 'Kernow'.

After a few more lung-bursting cliffs and valleys there's another hut to have a look at.

Hawker's Hut is where the reverend Hawker of Morwenstow church used to compose his sermons and poems whilst looking over the sea and also looking out for ships in distress. 

In those days sailors who died at sea could not be buried in church graveyards because it could not be confirmed if they were christians or not so they were buried on cliff tops or beaches. 

This upset the reverend so much that he smoked copious amounts of opium in his hut and he eventually changed the church's ruling to allow the burial of any seaman in his churchyard.

I stopped in The Rectory Tearoom at Morwenstow for a well earned lunch then plodded on towards Bude through more climbs and several inland diversions away from the latest land slip or cliff erosion.

My (very old) map showed two campsites just north of Bude but one had changed to a holiday camp and the other had gone completely so I pressed on into town and asked two separate locals for directions to the nearest site.

Both times I got most of their life stories but no nearer to a campsite so I walked all the way through town and up yet another hill to Upper Lynstone, pitched my tent and collapsed into it.

Absolutely cream crackered but what a magnificent walk.