Tag Archives: holidays

Only in England

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It’s pouring with rain. I’m wearing shorts and craddling a bottle of prosecco as if my life depended on it. Up ahead steam is curling into a grey sky and weaving its way through the thick branches lining the track. A sharp whistle and sure enough the train is in sight… where am I?

Only in England can you expect to shelter at a level crossing with a backpacker and discuss “summer holidays in the UK”. A few hours earlier we’d been watching a family of dolphins playing around our boat in glorious sunshine. Now we were absolutely soaked on terra firma waiting for a steam train in the rain!

England is full of surprises and for the past week, the south coast of Devon has been delivering a kaleidoscope of holiday experiences, that could only happen in the UK.

We’ve been under sail for a week on what I like to call The Diva. She is new to us this summer and has already delivered some fun days shared with friends and family. We’ve been thinking about buying a boat for some time, years in fact, now we actually own one – well a bit of one – 18 per cent to be exact! But when we get to sail her, she’s all ours – all 35 feet of her!

Our kaleidoscope week started with a few hours sail from Dartmouth to Salcombe. After hurriedly stowing the food and kit, we managed to catch the tide and get on our way. Salcombe welcomed us with sunshine and the next day there was a chance to stroll on the beach, swim in the icy clear water and even walk a bit of the stunning South Coast path.

We decided to stay for the Salcombe Regatta fireworks on Thursday night, only to find they’d been postponed due to the weather. We’d woken to mist and rain and a day of bouncing in waves that were being whipped up even in the relative shelter of the estuary. The mist hung around the next morning, making warnings of a heatwave across the UK very hard to believe. We could barely see the boat a few metres away on a neighbouring buoy.

The next night we hoped the splendid fireworks would signal a change in the weather. And it did, gradually. The sun eventually broke through on Monday and we enjoyed some exhilarating sailing with friends and a lunch of Salcombe pasties in one of Devon’s rocky bays. That morning we’d woken up to watch a seal eating his breakfast beside the boat, munching on a huge fish held between his flippers!

Fast forward 24 hours and we were back in Dartmouth. We’d sailed in alongside a family of dolphins after an early morning sail.

We managed to find a quiet place up the river Dart to enjoy lunch with a hint of sunshine. But back at the marina the sky was turning grey and we decided to try out our legs on a walk along the river Dart towards Kingswear. The idea was to see if we could find something to toast the end of our trip. The clouds looked threatening as we headed along the narrow path beside the railway track.

After capturing some steam train footage and soaking up the smell of coal and oil and engines on the platform, we managed to find a decent looking bottle of Prosecco in a corner shop. 

The rain had now started in earnest with no let-up in sight, and I wondered if it would be more pleasant to catch a ferry back to the boat, but it seemed we “needed” the exercise, even if it meant getting drenched. So, I found myself standing in the rain, while a huge green train puffed towards me. I wondered whether to put down the bottle and take a photo or just smile and wave at the driver.

If you’re looking to experience four seasons in one day, Dartmouth is the place to go! It also offers rides on steam trains, ferries and even paddle steamers. And of course there are plenty of boats of all shapes, sizes and ages everywhere you look.

Miraculously the Prosecco made it back in one piece and was enjoyed later that night. Thank you Dartmouth and South Devon for a ‘pick ‘n’ mix’ week of weather, but no shortage of excitement and variety. 

5 bears in 4 days

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Canadian bears are a bit like buses. You wait for hours with none, then four come along all at once.

It was our seventh day in Canada and I’d begun to wonder if the bears were just a tourism ploy to lure us in with false hopes. We’d seen plenty of wonderful sights including thunderous water falls showering us in spray from impossible heights, deep rocky canyons where ice blue water gushed through narrow channels, turquoise lakes glistening in the sunlight and many more spectacular sights from hiking trails with panoramic views. I’d given myself the shakes standing too near the edge of a rocky outcrop on the Bee Hive above Lake Louise. We’d crossed snow covered paths on steep shale slopes and eaten numerous bananas to get us the last few miles back on some long hikes up and down mountains and beside crystal lakes which changed colours under the passing clouds. 

Now we were heading north to Jasper and the number of times I was banging my head in the camper van were decreasing. We stopped for lunch where the roaring Athabasca river meets Kicking Horse river, which reminded me of a scene from a cowboy film where horses cross just before an ambush. It was just after this that we spotted the bear. The sharp eyed driver saw something black moving up ahead and as we drew up we could see the bear bumbling along happily in the greenery beside the road apparently munching anything in sight. We were the only vehicle there, so we had him to ourselves. Disobeying the well laid down rules someone jumped out camera in hand and started snapping away. The bear, and it was a small very cute looking black bear with a brown nose and lovely eyes, continued his foraging and turned helpfully to gaze towards the camera at one point. From the safety of the van, I was fretting about the mother being in the area, as he was clearly quite young. By now we had caused a bit of a jam, so we moved up to a pull in. As the bear began crossing the road behind us, the Parks Canada patrol pulled up with words of warning to the driver/photographer who was asked politely to get back in the vehicle. This little reprimand couldn’t destroy our joy at seeing the bear so close to us and capturing our best photos so far.

Parks Canada staff patrol the park vigilantly in white trucks with a green stripe. They are a bit like school prefects. You know you’re doing something you shouldn’t… Ah, look behind, there is a Parks Canada truck just on cue! It happened each time we saw a bear – well almost. Anytime we were contemplating a slight deviation from the rules, one would appear! How did they know? It’s a mystery.

Our next bear sighting was the following day as we drove into our campsite, where we were warned a bear had been ‘hanging out’ an hour earlier, so be careful. We drove slowly round and suddenly spotted a large black bear munching grass by a picnic table in an empty camp spot. He stared straight at us and it was probably his size and proximity that made us stay in the van at first – he was only a few feet away. Just as he began moving away and we thought about getting out, yes, you guessed, the Parks Canada truck appeared behind us and started hooting at the bear to encourage it to go up the hill away from the campsite. The photos weren’t quite what we’d hoped for.

The next day en route south two more bears were spotted along the roadside, munching. Another large black bear and at last a young ginger coloured grizzly. We felt quite happy that we’d enjoyed a few sightings and captured some snaps to prove it. The following day we saw another black bear with his back to us, sitting on a grassy bank in the sunshine. Unfortunately, the Parks Canada patrol put a stop to photos that afternoon and we all left the bear to enjoy his picnic in peace.

Seeing the bears had made me a little more cautious about hiking in ‘beary’ type habitat. But we’d been in Canada well over a week and reckoned a path along the side of the lake was somewhere we wouldn’t need bear spray. We were wrong. Half an hour in the path veered into the woods where a large sign said hikers should travel in groups of four or more and carry bear spray as this was a place where grizzly bears lived and ate their lunch. We both hesitated and looked up at the track ahead. It was a fair way to go back for the bear spray… Luckily for us another hiker appeared and we asked if he would be happy for us to tag along, explaining about the lack of bear spray. Jeff was a jolly Canadian ‘postie’ (postal worker) out for a day hike.

“Sure, I’ll hike with you. I don’t have bear spray, but I have dog spray!”

I was thinking flea spray and wondering if it would do the trick. But he fished an aerosol can out of his pocket. Apparently, it was of a similar kind of ‘defensive weapon’ and should do the job in an emergency.

“I tested it in a paper bag before I left and I couldn’t stop sneezing, so I know it works.” He assured us.

I had a picture of a bear blowing his nose into an embroidered hankie and shaking his head, saying, “You made me sneeze… why did you make me sneeze?”

Jeff filled us in on his bear encounters in Lake Louise when he was working on the gondola lift during a ski season. He hadn’t seen any today, just some long horned sheep on the road coming in. On the way back, pepper spray untouched, we spotted some long horned sheep who crossed the trail ahead of us. There were several sweet looking lambs and what looked like a large ram who hovered on a rock above the path. Cameras were clicking and this obviously made the ram nervous. Seconds later he was trotting towards us very purposefully with his head down. I skipped further up the path followed by my fellow hiker, stowing his camera and saying, “I thought he was coming for me.” Meanwhile, Jeff had scrambled to take cover behind a large tree, pepper spray to hand. As he caught up and we were all striding away down the track, with a steep drop bedside us, the ram continued to follow us. Every few metres he would stop and turn his back on us, as if to say, “Run and hide – I’m coming to get you!” Jeff showed us the red scrapes from the tree on his arm and said the story of a ‘killer sheep’ on the Minnewanker (yes, it is spelt like that!) Lake trail would be told around the campfire that night, with some embellishments.

Tonight will be our last in the Rockies as we head back to civilisation tomorrow. It has been a blast – living in the outdoors and enjoying all kinds of weather and sights. Most wonderful has been the wild life, especially the fury kind. I wish I could smuggle a little black bear home with me – but I know they’re for the wild, not really for cuddling. 

Photo credits: Simon Farmer

“We should have gone to Cyprus”

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“Let’s have an adventure,” I said. “Let’s hire a car and explore somewhere hot,” I said. I turned my nose up at somewhere safe and familiar… I shook my head at the all inclusive hotel deals or the easy option … Continue reading →

What’s in a name?

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I never liked my own name when I was growing up. Other friends’ names seemed much ‘cooler’ and less old fashioned. I knew Rachel was a name in the Bible and that didn’t help. I wished I had a name like Mandy, Sally or even Jackie and worst of all I didn’t even have a middle name. I guess my parents ran out of ideas by the time they got to number five! So upset by this omission, I gave myself a middle name and for a few years I was ‘Rachel Mandy Reay’ – if anyone asked. To cap it all one teenage boyfriend told me my surname didn’t have enough syllables to be respectable. His was Buchanan!

Giving out or choosing names is a big responsibility. As I grew up Rachel didn’t seem such a bad name – I got used to it. Over the years I have puzzled over names for pets, followed by the joy of picking names for our own children. This was even more complicated as the names had to be agreed by two of us and they mustn’t include names of former boyfriends or girlfriends…

One thing I’ve never done until recently is give a name to a house. All our homes had numbers, although the last one also had a name. It was called ‘The White House’ – not because it had large pillars or an American flag but because it was painted white. But after we’d sandblasted the paint back down to red bricks the name didn’t fit anymore, so we just stuck with the number.

This Spring after a long search we bought a new home in Devon. It’s not a new house, but it’s new to us. It isn’t even a house really – it’s a barn. After several weeks of trailing back and forth and working on the garden and setting up the furnishings, we often referred to it as ‘the Barn’ and we could have simply called it that. But we wanted to invest a little more of ourselves, our hopes, dreams and history into this home, which we hope will be a place to welcome friends and family and even strangers.

We had several evenings of brainstorming names and batting them around for views from the family. ‘Farmer’s Den’ was ruled out early on and so were many popular ‘seaview’ options. After all it is a barn so we decided that should be in the name. We talked about our dreams and what was at the heart of all the journeys we’ve been on so far as a couple and as a family. We love wild places and wild activities, we like space and freedom and we love God. When the name was first mentioned it was so obvious, we knew it was right. Wild Goose Barn was chosen.

Why Wild Goose Barn? Here’s a bit of thinking behind the name, with thanks to a diligent researcher Simon Farmer.

Wild geese are inspiring birds. They can live to 30 years or more. They travel huge distances in migration and are often seen in ‘V’ formation. Geese are flocking birds reflecting a sense of community. This is something we’ve been enjoying in this special part of Devon with the local village, the church and the friendship in the Dolphin Inn. It was here we met a friendly agricultural engineer who came to help us with our ageing mower, while others passed on tips about the best wild swimming spots and generally made us feel at home.

When a Goose flies, its wings create ‘uplift’ for the bird following. By flying in a ‘V’ formation the whole flock actually adds 71% greater flying range than if a bird was on its own. Whenever a Goose falls out of formation it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of trying to fly alone and so quickly gets back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the Goose immediately in front. When the lead Goose gets tired it rotates back into the formation and another Goose flies at the point position. Finally, while geese fly in formation they make quite a noise sometimes as they honk from behind. This isn’t just a random noise but these sounds are their way of encouraging those up front to keep going and keep up their speed.

Devon has wild geese passing through and shortly after choosing the name we spotted a flock of geese flying in formation one evening. We watched as they changed course and flew directly overhead to continue their journey towards the sea into the setting sun. It was almost as if they were giving us a fly past of approval.

In the old days domesticated geese would have been kept around the barn. The Greylag is the ancestor of most domesticated geese. It is the largest and bulkiest of the wild geese native to UK and Europe.
‘Greylag’ either means “grey-legged” or “grey-laggard”, that is late, last or slow to migrate, or in other words, a loiterer or as we like to think just plain ‘laid back’.

Living near the sea, we’ve become accustomed to a deep sense of rhythm, especially the daily ebb and flow of the tide. And in the surrounding countryside the changing seasons are a part of life too, as farmers plough the fields, scatter seeds and gather the harvest. Migrating birds, nesting swallows all lead to this same sense of rhythm.

The Wild Goose is a symbol going back to Celtic times. In 500 AD the Celts developed a strong sense of spiritual rhythm living by the sea in places like Lindisfarne on Holy Island in Northumberland, Iona in the western isles of Scotland, parts of Wales, Ireland and the South West. And it was here in Iona and then Lindisfarne that Christianity first came to the British Isles. The Wild Goose in Celtic Christianity is traditionally aligned to the Holy Spirit although it can’t actually be proved. It is said, “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” (John 3: 8). In Celtic tradition unlike the dove of peace, the wild goose fired up the mind and soul with song and dance and reveries of beauty. The Wild Goose is all about a spirit of adventure.

We hope Wild Goose Barn will live up to its name and be a place for coming together while offering a base for exploration and adventure. We’d like everyone who stays to receive a renewal of inner strength or ‘uplift’ as they gather with friends and family for adventures along our beautiful wild coastline.
To find out more or if you want to book a stay click here.