Tag Archives: yachts

Three days on the ‘pinch of salt path’

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A brief encounter of the naked kind was just one of the unexpected happenings during three days on the South West Coastal Path.

We’ve been on a mission for a few days – a “training” mission apparently – preparing for a possible long hike along the coast of Portugal to Santiago de Compostella. This would be a 170-mile pilgrimage journey over a couple of weeks, if we can manage it.

As we have one of the world’s best hiking routes on our doorstep we decided to test out our endurance levels with three days back-to-back walking. This was a bit of a first for us.

Having completed other parts of the ‘salt path’ over the past few years, we decided to fill in some of the stretches we hadn’t pulled in. The first day dawned with some light cloud and a gentle breeze and I quickly realised I would mainly be walking solo as my hiking partner’s long stride was impossible to keep pace with. 

One of the things keeping me going on all the ups and downs and twists and turns was taking off my walking boots and having a swim in the clear waters of Lannacombe bay. This was also the point at which we turned round and retraced our steps to Gara Rock.

En route we’d passed some amazing rocky outcrops and hidden sandy coves where the path became narrow and it was a bit of a scramble through the rocks, with a very steep drop below us. I was just recovering from one of these rocky passages and keeping my eyes on the uneven path, when I looked ahead and saw a man in a rucksack approaching. The path was very narrow and I realised he had stopped to let me pass. It was then I realised why he was holding his hat in particular position. He was completely naked – apart from his boots.

It had turned into a balmy afternoon and I’m sure he was enjoying the sun on his back (and his butt). As I squeezed past him, I thanked him for waiting and thought for a millisecond about saying, “Nice hat!”. I resisted the temptation to look back at his bare essentials heading along the cliff. However, when I eventually caught up with my walking partner, he gave me a blow-by-blow description of everything I’d missed. I’d heard of naked hikers, but this was the first one I’d met… he certainly helped brighten up the last few miles of that day!

Blisters = 0

Blackberries eaten = 5

Wildlife = 2 seals and a slowworm

Water = not enough

On the morning of day two, although we knew all the right things to pack, we were tired. So, when we eventually sat down for lunch by Mothercombe beach, we discovered I had forgotten to pack the lemon Fanta. Small things (especially food and drink items) seem to take on enormous importance on a hike and it took one of us some time to get over the disappointment of only having water to drink.

While we were waiting for the sun to come out, we chatted to another pair of hikers from Belgium who were heading east, hoping to cross the river Erme somehow. They ended up persuading a man with a dinghy to take them across with their packs. Breaking away from his birthday beach party, he bundled one ruck sack and one girl into the little dinghy and set off against the tide, the dinghy lying low in the water. Meanwhile we went for a swim and expected to see him appearing back around the headland for his second passenger. 

A long while later we spotted him rowing the dinghy to his yacht, which was anchored some way off the beach. We assumed he’d run out of fuel. Drying off from our swim, we watched as he reached the yacht – hopefully he would pick up his fuel and return shortly. But a few minutes later we spotted the dinghy floating across the bay, away from the yacht, and he wasn’t on it! The drama continued. On the beach, the other hiker was on her phone messaging her friend. The party on the shore, looked across the water as the lone yachtsman pulled up his anchor and went in pursuit of his dinghy, which can’t have been tied up securely. Although we really should have been setting off again, we couldn’t leave until we’d seen the outcome of the seaside rescue!

In the end the dinghy was retrieved, the yacht was re-anchored and the sailor returned to the shore. He collected the other hiker and her pack and sped across to the far beach to reunite her with her friend. It was turning out to be a very eventful day on the salt path.

As we were nearing the end of our journey that day, we’d skirted round a large mobile home park on the cliffs and passed a lot of people coming and going from there with their dogs. I now owe an apology to the man in the straw trilby we passed later that afternoon. I had made a disparaging comment about his orange T-shirt and white socks being an indication that he’d come from the holiday park. No sooner had I said this quite loudly, to catch the ear of my fellow hiker who was striding ahead, than I turned round to see him directly behind me. I jumped and let out a stifled gasp. He asked me what was wrong, and I said he’d given me a shock as I hadn’t realised he was behind me. I don’t think I could have gone any redder, as I was already flushed with the sun and walking.

Blisters = 1

Blackberries eaten = 10

Wildlife = another slowworm

Water supply = just right

Day three it was a little harder to get up and out, but I had packed the lemon Fanta this time – it was double checked before we left the house. The clouds were gathering as we drove into the car park where we would start our walk towards Plymouth.

Reaching back for our boots, there was an ominous, “Oh, no. I’ve left my socks behind.”

This was bad news, I didn’t think much walking could be done without a pair of hiking socks. Surely this was a larger error than forgetting the Fanta? Luckily, as I’ve developed a blister I had my trainers in the car with a pair of thick white socks in them. It turned out they fitted size 11 feet also! I glanced across at my fellow hiker, he was now wearing white socks and in his bag was an orange fleecy top! We both burst out laughing – it was a good way to start the day.

The rain came eventually once we’d reached our destination and as we trudged through the woods back along the coast, we could hear the foghorn from a ferry booming through the mist. A marker by the path said Poole was 175 miles from this point, which means there is a lot more “training” to be done!

Blisters = 1

Blackberries eaten = 15

Water supply = 2 spare bottles

Homeward bound

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My straw hat is squashed in the overhead locker and I’ve wrapped a scarf around my bare legs to keep warm – we’re definitely going home!

After almost two months living in the “med” we will soon be landing back in England, where I may be in need of that jacket I decided not to pack.

Our time onboard yacht Riou came to a close with a rather dramatic storm in the end. On our penultimate night afloat, we watched a red sun sink behind distant blue islands, while we spent a peaceful night as the only boat anchored off one of our favourite uninhabited islands. But it wasn’t long before the rest of Greece woke up and joined us. A morning walk on the deserted beach had been too good to last. By lunchtime we were surrounded by dozens of boats which had anchored around us and flooded the untouched sand and crystal waters with day trippers.

As we headed into port for our final night, we were pleased to find a space on the jetty as the clouds began to gather. Later that night we listened to the wind howling round the rigging and heard the rain pelting against the hatches. It wasn’t long before I felt water dripping on my feet and we discovered a leak above us. We didn’t sleep so well that night, what with balancing bowls to catch the drips, securing extra lines in the dark and pouring rain “just in case”. This was the skipper’s job of course, while I watched from below and called out halfhearted offers of ‘do you need me to help?’ as gangplanks clattered and ropes squeaked on deck. There was lightening and thunder too – it turned out to be a loud and wet farewell to the Sporades. Although we were sad to leave, dragging our luggage through the rain made it a little easier to say goodbye as we headed to the airport.

We’ve now had time to rest and reflect during a week in Cyprus, revisiting favourite spots and renewing friendships, thanks to the hospitality of my sister and brother-in-law. It’s felt odd not checking the wind and forecast each day and swimming out from the beach, we’ve found ourselves looking for “our” boat.

“We’ve become land lubbers!” We said to each other as we strolled by the coast and stared out at white capped waves in the distance.

I’m not sure we like it…

Our return to the “homeland” feels even more sombre as the country is in mourning for our wonderful Queen. We were shocked to hear the news from a Turkish immigration officer, as we re-crossed the border into the south of Cyprus at the end of a day out. After being handed our passports last Thursday evening – the customs man had stared at us and simply said, “Queen dead.” It was hard to understand at first, until it sank in. His face was serious and he repeated the words – suddenly we realised it was our Queen he was talking about. The last time we’d seen a photo of her a couple of days earlier, she was shaking hands with our new prime minister – we couldn’t believe she had suddenly died.

So this week was a big moment in history for the UK and many across the world marking the end of the Elizabethan era and the dawning of a new one with a new King Charles – as he will now be known. Meanwhile, here we are marking the end of something too.

For now it’s ‘back to business’ or ‘busyness’ with work to catch up on, family to hug and help, a house to move into and boxes to unpack.

I’m happy to be heading home. I’m certain there will be many more adventures to come, both on and off the water. Next time though, I will be packing a jumper and rethinking short dungarees as travel wear! Brrr…