Newton ferrers - Bigbury

Leaving the comforts of Ken and Wendy's home was not easy. We had stayed up until almost 1:00 a.m. the night before but I still felt the need to chat and hang out more, as there just seemed to be so much to talk about. But the SWCP awaited and I knew that this was just the beginning of a really good relationship between us. We left with treats in our back packs, clean clothes and a plan for them to help us across the next estuary.

Here's us posing as we left Newton ferrets in the drizzle.



The scenery today definitely belonged to Devon and not Cornwall. So weird that an arbitrary line drawn between two counties can also mean a tangible change in landscape. We have left behind the quaint Cornish fishing villages and rocky coves and have moved onto the larger more rolling cliffs. It seems less fishy here and more agricultural. More cows and sheep grazing the cliff tops with a back drop of fields and the Moors in the distance.




We arrived at the mouth of the Erme river which at low tide is crossable via stepping stones (if you don't mind wading up to your knees) but we had arrived at high tide. So, with a cup of tea and yet another pasty we waited for Wendy to pick us up and drive us around to the other side of the Erme. It felt so warm and comfortable in her car and for a minute it made me wonder why we just didn't hire an auto and do the tourist thing the regular way. But that's all it was - just a minute of doubt - I wouldn't do this any other way.

As we walked around the cliffs we could see an island looming - our map told us there was a pub on this island. Excited at the prospect of an island/pub combo, we marched onwards planning to have some tucker inside and perhaps camp outside. As we closed in we realised there was a rather large white monolith of a hotel on the island dwarfing a gorgeous, historic looking pub called the "Pilchard". The mystery of how to access this island was revealed when we spotted a bizarre vehicle on massive wheels escorting passengers over the shallow waters from the mainland.


It's usually good to stop the locals for directions, advice etc because they are a wealth of knowledge compared to our cluelessness and they invariably end up assisting us in some way (helps to pet their dog as as well and comment on how cute). This particular woman gave us the disappointing information that the Pilchards was owned by the hotel, was full of "Londoner's" (said in a very condescending way), over priced, would never allow camping and would never allow "backpacking riffraff" (said in an even more condescending way - not really - but I knew she was thinking it) such as us inside. She did instead drive us up the road, with her multitude of dogs, to a pub called the Royal Oaks - much more our style and it was pie night. They were happy to sell us 2 veggie pies with complementary desserts.


But the accommodation was still out of our price range at $90 per night. Good pies but the pub was not special enough to warrant those kind of prices. So we settled for the free farmers field around the corner.



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