South Devon

Brixton campsite

Many thousands of years ago, when CTC members were all young riders, there was a thing called rising sea levels.  Or sinking land.  Whatever.  Anyway, a lot of river valleys round here were flooded, leading to the very wide, branching tidal estuaries, called rias.  One of the things I remember from O level geography.   There are several of them all the way from Helford to Exeter; Fowey, Plymouth, Salcombe etc.   

My first task today was to explore the Yealm estuary,  a wooded and beautiful area of south Devon.  After a while I came to the beautiful riverside village of Newton Ferrers, on a fork in the river with lovely houses in terraces up the hillside.   People were heading for their boats on the river.  I was famished, but it was before 9am on a Sunday, and my expectations were low, but there was both a Co-op and a post office with a tiny cafe, both open.   

Car parking with a view

Newton Ferrers

During my relaxed Sunday breakfast, the peace was shattered by a group of loud young men, dressed variously as Superman or Superwoman, heading down the hill towards the pub.   The Post Office being the centre of village news, I soon learned that it was the Exeter Chiefs rugby team on a celebratory day out.  First stop (after a few drinks on the coach) was brunch in the pub.

Around the Yealm estuary 

14 miles, 500 metres of climbing, 1 pasty and 3 1/2 hrs later, I left the Yealm valley.  It was idyllic; roads around the banks of the various tributaries lined with pretty houses, and views across the water.  Highly recommended. 

There followed a stretch of riding along the tops of the hills, something that didn't really happen  in Cornwall.   It was gorgeous weather, warm, sunny and light winds.   There were a couple of steep drops to beaches, both it seems privately owned, or at least with private access.  Revelstoke was dominated by a caravan park, and Mothecombe, lovely sandy beach at the mouth of the river Erme, with an expensive car park and expensive cafe & restaurant.

Mothecombe beach

After wriggling round the river, I was presented with a track to another beach, 80 metres down & up, and nothing there at the end ofvit.   Not keen,  I asked a couple of  passers-by, and they noy only encouraged me but also checked over my bike and opined that I should be OK.  I left the panniers in the hedge at the top,  and found the beach, Ayrmer Cove, was beautiful,  with shining shards of slate like rock sticking up out of the sea.

Devon lanes

Ayrmer cove

It was teatime.  The next beach, Challaborough, was basically a caravan site with a beachside pub.  I didn't fancy it, so headed round to Bigbury-on-Sea, because, well, it was big.   I was wrong.  It was tiny, with no facilities except on Burgh Island, with the exclusive hotel, just across the tidal causeway.  It did have a campsite though, so I stopped there, pitched the tent with a fantastic view out to sea, and headed 2 miles up the road to the pub, via the main Bigbury, which was even smaller. 

Challaborough beach

Burgh Island

I'm still in the south Devon AONB, and all road signs point to Kingsbridge as the nearest large town.  Salcombe tomorrow, hopefully.

View from the campsite

Into Devon

Today I had not many miles but a lot of climbing to get to Torpoint, and the ferry across the Tamar to Plymouth.  It was a bit cold overnight with a heavy dew, but by 6.30 it was too hot to stay in the tent.  The campsite lady had left tea-making stuff so I enjoyed a cuppa while the tent dried.

As I carefully descended the first hill, I was surprised to meet a young fit cyclist walking up.  It emerged he was cycling to Looe to meet his girlfriend.   It was 9.25 and he had left Plymouth just before 8am!   I was planning to take all day.  I had to go round Rame Head, so I set off south west, passing a series of Saturday cyclists.

View towards Rame Head

Tiny beach, reached by a footpath
down the cliff

The hills were long but not too steep, and it seemed the landscape was more gentle.  The beaches were quiet, remote places and the few settlements were up the hill from the beaches.  I saw a few walkers at Downderry  the place with the naturist campsite, but they were all fully clothed.

It was ten long, hilly miles before I found a cafe, just around the headland at Kingsand, overlooking Cawsand Bay.  A delightful old town with narrow twisty streets, and a micro esplanade with panoramic views across to Devon.   Seeing my Wales cycling Jersey, the cafe manager came out specially to greet me, and asked which part of God's own country I came from.  When I said Sidmouth in Devon,  he didn't seem that impressed.

Kingsand

I entered the café in brilliant sunshine, but when I left, thunder clouds were crashing around the Sound, and it was spotting with rain.  The worst of it was happening in Devon.  I decided to skip the ride round the Tamar estuary to the main Torpoint ferry, so I just had to go to the ferry at Cremyll via Mount Edgecumbe, a country park, which wasn't as bad as it sounded.

A short ferry hop across the Tamar and I was in Devon.  Devil's point,  Plymouth to be exact.  The area was a jumble of older housing, military  barracks, the King William Dock, now a visitor experience sort of place.  Then Plymouth Hoe, complete with a funfair, and the Barbican docks, with loads of people and cafes.  And pirates.   Many people dressed in pirate outfits.  Apparently,  it's pirate weekend at the Barbican.

Approaching Plymouth, King William's Dock

King William's Dock

Plymouth Barbican, with pirates

Plymouth's docks are extensive. There's the military docks, the commercial docks, and the pleasure boats, all arranged around the banks of the rivers Tamar and and Plym, and several other tributaries. After leaving the pirates behind at the Barbican, I found a nice cafe for lunch. When I emerged, it started raining again and continued all the way round the docks, so there are no pictures - sorry. It was probably ten miles before I left Plymouth and its suburbs, at Staddon Point, which was marked by another big fort, still MOD property, defending the harbour approaches.

South west coast path & NCN 27

Once in the countryside, I visited several unremarkable small beaches (compared to Cornwall's best), really not worth a special visit for the view, and certainly not worth the climb out of the valley.  Eventually I reached my campsite in Brixton, not to be confused with the one in London.  I was sort of hoping for a night in a real bed in Plymouth, but I was there a bit too early, so it will have to wait.   A few more miles today but still a hilly ride, even if there were some flatter bits in between.

Bovisand beach

Hillside house with a funicular railway
from the road (opposite), Heybrook bay

Wembury beach

Brixton has a lovely pub, the Foxhound, which managed to fit me in for a delicious curry, despite being busy on Saturday night.  Top marks to them.

Goodbye Cornwall.  You've been wonderful.  Epic.  Unforgettable. 

Fowey, Polperro and Looe

The Pentewan trail

Although my previous post was called St Austell,  I didn't actually go there.  It's a few miles inland, and Pentewan Sands is the nearest place.  Like Truro, it's a landmark in my journey  across Cornwall. 

The weather seems settled and fair at the moment - long may it last.  I left the campsite a bit late after sleeping in, and rode bright-eyed and bushy-tailed down the Pentewan Trail back to the beach, singing a happy song and idly wondering where the route would take me.  It was a pig of a hill leading out of the valley, colour coded black on the Garmin, which is not what you want to see before breakfast.  Or any time, actually. 

Leaving was such a wrench

Within a few miles I'd visited the little village of Porthpean, admired its gorgeous beach briefly, and moved on to Charlestown, which seems to be a heritage village with several old sailing ships in the harbour, a shipwreck museum and various other experiences, including a very pleasant breakfast.  Charlestown was the main port used to ship clay from the mines (or do you quarry clay?) in St Austell.

Charlestown 

Entering the parish of Carlyon Bay, I was suddenly in a different Cornwall.  Beach Drive was full of newly-built millionaire's houses, on a wide crescent overlooking the sparkling bay.  It was like Weybridge-on-Sea, with driving standards to match.  Whereas in the other Cornwall, drivers would wait forever before eventually passing very wide and slowly, this was the opposite.  Everybody was in a hurry.

 

I never saw the beach.  If you live in Carlyon Bay, you don't go to the beach.  It is sufficient that there is a beach.

On the plus side, there were several miles of flat road around Par, the next place, with a station and a huge clay processing plant.  My bike saw speeds in the teens, which was a nice change.  One last hill, and I arrived at Fowey, a traditional village built on the steep side of an estuary with extensive mooring.  It's a picturesque, well-to-do place, with an impenetrable maze of tiny steep roads and a one-way system that doesn't go anywhere useful.  I gave up and walked around, sightseeing, along with many other grockles.

Into Fowey

 

Fowey

The river Fowey quite an extensive deep water river estuary.  There's a port upstream used for shipping clay, and it's quite a ride round to the ferry at Bodinnick.  Having done this once at Falmouth, I elected to take the direct pedestrian ferry crossing to Polruan on the east bank.  Some helpful passengers loaded my panniers for me, without being asked.  They're like that round here.

View across to Polruan from Fowey

Leaving Fowey

 

The Fowey estuary

We had a family holiday in Polruan about 20 years ago, and so I remembered the hill out of town.  It's still there.  After the ascent, I was riding along the tops for several miles, before descending into Polperro, a long thin and pretty village in a very steep sided valley.  It was time for a cream tea, which was excellent.  Jam first, as they say in Cornwall!

Polperro 

After winching myself up the cliff out of Polperro, I briefly visited Porthallow beach, very picturesque from afar but only average as a beach; over the hill and descended relatively gently into Looe, which has the same set-up as Polperro but is completely different.    It has the long thin town in a steep-sided valley thing, but it'much bigger, a proper town, and has a sizeable port (Polperro just had a piddly stream and a small harbour).   There were traffic lights!  The first I've encountered since London.   

 

Looe

I was in a bind.  I'd had my fill of hills, but there's nowhere reasonable to stay in Looe.  I had my eye on a campsite near a pub in Downderry, 8 miles away, but it turned out to be a naturist campsite!  And anyway it was too far.  The other choices were nearer, but no pub, and I certainly didn't want to carry food up the very nasty hill out of Looe.

Resigned to going hungry, I climbed out of Looe, did another pointless down and up around a posh housing estate which never actually reached the beach (there were steps down the cliff), and then came across a little  Spar, where I had a lovely Audax style meal, hot steak slice, Belgian bun  and a coke, since you ask.  Phoned the campsite to book,  and after just one more down and up to Millendreath beach, found I was the only person in the campsite.  It was a farm on the top of a hill, with great views to the east, and a wonderful sunset behind the trees to the west.

St Austell

Is it a coincidence that hill and hell are spelled similarly?  After a good night's sleep in the scenic Treloan campsite, my legs were still empty in the morning.   You would have thought some of that macaroni cheese would have found its way down there.

Campsite with a view

I started the day with a short out-and-back to St Anthony's head, only 6 miles but 158 metres of painful climbing.  I should have left my panniers at the campsite.   The headland itself had great views over the Fal estuary,  The Lizard, and back to Falmouth, only about a mile away as the crow flies.

St Anthony's head,  with Falmouth opposite 

Road out to St Anthony's head 

A giant cruise ship was doing something quite close to the shore, with tugs and the lifeboat in attendance.  Eventually it dropped anchor, the lifeboat left, and passengers started disembarking in small boats, presumably to enjoy the sights of Falmouth.

Back to Gerrans, and Portscatho was just half a mile down the hill, a pretty village with a rocky beach and a good selection of cafes and pubs.  After a sumptuous two course breakfast, I rode on through a succession of beautiful seaside spots, each complete with its own varied points of interest and its own individual mountain.

Sunny Portscatho

I was still just in Roseland (peninsula), but about to be just outside.  Pendower, an uninhabited beach with a walkers' cafe, had a footpath joining two roads and avoiding a climb.  Portloe was a narrow cove with fishing boats on the shingle and a well-kept street of houses including two pubs.  A couple not worth mentioning are Treviskey and Portholland; but then came Porthluney Cove, which had a castle and a beach cafe, just when it was needed.

Dodgy footpath at Pendower

Portloe

 Gatehouse to Caerhays castle, at Porthluney Cove

I rode past a closed-looking YHA Boswinger, only available to hire the whole hostel again, on the way to the worst beach ever. Hemmic beach had nothing there except a hellish nearly vertical climb to get away from it.

 

Hemmic hill hell

But it wasn't all bad. The sun was out, the hedgerows were full of flowers, and there was the odd road that wasn't so steep up or down that I could ride faster than 5mph. I stopped for an ice cream at picturesque Gorran Haven, another place that seems to be impossible for anyone in a car. Just around the corner was Mevagissey, with stunning views as I came down the hill into the village. Going out, I got lost in maze of narrow and steep paths up the side of the town, which appeared on the map as paved roads.

Gorran Haven "dreckly"

 

Looking back at Portmellon

Into Mevagissey 

 

Mevagissey

 

Any one of these places would make an interesting day out or a base for a holiday.  I feel a bit guilty at just passing through with just a passing comment, but the lovely places are so frequent round here.

My legs were nearly done for the day, so I stopped in the next valley, at a campsite in Pentewan Sands, just south of St Austell. Pentewan Sands is dominated by a caravan park across 90% of the beach, so I didn't stop in that one. It was only about 5pm and I've only just done 30 miles, but there was plenty of sightseeing.  Fish & chips for tea in a nice pub. It's been a good day.