North Devon: sea, sunsets and scary sheep
Resuming from where I left off, with us at the bee place...
After "lunch" (a snack, since we'd had a big breakfast) we headed to Bideford, where we'd planned a walk while waiting for our holiday apartment to be ready. However, we were late arriving and were tired, so just had a cup of tea on a boat, then pottered around Bideford. This mostly involved leaning on the old bridge watching a large group of children having a boating lesson. This involved them all heroically paddling out into the middle of the river, then daringly taking their boats between the arches of the old bridge. (They waved up at us, and we waved back, while resisting the urge to each drop a stick on a different boat and get them to play human Poohsticks.) What a daring exploit for such young chldren!
Well, it would have been, had it not become apparent that the tide was SO low that they could probably have waded the whole thing. After half of the boats had run aground and half the crews had jumped out and found that the river only came up to their knees, the whole thing degenerated into a mad pirate battle which culminated in everyone in the water, before they strolled back to shore, dragging their boats behind them.
Then we went to a park, sat down with an ice cream in the sun. "Ah, what lovely weather!" we thought. Then the sun went in. "Hmm, getting a bit chilly," we thought a little while later. Then we looked up to see that the scenery around us had all vanished and we were alone in the park, surrounded by a creeping sea of mist...
We found our apartment in Westward Ho! and it was very nice, but we had to take the sea views with a pinch of salt. We could hear the sea lashing on the rocks below, so assumed it was there (it was either that or a very good recording), but it remained entirely invisible all evening. (Clear skies in Bridport at the moment, the weather reports told us consistently throughout the evening. They lied.)
Anyway... The following morning was fine and the sea did indeed prove to exist. Yay! We headed off to Ilfracombe, which was very pretty, but which I somehow failed to photograph very much at all. Oh well. Here's a general view of the place.
We spent a good while in the very good aquarium, which focuses exclusively on local water life, following a river from Exmoor to the sea. We had great fun spotting the lurking little fellows who hid under the sand, just their beady little eyes popping out, and watching the rays flap around. Then we had a leisurely lunch in a pub with a roof-top terrace, then... well, don't seem to have done very much at all, except climb various viewpoints and outcrops, and sit on each on them awhile, looking at the view. (Well, one of us might have done that. PellinorThe other one had a nap.)
Then, as low tide neared, we went to the Tunnels beaches, which were hewn through the living rock by the Victorians, to create two secluded and segrated beaches - one for ladies, one for men, and never the twain shall meet. The tunnels to the beaches are lined with information boards and historical newspaper articles, so it's as much as museum as a beach. The ladies' swimming pool still exists, and was full of a happy hen party having a happy time. ("I don't know if it's the wine speaking, but that was the best photo I've EVER TAKEN!" one exclaimed happily, having snapped her joyful friends in a group in the water.
We paddled a bit, pottered a bit, sat and watched the world go by... (Well, one of us might have done that. PellinorThe other one had a nap.) Then an ice cream, and then home.
Oh yes. Damian Hurst has done a statue in Ilfracombe, called Verity, which I found simply impossible to photograph well.
Back in Westward Ho! we went for a quick stroll, taking advantage of the fact that tonight, at least, the world outside our apartment DID exist. We were amused to see some local businesses with Ho!-related puns in their names, but very disappointed not to see a restaurant called Ho! Cuisine.
Have a picture of a beach.
And a sunset:
Taken from my phone, so a bit blurry, but put in to demonstrate the view from our apartment. Not that Pellinor's taking any notice of it. I think he was dutifully studying my proposed itinerary and, as requested, Giving Opinions.
The next day we headed off to Hartland Quay for a walk. I chose Monday for this since the weather forecast promised glorious sunshine - just right for a walk in spectacular coastal scenery.
It lied.
There was at least some sunshine in the morning, as we headed south along the coast, then inland to a garden and tea room touted as the best in North Devon. It was nice enough, though nothing spectacular. Lots of bluebells in the gardens, though, allowing me to demonstrate once again that I simply CANNOT take a photo that does justice to a bluebell wood.
There was a waterfall on the coast, somewhat deleted by the run of dry weather. Not a good photograph, but you can't plan half a walk around a waterfall and not take a picture of it.
Then back to Hartland Quay, where we visited the quirky little museum, then noticed that the pub had seating with spectacular views. So we had a drink or two, and felt mildly grumped that we hadn't chosen this place for our lunch instead of the underwhelming tea room. (The lunch is always greener on the other side - a theme of the week.)
Then we did the second half of our walk, up the coast to Hartland Point - a walk with many, many ups and downs. The was spectacular Geology all around us. "Look at me!" it kept shouting. "I'm Geology! Photograph me!" But the weather remained grey, so I mostly resisted its blandishments, only occasionally giving in.
At the time, I thought this sheep was terrifying. Now I suddenly suspect it of being In League with the Geology, or maybe with the killer hills.
A lighthouse!
A folly! I was quite pleased with my picture of the Enormous Church through the folly. Then, a few days later, we went to nearby Hartland Abbey and a guide was talking about the folly. "Oh yes," said another tourist. "I walked up there earlier and took this picture." His picture was pretty much identical to mine (but in nicer weather.) "Oh yes, I took one like that last week," said the guide. Suddenly I felt a lot less like a master photographer, and a lot more like a sheep.
Weather Not As Advertised.
On the Tuesday, we had our Local Day, and walked from Westward Ho! to Bideford, then across the old bridge, then along the Tarka Trail by the river - an old railway line, now a cycle track. Our destination was Tapeley Park, where we planned to have lunch in their very enticing looking tea room. "Unfortunately the tea room isn't serving hot food today," they said as we bought our tickets to the garden, "since she's all alone in the tea room today."
Oh. Oh dear.
Oh well. A cinnamon swirl and packet of crips wasn't quite what I'd intended for my lunch, but it couldn't be helped, and the setting was lovely - a sunny lawn in a flowery garden, by a stately home.
The gardens were very scenic, with a strong emphasis on sustainability, with some quirky information boards written by the owner of the house, an eco-campaigner. (Although I was a bit fed up that a place that was SO keen on green issues had failed to make any allowance for people arriving on foot or by bike. There were no signs on the Tarka Trail telling us where to leave, and when we worked it out for ourselves, we then had to brave a fairly busy road with no verge. From the layout of the approach, I think it would have been fairly easy to make a safe and easier approach for pedestrians, if they wanted to. I've ranted quite a bit about the National Trust's failings in this regard, but it was particularly vexing in a place that was so strongly and crusadingly eco-friendly.)
OK. Rant over.
There was a labyrinth in the grounds, made from the scattered remains of an old obelisk (commemorating an ancestor killed in the Crimean War) which was exploded by a lightning bolt. I think we were supposed to feel deep and mystic thought when walking it.
Then back to the Tarka Trail to Instow, where we caught the volunteer-run little ferry over to Appledore. We would have liked to linger in Instow, but the ferry only runs a few hours on either side of high tide, and tide and time wait for no man. A poor terrified lurcher rode on the ferry with us, its tail pressed tightly to its tummy. Poor thing!
Appledore is supposed to be quaint and colourful and a massive draw for tourists, so we expected loads of enticing tea shops and pubs (we still hadn't had a proper lunch, remember) but if they existed, we never found them. So, after a quick drink, we headed round onto the sand dunes, paused for a cup of tea in the visitor centre, then went to a pub in Westward Ho! for a very early dinner. It looked rather unenticing from outside, but clearly offered a lovely view from its large upstairs room, so we gave it a go. The menu was limited - burgers, pie and mash or fish and chips... but fortunately the burgers turned out to be really, really good. They had bacon jam in them. I'd never met bacon jam until we ate in a pub at Easter, so can only conclude that it is currently In.
And on that bacony note, I will end for now. More holiday to come.
After "lunch" (a snack, since we'd had a big breakfast) we headed to Bideford, where we'd planned a walk while waiting for our holiday apartment to be ready. However, we were late arriving and were tired, so just had a cup of tea on a boat, then pottered around Bideford. This mostly involved leaning on the old bridge watching a large group of children having a boating lesson. This involved them all heroically paddling out into the middle of the river, then daringly taking their boats between the arches of the old bridge. (They waved up at us, and we waved back, while resisting the urge to each drop a stick on a different boat and get them to play human Poohsticks.) What a daring exploit for such young chldren!
Well, it would have been, had it not become apparent that the tide was SO low that they could probably have waded the whole thing. After half of the boats had run aground and half the crews had jumped out and found that the river only came up to their knees, the whole thing degenerated into a mad pirate battle which culminated in everyone in the water, before they strolled back to shore, dragging their boats behind them.
Then we went to a park, sat down with an ice cream in the sun. "Ah, what lovely weather!" we thought. Then the sun went in. "Hmm, getting a bit chilly," we thought a little while later. Then we looked up to see that the scenery around us had all vanished and we were alone in the park, surrounded by a creeping sea of mist...
We found our apartment in Westward Ho! and it was very nice, but we had to take the sea views with a pinch of salt. We could hear the sea lashing on the rocks below, so assumed it was there (it was either that or a very good recording), but it remained entirely invisible all evening. (Clear skies in Bridport at the moment, the weather reports told us consistently throughout the evening. They lied.)
Anyway... The following morning was fine and the sea did indeed prove to exist. Yay! We headed off to Ilfracombe, which was very pretty, but which I somehow failed to photograph very much at all. Oh well. Here's a general view of the place.
We spent a good while in the very good aquarium, which focuses exclusively on local water life, following a river from Exmoor to the sea. We had great fun spotting the lurking little fellows who hid under the sand, just their beady little eyes popping out, and watching the rays flap around. Then we had a leisurely lunch in a pub with a roof-top terrace, then... well, don't seem to have done very much at all, except climb various viewpoints and outcrops, and sit on each on them awhile, looking at the view. (Well, one of us might have done that. PellinorThe other one had a nap.)
Then, as low tide neared, we went to the Tunnels beaches, which were hewn through the living rock by the Victorians, to create two secluded and segrated beaches - one for ladies, one for men, and never the twain shall meet. The tunnels to the beaches are lined with information boards and historical newspaper articles, so it's as much as museum as a beach. The ladies' swimming pool still exists, and was full of a happy hen party having a happy time. ("I don't know if it's the wine speaking, but that was the best photo I've EVER TAKEN!" one exclaimed happily, having snapped her joyful friends in a group in the water.
We paddled a bit, pottered a bit, sat and watched the world go by... (Well, one of us might have done that. PellinorThe other one had a nap.) Then an ice cream, and then home.
Oh yes. Damian Hurst has done a statue in Ilfracombe, called Verity, which I found simply impossible to photograph well.
Back in Westward Ho! we went for a quick stroll, taking advantage of the fact that tonight, at least, the world outside our apartment DID exist. We were amused to see some local businesses with Ho!-related puns in their names, but very disappointed not to see a restaurant called Ho! Cuisine.
Have a picture of a beach.
And a sunset:
Taken from my phone, so a bit blurry, but put in to demonstrate the view from our apartment. Not that Pellinor's taking any notice of it. I think he was dutifully studying my proposed itinerary and, as requested, Giving Opinions.
The next day we headed off to Hartland Quay for a walk. I chose Monday for this since the weather forecast promised glorious sunshine - just right for a walk in spectacular coastal scenery.
It lied.
There was at least some sunshine in the morning, as we headed south along the coast, then inland to a garden and tea room touted as the best in North Devon. It was nice enough, though nothing spectacular. Lots of bluebells in the gardens, though, allowing me to demonstrate once again that I simply CANNOT take a photo that does justice to a bluebell wood.
There was a waterfall on the coast, somewhat deleted by the run of dry weather. Not a good photograph, but you can't plan half a walk around a waterfall and not take a picture of it.
Then back to Hartland Quay, where we visited the quirky little museum, then noticed that the pub had seating with spectacular views. So we had a drink or two, and felt mildly grumped that we hadn't chosen this place for our lunch instead of the underwhelming tea room. (The lunch is always greener on the other side - a theme of the week.)
Then we did the second half of our walk, up the coast to Hartland Point - a walk with many, many ups and downs. The was spectacular Geology all around us. "Look at me!" it kept shouting. "I'm Geology! Photograph me!" But the weather remained grey, so I mostly resisted its blandishments, only occasionally giving in.
At the time, I thought this sheep was terrifying. Now I suddenly suspect it of being In League with the Geology, or maybe with the killer hills.
A lighthouse!
A folly! I was quite pleased with my picture of the Enormous Church through the folly. Then, a few days later, we went to nearby Hartland Abbey and a guide was talking about the folly. "Oh yes," said another tourist. "I walked up there earlier and took this picture." His picture was pretty much identical to mine (but in nicer weather.) "Oh yes, I took one like that last week," said the guide. Suddenly I felt a lot less like a master photographer, and a lot more like a sheep.
Weather Not As Advertised.
On the Tuesday, we had our Local Day, and walked from Westward Ho! to Bideford, then across the old bridge, then along the Tarka Trail by the river - an old railway line, now a cycle track. Our destination was Tapeley Park, where we planned to have lunch in their very enticing looking tea room. "Unfortunately the tea room isn't serving hot food today," they said as we bought our tickets to the garden, "since she's all alone in the tea room today."
Oh. Oh dear.
Oh well. A cinnamon swirl and packet of crips wasn't quite what I'd intended for my lunch, but it couldn't be helped, and the setting was lovely - a sunny lawn in a flowery garden, by a stately home.
The gardens were very scenic, with a strong emphasis on sustainability, with some quirky information boards written by the owner of the house, an eco-campaigner. (Although I was a bit fed up that a place that was SO keen on green issues had failed to make any allowance for people arriving on foot or by bike. There were no signs on the Tarka Trail telling us where to leave, and when we worked it out for ourselves, we then had to brave a fairly busy road with no verge. From the layout of the approach, I think it would have been fairly easy to make a safe and easier approach for pedestrians, if they wanted to. I've ranted quite a bit about the National Trust's failings in this regard, but it was particularly vexing in a place that was so strongly and crusadingly eco-friendly.)
OK. Rant over.
There was a labyrinth in the grounds, made from the scattered remains of an old obelisk (commemorating an ancestor killed in the Crimean War) which was exploded by a lightning bolt. I think we were supposed to feel deep and mystic thought when walking it.
Then back to the Tarka Trail to Instow, where we caught the volunteer-run little ferry over to Appledore. We would have liked to linger in Instow, but the ferry only runs a few hours on either side of high tide, and tide and time wait for no man. A poor terrified lurcher rode on the ferry with us, its tail pressed tightly to its tummy. Poor thing!
Appledore is supposed to be quaint and colourful and a massive draw for tourists, so we expected loads of enticing tea shops and pubs (we still hadn't had a proper lunch, remember) but if they existed, we never found them. So, after a quick drink, we headed round onto the sand dunes, paused for a cup of tea in the visitor centre, then went to a pub in Westward Ho! for a very early dinner. It looked rather unenticing from outside, but clearly offered a lovely view from its large upstairs room, so we gave it a go. The menu was limited - burgers, pie and mash or fish and chips... but fortunately the burgers turned out to be really, really good. They had bacon jam in them. I'd never met bacon jam until we ate in a pub at Easter, so can only conclude that it is currently In.
And on that bacony note, I will end for now. More holiday to come.