See it with a Bud

9th February 2013

# Budleigh Salterton

Good old Bud Salt. During those rare occasions when a wayward acquaintance should make his way down through darkest Devon for a visit, Budleigh Salterton is one of the staple destinations we pull out of the bag. It is a place perfectly crafted to subtly scream into the face of said visitor 'This is Devon, LOOK HOW QUAINT IT IS.'

As part of the Jurassic Coast, Budleigh Salterton is best defined by the charming pebble beach which drops dramatically towards the sea in giant steps. Local fishermen peddle their daily catch straight from the boat,  tea shops churn out an endless supply of cream teas and sugary buns and coastal anglers attempt to garrote idling stroller. To the west the town rises away from the coast on the back of dramatic red cliffs as the beach continues below, whereas in the east the beach eventually falters and comes to an end at the mouth of the meandering River Otter.

Listening to the sea ebb and flow, the sound of the pebbles relaxing is strangely hypnotic. It is, however, a bugger to walk on for a long period of time. After a good 20 minutes tramping by the sea it is a relief to get back on level ground even if it does mean joining the hoards of day trippers and dog walkers.  

A word of warning to those beach revellers who like to include a spot of lunch during their trip; while Bud Salt has a decent selection of (quaint) eateries - a personal favourite being A Slice of Lyme just off the High Street - it is also home to a dedicated army of retirees who descend upon the town each and every lunchtime. Seats in cafes that stand empty most of the day suddenly become premium spots, and more than once I have found myself a part of the spurned, wandering from cafe to cafe in the hope of a morsel.    

Oh yes, and balls to the beach car park which will charge you just to look at the sign, there is a lovely big FREE car park in town, just beside the town hall, mere minutes from the beach.

Indignant, But Warm

When is it a good time to visit a beach? Not when the weather is so foul, licking the bottom of a pair of shoes becomes preferable to travelling around the county. It's probably a damn sight safer too.

Since Christmas has gone on its merry way after popping in for a brief chat, the legions of hell have tried in earnest to leave a lasting mark all over the UK. The December saturation of the countryside has continued unabated, pausing only to produce a dumping of snow for a week or two, and we all know what happens when the British get snowed on - the stiff upper lip lights fires, draws the curtains and stays indoors. If it doesn't, it shall most likely find itself stuck in some god awful traffic jam wondering when exactly the world went to shit.

It also begs the question what is the point of going to all these beaches? If it is just to quickly run onto the sand, plant a flag and declare bragging rights that I have conquered yet another beach, like some kind of maladjusted two-bit colonial crackpot? Or do I want to appreciate the rugged beauty of Devon's coastline in full splendor? I hail from one of the wettest parts of Europe and so don't mind a bit of rain, but standing out in a torrential downpour in the freezing cold is just a tad bit sad. Besides, the locals are buggers to colonise when the weather's bad.

So between floods, snow and ice, the most epic voyage of the 21st century so far has faltered at the first hurdle. Which is a bit of a shame as I am dying to rid myself of the bitter after taste of Dawlish bloody Warren. Time, however, is not of the essence and I have given myself nothing as boring as a time limit (I think.... I'll have to read my first post to find out for certain) to get round all the beaches, so chances are I'll prevail sometime around my 90th birthday.

Till then I am content to keep the wood burner stoked and stare out of the window tutting at frequent intervals at the miserable weather. Indignant, but warm.

Down and Out in Dawlish Warren

6th January 2013

#92 Dawlish Warren

#91 Dawlish

#90 Coryton Cove

First impressions are a curious thing. Preconceptions travel with you everywhere, highlighting social prejudices and colouring the scene in front of you before you have even tasted the air. So it was that, after reaching our very first beach destination, Lisa exclaimed "I am in hell".

We chose Dawlish Warren as our opening beach for two reasons - it is the closest one to us, and although I had never visited before, I was pretty sure it wouldn't be the most idyllic. Best get it over and done, so to speak. Cruising through forests of holiday trailer parks in the fine Devon mist we reached the carpark (40p for 30 minutes) before being welcomed by a large and dented sign that ushered us under a railway bridge. 'Conventionally rustic' could be a term someone would use if they wanted to be kind to this entrance, but in reality it is a bloody hideous entryway and a good indicator of the horrors to follow.

Dawlish Warren is a holiday destination, and as so has a 'full range of facilities' which translates to pokey seaside amusement arcades and a run down 'fun' fair that looks to have experienced its heyday in the 1980s. The beach itself is long and sandy (although the tide was quite high when we visited) split up by a host of wooden groynes. It has a large nature reserve behind the beach which is a favourite for sea birds during the winter months, but we didn't progress that far.

As a grainy January afternoon, the multitude of holiday makers was replaced with a horde of dog walkers. Dogs are allowed on the beach off-season, and it seems as though every dog owner from within a 20 mile radius had descended in an attempt to exercise their pooch and foul the sand. It's a great place to sit and 'dog-watch', a pastime I hadn't been aware of but which Lisa is convinced not only exists, but is a viable way to spend time. She has some strange habits.

Starting with Dawlish Warren was a little unfair - it was never going to compare with the idyllic coves and isolated beaches that we are hopefully going to be visiting in the upcoming months - it's a low rate holiday site  that caters for the widest possible denominator. More candy floss and unwashed masses than nature and solitude. I haven't decided on a rating system for these beaches and coves yet, but if I were to score it out of ten, DW would score a lowly 2. And that is for having a good selection of dogs.

Which brings us down the road to the small town of Dawlish, boasting its very own sea front promenade and ageing railway platform within easy view of the beach. By the time we had arrived here from Dawlish Warren the tide was properly in, so there wasn't much in the way of beach to be seen, although Mr Hesketh does inform us that it is a lovely sandy affair. That doesn't much matter really as it has certainly seen better days. The rusty pillars holding up the railway line are crying out for a bit of paint, as is the whole unkempt sea front, and the entire place is rather ... depressing. If the requirements for your beach visit include a range of cafes, ice cream outlets and dodgy amusements, then look no further! Dawlish is for you. Three out of ten for the almost quaint central public park, which follows a duck filled stream up from the sea into the town. 

Turning right and following the walkway to the end of Dawlish beach (making sure to wave at the passing trains) will eventually bring you to the biggest surprise of the day: Coryton Cove. With surrounding cliffs and sea stacks, this is a very sheltered little place, and, probably because it requires an extra two or three minutes walk away from those beloved amenities, completely deserted. The red sand and breaking waves are a lovely diversion from downtown Dawlish, just over the hill and round the corner. Of course, maybe the fact it was a drizzle filled January day meant no one could be bothered with it; maybe in the summer there is standing room only and it teems with day trippers and sun worshippers. I just like to cling to the idea that even in a small town seaside resort there are places you can go to get away from the general population. Five out of ten. 

So there you have it. Day one of visiting the 102 beaches and coves listed in The Devon Beach and Cove Guide and three beaches down already. They were a little bit on the rubbish side, but let's celebrate the little victories - we don't have to come back again.

The vultures would be proud

At the end of each long week, when the wife and I wake up and thank the first god to come along that it's the weekend, we celebrate with a high five followed by a leisurely breakfast. For two glorious days the sounds and smells of office and classroom are banished and the world becomes our lusciously prepared oyster. We can do anything we want, go anywhere (within reason) we fancy and be whomever we wish. 

So it emerges as a constant source of irritation that neither of us have the foggiest clue how we should spend our time. Shopping in Exeter bores the bejesus out of me and she isn't at all taken with sitting in pubs all day talking about action movies from the eighties. In exasperation we act out the vulture scene from The Jungle Book on a weekly basis:

Buzzie: Okay, so what we gonna do? 
Flaps: I don't know, what you wanna do? 
Buzzie: Look, Flaps, first I say, "What we gonna do?" Then you say, "I don't know, what you wanna do?" Then I say, "What we gonna do?" You say, "What you wanna do?" "What we gonna do?" "What you want..." Let's do SOMETHING! 
Flaps: Okay. What you wanna do? 
Buzzie: Oh, blimey! There you go again. The same notes again! 
Ziggy: I've got it! This time, I've really got it! 
Buzzie: Now you've got it. So what we gonna do?

Having moved to Devon about three and a half years ago, this rankles in the extreme. Such a lovely county filled with wondrous places to visit and we end up nipping into town to pick up crap we don't need before heading home and half heartedly starting some ill advised DIY that will in all probability not get finished within  the year and eking out the rest of the weekend in front of the telly. 

Which is why I have a plan. I've only just this day thought of it, and it might take a long time to finish, but it is a plan nonetheless. Seeing the New Year has recently come a-flirting, and that we received a booklet entitled 'The Devon Beach and Cove Guide' at Christmas (from Lisa's mother I think), I hereby declare that we shall endeavour to visit each and every beach and cove of note that Devon has to offer. The ones, at least, that Mr Robert Hesketh has included in his rather light tome. That's 102 beaches and coves. 

It's something to do.