The adventures narrated heretofore (?) will, as they unfold, enlighten the reader as to the reason for the tardiness of this post.  Did arrive without too much incident, “got sorted,”visited the Chester Zoo, about which more later with photographs, and then, on the eve of the second day, crises did befall.  Whilst ambling about, checking the GPS, received a bad notice that the device was full.  Did hasten straight way to remove data, but computer went dead and GPS froze.

 Not being yet in the wilds, I harnessed all my energy to solve these problems all the while trying to suppress a sense of utter terror.  An Apple Store in Liverpool. Oh joy!  Liverpool 45 minutes away by train.  This is doable.  Arrived early, very early, to be first in line (smart move!) and Ben did set things straight.  Luck improving.

On to sporting goods emporia.  Nary a one carried anything more up-to-date than an eTrex.  This is like telling someone who drives a 2017 Audi that they would do just fine with an early model Volkswagon.  Now I must interrupt the narrative here to tell you that Liverpool is a metropolis with more HUGE shopping centers than the mind can process, and they are one next to the other.  A little outpost we are not talking here.  After trying hiking and sporting goods stores, the kind that are big enough to have branches in other cities, and having no success, and almost ready to have one overnighted—and where to send it exactly would be a problem because overnight does not necessarily mean overnight— one vendor did do search and found that in Manchester, an hour’s train ride away, there was an Oregon 650 available for sale.

Did extract many pounds sterling from ATM in case credit card was not happy with the purchase, and bought a new unit+map, after which, was overcome with a sense of relief so profound that I ate a peach.

Then, on train back to Liverpool, for that was the best way to get back to Chester (well, maybe it wasn’t, but that was the combination of tickets I had), I decided to look at the adaptor I had purchased at Apple—details unnecessary at this point—which cost about twice as much as it does in the Sates, and, luckily, before it was too late, did note that the genius who had gotten my computer going that very morning, had put the wrong item in the right box.  Back to Apple.  

Exhausted, utterly, from the heat and worry and having to find my way about, I started preparing for the next day, that being the first day’s walk. Marvelling at the fact that with so much to do, my watch was reading 5:50 for an awfully long time……..

After that kvetch,  I bet you are ready for some pictures of  Chester and the zoo!

Here is a fact about elephants.  They have very sensitive skin!  Who knew?  This is why they throw mud on themselves and spray themselves and such.  And look at the little baby:

 Perhaps once a hideout for pirates (piracy was big in these parts) but now, alas, no access to the public:

A birdcage, bird feeders, little birdie rocking chairs, but no birds:

Shallow steps (the best kind) filled with stones:

Now THIS is a tree!

 Sailboats waiting:

And a church, also waiting:

By and by you come to Old Harry’s Rocks:

Old Harry was an infamous pirate.  But now people kayak in Old Harry’s territory:

Why are the people and the kayaks so small, you may wonder?  They aren’t.  The photographer is so high up!

The last stretch of the walk is two and a half divine miles along the beach.  But I am not alone:

I did conclude that the reason we wear clothes is because we look better with them on.

Marker of the end or the beginning.  A true bitter sweet moment:

The little yellow ferry to Poole:

Sunset over Poole Harbour as seen from my window at the RNLI College on August 29:

And this:

 The demanding climbs and matching steep descents did not end after the 7+ miles in the ranges.  They continued:

Some people do it another way:

Some sweetness in Worth Metravers after 17+ hard miles.

Heads you win:

Back in the world where every step is gorgeous.  Some ordinary sights that I love, wooden gates:

and wooden bridges:

Don’t you love these names?

As advertised above, the famous Durdle Door:

 View of same Durdle from little boat, not so impressive as you whiz by during your fifteen minute ride:

Cliff……first, down, slowly, very slowly, then up the other side:

What a pair of hips:

THE sight to visit on this route is the Hardy Memorial.  What a surprise to find out that a) the memorial was not a statue and b) though it is in memory of Thomas Hardy, it is not im memory of Thomas Hardy the author, who did live in these parts, but of Sir Thomas Hardy who fought with Nelson.  Story has it that when Nelson was fatally shot at the Battle of Trafalgar, Hardy was walking beside him on the deck of the ship, and as Nelson lay dying, he asked Hardy to kiss him, which he did:

There are animals who run away when you pass by:

And animals who run eagerly toward you:

I was kind of scared to do this route segment.  Would it be well marked? (It was quite well marked.)  Would it be tricky?  (It was tricky in parts.)  And when you are in a space like this:

you want to make sure you are crossing where you should be crossing.  In the fifteen miles of the walk, there were no facilities at all and I did not see a soul.  That is not so unusual, but this route felt especially remote.

One of the few buildings along the way:

 I got stung with nettles—that really hurts, even hours later—lost HAT (I have a spare), dropped GPSy and had to go back about 1/3 of a mile to find her (GPSy, I would walk back five miles to look for you), and it rained.  Oh….part of the walk was picture-book beautiful.

Post trip posts due to consistent crashing of app.  Very annoying!!  But let’s get on with it!

Today’s mileage included the notorious Chesil Beach, where for a couple of miles that feel like forever, you walk on a thick bed of pebbles.  It is S L O W going.  The beach has these cabbage-like plants all over the place, maybe an indication that in the future, the surface will be quite different:

Ever since booking the walk, I had been looking forward to visiting Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens. They were Superb!  Beautiful layout, gorgeous collections, peaceful, everything gardens should be. Wish I had had more time.

I forget what this tree is called, a red something, but it is Asian (Chinese? Tibetan?)

Crossing the string bridge was fun!  It was not very high, I must confess:

Looking over a pond:

In the midst of it all:

Goldfish and lily pads:

But we can linger no longer in the delights of the gardens, because it is time to hightail it over to the Swannery, which I had visited and loved on the walk with Wendy several years ago.  I was in time for a lecture on birds of prey.  So many interesting facts!  Maybe I am mixing up the species, but I believe that this barn owl has an especially keen sense of hearing.  Indeed, it has one hear on the top of its head and one down the side of its face, and can use one or both as it sees fit—well, actually, it does not see well at all.  It flies noiselessly, and the guy giving the talk said that it can hear the heartbeat of its prey at a distance of, oy, I do not remember the distance, but it was impressive.  How anyone can know that it is the heartbeat that the bird hears as opposed to, say, the breathing, I have no idea.

This specimen was not intrigued by the lecture:

These two, more so:

Then off to the swans while thunder was rumbling in the background:

One—not one of those above—hissed at me so I changed my route.  This beauty was otherwise occupied:

Unprepared for the rain, I had to dash, and so we bid adieu:

From the loveliness of today’s accommodation, a view of the Dorset countryside, from my room:

I will tell the not nice story of yesterday’s hotel experience, naming no names, because, like I said, it is not nice! The owner, a very kind man, had the worst teeth I have ever seen. His front teeth were huge, widely spaced, crooked—maybe because some of the side teeth were missing—and completely rotten. And…..hate to say it, but when he spoke, it did not smell so good!

The establishment itself was hardly inviting, not horrible, but wouldn’t be anyone’s first or even second choice. Go up stairs, go up more stairs. My room is in a converted attic. Stifling, and dirty, and you had to walk bent over lest you whack your head on the steeply slanted ceiling. Carpet covered with stains, a chair with dirty, stained and ripped upholstery, small window with lots of bird excrement on it, and it opened only a little bit, a toilet whose flusher was not well attached, and a shower that offered no hot water, although there was a big, heavy towel. There was a fan, thank God!

Was relieved to take off in the morning, even though the walk began with two major diversions. This meant almost six miles of road walking, a lot of it uphill, and it was hot. Do not be deceived by a name like Shanbarrow Lane! Shanbarrow Lane is a long, steep, asphalt hill. But finally, when you do emerge into countryside, like in the picture above, all is forgiven and you are filled with joy once again!

I actually sat down and had a snack here:

Some of the countryside is showing its fall colours:

A bridge to nowhere:

Good night!

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Location:Eypes

Why lucky? Because when I left, the wet ground was a clue that it had rained last night, night being the time when all rain should fall—and the sky looked like this:

and it was windy. So, was more rain blowing in or was it blowing away? It was blowing away!

First ascent of the day on these decorated steps….and there were quite a few of them:

The local yacht club:

Signage time! I do think that ducks with butterflies on their backs would be a most unusual sight. Alas, no ducks were sighted even without butterflies:

Don’t say you were not told!

Especially amusing about that sign is that it was at a golf club car park, but there were no warning signs about stray balls that could land you a nasty blow.

The famous underhill walk about which these graphics warn is not terribly difficult…a few steep climbs, lots of steps, some muddy parts, and no place to exit. What the sign should say is “Don’t wear your damn flipflops on this walk!” (Because people do!):

I visited the museum in Lyme Regis where I saw this early model of a…………

FIRE ENGINE!

There were lots of exhibits about former town worthies, but I want to tell you about one: Sir George Somers, 1554-1610, who is credited with having “discovered” Bermuda, though that was not his intention. What happened was that In 1609, Sir George was leading an expedition to Virginia to bring supplies to the struggling colony. But his ship was caught in a hurricane as it neared the coast of America. Oh no! He spied some land, but it was the dreaded island of, yes, Bermuda, thought to be in habited by bad spirits, but his ship got hung up on some rocks, so he had no choice but to go ashore. (How, is not clear.) On the island, the crew found fresh water and an abundance of food, especially “fishe, hogges and fowl.” (Fish, on land?)

Well, the captain and his men spent ten months on the island, using salvage from their ship and Bermuda cedar and built two ships on which they then set sail to Virginia where they did discover that most of the inhabitants had succumbed to famine or disease. When supplies ran low again, Sir George returned to Bermuda to restock. However, on Nov. 9, 1610, he died of “a surfeit of eating of a pig.” (Maybe now, “Don’t be a pig,” will take on a whole new meaning.) And one other thing: the story of this shipwreck is thought to have inspired the shipwreck in The Tempest. (Maybe, maybe not.)

The beach in Lyme Regis was crowded, mucha mucha gente:

There is a large park with some sculptures. My favorite:

No, not the Mad Hatter. It is actually titled Hareman.

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Location:Lyme Regis

Last night stayed in a “hotel” (it was really a pub+rooms) that smelled of frying fish with maybe some boiling broccoli mixed in. If you closed the window, that lessened the noise of the kitchen fan and cut down on the odor, but then the room was hot and stuffy. Fortunately, there was a window in the bathroom! Maybe some air that way? Open that window to find dead, pulled apart sea gull and other detritus, and many gulls—living, screeching ones— hovering around. Oh, no! A bird may fly into the room. Dealt with the smell. Now tonight, I have a gorgeous room in a sweet hotel in an adorable town.

Beautiful walk today! Notice the quite red colour of the water close to shore:

But all the water looks silverwhen the sun hits it just so early-ish in the morning:

Wonder if this is supposed to be like Donald Trump “just being sarcastic:”

Here is my question: Is Fuzzy Duck the name of the dog?

Part of the walk was an undercliff walk. It was quite spectacular:

Visited the Beer Quarry Caves, which are not really caves, but are huge hollowed out areas from which the lime stone has been cut out. This window from a cathedral, which one, yo no sé, but it does show the colour of the limestone:

Rock has been extracted form this quarry at least since Roman times. Working in the quarry was a life no better than working in a mine.

It isn’t really light like this:

It is darker than this:

Bats hibernate in these quarries, but there were none there today! I am not sure if I was relieved or disappointed!

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Location:Beer

Yesterday, en route to the ferry to Exmouth, a sun-dried guy, maybe 50, but looked 80, coming the other way, asked me if I was walking the path. “Yes,” I said. “So am I,” he said. “I took today off because of the rain,” he added. “It is supposed to be much worse tomorrow. Why don’t you sit it out?” “I do not sit out,” I thought to myself. “I am a woman on a mission. I do not sleep in TENT. I have destinations to reach!” But I smile, and acknowledge his suggestion, and, by the way, I have no idea whether or not he is camping, and I worry.

Get to hotel. Check weather report. It is terrible, dire, one might say. Heavy rain and severe wind. Yellow (or was it orange) wind alert. Water activities cancelled. Thunder at times. This is not good. The route notes describe the spray blowing in your face as a matter of course. Will I be able to walk, as in put one foot in front of the other, against the force of the wind? Will I be blown off the sea wall or a cliff?

Get up early, as things are supposed to become REALLY BAD by noon. Maybe I can beat the forces of nature. I have a plan. I will wear Pertex wind shirt, which has been biding its time in my pack for a moment such as this. I will will wear poncho-that-doubles-as-tent, and rain pants, and stupid orange gators (very bad fashion choice, that). I will face the elements with fortitude.

6:45 a.m. It is raining only a little. The wind is not bad. Keep on the outer garments. IT WILL COME. I will be prepared. Only it gets hotter and more humid, and I am sweating in my costume. Eventually, I can stand it no longer. Take off the poncho and wind shirt, and rain pants. Fifteen minutes later, all of a sudden, it begins to pour.

Took some shots of gorgeous red rock formations, only to discover later that I, having left the SD card in the card reader last night due to excessive anxiety no doubt, had no photos!

Don’t you wish you had a pair like this?

Visited Sidmouth Museum where I did meet ye town crier of yore in his snazzy uniform:

This doll is named Rosie (honest), And she has a story. She arrived in Sidmouth with her owner, a little girl, who had been evacuated from London in 1940:

You should hear these waves crash! The sounds and smells along the way are wonderful:

The local RNLI station was open. Here is dude asking for donations:

And dude-ess, too. Or is she showing off her nail polish?

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Location:Sidmouth