The only reason this day isn't called "I give up" is purely due to the
unrivalled kindness of two people in St. Breward, but we'll come back
to that later.
I woke up at 7 and jammed all my gear into my bag ready to make up
lost time. I soon had Indian queens behind me (steady on, this isn't
carry on Cornwall), but what I hadn't taken into account was the
amount of distance I needed to catch up... about 7.5 miles, which was
going to take a while.
by the time I'd joined up with the original route, my blisters were
well and truely on fire. Taking a break on a bench next to an old
couple mowing their lawn, I went about doing a routine check on my
feet - cutting away what I thought was a bit of loose surgical tape.
needless to say I soon realised it wasn't as the mother of all
blisters exploded, instantly making me writhe in not only pain but in
concern about how on earth I was going to make it to St. Breward.
The old lady had come over by this point to enquire what I was doing.
upon telling her I was walking from land's end to john o'groats she
kindly reminded me I hadn't come far... cheers love! I strapped my
feet up as best I could and hobbled off.
My pace had slowed to a crawl when a couple passed me asking if I was
okay. the man explained he was a homeopathic doctor based right
nearby and began listing numerous potions which could help me. I sat
there waiting for him to magically spawn one but he had other plans,
disappearing into a side lane... always thought man-made meds were
better anyway :)
I soon made it to the Camel River and ducked into The Borough Arms. it
was a gloomy affair with groups of old men sat glaring at each other,
occassionally passing a snide comment about something they'd seen
before going back to their Clint Eastwood impressions. too drained to
give a damn what they thought, I ordered a giant bowl of pasta and
collapsed.
Back on the trail and eating away at the miles, I was grateful that
this route hugged the river camel. although windy and ever so
slightly uphill all the way, it made a nice change from the
rollercoaster Cornish hills.
by the end of the trail I was totally dead and now feeling like I was
going to vomit from the cheap processed chicken pasta lunch.
regretibly I was back on the windy Cornish lanes but by this time I
physically could not go on. with one last push (whilst fantasising
about a bed and a roof over my head), I made it to st.breward but
there was a massive problem.
in too much of a rush in the morning I hadn't booked anywhere to stay,
which hit me in the stomach and winded me when I found everywhere was
fully booked - SHIT!
I even asked one b&b owner if there was a field I could pitch up on,
but unfortunately my only option was a campsite. this would mean a
further 7 mile yomp on top of the 22 I'd just barely finished. I
headed back to the village store to stock up on food and sugar for the
journey, explaining to the lady who ran the shop what I was doing. A
man soon joined in and seemed interested in what I was doing, jaw
dropping when he found out where I'd walked from.
Thinking nothing of it, I sat outside stuffing my bag with the food
and drink I'd just frantically bought before the store closed.
"we used to run a b&b" said the man from the shop who was now beside
me at the store's entrance. "hmm, right com'on follow me" he gestured.
"you can't carry on, we'll put you up forcehe night - not sure what
Cath is gonna say, but... no com'on".
In the state I was in I didn't need asking twice. the look on Cath's
face when Peter opened the front door was priceless. he'd gone to the
shops for bread and brought back a charity walker in dire need of
rescue.
I instantly warmed to Peter and Cath as they showed me to the room in
which I could stay. 'Double bed!' I high-fived myself.
We were soon sitting down to dinner and talking about our lives,
family and such - and I couldn't help but shake the feeling of shock
at how caring and selfless these two were. All I can say is thank my
lucky stars that I went back to that store!!!
The time flew by as we moved on to what St.Breward was really like at
heart. their house had the most amazing panoramic view of where I'd
just come from and with the sun setting, I couldn't resist taking a
picture before hitting the hay.
Thurs 7th May - St.Breward to Tredaule "campsite"...
I woke up in the best mood since leaving Brighton and all the more, I
had a cooked breakfast courtesy of Peter. we talked more about his
family as well as some fantastic stories about their move to
St.Breward which was a great thing to wake up to over coffee.
Soon it was time for me to be making tracks although I could have
spent the whole day there; it really felt like a home from home.
Exchanging contact details, I made sure I had their address to
letvyhem know how I was doing, as well as handing out the first
"official nice person" card which truely meant something to me.
Back on the "road" I was soon trapsing across Bodmin Moor and towards
the fantastically named hill 'Brown Willy'. I was planning to climb
to the top as my route suggested, but an hour later it seemed fate had
other ideas for me.
In a moment of stupidity I slipped and found myself knee high in
marshland. I totally scared the &#*! out of myself as I'd only just
read a sign about how dangerous unmarked bogs were - and this was
certainly both dangerous and very much so unmarked.
Every step in every direction seemed to take me deeper, but using my
trekking pole I managed to get out in a manner I can only describe as
a blind panic.
I now had both sodden boots and socks meaning only one thing,
BLISTERS! within no more than 20 paces my feet were agony as old
sores opened up. To add to matters I could see mist and rain coming
in fast. Hurrying off as fast as I could, I prayed to the gods of
sure-footing, but it seems they were unanswered as I felt my lower
right leg muscles cramp up after climbing over a rock.
I was now barely able to walk and had a very long way to go over the
worst terrain I'd ever seen.
5 hours later I was cold, wet and wanted to cry but at least I was
back on country lanes. I'd tracked down a campsite and literally
hobbled there, however upon finding it to be a pile of static homes,
reality sunk in that I was yet again screwed.
I then spent half an hour tracking down Mr Sprogg who apparently owned
this tip and exaplained my situation. I was hurt, wet and shattered.
"Hello, mr sprogg? my name is Edward"... went formal... "im doing a
charity walk but I've injured myself on the moor. I saw your campsite
but now I see it's for static homes. could I please bed down for the
night, let my leg heal and be gone first thing?"
After a few seconds of deliberation his reply was shockingly clear and
cold.
"pitch up, be gone first thing and don't come back".
I wanted to wrap my trekking pole around his face but I thanked him
and quickly left before he could change his mind - adding an
appropriate "arsehole" as I shut his gate. funny how as I pitched up
my tent, the sun came out... good night.
Fri 8th May - Tredaule Tip to Launceston...
After the worst nights sleep of my life, I woke up way before my alarm
and lay there listening to the rain hammering my tent. I flat out
refused to move an inch and the thought of packing my tent away whilst
the rain took free potshots at me confirmed my stance; glued firmly
inside my sleeping bag.
During the night, temperatures have regularly fallen below zero. even
going to bed fully clothed with my body warmer and hat hasn't helped
one bit. My alarm brought me out of my daydream and back to the
reality of the increasingly heavy rain outside.
Like a moody teenager being told to get out of bed, I slowly gathered
my gear together in an attempt to delay any real work. my strop paid
off as the moment I opened the door to the tent, the sun welcomed me
with open arms. I still had to on wet boots, but standing in a field
with the sun on my face seemed to charge my batteries.
chomping down a kit-kat, I gladly left my home for the night without
looking back once. After hooking up with my original route I began
following narrow Cornish lanes that strafe the river kensey, but there
was one major problem.
I'd originally planned to make this my rest day after injuring myself
on the moors, but with Tredaule's lack of, well, everything - it meant
I had to put my best not so crippled foot forward and walk through the
pain.
I'd previously managed to pick up some seriously strong pain killers,
but even these barely made a dent. at one pointvibwas sure I felt a
rush of wind as a snail overtook me, but this could have been the
strong painkillers.
taking a break and funnily enough having a kit-kat (the power of
marketing), a lady walking her dogs introduced herself and kindly
reminded me how I was only just beginning my trek - I'm gonna need to
start blocking that out!
I soon forgave Audrey as she and her two rediculously old dogs walked
with me for just under a mile, sharing stories and keeping my mind off
the pain.
She also mentioned that whilst driving earlier that day, she'd spotted
me from her car when someone had offered me a lift. I'd laughed at
the time as I replied "thanks but due to stupid charity I'll have to
decline".
I'd only have made his car muddy anyway...
Sure enough the Cornish weather gods really kept me on my toes today.
it's as if they knew that's where my most painful blisters were!
In the space of 30 minutes I was first rained on, but even stranger as
I clambered into a field, I was pelted with hail! I had to do a
double take... yes that IS hail!!!
All I could do was chuckle to myself as I donned my weatherproofs,
stuck two fingers to the sky and marched onwards. you'd have to do
better than that mother nature... I made it down from Brown Willy!
After a few more painful hours I made it to Launceston and with the
help of Dad, tracked down a b&b for 2 nights to repair my bruised and
battered body. downing some fish n chips like a hungry seagull, I
hobbled off to the 'Rose Cottage', dumped my kit and crawled into
bed. Taking one last look at my map and notes, I later realised I'd
crossed the 100 mile mark and with that thought I smiled and collapsed.
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