Poole, Dorset

Today is John's seventieth birthday. It is also the tenth day of celebrating this birthday. After a challenging coastal walk, a relaxing weekend camping in the new forest and taking in some art at Beaulieu today we were once again armed with walking poles and rucksacks, we say rucksacks, just small day packs actually, which were all we needed for our six and a half mile hike across the heathlands of Studland to Corfe Castle. First a bus to Wareham. Since realising how cheap bus travel is in our area we've become quite taken with this mode of transport. Of course John travels free, and Angela is three pounds per single journey, with the exception of our Portland to Weymouth bus journey which cost her a whopping 10p. Our walk today would cover a section of the Purbeck Way. Beginning in Wareham, of course fuelled by coffee and cake, our day packs bursting with goodies bought at Sainsburys for John's birthday lunch, we walked alongside the River Frome, the moored boats looking more cheerful in the sunlight than the gloom of a winters day when we sometimes walk this path. On the flood plain, young deer grazed, oblivious to our watching.

Following signs for the Purbeck Way we walked into Ridge village and then out into the heathland which is when we became somewhat lost.

Of course someone had removed the finger post which would direct us. So we went with our instinct and eventually ended up by the main road, crossing it and walking down to the parking area at The Blue Pool where we found somewhere to sit under the trees away from the crowds to eat a very nice lunch of cold meat, cheese, olives, sun-dried tomatoes, Spanish tortilla, bread sticks and fruit.

We had now once again picked up the signs for the Purbeck Way, venturing across boggy heathland and into the trees before being spat out into the noise and chaos of the Norden Farm campsite.

The path runs behind the site and through yet more trees bringing you out on a ridge that affords spectacular views of Corfe Castle. It's a view that you won't see from the road. Our reward for completing this walk, yet more unhealthy refreshment! The days celebrations not over, we took a bus back to Poole, tidied ourselves, and walked down to Poole old town for a meal at the Flavours of Asia Thai restaurant. It's a family run restaurant, and has become our favourite place to eat out at. What a day. Cards and presents opened. Cake and ice cream eaten, yet more steps to add to this moths total, and all topped off with a fantastic meal.

Poole, Dorset

Angela has many happy childhood memories of weekend afternoons picnicking, and playing cricket in the New Forest at Cadnam. Well not all happy. When she was around five years old, one of the cows grazing nearby put it's head through the rear window of the families Austin Cambridge car. Angela was sat on the rear seat and her reaction was not dissimilar to her wild camping experience at Scratchy Bottom last weekend! As the cows sauntered through the Long beech campsite yesterday evening she wondered if one of them may be a descendent of 'said' cow. Sixty years on, she gave them a wide berth.

This morning chicken of the woods, cut from a nearby fallen tree made for a special pre birthday omelette for John. Being here in the forest he's in fungi heaven, we've already planned to return back in the autumn to the area around Eyeworth Pond to see what delights the fallen trees up there have to offer.

Today's visit, a sculpture exhibition at Beaulieu National Motor Museum. Over two hundred exhibits displayed amongst the gardens and in the Palace. Each for sale, some with a very hefty price tag.

We enjoyed wandering amongst them, some interesting, others unusual, many, we couldn't see how they justified their price tag. Of course coffee and cake featured during the day. 

In the kitchen garden we spoke with a lady about the monumental task of tending the grounds with too few staff. By late afternoon, the day visitors now drifting away, and now full of ' very nice ice-cream', we walked around the museum. As always vehicles from our childhood lead to reminiscences. Sadly our weekend in the New Forest had come to an end, but we weren't ready to return home just yet. A Chinese takeaway eaten over by Hamworthy beach whilst watching the Lionesses take penalties on the phone via iPlayer, ended our weekend away. And what a great weekend it had been, especially with the culmination of England's women's football team beating Spain in the euros.

Poole, South West Coast Path, Dorset

We felt elated. After a fantastic meal last night at the pub, and a good night's sleep, we had Lyme Regis in our sights as our final destination. But first we had to walk down, yes down into Weymouth.

We set off through the trees before climbing back onto the cliffs.

A gentle stroll took us past the outdoor centre, and through the glamping campsite.

We didn't like the scar on the landscape caused by the cream cotton glamping tents. Why couldn't they be green so they blended in? We exchanged numerous banter with the campers. Yes we know, we're mad.

At Bowleaze Cove, the chance of coffee and yet more cake tempted us, and fuelled us for our walk along the promenade into the town, where the aroma of pasties filled our nostrils. Shall we? Why not. We needed to refuel again. By now it was hot, and we found ourselves dawdling. We'd planned to stop at Martleaves Farm campsite at Wyke Regis a few miles out of Weymouth, but when we arrived and were told the cost for two backpackers was £28.00 we declined. A nearby pub offered camping, their price £25.00. No way. The farm campsite had cost us £16.00 and Rosewall Camping, Osmington Mills which is an excellent campsite, £15.00. We were tired, sore, aching and felt that stopping now just past Weymouth was the right thing to do. So we caught a bus back into Weymouth, and took a train from the station back to Poole.

 It had taken us four days to walk here. Journey time on the train back to Poole, just under forty minutes. As the train passed alongside familiar roads, and through familiar towns we reflected. We'd walked fifty two miles in four days. Carried rucksacks weighing 15 plus KG. Somehow climbed the steepest inclines imaginable without suffering a heart attack. Survived a complete nervous breakdown and eaten more sugar, and carbs than should be good for you, and drunk literally litres of water resulting in many a 'wild wee'. We didn't feel disappointed we'd stopped. We felt relieved. The time was right. Our shoulders uncomfortable and our hips now almost in need of replacement, it was time to call it a day. But we'll be back. Next time with lighter backpacks. We also now know, a walk along the South West Coast Path is not like a stroll in the park. John will be seventy this coming Monday, the walk was part of the celebrations. We think for a couple of oldies, we did good. And as for the book we could write, we think Scratchy Bottom would be a good title!

Osmington Mills, South West Coast Path, Dorset

Angela had made it clear when we arrived last night at Scratchy Bottom that she wasn't walking up the cliff path directly in front of us. Fortunately John agreed, and it was decided we would take a lower footpath across to the farm and onto a main road. We didn't. Of course we didn't. We opted for option three.

On the other side of the fence a path carved through the long brittle grass. It was hard going. No surprise there. But Angela was able to hold onto the barbed wire fence, obviously on the smooth sections, and we were able to grab hold of the fence posts every few paces to stop and rest, and take in the view back towards Durdle Door. Summiting, with relief, we could see we were well and truly now on 'the rollercoaster'.

But we could do this. Slow and steady. In the near distance we could see the island of Portland, and the causeway that linked it to the mainland.

A cruise ship, sat on it's berth, awaiting departure through the beautiful aquamarine waters of the English channel.

As we perched high on the chalk cliffs taking a well earned rest, we looked back along the coast and couldn't believe how far we'd walked since Friday afternoon. Whilst sitting, Angela spotted she had a tick embedded in her upper arm. Bearing in mind we were balanced precariously on a narrow cliff top path, the task of undoing her rucksack to obtain our tick card was challenging. The heavy rucksack wanting to go with gravity and slide towards the cliff edge.

By the end of the day we were to remove a total of six ticks. Two from Angela, four from John. Keen to not lose our momentum, and knowing there would be at least one more horrendous climb before dropping down into Ringsted Bay, we pressed on, passing the old coastguard cottages, and stopping to look at a young slow worm as it slithered across the path.

Small brown butterflies flitted around us, sitting on the path, taking flight just as our foot touched the ground before them. They felt like guardians. The downhill walk to Ringstead Bay made the hard effort of the morning all worth it. We love it at Ringstead, and we loved even more knowing a cafe, loos and a drinking water top up awaited us. BLT baps and carrot cake, hot drinks and ginger beer rejuvenated us. This was our reward for not giving up.

With just two miles to walk to the campsite at Osmington Mills, another one of our favourite places, we meandered our way through a wooded area until we reached the Smugglers Inn which stands above the bay at Osmington. 

Then one final incline up to the campsite reception. We'd made it! More so, we'd made it in one piece, mentally, and physically. Now time to kick back, wash some clothes and ourselves before pushing the boat out and having an absolutely delicious meal at the Smugglers this evening.