The last time we did this walk it was a sunny day in the autumn with scudding clouds and sun on the water. This particular occasion was one where we donned waterproofs before leaving the house. The rain was being driven in huge vertical sheets up the valley occupied by a very muddy Noss Creek, sheltered as it was by headlands and woodland, magnificent from indoors and tempting to stay and watch rather than venture forth.
We drove up towards Stoke beach, parking close to the old and ruined Teahouse where the worthies from the Revelstoke Estate used to imbibe on a family outing.
Mine host Neil was not Nordic Walking and set off into the weather while I adjusted my Leki poles and faffed around setting WayRanger going. I caught up and we walked together up past the tearoom, the way took us from the rather strange vacuum that lay below the air currents carrying over the clifftop, into the furore of wind and rain. All attempts at conversation were whipped away in the direction of the Siberian Steppes, and we walked with left eye shut tight in response to the stinging rain.
The storm had yet to arrive in full ferocity and we judged from the sea state that it was a mere Force Nine, but still a tough call for the few birds flushed by our approach. The way turned further westward and we headed directly into the gale, hoods pulled over faces and adjusted to minimise the impact of wind and rain.
The route took us past three Corsican Pine Trees, tall but squat, and very noisy in the wind, and gently downhill to Revelstoke, we crossed the road to the where caravans hunkered down for the winter, and entered the low woodland that grows in the shelter provided by the next headland.
Passing the time of the day with a local boatbuilder we discussed, yes you’ve guessed it, the weather, our new-found-friend saying he now knows something of how a hull feels to be sandblasted.
The weather continued to worsen and by the time we emerged from the shelter, passed through another gate, into an area of short sheep-grazed grass and scattered gorse – behind which the sheep took shelter, was sufficiently strong for discussion of returning. The path through the woods had taken a southerly route towards Stoke Point, and as we cut the corner across the grazing it turned round westerly again heading towards the next valley.
Pools of water lay across the way, almost to ankle depth, in places blocking our way, and I wondered whether my boots would be flooded, but they survived, fantastic as they are. We decided to continue a couple of hundred metres further to see down into the next inlet, and then turned back.
The journey back, although with the wind and rain ‘behind’ us was perhaps the more spectacular, the wind had risen considerably and I believe that had I not added vital ounces by breakfasting on one of my favourite pasties from the butcher in Newton Ferrers, I might well have been blown flat.
But a great walk, so glad we went, despite questioning our sanity when we doing it!.