Boscastle Stroll

20/03/2011
Nice little drive to Boscastle for a 21 mile stroll in the countryside and along the S.W.Coast path. My companions in the car were... David G the leader of this walk, Marian, Megan who I had not previously met  who's car we were in and lastly four lovely Collie dogs, Fly, Willow, Flossie and Missy who were all well behaved.
New people on this expedition to me were, Barry and a chap named John from Camelford who had moved down to Cornwall from Yorkshire.Then there were Geraldine and Noel G who I had met at the Bovey Tracey meeting and Brian and his wife (sorry name has gone) who were also at Wiveliscombe.
That was the ten of us including me once more the novice and once more didn't it just show. I reckon at the start I looked fit and happy, stood there with my pack on and adorned in my new cool walking attire, but by the end looking like the epitomy of knackeredness and close to shouting (if I had had the breath)...
 "Why the f*** am I doing this again?"
Anyway, there we were ready and raring to go from the car park in Boscastle on a glorious sunny day and it wasn't long before layers of clothing were being shed. The pace was seriously Olympic and I quickly realised that it was going to be as hard if not harder then the wet walk in Wiveliscombe. In truth it turned out to be the bludgeoning battle of Boscastle, exactly as I had feared. Sergeant Major Jean and her her route march through parts of Somerset and Devon in the first recorded monsoon in Englands history paled into insignificance beside this horrendous pursuit of David G to be Britains most vaunted adventurer since Sir Edmond Hilarys epic climb of Mt Everest.
What made it harder was being trapped at the back on several occaisions, which you might say isn't that bad, and I admit it wouldn't have been had it not been for one member who could talk for England. She would jabber like a jabbering thing (great metaphor), talk like it was going out of fashion, chatter like a pack of chattering Hyenas (any better) and spew forth inane comments of which I understood as much as I would have if I had actually been listening to a jabbering, talking, chattering Hyena. I couldn't get away because it would have been rude to run off or silly to go in the other direction, so when I was able to utter a responce between gasping for oxygen and not falling to my death off of the cliff path (which was an alternative I hadn't thought of at the time I admit) I answered yes, uhuh, hmmm and oh, I'm hoping that if it at all mattered my responces were appropriate.
My only description of this spring saunter through summerlike sunshine and splendid daffodills, will be about what was appropriatly called by someone the STING-IN-THE-TAIL.
Bare with me while I attempt to find words to describe Hill 194 as I have decided to name it. Most of the words I would like to use would be of the gutter variety and I might want my Mummy to read this one day.
Luckily (there's the most innappropriate use of a word I will ever see), Hill 194 was the last ascent before we entered Boscastle and therefore the end of another major marathon march. But what a bloody (sorry Mum) big ascent it was. There were 194 (I counted every last one of them I assure you), steps up a sheer cliff face that would have better been described as a fire escape for Trump Tower. It was mega, monolithic, humungus and many other words that describe something really really big.
My body had already insisted that it had done enough walking for the day and I was having to out think it and fool it into believing that around every corner the end would be in sight, I don't think it has forgiven me yet as it is steadfastly refusing to let me sleep, hence the updating of this blog. I did contemplate turning around and walking back 20.5 miles to the start of the walk which was .5 of a mile away up a hill. Believe me it was serious consideration too. But seeing as there were two ladies in their 60's one man in his 70's and several more older then me all trotting up Hill 194 like it was something they do every week (hang on, they are doing it every week), I went for it and much to my amazement and surprise I made it.
I had never before realised just how heavy the average leg could be, but at that exact minute it felt like they were the legs of a lady I once new called big bouncing Betty from Birmingham and you can tell from the name she was a scouser of immence proportions.
I have now forgiven David G for his Saddistic stroll and am now looking forward to my lonesome amble from Poole in Dorset to Seaton in Cornwall in just four weeks time, am I truly mad, yes I really think I am.
Goodnight.

Training Session 2

After recovering from the tortuous events of Wiveliscombe my sights are now set on a little jaunt around Boscastle on March 20th. I believe a mere 20 miles is planned, probably up and down the nice, easy and level South West Coast Path. Let's hope for a little sunshine or at least dry conditions.
I need to make contact with my travelling buddies of old as I believe one of them is leading this stroll. They will probably be surprised that I am back after my first outing and the condition I appeared to be in (which wasn't as bad as the actual condition I was in).
Still, looking forward to another walk and another step on the path to the big one.
I will report in after the event so keep reading this enthralling epitaph.