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We take the 9 am bus to Hartland, a one-hour trip. We had already decided to find a ride from Hartland to the quay because it's about 3 miles and we don't want that on top of the 11. Plus it's downhill which wreaks havoc on my knees. The first person we flag down offers us a ride. Spencer is a local chap who runs a huge farm right on the coast. We talk about how lucky he feels to live in Hartland and have such fantastic views every day of his life. He drops us at the coast.
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Walking through massive piles of sheep patties and Bob chips one in the water.
The path goes up and down the headlands, over the top, through the woods, and up and down again.
Bluebells!
I. Can. Not. Walk. Another. Step. Bob tells me it's only a little bit further. This will turn out to be an outright lie, which I forgive because it motivates me to walk.
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In Clovelly, we walk down to the New Inn and drink two lemon gin & tonic doubles each, then slog our way up to the bus stop. This time it's Bob who can't walk another step.
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