Search Results

Regular visitors to this website might recall a piece we did some time ago about the launch of an Exmoor lamb project. I wrote extensively at the time about the importance of buying local grass-fed meat - it’s good stuff - very very delicious and actually it is good for you and the environment as well. We can’t grow much in the way of arable crops on the high hills of Exmoor, but we do grow excellent grass. Obviously it’s not a thing we humans can eat, but we do know some creatures that can. Good old fashioned husbandry - looking after the soil and allowing hardy sheep breeds to live outdoors most of the year round… It represents one way of producing first class food in a system that has been going on in these parts for thousands of years. I’ve occasionally worked with the Exmoor National Park Authority on promoting the local lamb, but am not being paid to do so here - however, I’m such a fan I thought I’d put up their film and the following press release… Residents and visitors across Exmoor as well as further afield can now get a true taste of Exmoor at home by buying grass-fed lamb direct from some of the area’s passionate farmers and producers. A new list of farms supplying lamb direct and accompanying film has just been released and is available on-line from Exmoor Hill Farming Network (EHFN), Exmoor National Park Authority (ENPA), Visit Exmoor and Edible Exmoor. Grass-fed Exmoor lamb can often be found on the menus of the area’s award-winning restaurants including Woods, Dulverton, the Coleridge Restaurant at Dunkery Beacon Hotel, the Coach House, Kentisbury Grange and the Swan, Bampton. But this is the first time a supply chain has been developed for people to enjoy the product at home. One of the farmers supplying direct is Holly Purdey at Horner Farm. Holly said: “We farm in the Porlock Vale working with nature to ensure biodiversity across the farm is being restored, building a healthy environment for us all while producing a delicious, nutritious product. We keep native- breed ewes, ensuring our lambs grow at their own speed, resulting in the perfect balance of flavour, fat and tenderness.” Katrina Munro, who works on Exmoor National Park Authority’s  Eat Exmoor  initiative, promoting the benefits of buying local food, said: “One thing we should all be taking away from the lockdown experience is the vital importance of food security and supply. Local producers and shops have been at the heart of keeping people fed and now we need to ensure they continue to benefit from our support. By buying produce from Exmoor you’ll be helping our rural economy recover as well as doing your bit to protect the environment and conserve the beautiful landscapes of Exmoor.” The succulent juiciness and characteristic flavour of Exmoor lamb won over diners at an event at Woods in Dulverton at the end of 2019. Restaurateur and producer Paddy Groves served lamb cutlets from four regions across the UK and the Exmoor grass-fed lamb was the most popular in a blind-tasting, with customers using words like ‘delicious’ and ‘cuts like butter’. The event features in a short film celebrating the quality and benefits of Exmoor grass-fed lamb available at:  www.exmoor-nationalpark.gov.uk/eat-exmoor . Professor Jeff Wood, a leading academic specialising in animal and meat production who co-led a study with Bristol and Exeter Universities, comparing red meats that had been raised in different agricultural systems, said: “When compared to standard produced meat raised on a large proportion of processed feed, the grass-fed meat was preferred by all the taste panels in our study. You also have more omega-3 fatty acids in a grass-fed product from the leafy grass the animals eat. So, you not only get a good tasting product, but also something which is better for human health as well.” The register of suppliers has been complied by Katherine Williams of EHFN. Katherine said: “Our farmers are protecting the landscape and the environment by using both traditional and modern sustainable farming methods and keeping food miles to a minimum. They’re passionate about conserving the area and also the high welfare of their animals. Traceability and provenance are also so important to us and the animals here are all reared on a very high percentage grass diet - making the lamb both tasty and healthier to eat.” The Exmoor Hill Farming Network is welcoming enquiries from retail, food and hospitality businesses who wish to supply Exmoor lamb direct to customers. Contact  katherine@ehfn.org.uk  for more details. The list of farms supplying lamb direct can be found at www.ehfn.org.uk , www.exmoor-nationalpark.gov.uk/eat-exmoor , www.edibleexmoor.co.uk or go to  www.visit-exmoor.co.uk/eat-exmoor for some of the area’s top restaurants. To read about our Exmoor walks click here

Years ago I presented several series of walks on television. This is the first one I ever did with ITV Westcountry - and jolly enjoyable it was too. So enjoyable that we went on to make a number of series with the same team - not only walks but things like Great West Country Icons and a lovely series called Up The Creek, in which I voyaged up and down the region’s estuaries in a wonderful old Watchet Flatner - one of the only boats ever invented that was deigned to sink! Not that we did any sinking, thank God… But we did have a very pleasant time making the TV packages and writing up the whole thing for the Western Morning News… To read about our Exmoor walks click here

The other day an old friend phoned to ask me to remind him of the ghost story concerning Bampfylde Clump. I dug it out of my old files and repeat it here - but have another old pal, Tim Bannerman, to thank for this very spooky tale. Question: take a romantic young poet, a lonely ring of trees and a haunted pub, and what do you get? The answer is – one of the most chilling ghost stories that you’ll ever hear.  The young poet is now a middle aged man with a successful media business in London’s West End, but the other night he recounted the following West Country based yarn at a pre-Christmas dinner - and even the streetwise youngsters present were scared witless. Before we begin, let’s first say that the central element in this story focuses on a ring of trees – you’ll find such places dotted all around the region and, for many, they do hold a special place in the imagination.  I do not know the history of Bampfylde Clump, perched almost 1000 feet up on the southern ridge of Exmoor above North Molton – but I do know that such rings occur for various reasons. Many are situated around ancient cattle pounds – and the pounds themselves may have been located on even more ancient hill fortifications dating back to the Iron or even Bronze Age.  But let us travel back a mere trice to the spring of 1976 when we find a young Cambridge graduate climbing ever higher from the great vale of mid-Devon to the southern moors. His name is Tim Bannerman and he has set out on a long walk from South Molton to Bristol in a bid to clear his mind and sort out his future.  I jotted the following notes when Tim was telling this tale at supper. “Towards the end of the day I noticed a big hill with a clump of trees on top, and I climbed towards it feeling marvellous and wonderful - as you do when you are free and walking for days.  “As I got closer I realised what a wonderful vantage point the place had. The trees were planted in a perfect circle and I thought I’d go in and revel in the wonderful expanse of England on a spring evening.  “There was a gate set into the outer ring of the wood and I went to hop over it but, as I put my hand on the wooden bar, it was like getting an electric shock. But a different sensation to that… “It was this sense of difference that instantly struck. And there was more -all the noise stopped – the birds, the wind in the trees - everything became still. And the temperature suddenly dropped. “I went on into the wood and headed straight to the centre – and as I did I realised it wasn’t so much me doing the walking, as me being walked. It was as if I was being drawn in. Like being pulled by a magnet. “I found myself slowing down – I realised I was being literally rooted to the place. Whatever force had drawn me there was now holding me - sucking the sap, the juice, the lifeblood, from my body. “I was no longer in control, but I knew if I didn’t move I’d be sucked dry. As I looked around I could see the strange shapes of the trees - and they started to take on eerie forms.  “I had to apply a huge sense of will – like when you are in a dream and you know if you don’t, something terrible will happen. I literally pushed one limb in front of the other. And, one step at a time, I forced myself from the centre. “As I tried to escape I went past a stack of tree roots - and I realised it was actually a stack of bodies. The skeletal forms of soldiers – one with remains of a uniform sash. There was woman – possibly with a child in her arms wrapped in muslin… All in a state of decay – it was all loss and death and despair. “I thought: these people have been claimed by the wood - and I am not going to be. For some reason, this wood had chosen me - and I thought: what can I give this wood instead of me? All I had was an orange – so I solemnly peeled the skin, opened it in a perfect fan, and laid it on the ground to formally present it to the wood.  “Then I headed toward the gate and, as I went, the sense of silence was so heightened every footfall I made was like an explosion. I realised the trees were closing around me - the wood was making one last effort not to let me go. But, after the moment with the orange, I was feeling quite strong - believing I could make it – and I leapt over the gate, then ran like the wind.   “Back on the road I started heading towards Simonsbath – I will always remember a sign to a place called Bentwitchen – and after a mile or so I turned a corner and to my amazement saw a sign swinging in the breeze. “It was getting dusky and I realised a miracle had occurred - here was a pub, completely in the middle of nowhere. The Poltimore Arms was an answer to a prayer - I opened the door and, to my joy, it let me into a warm stone-flagged room.” A much relieved Tim talked to a customer and to a friendly barmaid or landlady and told them of his terrifying adventure – and they, in return, replied with a story of their own about a ghost called Charlie who frequented the place. Fast forward, just for a moment, a couple of years and we see Tim returning to the area. Time had soothed his fears and he wanted to revisit the wood (which on this occasion offered none of its erstwhile threat) and call at the lonely pub.  He was told a disturbing tale. It seems that the barmaid who’d made him feel so at home had since been murdered by a jealous lover. Tim was also told that the resident ghost had disappeared one day with a customer who’d come to live in the parish, and had taken up a haunting residence in his home.   So much for the poet’s tale. Tim is one of my best friends and I know that the sepulchral afternoon was a major turning point in his life. He stayed at Simonsbath that night and the next morning hitched a lift with a man who happened to be the chief reporter of a local newspaper. That man convinced Tim to take a vacant reporter’s job (recently vacated by one Martin Hesp who was going travelling), and the poet turned his pen to journalism, came to live in West Somerset, met his lovely future wife – and the couple now have four children and five grandchildren.  But here is a weird an unsettling rider to this tale. I cannot give any reason or meaning to the strange apparitions which overtook my friend 33 years ago in Bampfylde Clump – save to say that WMN photographer Richard Austin and I went there recently and we two old cynics were scared half to death.  While in the middle of the trees, we heard the most blood curdling, unearthly, scream either of us has ever encountered. Two friends, who were walking around the edge of the wood, heard not a single thing. However, what I did discover in some old records is the possible – nay probable – identity of the mysterious ghost Charlie, who used to haunt the pub. This is taken from an old newspaper called Trewman's Exeter Flying Post – dated Thursday, December 30, 1852. “An inquest was held on the body of Mr John Avery, late of the Poltimore Arms. It appeared that on Saturday the 18th, he purchased at Mr Attwater's (druggist), three ounces of oil of vitriol, which he took home with him, and about six o'clock the same evening he swallowed the whole of it.  “He lingered on in the most awful agonies until about the same hour on Sunday, when he expired. A post-mortem examination was made, the result of which plainly showed that the deceased had died from the effects of the poison.” I ask this question: what had caused John Avery to become so horribly “despondent” that he’d swallowed vitriol knowing it would give him the most painful death?  Had he been claimed, I wonder, by the awful phantoms of that nearby ring of trees? To read about our Exmoor walks click here

It was one of the hottest stuffiest days of the year and we wanted some air - so where better than The Chains on Exmoor. My wife Sue and I walked over Dure Down from the Simonsbath-Lynmouth road, past Exe Head, and down to Hoar Oak Cottage yesterday and enjoyed every step of the weary, very hot, way. Here’s an article I wrote a while ago… Even the name suggests a degree of upland loneliness and bleakness - Hoaroak Cottage, tucked in an empty valley under the windswept, boggy, vastness of The Chains on Exmoor, is one of the most remote buildings in all the West Country. To read about our Exmoor walks click here As such, the ancient moorland home has played host to all manner of tales and legends - to the extent that it has become something of an enigma with its own dedicated website and a society of friends.    Now the semi-ruined cottage - which some say is the capital of the Middle of Nowhere - has just undergone refurbishment work to stabilise its fabric. A spokesman for the Exmoor National Park Authority (ENPA), which acquired the cottage in 1969, told me: “The building, which probably dates from the beginning of the 1800s but may be much older, is an evocative and historically important reminder of the hardships of upland sheep farming on Exmoor. It was occupied until 1958 and then allowed to fall into disrepair.  “In 2009, following the death of the tenant, the authority began to explore ways of safeguarding the remote building,” she added, saying the ENPA had worked closely with the Friends of Hoar Oak Cottage, the Exmoor Society and Exmoor Uprising to agree a way of consolidating the remains of the cottage to a stable ruin. Matt Harley, ENPA property manager, said: “The presence of sensitive wildlife, the distance to the nearest road and the vagaries of our summer weather has meant that the careful consolidation of the building has taken three years - however it is now complete and we are delighted with the results.” Praising the project, Rachel Thomas, chairman of the Exmoor Society, commented: “I am really impressed with what’s been achieved in retaining what appears to be a ruin from a distance in a relatively wild, open landscape - but with the ability to read the story of a cottage when close up - leaving a feeling of mystery and a desire to explore further.  “The Friends of Hoar Oak Cottage have done a splendid job in stimulating interest on their website,” she added. You can find out more about the enigmatic ruin by visiting http://www.hoaroakcottage.org/

I have been working on my children’s story today - which is a nice thing to do on a wet and windy afternoon until your eyes grow weary with the words on the screen. The story is a sort of Dunster Fairytale - and it put me in mind of this lovely walk in the area. I’m talking about the hike that takes you out of Minehead and across the hills that lie inland to the south of the seaside town.  Minehead, for those who don’t know it, is surrounded by high steep ridges which stretch around from the west to the south (to the north lies the Bristol Channel and to, the east, the flatlands of Dunster marshes).  North Hill, to the west, is the prominence more favoured by walkers because it runs along the coast and plays host to the very start (or end) of the South West Coast Path. But the ridge to the south offers a fine hiking country as well, because you can still look down on plenty of seashore - but you also eventually get enormous vistas of the Avill Valley running up to Dunkery Beacon (Exmoor’s highest hill) and also of the central massif that is Croydon Hill, above Dunster’s historic Deer Park.  We walked up out of Minehead town centre to a place called Cher which is on what passes for the Minehead-to-Porlock bypass. Strange name, Cher - and nothing to do with female rockstars. Instead it is an ancient place where the Minehead Hobby Horse has traditionally performed a kind of primeval mating ritual on the dawn of each May Day.  I remember witnessing these shenanigans some 30 years ago and, even then, wondering if something called political correctness wouldn’t one day step in to “clean up” the act. Think: fair maddens being held down underneath the shifting pulsating girth of a giant frisky man-made horse… Anyway, moving rapidly on we turned right and walked along the pavement for a few hundred metres before crossing the main-road and heading up the steep lane that eventually leads to Hopcott Common. Soon the climb takes you into the trees and after a while the paved road terminates in a car park, after which there is a choice of tracks which continue to ascend towards the common and the top. My advice is to stick to the tracks on your right, otherwise you might find yourself being lead along the contours to Alcombe Common, which is a bit low down on the ridge for our overall intentions.  The righthand tracks will take you up through the trees and eventually introduce you to an ancient beech hedge (in which the trees have grown to heights of 60 or 70 feet) and this in turn will take you out onto the airy heaths of Hopcott ridge.  Up here you are treated to magnificent views not only of Minehead far below, but of most of the vale of West Somerset, whose shoreline stretches east toward the distant Quantock Hills.  We turned left to join the main ridge track and walk in the direction which increasingly revealed more and more of the vale. Once the Knowle Hill forests were out of the way on our righthand side, we were also able to see the deep, green, almost gorge-like valley of the Avill. Across the abyss to the south we could spy Vinegar Hill rising to lovely Gallox Hill with the remains of its ancient fortress - and past that there were the great forests of Croydon Hill climbing ever upwards towards the distant high escarpment of the Brendons. It’s a wide and well-worn track that runs east to Grabbist - the famous hill where Mrs Cecil Frances Alexander was so impressed that she wrote the hymn All Things Bright and Beautiful. As you near Dunster from this altitudinous angle, the track divides once or twice - but what we are looking for is the little path at Grabbist which cuts down the steepest (or southerly) side of this most vertical of hills. You could go straight on down into the village (as indeed this column did last time it ventured this way) but this time I wanted to take the public right-of-way that runs down through the trees on that near vertical southern slopes. It’s not too bad a descent, as the track drops gently down the contours rather than plunging straight for the bottom - which is just as well because if it did you’d need a climbing rope. Down and down goes the path - past then little shelf where the old Giant of Dunster is said to have lived - to a junction near the foot of Grabbist where you can go either left or right. We chose the latter because my daughter had left her car in the old Gallox Bridge part of the village. I suggest you do the same because you can stroll down to the ancient clapper bridge on the other side of which there’s a newish path that will take you down beside the River Avill under Dunster Castle’s ramparts before introducing you to the village’s main car parks. Beyond these there’s the A39 Minehead road where you can take a bus back to town, or a little further still there’s the West Somerset Railway which will do the same. Or you could walk on to the beach and turn left along the West Somerset Coast Path - which would eventually take you back to Minehead seafront.  Either way, this is a lovely, lovely, walk that will show you unusual and dramatic views of some of the best known places in West Somerset. Fact File Basic walk: from Minehead over Hopcott Common to Dunster returning by bus, steam-train or along the West Somerset Coast Path.   Distance and going:  one way walk 4 miles - just over 6 if returning via the coast - easy going good tracks but a steep climb up to Hopcott.   LOCAL VENUES Beyond the woods, the Foresters At the base of steep Grabbist Hill you will see the roadside Forester Arms in Dunster - a good local for a drink and some pub grub. https://www.foresters-arms-dunster.co.uk/ Liking the Luttrell In the centre of Dunster there’s the famous Luttrell Arms - a wonderful and stylish  historic inn with excellent food. https://www.luttrellarms.co.uk/ All Ashore for the Ship Aground  If you’re walking back along the coast - or if you fancy lunch or a snack back in Minehead rather than in Dunster, try the Old Ship Aground down by the quay where the food is reasonable and very reasonably priced. http://www.theoldshipaground.com/  To read about our Exmoor walks click here

I am getting lots of positive messages about my modern fairy-story, The Deer Park - and a lot of people want to know more about the exact location I’ve based it on… Well, here’s an old newspaper hike which I wrote as a way of getting people to visit the Land of the Giants. This is not, as it happens, a reference to anything in my book (although there is a giant in it). This classic walk introduces us to a grove of trees which are the tallest in England.   The Dunster Douglas even has its own plaque to confirm it’s the country’s tallest tree. The giant douglas fir has been growing since 1876 and is now just a single foot short of 200 feet (60.5 metres). The plaque also informs us that its trunk weighs 50 tonnes - which would be enough wood to make 4.5 million pencils. Fantastic... Indeed, a stroll through the Valley of the Giants is a fantastic, awe-inspiring, experience which I’d recommend to all country-lovers. This particular hike has the valley as it’s ultimate goal - you can reach it far more easily by car if you’re feeling lazy. To try them out for the first time I went to the forested hills behind Dunster which offer as wide a cross-section of walking conditions that you’ll find in this region. There are steep rocky tracks, open heaths, stream to cross and some muddy sections - which just about encapsulates most terrain you will come across in the South West.  Having parked in the small car park near Gallox Bridge (turn left at the Forester’s Arms as you leave the village on the Wheddon Cross road) I followed the old packhorse trail into the hills south of Dunster. The packmen of old used to frequent an inn called the Horse and Crook somewhere around here – the pub’s long gone, but they used to take their trains of horses, mules and donkeys across the old packhorse bridge that still stands at Gallox. If you look over your right shoulder while walking across the bridge, you will see Grabbist from where, legend has it, a super-sized ogre used to reside at the locally named 'Giants Seat'. Apparently he was a nice old giant, the villagers would get him to dry their washing by wafting one of his huge hands. The village has another ancient giant legend which claims one huge fellow had been locked in a dungeon. This one eventually turned out to be true - a massive manacled skeleton was uncovered during the last century in Dunster Castle's Gatehouse. Having reached the forest gate above Gallox Bridge, I turned left and followed the path towards Carhampton. This can be muddy - and was the other day - but the Brashers gave good grip. The track took me up over a pleasant corner of down-land, affording the most fantastic and unusual views of the famous castle.  At Carhampton Gate, we come to the old deer park boundary. I turned right and followed it along a track called Park Lane which ascended up over the hill to Withycombe Hill Gate.  At this point you could - if you wanted a shorter hike without the giant trees - re-enter the park by walking through the gate on your right to continue straight on, out onto the big bald hill that plays host to Bat’s Castle. This is one of the most tremendous prehistoric remains in the West Country – and I say that not only because of its extraordinary ramparts, but because of the sublime views you get in just about every direction from the top. In fact, you get more-or-less the same view of the Avill Valley running up to the high point of Dunkery Beacon as the one Mrs Cecil Frances Alexander enjoyed from Grabbist more than a century ago. She was so impressed that she wrote the famous hymn 'All Things Bright and Beautiful'. Dunkery might not be exactly a "purple headed mountain" - but the rest of the hymns rings as a pretty true description of village and vale. However, I did the exact opposite and turned left instead along a footpath which lead me out onto Aller Hill. Heading south, this right of way now quits the trees and strikes out over some rough open land. Curving to the south-east it descends along side a wood, crosses a small stream, and then begins a direct ascent up the hill which plays host to Gupworthy Farm. We pass the path which leads to the farm on our left and continue on upwards towards the beautiful named woodlands called Withycombe Scruffets (or Scrubbetts, depending on which spelling you prefer). After about a mile - and just before we reach open heathland - a track descends to our right and this will take you down into Longcombe.  Once you reach the very bottom of the valley, take any of the forestry tracks which wend their way around Longcombe Hill to continue west past Broadwood Farm to reach the wood of that name.  Now swing north to get onto the Broadwood Road - and within a couple of minutes you are dwarfed as you stroll amid the gargantuan conifers.  Actually, most are conifers but Dunster Douglas stands right next to the country’s tallest magnolia - measuring a modest 80 feet in height.  The Crown Estate developed a Tall Tree Trail around the valley, says that the warm damp climate of the coombe and its perfect soil combination has allowed the giants to grow so tall.  We pass out of the trail’s northern end and follow the little paved lane for a few hundred yards across some meadows until the woodlands begin again. This is where we leave the lane to join tracks on our right which start climbing around Gallox Hill. Yet more stunning views can be enjoyed from the top where the trees thin out to open heath. We continue around the northern end of the eminence (which is actually called Vinegar Hill) to descend along a track that leads east directly back to the packhorse bridge. Fact File Basic hike: from the southerly quarter of Dunster, across Gallox Bridge to the Deer Park. East to Carhampton Gate, south to Withycombe Hill Gate, south past Gupworthy Farm, across Longombe, past Broadwood Farm to head north via Tall Tree Trail to Gallox Hill and back around Vinegar Hill. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer OL9 Exmoor. Distance and going: six miles, a little steep in places – can be muddy. To read about our Exmoor walks click here

If you had to choose just one coastal walk that boasted truly stunning views, then the lofty lope around altitudinous Countisbury would be up there at the top of the list.  High above Lynmouth Bay there’s not much save for an excellent road-side pub and a tiny church that sits snug on Countisbury's shelf in the hills, but there are fabulous views. Our hike takes from Lynmouth up to Countisbury by inland paths - you can then go out to the Foreland Lighthouse by whichever route you dare, and back up the paved road to Barna Barrow before returning via the Blue Ball Inn. The first section takes you up the northern banks of the East Lyn River. As the stream curves around Wester Wood various paths strike upwards through the trees - any of these will take you to the top of Wind Hill. At the summit there’s a hill-fort which plays host to a remarkable legend concerning some locals who were chased up here by Hubba, the marauding brother of Viking chief, Ivan-the-Boneless. The great Dane was killed and his much-feared Black Raven banner was seized by the fleeing men who felt they had nothing to lose by picking a suicidal fight. Walking down the walled track from the fort we cross the main road to join the coast path where you are treated to magnificent vistas of Lynmouth Bay and beyond. Now you have a choice. You can either make this a quick hike and call in at the Blue Ball Inn for lunch before walking down the coast path back to Lynmouth, or you can proceed east around Butter Hill before descending down to the Foreland Lighthouse. Be warned: the tiny coast path around the hill is a route for non-vertigo sufferers only. To read about our Exmoor walks click here

One catchphrase for the modern world we live in could be: everything everywhere. Armed with our smartphones we can look up and learn about almost anything, no matter where we happen to be. We can see pictures or videos of the most obscure places and entities, regardless of how distant they are. Which, for the romantics among us, means there’s a lot less magic and mystery waiting to be discovered by real, non-automated, non-internet-linked humans who like exploring the world for themselves. To read about our Exmoor walks click here For centuries, all we had were paper maps (with varying degrees of accuracy) to tell us where we were in the world and show us what might lie around the corner. Before maps were invented, every journey away from a person’s home-patch would have been an adventure into the unknown.  Now, thanks to Google Maps and the like, the concept of that “adventure into the unknown” is just about impossible. Which, of course, can be a very good and useful thing indeed, but it doesn’t exactly add to the mystical allure of distant horizons or that wonderful sense of discovery you get by seeking to find what’s just around the next corner.   People like me have been partly to blame. For nearly 25 years I have been writing walks articles which explain exactly how to find a place and which route to follow. Indeed, I have done it to the extent where some people have complained that I’ve been giving away wonderful secrets - exposing fabulous places to a wider public which hitherto have only been known by a few.  My response has always been: don’t be selfish! Why shouldn’t we share a bit of countryside joy in this increasingly urbanised world? The more people get out into nature and enjoy it, the more they’ll care for it.  For the entire latter half of the last century my journalist father, Peter Hesp, was having the same kind of argument. He loved unearthing and writing about strange and out-of-the-way places - and he was so good at it, eventually the local National Park Authority put together a book of his articles, called Secret Exmoor, which today has become a collector’s piece.   As a boy, I would regularly join Dad as he explored some of the locations mentioned in the book - and over the recent Christmas lull I enjoyed re-reading the various articles which were collected in Secret Exmoor. It was only when I put the book down that I began to recall some of the adventures which didn’t make it into the book, or into any article he wrote.  Why didn’t they make it into print? The answer can be found in the very first article in Secret Exmoor. It focusses on the long lost village of Clicket, which my father discovered and wrote about having met a very old man who actually used to live in what had been the West Country’s answer to a ghost-town. This is what my Dad wrote about this particular journey of discovery: “In places the path petered out altogether and there was nothing for it but to follow the stream as best one could through marshy meadows or moss-grown woods. It was difficult to believe that this must once have been a well-trodden way - a score or more children travelled it to school each day towards of the last century…” And so he went on, describing his adventure in an article which originally appeared in the newspaper he worked for, the Somerset County Gazette, just a week after he’d visited the out-of-the-way valley high in the Brendon Hills.    Of course, he told his young sons all about the place and I can still remember the wonder in his eyes. He had, after all, discovered an entire overgrown, forgotten, village in which no one but ghosts had lived for donkey’s years.  In his lengthy article, originally written in 1965, he eventually describes the last residents of Clicket… “One can still find the foundations of a little cottage where lived the miller and his family. In the first half of this century, when the village had become forsaken, an old homeless couple found their way here and set up house in the ruined mill rather than allow themselves to be taken to the workhouse and be separated. “There they stayed together, finding what poor comfort they could, without doors or windows, and with the roof leaky and ready to collapse. Their suffering - and their fellowship - lasted one year, perhaps two, and then the old man died. His wife was taken away, presumably to that dreaded refuge for the destitute, the parish workhouse.  “Some say the little village community vanished away because of plague or pestilence,” Peter concluded. “But the evidence seems to show that it survived quite happily from before the 16th century almost through to modern times. Then, when there was more freedom of movement and youngsters grew up hearing of a wider world, people just drifted away and never went back.”   Of course, we boys were desperately keen to see this ghost village for ourselves and we pestered Dad to take us there the very next weekend, which he did. I can still see the look of bewilderment and sadness on his face when we discovered that more than 100 other people had been inspired to make the same difficult journey having read his article which had been published on the Friday. Peter Hesp was very careful when writing about his Secret Exmoor from that moment on. Which is why there were adventures of discovery out in the moors which never made it onto any page.  And recently, leafing through the book, one of them came back to me… A long boggy walk to a very, very, lonely place indeed - a place which we boys absolutely adored and found so magical that we returned several times to have picnics there over the years.   A smallish handful of Exmoor-lovers will know it well - a great many will not - but this time I’m keeping schtum about the geography of the location (pictured in the photographs). The little circle of trees in the moors deserves to be visited, but not shouted about.  Perhaps it’s the fact that the trees appear to have sunk down into the moorlands which helps to promote this air of hiddenness. It’s as if the place doesn’t want to be known to the world - as though it is in hiding, more than happy to be far from the eyes of humankind. To catch a glimpse of this junction of moorland streams from afar, you would need to be in some kind of aircraft. And who can blame this clandestine corner for wishing to retain its privacy in this day and age when we’ve done so much to wreck the planet that we now call this era the Anthropocene? To some slight degree, I felt like an interloper when I walked there a week ago in bright winter sunlight. Certainly we did not tarry for long. The January sun was sinking fast - and this is no place to be caught out in the dark.  However, I do intend returning every now and again - and to carry on doing so for as long as my limbs will take me across those sodden moors. Next time, I’ll go earlier and maybe take a flask of soup - or maybe we’ll have a summer’s picnic there later in the year. But we will always, always, ensure that we leave nothing save for the odd boot-mark here or there. This place, above all others I know here in crowded Southern England, deserves its sanctity and its unbelievably refreshing sense of peace and quietude.  And now, having visited the ring of trees in the middle of Exmoor’s great nowhere-in-particular-zone, and having written this little piece, I plan to create a short series of articles with illustrations focussing on a few of the West Country’s hidden places. All of them will be accessible to the public - each can be visited if you’re willing to put in a good walk - but I will not be naming any of them or giving their exact locations.  Regard it as one man’s bid to add a little magic and mystery back into the landscape.

Introduction: Discovering the Secret, Unspoiled Beach Imagine a fabulous sandy beach that’s over a quarter of a mile long and surrounded by amazingly dramatic scenery.  Now imagine that beach with no one down there by the waves enjoying its winds acres. Why is it so empty? Why is it so secret? Because reaching it, then getting back to civilisation safely again, is very perilous indeed. So dangerous, in fact, that no one really wants you to go there.  Certainly not the local lifeboat crew or coastguard. Because they have been called to that beach far too many times to help stranded but clueless adventurers. Warnings and Dangers: Why the Beach Remains a Secret I add the word clueless, because you can reach this beach in safety if you really do know what you are doing. By which I mean, you are acutely aware of the tidal situation on an hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute basis, and you know the secret cave that will introduce you to the beach without your having to lower yourself down a 60 foot rope. And even if you do know the whereabouts of this cave, you will need very good footwear and have excellent levels of agility to negotiate the giant slippery which you must cross to reach the sands.   This Secret Place - written for the regional daily newspapers such as the Western Morning News and Western Daily Press - is one off the best beaches to be found along a 60-mile stretch of the West Country’s north coast between Weston-Super-Mare and Combe Martin. It really does boast many acres of fine golden sands –but the reason hardly anyone ever goes there is because it is extremely difficult to get to and if you do somehow manage to get yourself down to the shore, you will have a very good chance of being cut-off by the second biggest tide in the world.  To read about our Exmoor walks click here Dangers Lurking: Navigating the Perils of the Dramatic Coastal Cliffs The last time I went by the normal route and approached the place from the massive hill that hides it by descending the scary scree to the edge of a near vertical 60-foot cliff, I saw the old rope (that has been there for years) now terminated about 20 feet above the beach. Not a nice place to be left dangling. A Step Back in Time: My Personal Experience on the Secluded Beach When I was a youth there was a proper path down and not some flimsy bit of rope. A very scary path, it was too. But one which I used as a teenager nearly 50 years ago when I camped down on the beach with a girlfriend. I dread to think of the fuss that would ensure if some teenagers did that today. Walkers would be ringing rescue services on their mobile phones and there would be helicopters buzzing about the place and goodness knows what.  But back then there were very few walkers, and no mobile phones. And because these secret sands are well off the beaten track (by which I mean that it is even off limits to the all-seeing all-marching South West Coast Path) it is one of the most hidden places in the entire West Country.  Journey to the Top: The Scenic Route to Hurlestone Point All of which is why I am not going to describe the exact way to reach the beach – but I can divulge how you can safely reach a vantage point which will give you fabulous views of the wondrous sands without your having to risk life and limb attempting to actually be on it… The best way is to aim for the little car-park in the almost unbelievably pretty, chocolate-box village of Bossington, a mile-and-a-half north-east of Porlock. Cross the footbridge that looks as if it's been inspired by the one at Claude Monet's lily-pond, and turn left along the riverside. The path ascends gently towards Hurlestone Point - the dramatic headland which not only commands the eastern tip of Porlock Bay, but also does a massive job of effectively hiding our secret place.  Unveiling the Unknown: The Secret Sea-Tunnel Beneath Hurlestone Point There's a ruined coastguard look-out that sits squat on a shelf some 200 feet above the end of the jagged point and I recommend strolling out to its airy realm. From it you can peer around the corner and see the wide expanse of the sands stretching east under the great hill. What you will not see from this truly panoramic vantage point is the secret sea-tunnel which passes through the very end of the headland 150-feet beneath your feet.  It is called the Gull’s Hole and only a handful of people in the entire world know of its existence. Which is why I’m not going to give directions here. However, it has been mentioned in an excellent book called The Hidden Edge of Exmoor by Kester and Elizabeth Webb which is basically an encyclopaedia for those wishing to explore this most dangerous of all the region’s coastlines. The pair describe Hurlestone Point and its secret sea-cave thus: “The ridge tapers as it descends, forming a sharp headland poking out into the sea. It looks, from the air, like a huge fossilized dragon. The top jaw of this monster is formed by a graceful anticline and, at the centre of the arch, some seven beds of rock have been punched right through by the sea, leaving a 12-foot, and very draughty, thru-cave. “This Gull Hole, with arched ceiling and convex floor, provides an easy half-tide passage from Eastern Cliffs through to Western Cliffs and Bossington Beach.” For the likes of the late Kester Webb, who was one of the Exmoor coast’s most experienced guides, the Gull’s Hole did offer an “easy” kind of access to the secret world beyond. For most of the human race it is hazardous. I can imagine a health and safety expert would turn pale if they were to see the slippery seaweed covered rocks and cliffs you need to negotiate eve, to reach it. And you must only make the attempt when the tide is right. By which I mean – when it is falling. Only at half-tide or lower can you reach the Gull’s Hole by scrambling across the rocks – and, once you are through, you’d better put a move on if you are intending to boulder-hop the half-mile to the secret sands, and then return via the same route.  My Latest Scrambling Adventure to the Secret Sands I recently did this scrambled adventure in the company of my brother John - who knows the place well having lived in nearby Bossington for many years – and although we were back in plenty of time, I could see the incoming tide would have caused us major problems had we dallied out on the sands for another half hour.  I’d also add that we are fairly fit blokes for our age – do not even think of trying this route if you are not in tip-top health or if you have trouble with leaping across gaps from giant boulder to giant boulder.  Once you are on the sands you find yourself being awed by the massiveness of the place and by the vast boiler-plated cliffs that rise heavenwards to meet even bigger hogs-back hills which loom more than 900 feet above the shore. Of all the places in the region, this is the zone in which humans feel truly dwarfed by their surroundings.   I have never seen another soul down here – save for that girlfriend I mention who shared a dreamy weekend with me here all those years ago. That ended in tears, by the way. My tears. And they were wept because of the severe pain I found myself in. A Bittersweet Memory: My Unforgettable Encounter with a Portuguese Man of War The lethal currents around here are powerful enough to gouge large indentations into the sand – and sometimes, when the tide is out, these can be wide and deep enough to swim in. How cheerful was I when hurled myself deep into the sun-warmed waters of one of these natural pools…  And how agonised was I to discover the thing was filled with a million almost invisible stinging tentacles of a dead Portuguese Man of War jellyfish. My dreams of acting the part of some handsome young Robinson Crusoe disappeared under a thousand red weals.  A Unique Event: Recalling the Historic Landing of Small Airplanes on the Secret Sands A far more memorable image is one described in The Hidden Coast of Exmoor in which Kester and Elizabeth write about the occasion in 2009 when five small aeroplanes actually landed on these wide sands. It had all been carefully arranged and the pilots of four old World War Two Austers and one modern Cub were greeted by a ground-crew who’d been taken down by Kester.  The Importance of Preserving the Secret Beach's Solitude and Beauty I cannot imagine this Secret Place will ever see anything like it again – but then, it’s a location that has played host to very few human activities down the years. Long may that continue.

Here’s a walk for winter – despite the conditions underfoot. I have lived in my Exmoor valley 30 years now, and never during all that time have I known the paths so muddy. Luckily I came across a camera card containing some photographs I took during a dry and pleasant walk in central Exmoor that I enjoyed a few winters ago. It was one of those cold sunlit afternoons in which small white and slightly menacing clouds scud in from the Atlantic. We parked near Upper Willingford Bridge on the convergence of lovely Litton Water and Dane’s Brook (map ref: SS325 815).  In his book The Waters of Exmoor, Noel Allen tells us: “The Danes’ Brook probably takes its name from the hilly nature of the countryside through which it flows, or possibly from the twin mounds of Brewer’s Castle and Mounsey Castle which guard its junction with the River Barle.” To read about our Exmoor walks click here This column has trudged in gorgeous glen before, this time we’re leaving the stream behind us to climb around the spur of hill due north towards Halscombe Allotment. After crossing a small tributary we bear right so that we can make for Porchester’s Post.  Now we enter the greater area of Withypool Common. From now on it is a story of verderers, free suitors, Court Leets and Lords of the Manor. As Exmoor writer Victor Bonham Carter once said in an essay for The Exmoor Review: “Withypool Common is a direct survival of the era when the Royal Forest of Exmoor was still an open waste, before the Inclosure Act of 1815; and it survived subsequent legislation by which many other commons on Exmoor were inclosed during the mid-19th century. “Moreover, despite the vicissitudes of two worlds wars, the impact of tourism and of various measures for agricultural improvement, it is still being used in essentially the same manner as in the past: namely, as a grazing ground for stock, controlled by customary rights.” By the way, that was written in 1968 when the impact of tourism was but a smidgen of what it is today. Later in the same extensive study of the common, research by Geoffrey Sinclair showed that on a fine weekday in August a mere four walkers appeared on Withypool Common. In a normal August in more recent times I bet you’d have counted more than 100 – but, of course, that could be much diminished next month if the rain continues to fall.  However, we were quite alone as we followed the hedge north west from Porchester’s Post. It took us to the Withypool road which we crossed so that we could continue on up to Brightworthy Burrows. At 428 metres this offers a fine prospect of central southern Exmoor. Way down to the west there’s famous Landacre Bridge looking lonely in the valley of the Barle – and if we spin slowly to our right we follow the river all the way to Withypool. I always think there’s something peculiarly Scottish looking about Withypool. Perhaps it’s the way it nestles amid the moors, but perhaps too, it is something to do with the John Buchan-ish that dot its hillsides. Somehow you can imagine the man with the ‘hooded eyes’ – the villain of The 39 Steps, lurking in one of these expensive homes. We dropped due north from the Burrows to reach the footpath that runs adjacent to the Barle. Again, this column has trudged this way before, so I won’t dally in my descriptions of the beautiful route east to the village. If the pub is open, I heartily recommend taking refreshment there. If not, purchase something sustaining from the post office in preparation for your ascent of Withypool Hill. Cross back over the splendid old bridge and proceed up the Hawkridge road.  No sooner had we left the village, we took to the moor and walked straight up to the summit. An alternative would be to follow the lane all the way to the cattle grid, where you can turn right to follow the bridleway alongside the edge of the moor. The magnificent views available from the summit were fast beginning to fade when reached the tumulus at the top, so we carried on with barely a murmur, down past the ancient stone circle and eventually we joined the track that took us south west to a place called Tudball’s Splats. Great name. Who Tudball was and what Splats are, I neither knew nor cared. I was growing weary as night fell and so we pushed on to regain our original route - past Porchester’s Post and south to Willingford Bridge.  Five of the nine miles we’d walked in daylight, three in the gloaming and one in utter darkness. And as the stars disappeared it started to rain. So what’s new? Fact File Basic hike: from Upper Willingford Bridge (map ref: SS325 815) north to Brightworthy Burrows, down to the footpath along the Barle, east to Withypool, and south to return over Withypool Hill. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer OL 9 Exmoor. Distance and going: nine miles, fairly easy going, can be a bit squelchy after rain. Food and drink: Royal Oak, Withypool

We’re off to explore the spectacular River Lyn – and a jolly, scenic and exciting time we’ll have of it too. Of course, there are actually two River Lyns and this walk explores the more westerly flow. I’ve been to most places on Exmoor and know the East Lyn like the back of my hand. Most Exmoor lovers do, because it tumbles through the heart of Lorna Doone country. My newspaper walks column visited the water several times, but never have we been up the sister stream. Few people find their way up to the headwaters of the West Lyn.  To read about our Exmoor walks click here That because there’s a good deal of nothing – except the high and mighty Chains soaking up the rainfall and distributing it down a multitude of streams. Hesp’s Hikes has featured those lonely heights before, but places like Shallowford Common, Thornworthy Common, Benjamy and Ruckham Combe have, for the most part, been left uncovered . If you like this article you might like the walk to Pinkery Pond To find this little lot you have to drive to Barbrook, high above Lynmouth on the A39. The hamlet is situated at the Y-shaped junction of two valleys and in the middle of the place you’ll see a petrol filling station. Two small roads lead south up the West Lyn valley either side of the petrol pumps – and we hikers must take the western lane (to the right of the filling station as you look at it) and proceed upwards past an area called Cherrybridge. Eventually the lane debouches onto a high moor and we continue along it to its end. There is absolutely nothing here save for a single cottage, which must be one of the loneliest in the Westcountry. But this most unused of thoroughfares was once an ‘A’ road of sorts - the Bronze Age folk, who lived in these hills and who left their burial chambers all around, used it as a highway ‘twixt hill and sea. Parking isn’t a problem in these great empty acres – though choosing a walking route is a little more of a poser. Because you are on as featureless a plain as any you’ll find anywhere in the region. But, though the tarmac ends by the cottage, the track continues to ascend to the south - so I decided to follow it up into the mists. I knew that once I’d reached the top of the hill (called Winaway) I could turn left (east) and, by walking straight, I’d come to the headwaters of the West Lyn. Had I continued on up to Woodbarrow Gate, I’d have reached the watershed and been able to look right down on Pinkery Pond and the headwaters of the Barle, but I’ll leave that for the happy day when I explore that splendid stream. Walking east across Winaway is a featureless experience to say the least – until you drop into the steep and empty vastness of Ruckham Combe. What a place this is – a yawning ravine which twists and turns its way north. We continue east, climbing past the Ring Cairns, over the hill to Benjamy. The lovely old name describes nowhere. There is just bog and moor at Benjamy. I looked up the place hoping there’d be some wonderful old tale about a bloke called Benjamin – perhaps he lived in the shepherd’s hut that is now just a tiny pile of stones on the hillside? But there was no Benjamin, all I could find out was that the place was once known as Binchiny. The rain started to fall in earnest, so I repaired down Warcombe Water as fast as I could go. However, from Benjamy you could proceed east to Hoaroak before heading north along the ridge of Furzehill Common. At a point near Roborough Castle you’d then turn west down the footpath to reach the hamlet of North Furzehill, where you’d find the track back over the Shallowford. But, as I’ve said, I found myself alongside Warcombe Water – the name probably refers to the stone weirs that once punctuated the stream. After a few hundred yards I saw a bit of a sheep track climbing out of the shallow valley to the left, so – knowing that this direction would take me back to my car – I crossed the hill to find myself on the shores of the West Lyn under Thorn Hill. This is the point where the aforementioned Ruckham Combe disappears up into the Chains with serious intent. Leaping across the stream I found a more substantial track and followed it as it weaved several great bends around Ilkerton Ridge. I imagine that superb views could be had from most of this walk on a fine day – including the vista you’d get down the West Lyn valley – but I was denied that as I plodded through the rain. All these empty acres were once the inspiration for great plans. When the Knight family was reclaiming Exmoor some 200 years ago, they dreamed of turning the high moors into region of bleating productivity. Shepherds with names like Davidson, Graham, Johnstone, MacDougal, Little, Murray and Gourdie were brought in from the similarly wild highlands of Scotland to help turn Exmoor’s heights into sheep country. Some, like Robert Tait Little, brought their sheep with them – not by train but by foot. Can you imagine it – herding several hundred woolly brained critters all the way from Dumfries to Devon? Now, hardly a sheep rovers these uninhabited wastes. I didn’t intend hanging about for long either. The easy to follow trackway took me over Ilkerton Ridge and back to Shallowford – and, with a quick but damp turn of the key, I was off to a well known Exmoor restaurant. And within hours, as the waiters served this and that, the lonesome shepherd hut at Benjamy seemed a long, long way away indeed. Fact File Basic Hike: from Shallowford (two miles south of Barbrook) up the track to Winaway, then east to the top end of Ruckham Combe, onwards to Benjamy and then north down Warcombe Water before crossing Thorn Hill west to the West Lyn. Then back to Shalllowford along the track which leads over Ilkerton Ridge. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey OL9 Exmoor. Distance and going: five miles – can be boggy.

The majority of tourists heading west in pursuit of seaside adventures tend to aim for Devon, Cornwall or Dorset. Somerset’s Bristol Channel coast often gets overlooked. However, there is a corner of the county’s littoral which, in terms of scenic beauty alone, could compete with any shoreline in the world.  The wild and untamed sweep of Porlock Bay, punctuated only by the tiny picturesque harbour at Porlock Weir, is surely one of the most exquisite jewels in all of England’s seaside crown. To read about our Exmoor walks click here Golden sands may not be much evidence, but this maritime cauldron of excellence has just about everything else. The grand, vertiginous, coast of Exmoor begins its march west right here, so the place has a truly magnificent backdrop. Indeed, Exmoor’s 1000 foot hills surround both the bay and also the comely swathe of Porlock Vale, making the entire shooting match one of the most extraordinary coastal settings to be found anywhere.  Down at the Weir, there’s a picture-perfect harbour protected from the sea by a spit of land known as Turkey Island, which is crowned by a line of thatched cottages that overlook one of the country’s only sea-bound oyster farms. On the inland side of the harbour looms a lovely old hotel - one which serves some of the best food in the West Somerset and Exmoor area.  Miguel and Michell Tenriero took over the lease of the Porlock Weir Hotel ( https://www.porlockweirhotel.co.uk/ ) five years ago and have been getting the place just how they want it ever since. There was a lot to be done and the couple had to endure the Covid lockdowns shortly after they moved in. So, nice people running an excellent establishment, serving top quality food in a truly idyllic location… It’s an equation this series loves to celebrate. You’ll often find one or two of those ingredients in a single place but, when all the elements come together, it is definitely worth writing about.  The couple moved from South Africa 17 years ago and have been working in hospitality ever since, firstly at the Royal Castle Hotel in Dartmouth and more latterly  at the Luttrell Arms, Dunster (owned by the same well-known Westcountry-based hotel family). You can see why Miguel and Michelle make a dream-team in the hospitality industry - she runs the front-of-house operations with great efficiency, while Miguel does what he loves best and that is producing wondrous food in the kitchen. And at the Porlock Weir Hotel, it is pretty wondrous. We were served a collection of tasting plates which include a pork belly dressed in a Miguel’s own signature piri-piri sauce; Portuguese prawn rissoles with dill remoulade and cucumber ribbons; pan-roasted monkfish with courgette spaghetti, local asparagus and red pepper sauce; and crispy beef sirloin, rice noodles, homemade kimchi, pak choy, sesame and soy dressing. As you’ll see in our photographs, these were truly lovely plates of food. Indeed, I mentioned to Miguel that I thought the prawn rissoles were among the best things I’d tasted so far this year, and he kindly gave me the recipe (see our panel).  “The general theme is based on a European-Mediterranean style, but I come from a Portuguese family so there’s a lot of Portuguese influence,” explained Miguel, adding that his experience working in some of the top kitchens in South Africa has also influenced his cooking. “For example, something I haven't taken off the menu here since our first day is my grandmother's recipe for piri-piri sauce, which I serve with everything from poultry to fish. We make 20 litres at a time - it’s something and I’m looking to bottle commercially in the future.” Miguel has a passion for the kind of nose-to-tail cooking that cuts out any waste, and he also insists on using seasonal ingredients that are as local as possible. “I really do take great care to understand where the ingredients have been produced so that we can support local farmers and suppliers and reduce food miles,” he told me. The 17-bedroom hotel has a formal dining room overlooking the harbour and there’s also a harbour-side terrace and a cosy outdoor eating and drinking area (with a bar, barbecue and wood fired pizza oven) which boasts fine views of the bay.   If I had to devise a hit-parade of the top ten places UK in which to both stay and dine, the Porlock Weir Hotel would definitely be high on the list - not only for the exquisite food and sumptuous comfort of the place, but also because of its truly magnificent natural surroundings.  Porlock Weir to Culbone Walk One of the very best hikes in all the Westcountry begins and ends at the tiny harbour of Porlock Weir.  The seven-mile circular hike follows the South West Coast Path out of the Weir, so that you climb to Culbone - one of the most isolated hamlets in the region - before returning over the top of the hill. We turn west behind the harbour and follow the footpath that runs up across the fields to the hamlet of Worthy. It’s in the woods above this place that a fabulous fantasy-style mansion once stood with minarets and cloisters and a clutter of other architectural features which made it the most alluring of places even in the days when it lay in forlorn ruins. The old place was demolished years ago and, sadly, they’ve even blocked up the little follies and tunnels situated here and there in the steep woods. You’ll see one on the main path to Culbone, looking like a miniature castle bridging the almost subterranean route. It was a Lady Lovelace who had this dreamland built and she even imported a team of Swiss mountaineers to lay a network of carriageways throughout her vertical demesne. It was all kept very private and the tunnels were part of the design which allowed her to enjoy the ornate gardens and landscapes without the exasperating notion of being viewed by anyone else. Lady Lovelace eventually despaired of the place being back-sunned and departed for the sunny side of the hill, but you can still see plenty of vestiges of her dreamscape with place-names like Apple Dumpling Point and Cherry Tree Steep. The path used to be a long but gradual climb from here to Culbone, but in recent years, massive landslides have dissected the hill so that now there's a bit of zigging-and-zagging to be done along the way. Eventually, the track turns away from the coast into Culbone’s deep coombe, hanging high above the grey rocks and grey sea in its enchanting glen. A visit to the tiny church is compulsory – though it takes you a couple of hundred metres out of the way. The smallest complete church in England has a nave that is 21 feet by 12 feet, and a chancel that measures 13 feet by 10 – making a total length of 35 feet. Regular services are still held - many of the congregation arrive by four-wheel drive down the steep track, which we must now climb. It’s a long steep haul that takes us up to the small lane that terminates at Silcombe Farm. You’ll see the farmstead on your right, but we turn left a few metres until we see a track ascending the hill on our right. This takes us up over Culbone Hill to the very top of the Worth Toll Road. From there we descend through Worthy Coombe to where the footpath reaches the back-end of Porlock Weir. Miguel’s Portuguese Prawn Rissoles For the Dough: 2 cups all-purpose flour – 240g approx. 1 cup stock (prawn, chicken, or vegetable) 250ml approx. 1 cup full fat milk 250ml approx. 2tbsp butter – 30g Salt & Pepper For the Prawn Filling: 400g shrimp – cleaned, peeled, and cut into smaller pieces 2tbsp olive oil – 30ml 1 medium onion diced – 150g approx.   2 garlic cloves – minced 125ml shrimp stock 80ml milk 1tsp smoked paprika ¼ tsp chilli powder 2tbsp flour Salt, pepper Fresh coriander For Breading and Frying: 100g breadcrumbs 100ml milk 1 egg yolk Salt & black pepper Vegetable oil For the dough - place a pan over medium to high heat, add the milk, stock, and butter. Season with salt and pepper. Once the mixture starts to simmer, add the 2 cups of flour and stir vigorously. The mixture will look lumpy and as you continue to stir it will clump into a ball. Continue to mix without removing from the heat, until the dough is smooth and has gained colour. Remove from the heat, transfer to a clean surface, and start working the dough immediately. At this point the dough will be a bit too hot to handle, you can use a rolling pin to knead it. Once it cools, use your hands to knead it for a couple of minutes  The Filling: Place a large frying pan over medium heat. Add the olive oil, onion, and garlic, frying it for a couple of minutes. Add the prawns, cook for another 3 minutes. Season with salt, pepper, paprika, and chilli powder before adding the prawn stock and milk. Once it starts to simmer, add the flour, stir well. Continue to cook everything until it reduces, and you are left with a thick creamy mixture. Season with freshly chopped parsley and more salt and pepper if needed. Allow to cool completely before storing in the fridge. Shaping the Rissoles Divide the dough in two equal pieces. Using a rolling pin, roll out one of the pieces until it’s about 2mm thin. Use a 10cm biscuit cutter (use the shavings to cut more circles). Repeat the process with the other piece of dough. Place a small portion of your prawn filling in the centre of each one of the circles. Use a damp brush to lightly brush the edges of your circles, then fold the circle, gently applying pressure to glue the sides. Repeat the process Place a small pan over low heat, add enough vegetable oil to deep fry your pastries. Meanwhile, add the breadcrumbs to a bowl. In a separate bowl, combine the milk, egg yolk, season it with salt and pepper. Dip the pastry into the milk mixture, then coat with breadcrumbs. Use a kitchen thermometer to check the oil temperature (should be ready at 180 °C). Don’t fry too many pastries at the same time - crowding the pain can change the oil temperature. Once the pastries are golden brown, remove them from the oil. Place on top of kitchen paper to remove excessive oil and serve.