Why Most Packing Lists Fail Adventure Travellers Generic packing lists don't work for adventure trips. A beach vacation list assumes flat terrain and mild weather. Adventure travel assumes neither. You need gear that survives temperature swings, rough handling, and multiple activities in a single day. The goal isn't packing more. It's packing smarter. Build a Layering System, Not an Outfit Rotation Skip the idea of daily outfits. Build a layering system instead. Base layers manage moisture. Mid layers trap heat. Outer layers block wind and rain. This system lets you adjust to conditions without carrying five jacket options. Durability matters as much as warmth. Cotton fails fast on the trail. It soaks up sweat and takes hours to dry. Synthetic blends or reinforced fabrics hold up better under repeated stress. This is where pant choice actually matters. A pair of tactical jeans gives you rugged construction with stretch panels built for movement, which matters more than people expect once you're climbing over rocks or squatting to set up a tent. Here's what a solid layering kit usually includes: Moisture-wicking base layer top and bottom One insulating mid layer, fleece or synthetic fill A waterproof or wind-resistant shell Reinforced pants with articulated knees A lightweight backup layer for temperature drops at altitude Footwear Is Where People Overpack or Underpack Footwear decisions cause more packing mistakes than anything else. People either bring one pair and regret it, or bring four pairs they never use. The fix is matching footwear to terrain, not to outfits. For most adventure trips, two pairs cover almost everything. One rugged hiking boot with ankle support handles uneven ground. One lightweight trail shoe or sandal handles camp downtime and water crossings. Break in boots before the trip. New boots on day one of a multi-day hike is a common and avoidable mistake. Pack by Activity, Not by Day Forget packing day by day. Pack by activity instead. Group items by what you'll actually be doing: hiking, water sports, cold-weather stretches, downtime. This makes gear easier to find and reduces the temptation to overpack "just in case" items. Compression cubes help here. Assign one cube per activity category. This keeps wet gear separate from dry gear and stops your bag from becoming a single unsorted pile by day three. Adventure trips also tend to run longer and cost more than people plan for. The average adventure trip lasts around eight nights, with a median cost near $3,000 for that stretch, according to recent industry data on adventure tourism spending patterns. That length matters for packing. Gear needs to survive repeated use, not just a single weekend outing. Weather Research Changes Your Whole List Check historical weather data for your destination, not just the forecast. Mountain regions can swing 30 degrees between morning and afternoon. Coastal adventure spots bring humidity that changes how fabrics perform. This research should happen before you pack, not after you arrive and realise your gear doesn't match reality. A few things worth confirming before you finalise your bag: Average high and low temperatures for each day of your trip Rainfall probability and typical storm patterns Altitude changes if hiking or trekking is involved Water temperature if swimming or diving is planned Don't Forget Recovery and Downtime Gear Adventure trips aren't nonstop activity. Rest days and evening downtime need their own gear consideration. This is often the most overlooked category. People pack for the hike and forget what they'll wear at the lodge or during a half-day break between activities. If your trip includes any racket sports, a stop at a resort court, or an evening pickup game, pack something breathable and quick-drying rather than cotton. A custom padel jersey works well here because it's built for lateral movement and heat management, and it doubles as a decent casual layer if you strip the extra padding gear off. Small Essentials That Make a Big Difference The smallest items in your backpack often become the most valuable once you're on the trail. A compact first-aid kit, portable power bank, headlamp, reusable water bottle, and multi-tool can solve unexpected problems without taking up much space. Keep important documents, identification, travel insurance details, and emergency contacts in a waterproof pouch or digital backup. It's also worth packing a few resealable bags for storing wet clothing, protecting electronics, or organising snacks. These lightweight essentials improve convenience, help you stay prepared for changing conditions, and reduce stress when plans don't go exactly as expected. Final Check Before You Zip the Bag Run through your bag one more time before departure. Confirm every item has a purpose tied to a specific activity or condition on your itinerary. If something doesn't have a clear use case, leave it out. Adventure packing rewards discipline, not volume. The best adventure travellers pack the same core system every time and only swap specific items based on climate and activity. That consistency saves time, weight, and stress, and it means you spend less time managing gear and more time actually on the trip.

An atmospheric West Country mystery by veteran journalist Martin Hesp The "Sherlock and Watson" of West Country Journalism: Pair a grizzled, world-weary old-school reporter with a brilliant, tech-savvy young press photographer, set them loose on the rugged Atlantic coast of far West Cornwall, and watch a classic investigative dynamic unfold. About the Book Set in 2002—a transitional era when digital photography was just beginning to shake up local newsrooms—The Cornish Snapper is a fast-paced, evocative crime novel that is equal parts page-turning mystery and love letter to the vanishing world of regional journalism. Newlyn Harbour where the novel begins When a beam trawler Mavis Tregony limps into Newlyn Harbour under the pre-dawn arc lights with two jagged holes punched into her bow, it is flagged as a minor accident. But to Thomas Hamilton—an award-winning, 58-year-old freelance crime correspondent with no pension plan and a habit of rising late—the scene tells a different story. The heavy police presence on the fish-quay points to something far more sinister: the explosive escalation of a bitter, long-running feud between the rival Tregony and Polkerris fishing clans. With a bloodied pick-up truck found abandoned on a lonely stretch of moorland between Penzance and St Ives, and no body in sight, Hamilton smells a major story. Alongside talented young press photographer Veryan Lammoran—who uses her sharp eye and early digital camera gear to capture details the police miss—the duo set out to unravel a tangled web of maritime secrets, ancient family rivalries, and rotten granite. Character Dynamic: Hamilton & Lammoran Author Martin Hesp, a 40-year veteran of WestCountry newspapers, masterfully builds a classic, puzzle-solving partnership that readers of traditional mystery fiction will love: Thomas Hamilton, the reporter in The Cornish Snapper ● Thomas Hamilton (The "Dr. Watson"): The seasoned, cynical, and highly proficient old scribe. Semi-retired to a quiet, creek-side cottage on the River Fal estuary, Thomas is a traditionalist who navigates the waters in a gaff-rigged wooden boat and a small rowing boat. He has the reporter's instinct for human nature but is increasingly feeling the pressures of a changing media landscape. ● Veryan Lammoran (The "Sherlock Holmes"): A sharp, modern, and highly talented young press photographer. It is Veryan’s meticulous attention to visual detail, her mastery of early digital zoom lenses, and her sharp observation of the physical evidence that repeatedly cracks open the secrets that others overlook. Perfect For Fans Of... Perfect For Fans Of... ⚓ Atmospheric Settings Rich, evocative descriptions of the raw Atlantic coast, the bleak moors of West Penwith, Newlyn Harbour fish market, the quiet, muddy creeks of southern Cornwall, and coastal havens like St Ives, Mousehole, and Porthgwarra. 🕵️‍♂️ Classic Detective Duos A brilliant, modern "Holmes and Watson" partnership working within the fast-paced, deadline-driven pressures of regional newspaper journalism. ⛵ Maritime & Coastal Intrigue Traditional gaff-rigged sailing boats, competitive fishing fleets, muddy estuary hideaways, and the tight-knit, secretive world of West Country harbour towns. TO SEE OUR OTHER POSTS ABOUT CORNWALL, CLICK HERE What Readers Say About The Cornish Snapper "A wonderfully evocative and genuine slice of Cornwall. Hesp avoids the over-sanitised, gift-shop postcard tropes to deliver an authentic, gritty, and atmospheric mystery where the rugged landscape itself is a living character." Where to Buy Start your journey into the Far West today. The Cornish Snapper: The Granite Mystery is published by Kingsdown Books and is available in bookshops and on Amazon KDP in Kindle and Paperback formats. 👉 Get your copy of The Cornish Snapper here

Roadwater Station, West Somerset, back in the day How about this for an amazing view of Roadwater Station? Doesn’t look like that any more - as many people who live in the village will tell you - including me. An old friend of mine lives in the attractive little house that was made out of the old station - and another friend lives in the cottage just behind. IF YOU ENJOY THIS POST CHECK OUT OUR OTHER EXMOOR ARTICLES HERE Roadwater's Role on the Old Mineral Line I found the old photo today in my later father’s filing cabinets - although goodness knows where he got it from. The Mineral Line went out of business way way back. Before the lockdown a friend asked me to tell him all about the old railway that used to run through the valley where I live - and we ended up climbing over 1000 feet so his request at least helped burn off some of the calories we’d taken on board during a couple of barbecues. I wanted to show him the winding house that has recently been saved from further dereliction by the Exmoor National Park Authority The "Mineral Line" valley in the Brendon Hills, Somerset The Iron Road Through the Brendon Hills This place was once the scene of much frenetic activity. Trucks full of heavy iron ore would be placed on the down-line while, several hundred feet below – down a three-quarter-mile-long incline - lighter empty trucks would be collected at Comberow on the up-line. With the help of a stationary steam engine in the winding house, the trucks would be shuttled up and down – the full ones being hauled off to the seaport at Watchet where the iron ore was shipped. The entire 13 mile line represented a fantastic feat of engineering, which is sort of sad seeing that it only enjoyed a comparatively short period of use. The massive iron drums which once turned in the winding house only began to revolve in 1860 – and by 1882-3 the Brendon Hill iron mines closed. Remarkably the railway held on, with various levels of service, for another three decades. Having been closed in 1898 it was reactivated in 1907 by optimistic but doomed entrepreneurs who hoped to reopen the mines – and its life was further extended by an Australian company which leased a section in order to demonstrate a revolutionary new system of train control. The West Somerset Mineral Line as it is today It’s all fascinating stuff, well recorded in an excellent book by Roger Sellick. But I at least have reason to be pleased it closed - there was no lane to my cottage before the railway came and after the line was torn up the locals eventually paved the road up the valley. Exploring the West Somerset Mineral Railway: FAQ (2026) What was the West Somerset Mineral Railway? Opened in the late 1850s, this remarkable industrial railway was built to carry iron ore from the mines high in the Brendon Hills down to the port of Watchet. From there, the ore was shipped across the Bristol Channel to the ironworks in Newport, South Wales. The line closed in 1898 once the mines ceased regular operations. Where was Roadwater Station and what remains today? Roadwater was a key intermediate station along the valley section of the line. The Station House: The original stone station building still stands in the village and has been preserved as a private residence. The Route: While much of the old trackbed is on private land, several public footpaths follow adjacent to the line, offering beautiful, quiet woodland walking through the valley. High up on the old incline of the West Somerset Mineral Line today Can you walk the old Mineral Line? Yes! A popular, family-friendly section of the trackbed has been cleared as a public permissive path. The trail runs between Roadwater and Washford, offering a flat, easy-to-follow walk through the peaceful Washford Valley. It is perfect for spotting local wildlife and imagining the steam engines that once rattled through the trees. What was the famous "Incline"? Further up the line, past Roadwater, lies the engineering marvel of the railway: the Combe Row Incline. This was a massive, steep, cable-operated gravity plane that lifted the wagons 340 meters (1,100 feet) up the sheer face of the Brendon Hills. The remains of the incline and the old winding house can still be visited via public rights of way near Gupworthy.

My old friend, the poet James Crowden phoned me this morning to talk about a hike we once did with a friend in West Dorset. And his call reminded of an earlier walk the two of us did together crossing the amazing series of ridges that run down through the same area from Beaminster to Lyme Regis with poetess Catherine Simmonds. I even made a video of the walk all those years ago which you can see here, although you must please forgive the quality - digital cameras weren’t what they are today…. It was one of the best walks I did in 20 long years of walks writing for the newspaper. A journey that took me out of myself - out of my journalistic world. A golden journey that, for the best part of a day had me walking alongside poets living and dead and sharing the heady, pungent, stimulating, inspiring and energising world in which such people live. Walking the Spine of the Dorset Countryside For that is exactly what the best kind of journeys should do: remove you, albeit fleetingly, from your own sphere and introduce you to another so that you can return refreshed, if not a little dazed, by the shock of the new. This journey included wild-eyed pictures created by the likes of Mervyn Peake and Gustav Dore, charming men in charming cottages adorned by 12 foot hollyhocks, the worried daughter of a 105 year old, huge hills, sweeping vales, the worried eloquence of a highly intelligent farmer, a pub where they eat raw nettles, a poetry reading in an altitudinous meadow, jungle-like woodlands, a fisherman who lives in a Le Corbusier house, a poetess having her fingers sucked by 25 rabid mullet, and four freshly caught mackerel for me to take home and eat, along with a Bath-chap. Not that I had much appetite for anything after consuming that lot. I went home stuffed to the brim thinking my 18-mile sojourn could fill a book rather than a page or two of a newspaper. Our ridge walk ended in Lyme Regis It was all the doing of James Crowden who this website has mentioned before. Historian and writer, and one of the finest poets to presently haunt this peninsula. For some time this denizen of the Somerset-Dorset border had been sending emails inviting me to walk the beautiful ridge-ways that strut across the roof of West Dorset. I had the feeling there was something militarily efficient in the way the poet was preparing for the day (“My father will convey us to Beaminster in time for the museum to open and then be in position to collect us at Lyme”) and so looked him up on Google only to find he had indeed been in the army. I can’t help but suspect the Forces have rarely spawned such an unusual and brilliant product. Here’s how James’ website sums up his extraordinary career: “Born in Plymouth in 1954, he was raised on the western edge of Dartmoor. In 1972 he joined the army and served in Cyprus travelling widely in Eastern Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan and north west India. In 1976-77 he spent a winter on the northern side of the Himalaya, in the remote Zangskar Valley in Ladakh. “It was from this experience that he developed a lifelong interest in agriculture and Buddhism…” After describing his various degrees and academic accolades, the site then goes on: “For the last 20 years James has worked in North Dorset and South Somerset as a shepherd, sheep shearer, cider maker and forester. The choice of manual work was deliberate and gave him a deeper understanding of the landscape.” High altitude Views and Prehistoric Landscapes You get the feeling that an 18 mile walk with such a person is guaranteed to be far more than a journey from a-to-b. James may now have given up working on the land, but he certainly knows a lot about it - and like anyone who has travailed in such a way he has an understanding of the countryside which is both universal and exacting. Both minutiae and sweeping panoramas are his canvases, and as for the human content of a landscape you get the feeling there is no person high-born or low, bright or dull, quick or slow, who can avoid - or wish to avoid - his friendliness and interest. And so it was with this polymath that I entered the picture perfect English town of Beaminster while having an in-depth conversation with his fascinating father Guy (who sadly passed away some years ago) about that little known cut of meat, the Bath-chap. The plan was to take a turn around Beaminster Museum’s new summer exhibition in order to get us in the mood for what was going to be a long walk on the hottest day of the year. It’s called “The Ancient Mariner Coleridge Exhibition and the Beaminster Connection” - entry £1 - worth every penny because there’s a room full of fine prints by the likes of the artists mentioned above who, over the years, have provided extraordinary illustrations for that extraordinary poem. After the viewing it was upwards and onwards along the Wessex Ridgeway (after we’d met the man who grows giant hollyhocks) in the intense heat of one of the hottest days this summer. The temperature made climbing the near vertical sides of Gerrard’s Hill an act of mad- dogs-and-Englishman proportions, but the one thing about this long hike to Lyme Regis is that once you are up, you tend to stay pretty much up. It’s not called a ridgeway for nothing. Lambert's Castle Hill, West Dorset High above the attractive village of Stoke Abbott we traversed – a village to which James had earlier diverted his father’s car in order to show me the porch of an ancient church where once a vicar called William Crowe had written a few remarkable some lines that were later to influence William Wordsworth. It was here, by the way, that he spoke to the daughter of a local 105-year-old retired farm worker who was feeling poorly. Past Chart Knolle and Waddon Hill we reached wooded Lewesdon Hill and Burstock Down and this in turn took us around Cockpit Hill to the Pilsdon Pen. At 277 metres this is believed to be the highest place in the county – though James tells me there are debates over the claim. It’ll do me though – the strange flat-topped eminence offers views over half of southern England. It was on the steep slopes of this mountain that we came across a beautiful field gate – and I mean beautiful – it was created by a talented carpenter called Karen Hansen, of Evershot, and is one of a collection of works of art commissioned to adorn various bits of the ridgeway. It is known as the “Wordsworth Gate” because William and Dorothy Wordsworth first set up house together as brother and sister just a mile away in a big old pile called Racedown Lodge – a fact that is central to the story of this journey. Lewesdon Hill, When James was writer in residence for the ridgeway he was commissioned to write a number of poems which he later collated into a book called Dorset Footsteps, and it was from this that he read the following words as we stood at the gate. “She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, And delicate fears Maintained a saving intercourse With my true self, preserved me still. A poet.” Walking west down the hill James explained that while the Quantocks and the Lake District get all the glory when it comes to being the locations where the Romantic Poets were… well, romantic – it was West Dorset that saw the very first glimmerings of the ethos and resultant work that was to come. “It was here that Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge dallied in the month of June 1797,” writes James in the introduction to his book. “A truly historic and exciting meeting of minds and words… It was here in West Dorset that they first struck up their real friendship and kindled their lifelong obsession with the countryside. An obsession which altered the course of poetry and in many ways influenced the way in which we view the landscape today. The landscape around Pilsdon Pen has much to answer for.” Hesp at Lambert's Castle Hill We walked on down the hill to meet a fascinating local farmer called Ross Dickinson who’s given up dairy cows to pursue his interest in archaeology - and grab a lift the two miles to the Bottle Inn (“home of the World Nettle Eating Championships” - I kid you not). It was here that I was to hear more of this link with the Romantic Poets. It was told me by a tall and elegant poetess called Catherine Simmonds who was to join us on the rest of the walk and who has done a great deal of work and research regarding the Wordsworths’ two year stay in Dorset. Her book We Have Heard Ravens is a collection of thought-provoking poems drawn from Dorothy Wordsworth’s journals - and this is what Catherine told me as we resumed our big walk across the hills to the sea. “Despite her great attachment to her native Cumbria, where she lived the greater part of her life - 'Racedown', Dorothy once wrote, 'is the place dearest to any recollections upon the whole surface of the island; it was the first home I had.' “They didn't have a great deal of money at the time,” Catherine added. “They grew vegetables for themselves in the kitchen garden - William wrote to a friend: 'I have been lately living upon the air and the essence of carrots, cabbages, turnips and other esculent vegetables not excluding parsley’.” By now we had reached the ramparts of Lambert’s Castle Hill, yet another high point of the walk offering fabulous views of glorious tree studded Marshwood Vale and the distant sea. For me, the journey had by this point become a kind of dreamy reverie the likes of which Dorothy and William Wordsworth probably enjoyed with Samuel Taylor Coleridge when he joined them at Racedown for brief holiday and first discovered the huge delights of walking in the countryside. On the edge of Lewesdon Hill, West Dorset There was nothing for it high on Lambert’s Castle Hill but that my two poet pals should read the whole of the Scribes Meet poem from James’ collection (a performance you can hear on the WMN’s website). I was glad the friendly ex-farmer archaeologist arrived in the hot altitudinous meadow to hear it because he seemed most moved – moved enough, indeed, to offer us a lift to the nearest cider-house. This establishment was closed, which was probably a good thing. Set deep in a secret valley somewhere near Monkton Wyld, the cider press seemed to offer the promise of some long lost rural idyll – it was all so beautiful that I do believe I’d still be there had the golden juice been available. Instead we looked around the Marie Celeste-ish farm buildings and orchard where working clothes like overalls were drying in the hot breeze – then persuaded the ex-farmer archaeologist to drive us a mile or so to yet another ridge. This time it was a watershed that introduced us to an almost ludicrously lush and verdant that led south and seawards on Shank’s Pony all the way to Lyme. Which is where my old friend Richard Austin was waiting to photograph us having purloined four fresh mackerel for me from Harry May, a friendly fisherman who pointed to a remarkable Le Corbusier style house by the harbour-side which, he said, had eventually become his home long after half the hill had slipped and moved towards the sea. Max Gollop, owner of the Cobb’s aquarium, introduced Catherine to his mad finger-sucking mullet, we licked ice-creams, took photos, ate cockles - and last of all those two poets couldn’t resist one last reading of one of James’s double-handed works, delivered under the screech of gulls… “Tea shops and ice cream - crab sandwiches and crazy golf The French Lieutenant’s Woman - running her own Patisserie Marine defences, imported sand - crumpet, fish and chip wrappers Dust jackets, waves of tourists - lapping the curved shore…” Upon which word James’ father Guy arrived and handed me that rarest cut of meat of them all – the aforementioned Bath-chap. Completing the Ridgeway Trail Part 3: Up-to-Date FAQ Section Place this practical guide at the bottom of the article to give hikers the exact logistics they need to plan the walk. The South Dorset Ridgeway: Walk Planner & FAQ (2026) What is the South Dorset Ridgeway? The South Dorset Ridgeway is an ancient, elevated trail that forms part of the South West Coast Path. Often described as a "prehistoric highway," the ridge is littered with ancient burial mounds (barrows), stone circles, and hillforts, offering panoramic inland views of the Dorset Downs alongside dramatic vistas of the Jurassic Coast. How long is the walk and where does it start? Distance: The main stretch of the Ridgeway trail runs for approximately 17 miles (27 km). Route: It traditionally runs from West Bexington in the west to Osmington Mills in the east. Terrain: It is a hilly, undulating walk with several steep climbs up onto the chalk downs. Good hiking boots and a reasonable level of fitness are essential. How do I navigate the trail? Because the Ridgeway is an official inland alternative to the coastal stretch of the South West Coast Path, it is well-signed with the familiar acorn symbol alongside the South Dorset Ridgeway name. However, a reliable OS map (Explorer OL15) or a GPS walking app is highly recommended for keeping track of the ancient rights-of-way across the high downs. Are there places to stop for food and drink? On the ridge itself, facilities are practically non-existent. You are walking through high pasture and ancient downs, so you must pack plenty of water and a picnic. However, you can find excellent West Country pubs at either end of the trail: The Club House at West Bexington or nearby country pubs in Abbotsbury. The historic Smugglers Inn at Osmington Mills, which makes for the perfect celebratory pint at the end of the journey. Is the trail dog-friendly? Yes, but with caution. Much of the high ridge path passes through active farmland where sheep and cattle graze. Dogs must be kept on a short lead around livestock, and hikers should watch out for nesting birds on the open downs during spring and summer.

How Farmers Can Solve Climate Change Through Soil Health If farmers all around the world looked after their soils better it would go a long, long way to solving our climate-change problems. It wasn’t a meteorologist or climate scientist who told me that, it was a Devon farmer. If you get a bunch of passionate cheesemakers together, you are pretty much bound to witness a conversation that will go a long way beyond milk and its products. People who farm specially in a way that allows them or their colleagues to make artisan cheeses - and also the people who sell such choice dairy items - tend to be passionate and driven. Although their talk will centre on milk and cheese, it will also drift to the big bad world that surrounds their cows, curds, shops and farms. The Ancient Art of West Country Cheddar Because ‘slow food’ items like artisan cheeses tend to embody an entire lifestyle and belief system. There’s no room for shortcuts or industrial quick-fixes. You must work with nature and respect the way it can change the flavour and quality of the milk and therefore the products you hope to produce. There’s no hurrying it. There’s no blasting it with chemicals to suit your profit and loss account. And there’s no cut-price version which can be sold in big supermarkets under two-for-the-price-of-one offers or any other discounted promotions - a feature of the retail world nowadays which gets the goat of artisan cheesemakers because they believe it sells a cheap untruth to their entire industry. These are things you learn when you gather a group of such people together - something I realised the other day when my colleague and friend Graham Harvey asked if I’d host a series of podcasts he’s producing in his perennial bid to promote a more considered way of farming and producing food. With my other old friend James Crowden, we sat down at the marvellous Pebblebed’s Cellar in Topsham with Devon farmer and cheesemaker Mary Quicke and also Garry and Elise Jungenheim of Country Cheeses, which is a remarkable business that has outlets in Tavistock, Totnes and Topsham. It was Mary who told us about the way in which well nurtured soils could help with climate change… “Humans control 38 per cent of the global land area as farming. Of that probably we control (the upper) 30 centimetres - and if you were to add just one percent of organic matter across the globe that would take 100 parts per million of carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. And we are worried about 200! “If you said to any farmer, ‘This is what we want you to do - put one per cent more organic matter into your soil’ - they would know how to do it. “But actually it’s almost like the whole carbon discussion has been take over by industrial and capitalist solutions,” sighed Mary, whose cows graze outdoors for most of the year, ensuring that plenty of organic matter is being fed back to the soil. “Farmers are being seen as part of the problem, not part of the solution. It’s a bit embarrassing for high flown government scientists to go out and ask people in the fields to go and do what they know how to do.” When the rest of us around the table showed amazement that just a small tweaking of farming and soil nurturing techniques could actually halve the problems behind climate change. Mary said: “It is true. I asked a climate-change scientist - are these numbers correct? He said they were. I asked, why aren’t farmers being asked?” She was preaching to the converted with Graham Harvey, who has been writing about the importance of healthy fertile soils for years. And the Jungenheims said they are keen to tell this story to customers in their shops. The Art and Alchemy of Devon Artisan Cheese Elise said: “It is really important to paint a picture to our customers. We’ve seen such a change - we started 30 years ago and it was hard. It was just when people were starting to want to know more about their food - and that has grown and grown - and is a delight now. We get families in with their children - and they are all so interested. Garry had said earlier: “We feel blessed to be in the cheese industry - artisan cheesemakers are sound people and they are people who care about humanity. And it is always good talking about people you know and you respect. For us to talk about the cheesemakers is not a hardship - you are wanting the customer to know about this particular food. You are giving the information because you really want to.” Mary had commented: “Given milk is so yummy, why would you bother preserving it? In the old days, cows would just be milked in the summer and this is how you got protein through to the winter. All I do is add bugs to ferment the lactose - I add some rennet and do some stuff - and out of those tiny processes all the amazing cheeses arise. It’s extraordinary.” “It is a way of preserving the milk,” agreed James “Even in Ovid there are accounts of shepherds with sieves getting out the curd. I’ve seen it happen in the Hindu Kush - nomads putting the milk in a goat’s skin and churning it for hours until they’re getting the curd and using that as cheese. Also in the Himalayas, I have seen them drying it out on rocks while stopping ravens getting it. Once it’s dried it’s like biltong - and that’s a way of preserving it. It is how cheese evolved - how you preserve the flavours and the protein to get you through the hungry gap.” How Changing Weather Patterns Affect the Pasture By now Mary was in her stride… “There are people going back to old recipes - people who are starting to ferment the milk in the way they used to with natural fermentations. It’s such a vital and exciting world. A very creative world. Especially if you look at America. They are going at it like a bull a china shop. When I first judged cheeses there nine years ago it was a bit boring, but last year there were so many exiting world class cheeses. Because milk is such a flexible thing - you can do the most amazing things with it.” Garry joined in: “If you eat something, part of the joy should be the imagination that goes with it. Imagining this slab of whatever it is - imagining that it has come from a farm and people have actually put love and care and attention - artistry and alchemy - into the product… Suddenly it is marvellous. They are smelling it - looking at it. “I want people to pick up cheese and rub it in their fingers,” he went on. “Because cheese is really sensual and you are losing out if you are just popping it in your mouth. People are getting really excited about what happens naturally - taking this substance on a little journey and nudging it to be something that is edible in a really lovely way.” The Academy of Cheese and the Future of Knowledgeable Eating At this point Mary was able to get in her news about the creation of the Academy of Cheese: “People sell cheese with passion, but if we can sell cheese with knowledge - knowledge plus passion is inspiration. So we have created The Academy of Cheese - based partly on an American model - partly on a UK method of the sommelier programme ending up with a master of wine. “It is very much based on tasting. Level One is 25 cheeses. Level Two is 100 in total… going up to Level Four, which will be our Master of Cheese. We’ve already had nearly 1000 people take Level One. You can take it on the internet and we’ve had people all over the world. “But we have 10 training partners like Paxton and Whitfield who are training consumers as well as professionals. Other people do chefs - some doing cheesemakers or retailers. The idea is that we start creating this knowledgeable group of people who can go out and sell cheese.” If you are interested in cheese check out https://www.quickes.co.uk/pages/academy-of-cheese and also watch out for Garry and Elise’s amazing Tavistock Real Cheese Fair which is a “ homage to artisan cheese and the artists who make it” staged in the town on the weekend of Saturday and Sunday 1o-11 August. Visit www.countrycheeses.co.uk to find out more. From the Hindu Kush to Topsham: A Brief History of Cheese Perhaps as early as 7000 BC the hunters who were rapidly becoming became graziers, and realised that milk could solidify. By evening something happened to the milk they took out in their calf-stomach bags. They weren’t to realise there was a chemical reaction taking place between the milk and rennet, but it worked. Later thistle flowers and green fig juice were used by Romans as rennet and soon ripening techniques were spreading throughout Europe. The French word “fromage” has been used since 1180 when it replaced “formage” - from the slang latin “formaticus” or “made in a mould”. In 1267, in the Doubs region, an early form of dairy cooperative produced the first big wheels of cheese (Beaufort, Emmental, Comté). By the 19th century, a huge dairy industry was thriving in France, and at the beginning of the 20th century, the first large factory opened manufacturing cheese. In 1953, the Stresa Convention, ratified by France, Italy, Swiss, Austria, Scandinavia and Holland protected certain national sorts of cheese like Parmesan, Roquefort, Gorgonzola from counterfeiting. We didn’t join the club, which is why our famous cheddar is now made anywhere from Canada to Australia. Sustainable Farming & Quicke's Cheddar: FAQ (2026) What makes Quicke’s Cheddar unique? Located in Newton St Cyres, Devon, the Quicke family has been farming the same land for fourteen generations. Their award-winning cheese is still crafted using traditional methods: it is handmade, wrapped in cotton cloth to breathe, and matured slowly in their cheese stores for up to 24 months. How does climate change specifically impact traditional cheesemaking? Artisan cheesemaking relies on the perfect balance of nature, beginning in the soil: Grass Composition: Extreme wet periods or prolonged summer droughts alter the varieties of grasses and herbs that grow in the pasture. This changes the cows' diet and, ultimately, the subtle, complex flavor profile of the raw milk. Humidity & Temperature: Traditional clothbound cheeses age in ambient, unconditioned cellars where they interact with natural molds. Shifting seasonal temperatures and humidity levels require cheesemakers to work much harder to maintain the perfect aging environment. What is regenerative farming, and how is Mary Quicke implementing it? Regenerative farming is an agricultural approach that focuses on restoring soil health, capturing carbon, and boosting biodiversity. Mary Quicke has been a leading voice in this movement by: Diverse Swards: Sowing pastures with a complex mix of deep-rooting grasses, chicory, and clover, which are more resilient to dry spells and enrich the soil biology. Rotational Grazing: Allowing pastures time to fully recover between grazing cycles, which promotes deep root growth and traps more carbon in the Devon earth.

You’ve got to play fair - if you mention one Bristol Channel island then you’ve got to do something about the other. I was up on the ridge above our house in the fine weather again today - and this time I was looking across at the isle of Flat Holm - and I recalled visiting the place with my Uncle William several years ago… The boat careered up and down like a rodeo horse, the short steep stubby waves came at us like 10 foot brick walls and the massive currents of the second highest tidefall in the world swirled around like a river in full spate. But it was the warning on the skipper’s electronic navigation screen that rang warning bells. There’s something about the word “whirlpool” that makes you sit up and take notice. “You would see it if it wasn’t for all the waves,” said the captain of the Lewis Alexander. “It can get pretty big. We sailed through it once and it span this boat around.” The Lewis Alexander is not exactly a super-tanker, but it’s big and sturdy enough to carry 45 passengers to and from the island of Flat Holm. And right at that moment I, for one, was very much looking forward to steeping safely ashore on a bit of terra-firma that I’ll admit here and now is not part of the West Country. Sailing to the South of Wales Flat Holm is officially the most southerly bit of Wales – but as it is twin to Somerset’s Steep Holm, and as it is very much part of the Bristol Channel scene and can be spotted from a lengthy section of this region’s coast – it has a rightful place in this series. After all, didn’t it act as a refuge for a bunch of marauding Vikings after they’d been ousted by a group of West Country locals in what must have been one of the region’s proudest ever defensive victories? History has it that a Viking fleet from Brittany - led by two earls, Ohter and Hroald - took refuge on the island following their defeat by the Saxons at Watchet. That’s a story which still goes down well on my native West Somerset coast to this day. So it was a somewhat bitter pill when I discovered I’d have to go all the way to Wales to reach Flat Holm. Our sea journey began in Cardiff Bay and we had to negotiate the great sea-locks that protect to giant new lagoon to reach the real waves. Not that there were many bumpy bits until we’d passed the Victorian pier at Penarth and rounded Lavernock Point. But then… Well, it was as though the old sea-gods of Exmoor’s coast had something to say about one of their minions crossing from the wrong side, so to speak. All hell let loose. But we made it all the same – maybe because the mate of the Lewis Alexander confided that he’d originally been a Watchet man. And the fact that skipper Karl was able to beach the vessel on a surprisingly sheltered shingle strand with great skill. Flat Holm, or Ynys Echni to give it the unpronounceable Welsh name, is a limestone island lying four miles off Lavernock Point, due south of Cardiff – or more relevant to people in West Somerset, seven miles north west of Brean Down. Not surprisingly, being situated plonk in the middle of a busy seaway, the island has a long history, dating at least from the Bronze Age. There have been religious recluses, saints and their disciples, smugglers, farmers, gunnery officers, lighthouse keepers, hotel keepers, the doctors and nurses of a cholera hospital – it was even the founding site of the Bristol Channel Mission, which later became the Mission to Seafarers. Now it is home to a warden and his two helpers, occasional volunteers, occasional campers and work-group members, and gulls. Lots and lots of gulls. Like its sister island already mentioned in this series, Flat Holm is seagull central. Go there at certain times of the year – like now, for instance (he says through gritted teeth) – and you will enjoy the company of gulls. They make a great song and dance about seeing you. They screech, they yell, they even reach for the heavens with joy only to dive down in an attempt to give you a little welcoming peck on the top of the head. Some, rather generously, prefer to offer you the contents of their stomach. “You get used to them,” shrugged Matt Lipton, the island’s warden. “You really do – I don’t take any notice of them at all.” I did, and borrowed a hat. “They are just being good parents,” said Matt. And of course he was right – the lesser black backed and herring gulls have been living on Flat Holm for a good deal longer than humans and they get a bit miffed when you stroll to close to their nests, which they position with no seeming care on the ground just about everywhere. Once the eggs have hatched and the fledglings have gone – which will be soon – you apparently have no problems. Anyway, let’s describe Flat Holm. For a start, it’s not flat. The cliffs at the south-eastern corner of the round-ish isle rise some 160 feet from the swirling waves. It is on this high point that the 90 foot lighthouse stands. There’s been a warning light here for many years - the first one was a simple brazier mounted on a wooden frame. But in 1733 the Society of Merchant Venturers of Bristol claimed it was unreliable and petitioned the authorities to erect a proper lighthouse. Their bid failed, but two years later William Crispe of Bristol submitted a proposal to build one at his own expense. This proposal also failed but negotiations soon resumed in 1736 when 60 soldiers drowned after their vessel shipwrecked off Flat Holm. In just a year the tower was built, and by 1738 it was in operation. The lighthouse was the last signal station in the UK to come out of private ownership - Trinity House finally bought the lease for £15,838.10 in 1822. It was renovated in 1929 to include accommodation for four keepers and was staffed until 1988, when it became fully automated. From what could be described as the island’s summit the ground slopes gently down towards the north and west. And there are the remains of human yesteryear to be found almost every step of the way. Flat Holm’s first human occupants were denizens of the late Bronze Age - more than 1000 years later it became a retreat for Saint Cadoc, who apparently lived on the island as a hermit. His great pal Saint Gildas did the same thing on neighbouring Steep Holm, and legend has it that the two occasionally met up to say a few prayers. After having sailed so close to the whirlpool – which is between the two islands - I imagine they needed all the prayers they could get if they were relying on small leather-clad coracles for their inter-island journeys. Monks, Miners, and Marconi: A Layered History After the saints, came the Anglo-Saxons - who called the island Bradanreolice. “Reolice” is said to come from an Irish word meaning graveyard – adding fuel to the belief that Flat Holm had religious significance as a place of burial to people at the time. Certainly a couple of graves have been found, including one with a Celtic cross. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records that in 1067, Gytha Thorkelsdóttir, mother of Harold II, the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, stayed on the island before travelling to France after the Norman invasion. Heading in the opposite direction was Lord Robert Fitzhamon - a cousin of William the Conqueror - who formed the Shire of Glamorgan with Cardiff Castle at the centre of his new domain. Flat Holm was made a hereditary property of the Norman Lords of Glamorgan. There’s plenty of archaeological evidence to show that people lived on Flat Holm during these times. Some sandstone roofing tiles and a fragment of a 14th-century glazed ridge tile indicate the possible existence of a substantial medieval building - maybe a chapel. Other records show that the island was farmed. In 1542 King Henry VIII granted the lease to one Edmund Tournor whose family remained on Flat Holm until the end of the 17th century. Like Steep Holm, Flat Holm had long played a cosy host to smugglers. There is even a legend that various secret tunnels were dug around an old mine shaft – certainly I saw what looked to be the ends of a couple of man-made tunnels when we somewhat bumpily circumnavigated the isle. Next came a far more worthy era of island history. John Ashley, a clergyman from Clevedon on the Somerset coast, was ministering to the population of the island when, in 1835, he hit upon the idea of creating a mission to serve seafarers on the hundreds of sailing vessels which regularly used the Bristol Channel. The Bristol Channel Mission would later become the well known national Mission to Seafarers. And talking of sailors, I’ve so far neglected to mention the giant foghorn built in 1906. It was originally powered by a massive engine which gave blasts at two-minute intervals that could be heard by people as far away as Exmoor. The weird looking foghorn still dominates a corner of the isle today. Still on the subject of sailors, we come to the island’s sanatorium – now a ruins surrounded by nettles. It was in 1883 that the steamship Rishanglys left three cholera stricken seamen on the island – it was the sort of inhumane thing skippers did in those days. They had only a canvas tent to be ill in - one of the sailors subsequently died and islanders petitioned for compensation saying they’d lost income from the fact visitors were too frightened to make day trips. They even had difficulty in selling vegetables in Cardiff market. It was obviously a problem and by 1896 an isolation hospital had been built. It is said to be the only isolation hospital sited on a British offshore island. The last patient to die there was a victim of bubonic plague and he was cremated on the island at the end of the 19th century. The sanatorium closed in 1935 and has remained derelict since. Today people go to Flat Holm for fun rather than for medical purposes. The place is a Local Nature Reserve, managed by the Cardiff Council as The Flat Holm Project. The management team operates the Lewis Alexander boat which was purpose-built as the island’s one and only means of transport to and from the mainland. And the project is supported by the Flat Holm Society, a registered charity. While on the island I talked to project manager Natalie Taylor and Matt the warden in one of the converted military buildings. They told me Flat Holm draws around 2000 visitors a year between March and October: “Through the winter we get a few volunteers who help our small team so it is occupied all year round,” said Matt. One of the modern developments is the transfer to greener forms of energy. “We have a diesel generator but we very rarely have to use it – it’s only been on once in the past three months and then only to train volunteer staff,” Matt told me. “The wind turbine charges batteries so that we normally have a supply of at least three days.” “When I was warden out here we used to put generator on two or three hours in the morning then six hours every evening for fridges and freezers,” said Natalie. “Our diesel consumption was huge.” Natalie also told me something of future plans for the island. “We’re planning to try and increase opportunities for birds – we’re looking at more traditional crops we could grow on an arable basis along with some sort of beet that we can feed sheep. We have 92 sheep at the moment - we recently bought some Soay sheep and we've had 22 lambs to add to the population.” “There are plenty of ghost stories and other legends,” said Matt when I asked. “One member of staff won’t even come into this building - there was a soldier who used to stand in that doorway over there.” “There were two generations of Harris family who came from Steep Holm to here to open a hotel,” said Natalie. “It had a skittle alley - everything - a lot of people used to apparently row over for a drink on a Sunday when Wales was ‘dry’. Then there were the Robinsons - father and son - they were well known smugglers and they had a bright red boat, which showed they weren’t particularly scared of the authorities.” I left Natalie and Matt musing over swashbuckling times to go down to the landing beach where I expected to be in for a bit of swashbuckle myself. Fortunately, the tide and wind – though still raging - had done some sort of deal together and the crossing back to Wales was a lot smoother. Later I returned to England having enjoyed what was a fascinating, wonderful and swashbuckling adventure in a foreign country. If you’d like to know more about Flat Holm or find out how to visit the island go to www.flatholmisland.com Flat Holm Visitor Guide & FAQ (2026) If you are planning to cross the water to explore this flat, grassy limestone plateau, the logistics are slightly different from its sister island, Steep Holm. Here is the essential "state of play" for visitors today: How do you get to Flat Holm? Because Flat Holm is managed by Cardiff Council, most passenger vessels depart from the Welsh side of the channel. Main Operators: Bay Island Voyages (departing from Mermaid Quay in Cardiff Bay) and Cardiff Cruises (sailing from Penarth) run regular high-speed RIB trips from March to October. Landing Fee: Note that Cardiff Council charges a £10 cash landing fee per person (collected by the island warden when you step ashore). What is there to see on the island? Despite its small size, Flat Holm is packed with history: The Marconi Connection: This is the historic site where Guglielmo Marconi sent the world's very first wireless radio transmission across open water to Lavernock Point in 1897. The Trinity House Lighthouse: Built in 1737, the striking white lighthouse still stands proud on the island's southern tip. Military Ruins & Cholera Hospital: You can wander among Victorian gun embankments, WWII searchlight posts, and the ruins of the isolated cholera hospital built in the late 19th century. Is there a pub on Flat Holm? Yes! Flat Holm is home to The Gull and Leek, which proudly holds the title of Wales' most southerly pub. It's a fantastic spot to grab a local ale, cider, or hot drink after walking the island. Tip: Both the pub and the island shop prefer cash as backup, as card machines rely on temperamental island Wi-Fi. Can you stay overnight? Unlike Steep Holm, which is strictly day-use only, Flat Holm accommodates overnight adventurers. You can book camping pitches in the farmhouse paddocks or rent out the historic dormitory hostel or glamping pods through the Cardiff Harbour Authority. Are there any restrictions? Because of the massive breeding colonies of lesser black-backed gulls, dogs are strictly forbidden on Flat Holm. There is also no swimming permitted off the island due to the notoriously dangerous, fast-moving currents of the estuary. Part 4: The Flat Holm "Bridge" To link this post to your other island articles and keep readers exploring your site, drop this callout box near the top or bottom of your page: The Sister Isle: Just across the narrow, tide-ripped channel lies Flat Holm's steep, cliff-bound twin. To read about the sheer physical challenge of landing on the English side of this watery boundary, read my story: Steep Holm: Difficult to Reach Even Outside the Lockdown.

Even in normal times there are places which seem just a little too distant. Places which you see in some way then think it impossible that you should ever get to go there. it might be some fantastic foreign location you see on TV - or it could be somewhere much closer that always seems impossibly out of reach. Today on my dog-walk I reached the top of the hill near my house and looked north to the Bristol Channel, which is where I could see Steep Holm looking very distant and very unreachable. The Allure of the Limestone Giant There’s a phrase first coined by Dylan Thomas about a place that’s so remote it’s where gulls go to be lonely. Steep Holm is a bit like that – it is lonely and peaceful in all respects, save for one – it is where lots and lots of gulls go to be sociable, mix with their own kind, breed and generally hang out, busily and noisily. More about Seagull-Central later, the first thing to say about Steep Holm is that it offers lovers of the West Country one of the region’s great adventures. Getting there is an adventure, and somehow being there is like taking part in some kind of ripping yarn featuring the Famous Five. Then, when you leave Steep Holm, a bit of it comes away with you – memories of your island adventure will undoubtedly remain for life. Perhaps it is the kind of Dunkirk Spirit which seems to prevail among the volunteers who run Steep Holm that instils this sense of adventure. It’s maybe the way the island’s indomitable helpers haul great vats of drinking water more than 200 feet up from sea level with the eager promise of putting on the kettle for a “nice cup of tea”, which they produce alongside lashings of homemade cake before going off to take part in archaeological digs or scrub clearance parties. Later you see some of them relaxing with glasses of wine while eating their sandwiches in the old barracks which they’ve helped restore into what passes for the island’s comfy visitor centre. The chairman of the charity that owns and runs the island ambles across to tell you matter-of-factly about the gulls and the number of times he’s had his scalp cut by their razor-sharp beaks when he’s been counting nests. The secretary of the charitable trust joins you in the little exhibition house which passes as the island’s very own museum to tell you quickly and quietly all manner of fascinating facts about the great 48-acre limestone buttress that shoulders its way out of the waves five miles off the Somerset coast. In the near distance a generator “putt-putts” its monosyllabic song like an old pre-war boat, beyond the gulls screech - and far below the violent tides of the second highest tide-fall in the world rip around the island cliffs with all the hiss and rush of a mountain torrent. Somewhere down towards those waves an ancient, long-derelict pub lurks on the edge of a steep woodland, offering the tarry beery memories of the sea-salt stories of yore. The ghost of the dancing wrestling bear which once lived there may still haunt the place. Who drank here and why – is what you wonder when you pass this lonesome place. Not even the dullest of dullards could fail to think of smugglers and pirates - and of the wave-tossed-sailor-Sams and-no-good-boyos of yesteryear’s lawless tide-line. Far above, a rusting Bofors gun is silhouetted as it aims its thin long barrel skywards at gulls it will never shoot - and around it, dotted here and there across the island’s high plateau, great iron canon rest on their massive sides never, ever, to be moved again. Welcome to the region’s biggest fortress – the unsinkable battleship - the mysterious, implacable, immovable, steadfast buttress of an isle that is Steep Holm. Welcome to the island of nightmares and dreams. That, at least, has been my own relationship with the place – and I am told the same goes for many a visitor to climb its mighty ramparts. Steep Holm is a thing you see, but never go to. It is a kind of promised land floating out there on the horizon. Somehow you assume that one day you may go there, but probably never do. It has taken me more than half a century to reach its great and fascinating bulk. “We get a lot of people coming over who say that,” commented the founder of the island’s mainland support group called the Steep Holm Shirkers. “They say – we’ve been meaning to come over for years, but have never got around to it until now.” “I worked in Weston-Super-Mare for 40 years and never stepped foot on Steep Holm once during that time despite wanting to - and despite the fact that Weston is where the ferry goes from,” piped in one of Dave’s willing Shirkers. They, by the way, don’t shirk at all – the Shirkers are a 100-strong support army of volunteers who help the 160-member Kenneth Allsop Memorial Trust look after the island it owns. It’s all done on a shoestring, and much of it is hard work – but having a special connection with your very own island seems to attract a pleasant and willing kind of volunteer. “It does get under a lot of people’s skins,” Joan Rendell told me some years ago when she was secretary of the memorial trust (she might still be for all I know). “People come to the island, they like it, then they want to get involved. It’s a process that happened to Joan and her husband Stan way back in 1976. “We were members of the County Archaeological survey - there had been a survey of the island before the war – but during the war such changes were made on Steep Holm it was felt there ought to be another and we were called in. “It went from there – we did the military, the archaeological, the general history - and we just got stuck.” So much so, that the couple have produced a fascinating book on the island called Steep Holm’s Pioneers as well as an illustrated trail guide. Which brings us nicely to Steep Holm’s geography: where it is, how you get to it, and how to enjoy the island when you reach it... Basically, it is part of a spine of limestone that continues along the Mendips and directly offshore of Brean Down – the great needle of a peninsula that divides Bridgwater Bay from the smaller bay at Weston-Super-Mare. This spine continues across the channel to form Steep Holm and neighbouring Flat Holm, which this series will be visiting later in the summer. But, whereas it is reached from Cardiff, the Steep Holm ferry leaves from Weston. Why Landing on Steep Holm is a Tide-Swept Gamble And a pretty tricky crossing it was too back when i last visited. The skipper of the Bristol Queen, a beautiful old Clyde ferry built in 1938 could only take his 100-seater vessel to the island at certain times of the ferocious tide – and even then had to use well-honed skills to bring her bow up on Steep Holm’s one and only beach. For the first timer, the approach can be alarming as she noses her way around massive Tower Rock at the eastern end of the island to avoid the roaring tide-race that swirls just feet out to sea. Even when her bow is safely onto the pebbles, crew have to urge passengers to depart down the gangplank as fact as they can for fear that the vessel will hold fast on the ebb. For the visitor, it’s then a matter of ascending. Up is the only way to go on Steep Holm, which is skirted by high cliffs around all its oval-shaped coast, save for here at the landing beach. It’s difficult to believe but, because of several vandal attacks, the trust now keeps the island locked. A steel door has been mounted across the steps at the top of the beach and this has to be unlocked before visitors can access the zig-zag path that climbs through the steep sycamore wood past the semi derelict old inn. It seems almost unbelievable that this remote hostelry should have ever had any trade at all, but it did. While in the hands of a couple called Fred and Mary Harris in the 1850s it enjoyed quite a reputation according to Stan and Joan’s book. “Their renowned dish of fresh fish washed down with a glass or two of excise-free alcohol became a byword,” says the book. “And excursionists came not only from Weston, but also from Cardiff and Bristol – sometimes arriving by steam-tug.” The place was also frequented by crews awaiting the tide to take them up channel – sailors who would deliver far more in the way of tax free spirits from places like the West Indies than they drank. The story becomes ever more bizarre, with Fred Harris one day swapping his Newfoundland dog for a bear. This creature became a feature of the inn, and once fought with, and beat, a well known wrestler. It also, alas, attacked an Italian governess who was enjoying a day out from Bristol, and succeeded in maiming her for life. The Raw Isolation of the Bristol Channel You can read many such strange and sometimes rip-roaring yarns in Steep Holm’s Pioneers, but here we’d better stick to the main backbone of the island’s history. Prehistoric man knew a good fishing place when he saw one and there is some evidence that he visited in his various guises; the Romans used the place as a look out station; and a most remarkable carved Cetlic head has been found in the woodland. There was a saint (St Gildas), there were Vikings, warreners, fishermen, builders, Victorian navvies, gunners, coastguards and wardens. The island was fortified in the 1860s and Steep Holm and Flat Holm form part of a line of defences, known as Palmerston Forts, built across the channel to protect the approaches to Bristol and Cardiff. Steep Holm has several gun batteries, and a centralised group of brick-built barrack blocks. These facilities were updated in both World Wars and, in the second, searchlight batteries were erected to seek out enemy planes. All this fortification is very much in evidence as you walk around the half mile long plateau which acts as a kind of flat-ish roof for the island. There’s a circular path which takes you close to the cliff-tops and a central route which leads through ancient fields that are now filled with low scrub. It’s near the eastern end of this that you come to both the ruins of a farm and the remains of an Augustinian priory believed to have been built by monks in the 12th century, and where archaeological work is ongoing. The monks are thought to have introduced plants like wild leek, henbane and caper spurge for medicine or food - some 260 species of plant have been recorded on the island, including several rarities like the wild peony (Paeonia mascula) for which Steep Holm is the only British home. A variety of buck’s-horn (Plantain Plantago coronopus), which occurs along the cliffs, is unique to Steep Holm. But it’s those gulls that you notice longest and loudest, especially at this time of the year. There are some 1800 breeding pairs on the island according to the trust’s bird expert and chairman Tony Parsons – mainly the common herring gulls, then lesser black-backed and a few greater black-backed - along with small numbers of other sea-birds. “It’s the fault of humans that gulls are such scavengers,” Tony shrugged when I pointed out that some people aren’t quite so keen on these elegant marauders. “If people in places like Weston didn’t go around dropping things like pizzas and burgers, they wouldn’t have learned to scrounge.” TAKE A LOOK AT OUR OTHER SOMERSET POSTS HERE He also told me numbers had gone both up and down over the years. At one time there were so many gulls on Steep Holm you could barely take a step without crunching eggs at this time of year – then numbers declined after the introduction of bin-liners caused waste food to heat and rot giving the gulls botulism. Now numbers are back on a more even keel. To the non-gull-lover a visit to Steep Holm at this time of year, when the gulls’ eggs are just hatching, can resemble a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s movie The Birds. They dive-bomb and mob almost every step of the way. I’d recommend this remarkable island to everyone once the dreaded coronavirus lockdown is over – join the 1000 or so visitors a year and go to stunning Steep Holm without more ado - but if you go in May or early June, take a stout hat. Steep Holm Visitor Guide & FAQ (2026) I wrote the story above after a visit many years ago - please take a look at the following for up-to-date advice... If my story of struggling to reach this wind-scoured rock hasn't deterred you, visiting Steep Holm is one of the most rewarding, rugged adventures you can have in the West Country. However, the "state of play" has changed over the years. Here is what you need to know to plan a modern expedition to the island: How do you get to Steep Holm? You cannot simply row or sail over on a whim. Access is strictly coordinated to protect the island's Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) status. The official partner for all visits is Bay Island Voyages, who operate rigid inflatable boats (RIBs) to the island. Departures: Most trips depart from Knightstone Causeway in Weston-super-Mare, though there are some departures from Cardiff Bay. Booking: You must book well in advance through The Steep Holm Trust. Why is the trip listed as 12 hours long? Because of the extreme rise and fall of the Bristol Channel's tides—the second highest tidal range in the world—boats can only land and depart at high tide using the island’s floating pontoon. This means once you are dropped off, you are on the island for a full 12-hour tide cycle until the water rises enough for the boat to safely return. Are there facilities on Steep Holm? Yes, but they are basic. The Visitor Centre is housed inside the island's historic Victorian military barracks. Food & Drink: There is a small café inside the barracks serving hot drinks, homemade cakes, and a selection of beers, cider, and wine at a licensed bar. Water: You must bring your own fresh water flask. The trust asks that you avoid bringing single-use plastic bottles, as all rubbish has to be carted back to the mainland. Toilets: Modern toilet facilities are available next to the barracks, though the water used is non-drinking reservoir water. What is the terrain like? Steep Holm lives up to its name. Getting from the beach landing to the top of the island requires walking up a steep, moderately strenuous, and rugged path. It is roughly equivalent to walking up a steep, rough road, and is not suitable for those who are unable to walk unaided. Can I bring my dog or fly a drone? No. Because the island is a highly sensitive nature reserve home to nesting gulls, Muntjac deer, and peregrine falcons, dogs, drones, and metal detectors are strictly prohibited.

In all the best cocktail bars and artisan food circles right now, there is a major revival happening around a deeply historic style of drink. If you look at the menus of the world's trendiest establishments, you will find countless concoctions with exotic names—but one of the most popular elements driving the craft drink scene today is the humble shrub. While it might not sound exotic or adventurous at first, the word “shrub” describes a fascinating style of drink that has been delighting palates for a very long time. Now, shrubs are taking off in popularity once again. And the shrub renaissance is being led by some of the world’s top mixologists. By using raw ingredients like ripe fruits alongside a magic elixir—otherwise known as high-quality vinegar—the inventors of these modern drinks are creating extraordinary flavours that can be enjoyed in both alcoholic and non-alcoholic serves. The Cornish History of the Fruit Shrub The story of the shrub is a fascinating one that was born centuries ago on the wild coasts of Cornwall, where barrels of smuggled rum were often tainted with seawater. In an attempt to make the stuff palatable, the ever-inventive Cornish came up with a strongly flavoured cordial to take the edge off the salty booze. Perhaps they called it “shrub” because it mainly consisted of strongly flavoured herbs picked from local hedgerows. These were infused with cider vinegar and a pinch of sugar. Shrub’s popularity crept east of the Tamar and eventually a well-known firm of vintners cashed-in by creating a branded drink of that name and marketing it far and wide. That commercial shrub is still available today, but it’s not the artisan-made, fresh concoction we’re talking about here. I first learned about true, homemade shrubs in Cornwall—at the excellent Watergate Bay Hotel just north of Newquay. Staff at the hotel staged a mixology competition, and that was where I learned that the substances fuelling the renaissance in the world’s hippest bars are very much homemade, small-batch creations. And one of the most exciting things about the concept is that you do not need to be an expert mixologist to make your own. We can easily create shrubs at home and enjoy them as sophisticated non-alcoholic cordials mixed with something like sparkling water, or as delicious cocktails armed with a punch. We can even use shrubs to flavour stocks and sauces in the kitchen. The Health Benefits of Drinking Vinegars It was the Aspall cider company’s Henry Chevallier Guild who began looking into shrub-style drinks when his wife persuaded him to join her in occasional periods of abstaining from alcohol. Henry has written about the subject, and he says that one of the difficulties of abstinence is the shortage of alternative “interesting things to drink”. Looking into the history, he discovered that vinegar (which, of course, Aspall makes in the form of superb cider vinegars) was traditionally added to drinks to make them more palatable. “The Babylonians added date vinegar to water to make it safe to drink. The Romans were at it as well, mixing vinegar and water to make a refreshing beverage called posca. Colonial-era sailors carried shrubs rich with Vitamin C aboard their boats to prevent scurvy. Unsurprisingly, shrubs gained massive popularity during the Temperance movement, and many 19th and early 20th-century housekeeping manuals contain recipes for them,” Henry explains. “A whole new world opened up. I make shrubs not from pre-packed cordials and syrups, but from the raw fruits themselves. And once you start doing this, the portfolio of options really does expand exponentially. You can use pretty much anything to make a shrub – parsnip, rosemary and cracked black pepper anyone? Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” Both shrub and syrup are derived from the Arabic sharbah, which means ‘a drink’—just like the word sherbet. They really are very old drinks indeed. Why Top Mixologists Choose Vinegar Cocktails But today it’s all about ‘mouth-feel’. That is what you get naturally with an alcoholic drink—whereas non-alcoholic drinks tend to be overly sugared to make up for the lack of it. And this is precisely what is fuelling the modern shrub revolution. The natural acidity of the vinegar mimics that adult bite, giving a dry, clean finish that sugar alone can never achieve. The hippest bars nowadays have dedicated shrub cocktail menus, and it’s only a time before national pub chains start following suit. Shrubs have a beautiful, hand-made feel, allowing you to follow seasonal recipes as different fruits emerge through the year. But it is that crisp, acid quality that makes the real difference. Inspired by my chats with the experts, I decided to make some shrub at home after buying a couple of punnets of raspberries that were nearly past their sell-by date. Armed with a bag of satsumas, a bottle of Aspall’s cider vinegar, and a few spoonfuls of sugar, I was in business. By letting the fruit macerate in the sugar to draw out the juices before swirling in the vinegar, the results were absolutely delicious—a sharp, sweet, vibrant cordial that brings a real splash of artisan magic to the glass. Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) Why does vinegar give non-alcoholic drinks a better 'mouth-feel'? As any good mixologist will tell you, alcohol provides a natural weight, bite, and complexity on the palate. Most standard soft drinks rely entirely on sugar to make up for this, which can leave them tasting flat and cloying. The acetic acid in high-quality vinegars replicates that sophisticated adult "bite" and dry finish, creating a deeply satisfying mouth-feel without a single drop of alcohol. What is the historic connection between Cornwall and shrub drinks? Centuries ago along the rugged Cornish coast, smuggling was a major underground trade. Barrels of rum brought ashore by smugglers were frequently contaminated or diluted by seawater during transit. To make the salty, spoiled alcohol palatable, resourceful locals created intensely flavored cordials using local hedgerow herbs, cider vinegar, and sugar to mask the brine—birthing a regional love for the shrub. How do you store a homemade fruit shrub and how long does it last? Once you have strained the fruit solids out of your shrub, pour the liquid into a clean, sterilized glass bottle or jar and seal it tightly. Store it in the refrigerator. Thanks to the high preserving qualities of both the sugar and the vinegar acid, a homemade shrub will easily keep for 6 months or more, with the flavours becoming smoother and more rounded over time. Quick-Glance Guide: The Craft Mixology Matrix This gives your digital readers an instant visual anchor, breaking down how to balance the fruit and acid: Fruit Profile Best Vinegar Choice Serve Companion Raspberry & Satsuma (Martin's Mix) Aspall's Cider Vinegar Light tonic water, plenty of ice, and a twist of citrus peel Hedgerow Blackberries Red Wine Vinegar A shot of dark rum or bourbon, topped with fiery ginger beer Rosemary & Pear White Wine Vinegar Chilled sparkling water or used to deglaze a game meat sauce

Give us this day our daily bread. The trouble with religious incantations is that you can say them so often they seem to lose meaning—but these particular words have been brought well and truly home to me recently. In a world where speed and convenience dominate everything we consume, the simple act of slowing down to make your own real bread from scratch has become a rare and deeply satisfying pleasure. This realisation is what prompted me to dust off my sourdough bread-making skills. Of course, you can’t just knock out a loaf of sourdough; you need to make and maintain a “starter” or “leaven”, which means going through a daily routine of feeding your little-world-in-a-jar, filled with busy microorganisms, for at least a week. After that, you must keep your starter going if you want to make more loaves, which means you have to keep feeding it once a day—although you can put it in the fridge for a couple of weeks to give it a holiday if needs must. It is not exactly an arduous thing to do. Basically, you need some good quality flour and a more-or-less similar-sized spoonful of lukewarm water. Keep adding this once a day to your existing mix and you will see—and smell—it begin to ferment. What you are doing is awakening wild yeasts and naturally occurring lactobacilli (a lactic acid bacteria) in the flour—as well as attracting yeast that happens to exist wherever you live—and the activity of these various friendly microbes becomes stronger and more rampant as your flour and water mix ferments. It is this wild and random mix of microscopic fungus—consisting of single oval cells—that will eventually, when it’s become alive and active enough, act to some degree like industrially made baker’s yeast in making your bread. Except the way it works on your dough is different—to the extent that even people with a gluten intolerance can get along with sourdough much better than they can with “normal” bread. The word "normal" is a bit misleading because, for thousands of years, sourdough was the only daily bread around, other than the thin, biscuit-like unleavened stuff. Archaeologists have found the remains of a sourdough loaf in Switzerland that dates back almost 6,000 years—but it was certainly being made in the Middle East’s Fertile Crescent way before that. Basically, what happens is that when wheat flour comes into contact with water, the naturally occurring enzyme ‘amylase' breaks down the starch into the sugars, glucose and maltose, which sourdough’s natural yeast can metabolise. After about a week of feeding your mix, you will see bubbles on the surface—and what you do is measure off a quantity of your starter and add it to the basic flour and water dough you’re going to make your loaf with. By carefully kneading and folding this dough—doing a set number of folds over set periods of time—you will distribute your active leaven throughout. After a while, you will be able to watch and wonder as the dough begins to swell and rise. It will also change its texture, feel, and elasticity. Which does seem to me to be a kind of magic. It is one thing to add some industrially made yeast granules to a dough and to watch it rise—but altogether something different to witness how wild yeasts, living in just a couple of spoonfuls of flour-and-water-mix, can alter the nature of a big lump of dough. It smells amazing too. As you pop down to your kitchen every once in a while to give your dough another dose of folding and kneading, you can sniff the summer fragrance of hot West Country wheat-fields. Or so it seems to me. Yes, it is all a bit of a faff. It really is so, so much easier to buy a loaf of sourdough from a supermarket. Most stores have it nowadays—although I have heard a lot of these products are not really made with natural leavens at all but are chemically doctored to create something that passes as sourdough. I do not know if that is true. But I do know that my loaf had a great deal more flavour than the supermarket stuff. Yes, it was heavier than the shop-bought and more dense—but I was warned that making sourdough is an art-form that requires endless practice to get right. But, I repeat, my loaf did have more flavour—and it did have more emotional clout. I do not want to come over all hippy-ish about this, but there is something amazingly calming, enriching, and almost spiritual about turning a dry bag of flour and a cup of water into something so satisfyingly delicious, sustaining, and good for your health. A miller at Dunster Watermill On a past visit to the National Trust’s Dunster Watermill, mill manager Stephen Hayes explained to me that fresh-ground whole-flour retains many of its essential oils, vitamins, and minerals. Sourdough experts say this is vital when it comes to forging a good starter or leaven. In fact, there is a “local grain movement” that is beginning to take hold around the globe among those who really care about their food. For aficionados, the milling process is as important as the farming techniques used to grow the grain in the first place. I even know of people who have purchased their own tiny grinding mills so that they can always have a bag of fresh ground flour to hand. Flour products at Dunster Watermill If you regard one minute a day feeding your starter or leaven as a nuisance—or can’t face four short periods of folding the dough—then making your own sourdough is not for you. But I think the effort is worth it. And now I’ve actually made a pretty good loaf, I can tell you the satisfaction levels are priceless. Basic Sourdough recipe from Bread and Butter by Richard Snapes, Grant Harrington & Eve Hemingway - published by Quadrille Ingredients For the leaven 20g (3⁄4oz) sourdough starter 40g (11⁄2oz) strong wholemeal flour 40g (11⁄2oz) strong white flour 80g (3oz) warm water (26–30°C/79–86°F) For the dough 610g (1lb 51⁄2oz) warm water (26–30°C/79–86°F) 120g (4oz) strong wholemeal flour 680g (1lb 8oz) strong white flour 16g (1⁄2oz) sea salt rice flour, for dusting Stage 1 Prepare the leaven Either make a starter from scratch one week before you intend to bake, or use a mature starter if you have one. In a small pot with a lid mix starter, flours and warm water. Leave in a warm place for 3–4 hours until there are lots of little bubbles and it smells mildly fermented. If you like your bread on the sour side, leave for a further 1–2 hours. Stage 2 Make the dough Next, weigh 560g (1lb 31⁄2oz) of the warm water into your large bowl or plastic container and add 160g (51⁄2oz) of your leaven. Combine with your fingers, then add both flours and mix until there are no more lumps. Cover with a clean tea towel and leave to rest for 30–45 minutes. Once the dough has rested, add salt and remaining 50g (13⁄4oz) of water. Scrunch the salt and water into the dough for about 3–5 minutes until the water is completely absorbed. Leave the dough to rest, covered, for 30 minutes. Stage 3 Stretch and fold, and bulk rise You’ve probably noticed that there hasn’t been anything that resembles traditional kneading, and that’s because this method requires no kneading. Sourdough takes a long time to prove compared to yeasted bread and, over the course of the bulk rise, gluten is developed naturally using a ‘stretch and fold’ technique. Once you’ve added salt to your dough and allowed it to rest, you can start stretching and folding. Wet your hands and, keeping the dough in its container, imagine the dough is a clockface. Starting at 12 o’clock, scoop your hands underneath the dough, then pull up (stretch) and fold down (fold) over the whole piece. Turn your container 90° and repeat this step (stretch, fold and turn) another three times, so you end up back where you started. These four folds are considered one ‘turn’. After completing the first turn, cover the dough. Then uncover and turn it every 30 minutes for 2–3 hours. After these 4–6 turns, the dough should have changed from loose and stretchy and should have begun to firm, tighten and contain plenty of air bubbles and have risen to nearly twice the size. Stage 4 Pre-shape After the final turn, rest the dough for 20–30 minutes. Lightly dust the top of the dough with flour and, using a plastic dough scraper, gently coax it away from the edges of the container. Then turn the container upside down and wait for the dough to naturally release itself onto your (unfloured) work surface. Divide the dough into two equal parts using a metal scraper. Put one piece aside while you focus on the other. Fold the bottom of the dough over the top so it is now floured on the top and bottom. At this point you shouldn’t need to use any more flour – you don’t want to the dough to slide around on the surface. Holding your scraper in one hand, work the dough into a round, tucking the sides of the dough underneath itself and tightening the surface until it’s smooth and bouncy. The idea is to build tension. Repeat with the other piece of dough, then cover both with a clean tea towel and leave to rest for 20 minutes. Stage 5 Final shape and retarding After resting, lightly flour both pieces of dough and flip them over so the floured side is on the worktop. Take hold of the edge of the dough at 2 o’clock and fold it into the middle, securing it with the thumb of your other hand. Rotate the dough about 30° and again fold the 2 o’clock edge to the middle, securing with your thumb. Repeat this process until you have rotated the dough through 360°. It should feel strong and bouncy and have noticeable resistance. Now you have a ball, flip it over so the smooth side is facing up. Cup your hand round the ball and pull towards you, so that the anchoring dough ‘seals’ itself. Now you have a fully shaped loaf! Repeat for the other loaf. Dust your proving baskets or tea-towel-lined bowls with rice flour (or some strong white flour), then place your loaves in them with their rough sides facing up. Cover with a tea towel, leave to prove in a warm place for 1 hour and then refrigerate overnight; the loaves will be ready to bake first thing in the morning. Stage 6 Bake Put a cast-iron pot in the oven and preheat to 250C (480oF). Take one loaf out of the fridge and turn it out into the pot, being careful not to burn yourself. Holding a sharp knife at a 30° angle, make four shallow slashes in the top of the loaf, in a criss-cross or other pattern, then cover with the lid and place in the oven. Turn the temperature down to 220°C (425°F) after 10 minutes, then remove the lid after another 10 minutes – you should be greeted by a huge cloud of steam and a glorious smell. Bake (lid off) for another 20–25 minutes until dark golden brown, and you are done. Take the loaf out of its baking vessel and repeat with the second loaf. Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) How long does it take to make a sourdough starter from scratch? It typically takes between 7 to 10 days of daily feeding to build a strong, active sourdough starter. You will know it is ready when it consistently doubles in size a few hours after a feed, develops a pleasant, tangy fruit aroma, and shows plenty of active bubbles throughout the jar. Why is sourdough considered better for digestion than commercial bread? The long fermentation process inherent to sourdough baking allows the wild yeasts and lactic acid bacteria to break down the starches and complex proteins (including gluten) within the flour. This pre-digestion process makes the resulting loaf much gentler on the human digestive system, allowing many people with minor gluten sensitivities to enjoy it without discomfort. Can I use standard supermarket white flour for my sourdough starter? While you can use standard strong white bread flour, using unbleached stoneground or wholemeal flour—such as traditional flour from Dunster Watermill—is highly recommended for starting a leaven. Traditional stoneground flours retain the natural grain husks and essential oils which carry a much higher concentration of the wild yeasts and beneficial microbes needed to spark a healthy fermentation. The Sourdough Routine: Fold & Rise To help keep readers on your website longer, here is a quick-glance breakdown of the traditional sourdough process that turns standard text into an easily digestible schedule: 1.Build the Starter:Days 1–7. Mix equal parts flour and lukewarm water in a clean glass jar once a day. Discard half before each feed until the mixture becomes bubbly, active, and smells beautifully fruity and sour. 2.Mix the Autolyse:30 minutes. Gently combine your flour, water, and a portion of your active starter. Let it rest for half an hour to allow the flour to fully hydrate and kickstart natural enzyme activity before adding salt. 3.Stretch and Fold:2–3 hours. Instead of heavy kneading, perform a series of gentle stretches and folds every 30 minutes. This builds a strong, elastic gluten structure without knocking the trapped wild carbon dioxide out of the dough. 4.The Bulk Fermentation:4–6 hours. Let the shaped dough rest in a proving basket. Watch it swell as the wild yeasts metabolise the sugars, transforming the dense mixture into a light, airy dough ready for a hot oven.

A handful of people who live out in the countryside are comfortable in the knowledge that they can go out and forage for food entirely for free. One of those people is my old friend, Devon chef David Beazley, who must be one of the most knowledgeable cook-foragers in the country. David Beazley estuary foraging at Teignmouth-Shaldon on the Teign I have been lucky enough to join David on several wild food adventures over the years. On one memorable outing in the dead-end of January, we tracked the tide lines along the estuarine Teign at Shaldon, opposite Teignmouth, cooking our harvest right on the beach despite sudden showers of rain and stinging hail. David is an absolute enthusiast when it comes to food for free. His passion isn't about cost or expense; it is all to do with the amazing flavours and textures of the foods he finds, and the sheer joy of the hunt. As we stood looking out over the sandbanks, he told me: “Food foraging is about the hunt rather than the find. The find is just the bonus.” I agree with this completely. My theory is that some folk are simply more connected to their inner prehistoric hunter-gatherer than others. Our ancestors relied on hunting and foraging as their sole means of survival for tens of thousands of years, while we modern folk have only been buying stuff in markets for a few centuries. I reckon there are basic instincts lurking within us that are highly capable of pushing buttons of accomplishment, achievement, and absolute delight. And his passion is not about cost or expense, or lack thereof - it is all to do with the amazing flavours and textures of the foods he finds, and about the joys of the hunt. In fact, when we met on the shores of the estuarine Teign at Shaldon, opposite the much larger community of Teignmouth, he told me: “Food foraging is about the hunt rather than the find. The find is the bonus…” I agree with this, but can imagine there are many people who won’t. My theory is that some folk are more connected to the inner prehistoric hunter-gatherer than others. Our ancestors relied on hunting and foraging as the only means of survival for tens of thousands of years, while we modern folk have only been buying stuff in markets and so on for just a few centuries - so I reckon there could easily be some basic instincts lurking within us which are capable of pushing buttons of accomplishment, achievement and delight. I could use all three of these words to describe my feelings about spending a couple of hours with David hunting, picking and cooking on the somewhat icy shores and sandbanks of the Teign. Despite being well wrapped up against the cold, one of those storms was in full swing when we met - so we sat in the car for ten minutes waiting for the hail to pass and David told me something of his career and his love for food foraging… From Michelin Star Kitchens to the Foreshore It was as a boy, following in the wake of his father’s almost magical familiarity with Cornwall’s precipitous cliffs and beaches, that David first learned about what he calls “the bounty of pick-your-own crabs and prawns,” and his curiosity for foraging was born. Classically trained at Cornwall Technical College, David began his professional career at the acclaimed Horn of Plenty as third chef to Sonia Stevenson, after which he went to work for another formidably talented, Michelin-starred female chef—Joyce Molyneaux at the Carved Angel in Dartmouth. “She wanted to use local ingredients and, as her second chef, I couldn’t have agreed more—so I provided rich pickings for her from my forays into the countryside and foreshore,” David recalled. “But that was after I realised that people bringing in chanterelles and ceps were earning as much as I did during a whole week for a basket of wild mushrooms. I knew what those mushrooms looked like, so I decided to give it a go.” David’s professional career continued—including a stint as head chef for Keith Floyd at his once-famous Tuckenhay restaurant and pub on the River Dart—but all the time he continued foraging for free, and for fun. He carried that lifelong inspiration into the next generation of culinary talent during his years as a tutor at Exeter College, teaching at the Michael Caines Academy. The Winter Shoreline Harvest “It’s more of a hobby and I do a bit of photography and writing alongside. Actually I wrote a book called The Forager’s Apprentice which is available for download on Amazon. But actually it’s a chance for me to cook and experiment with wild ingredients. “My first wild food away from mushrooms were wild strawberries - I used to make tiny little sweet pastry tarts with them and with little blueberries or whortleberries. Then I moved on to the beach. Of course, nowadays sea vegetables are a new thing. I’m not talking about seaweed, which is covered by tide every day. The sea veg grows up above on the shoreline and you’d be amazed at what’s out there now at this time of year. “Here in Shaldon we’ll pick three or four different sea-veg leaves - a lot of these things seem to grow in late winter, early spring when you know there isn’t any lettuce growing. Today we’re picking sea-beet, wild fennel and rock-samphire. “It may be one of those trends that passes over, like micro-herbs,” shrugged David. “I mean, who needs micro-herbs? Why not just eat herbs? So some food foraging might become one of those trends that passes over. But I don’t think so. What the items I pick all have in common is that they’re all luxury stuff. I don’t want to pick a leaf off to make some strange wine - I want a gourmet experience. “It is all about the flavours,” he adds. “And so, for instance, on the way here I picked wild watercress and sorrel which will enhance a lot of dishes at this time of year…” With that the storm had cleared and off we went across the great sand a mussel banks at Shaldon which were rapidly becoming ever more apparent in the ebbing tide. “The local authority really keeps its eye on the water quality in this estuary,” explained David. “You’ll will notice a sign on the beach saying to make sure you cook any shellfish you pick for three minutes. That’s what we will be doing anyway because we’re making mussel broth. It’s a dish I really love, partly because I make the cider that goes into it at home. “Nowadays, sea vegetables are the big thing," he explained. "I’m not talking about seaweed, which is covered by the tide every day. The sea veg grows just above the shoreline, and you’d be amazed at what’s out there, even in the colder months. A lot of these things seem to grow in late winter and early spring, right when you know there isn’t any conventional lettuce growing in the garden. Today we’re picking sea-beet, wild fennel, and rock-samphire.” These coastal specialists have to be incredibly tough to survive the salt spray and brackish waters, and that survival mechanism gives them an extraordinary punch of flavour. When tossed into a hot pan with a bit of local butter right there on the beach, they offer a direct, intense taste of the West Country coast that transforms a simple meal into something extraordinary. “So the only thing I buy for the broth is a bit of cream - everything else is free - a fine-dining dish that comes from the wild,” said David as we quickly picked enough mussels near the Shaldon-Teignouth bridge, which is where we also found the sea-vegetables clinging like so many weeds to the wall in a south-facing corner. Later we found a sheltered spot on a quayside, just out of the cold north wind, and began to cook the broth. “You see why I like making this?” said David. “I’ve been able to use my knowledge of foraging with my training as a chef. A lot of chefs know how to cook these things, but not how to find them. And, vice-versa, there will be people who know how to find these things, but won’t know how to cook them.” David was a master of both, that is for certain. The broth was fantastically delicious. “When you start, it’s like hunting a needle in a haystack, but you get better at it over the years,” David told me as we waited out a passing hailstorm. “I do it for my own pleasure, but I do occasionally take people out if they are truly enthusiastic. What I find is people say, ‘Dave, can you take me out foraging?’ But all they really want to do is go mushrooming. Then if we find 40 or 50 different varieties and I tell them only one or two are edible, it puts them off.” For David, the foreshore offers a much more reliable and fascinating arena. David Beazley’s Devon Mussel Broth 1 kilo cleaned mussels 125 mls dry Devon cider 125 mls Devon double cream 50g shredded sea beet 25g blanched rock samphire 25 g shredded fennel In a large saucepan for which you have a lid, add the cider and reduce by half. Add the cleaned mussels and cover with the lid, turn up the heat and leave for three minutes or until all of the mussels are open, discard any that remain closed. Strain the liquid from the mussels into a bowl. Remove the mussels from their shells. Return the liquid to the saucepan, add the cream and bring to the boil, remove from the heat. Add the leaves and the mussels, taste and adjust the seasoning too your preference, and enjoy.

Chef Allister Bishop and Simon Richardson, a professional forager - at work in Devon some years ago Quite a few people have been contacting me lately to ask about the art of foraging for wild food. It is a fascinating subject that captures the imagination of anyone who loves good food, but it is an avenue of culinary exploration that requires a bit of know-how before you step out into the fields and hedgerows. I am fortunate in this respect for two reasons. Not only do I live deep in the West Country countryside, where nature’s larder wakes up fast with the changing seasons, but over my decades as a journalist, I’ve been lucky enough to head out into the wild with some of the region's top chefs and professional foragers. On one memorable coastal trek, I joined forces with a highly talented executive chef who had recently traded the intense, fast-paced pressure of central London kitchens for the rich bounty of the South West coast. His reaction to the move stayed with me: “I spent over 25 years working in central London where I was getting ingredients that were two or three days old—here I am getting stuff that’s two or three hours old.” That is the magic of foraging. It bypasses the entire industrial food supply chain, offering a freshness and intensity of flavour that money simply cannot buy. And, by the way, in case you think this is an elitist sport only applicable to those who live out in the sticks, then please note than almost 15 million people in the UK live in highly rural areas… I am fortunate in this respect for two reasons… Not only do I live deep in the countryside which is waking up fast in this wonderful spring weather, but I’ve also interviewed quite a few top chefs down the years and have been lucky enough to go out wild-food foraging with them… One of those chefs was the talented Allister Bishop, who used to be head chef at a hotel near Salcombe… Good chefs like to use first-class ingredients that are as fresh as can be, so imagine what it must be like working in a vast city far from fields, seas, rivers, moorlands or anywhere else that provides edible produce. Then imagine such a chef being set free of the urban jungle to work on a beautiful coast surrounded by verdant countryside rich in fresh ingredients. Or, to put it into the words of Allister: “I spent over 25 years working in central London where I was getting ingredients that were two or three days old - here I am getting stuff that’s two or three hours old.” I first met Allister back in the winter when he was still reeling with joy after a year spent at the idyllically situated hotel in South Devon. He told me then something about his career and about how delighted he was to be living and working in an area where he was surrounded by the finest fresh ingredients imaginable. Allister held executive chef positions at places like Harrods and The Meridian in Piccadilly, so he is a man who knows what he is doing when it comes to pots, pans and the things you put in them. Meeting a Professional Forager To ensure we didn't pick anything that might land us in trouble, we were joined by Simon Richardson, a professional forager who has spent years supplying high-end kitchens with wild herbs and sea vegetables. Simon spends his days traversing coastal paths, estuaries, and private estates, hunting for plants that many regular walkers would simply dismiss as common weeds. Yet, in the hands of a skilled chef, these wild ingredients become the stars of the plate. Ingredients like sea-purslane, sea-aster, sea-arrowgrass, rock samphire, and goosefoot have become incredibly trendy in modern British gastronomy. And there is one simple reason for their rise to fame: they are utterly delicious. Why we British do not have a stronger, mainstream culinary tradition of eating such things remains a mystery to me—just as I am puzzled as to why we’ve never fully taken to incorporating free, plentiful, and safe-to-eat seaweeds into our daily diets. Whatever the reason, the wild food harvest is finally being taken seriously, which is wonderful news for those of us who love to explore new flavours. The Golden Rules of the Hedgerow However, when it comes to wild harvesting, there are two golden rules that every aspiring forager must live by. First, a great many wild plants can make you incredibly ill—or worse—so absolute certainty in identification is paramount. Second, you must know how to forage sustainably so that you never damage the local ecosystem. “There has been a huge increase in interest in foraged food, but there are distinct dangers,” Simon warned as we examined an estuary bank. “Wild watercress, for example, loves growing alongside hemlock and water dropwort—both of which are potentially deadly. It’s all about building proper, deep knowledge before you start harvesting.” As we walked towards a forgotten corner of salt marsh, the conversation turned back to the kitchen. The consensus among top chefs is clear: when you are working with ingredients this fresh and naturally flavourful, the key is simplicity. There is absolutely no need to over-complicate the dish or over-season the food. You simply respect the ingredient and let the natural salinity and crunch of the wild coast do the talking. Reconnecting with the Land Chefs drift across different kitchens over the years, but the fundamental connection between the land, the sea, and the plate remains unchanged. Foraging isn't just about finding a free snack; it’s about slow food, sustainability, and training your eye to see the landscape in an entirely new way. The common stinging nettle, often cursed by gardeners, makes a vibrant, velvety soup that rivals any cultivated spinach. The wild garlic that blankets our woodlands in spring offers a delicate, pungent punch that transforms a simple risotto. Nature provides an astonishingly rich menu if you only know where to look. So the next time you take a stroll along a coastal path or through a quiet country lane, keep your eyes open. You might just be walking past the finest meal of the season. "Being out of the kitchen and seeing where the food is coming from is inspirational,” said Allister as we picked sea-purslane amid the saltings. “It also inspires the rest of the team, because a kitchen is not a one man show. Some chefs think it is, but I know I’m only as good as the rest of the team. Trying new ideas like working with these ingredients helps a lot. “If the customer goes away happy trying a new experience - like eating sea-purslane or sea-aster that you certainly wouldn’t get in Asda or Lidl - that can only benefit us and also the local economy. It makes us more unique in what we are doing. “I’ve seen this industry change so much over the last 30 years,” he continued as we drove to a South Hams beach in search of sea-kale. “Everything used to come in nice vac-packed bags and was so clinical. Now we get stuff with a bit of dirt on it and we wash it - but it’s all about real flavour.” Next we went to Marlborough in the hills just behind the hotel to visit butcher Alex Brazier who has a flock of Devon Close Wool sheep which Allister often uses in lamb dishes. “It’s good meat because it takes that little bit longer to grow,” said Alex. “You are getting a little bit more fat, a lot more flavour. The sheep do very well here - there is a mild climate so they put on a good weight.” To reiterate the warning…. Do be VERY CAREFUL if and when you go out foraging for wild food. We all know what a stinging nettle is (and as I’ve said before, they are good to eat) but establishing whether or not that plant in the stream is wild watercress is another matter altogether. Much more difficult - if in doubt do not pick. THE NHS already has enough to do without clueless risk-takers joining the queue. Allister Bishop’s Devon lamb rump, Salcombe crab soufflé, minted pea & wild nettle puree, potato & seaweed croquette Foraged ingredients ready for the pot in Devon I realise this is quite a complex recipe, but it might give you inspiration and of course you can always try making it once the world has returned to some semblance or normality… 4 lamb rumps 4 garlic cloves, cracked 2 sprigs of wild sorrel 2 sprigs of rosemary, plus extra for cooking the rumps 100ml of olive oil 2 tbsp of pomace oil Marinade the lamb rumps for 24 hours in olive oil, crushed garlic cloves, sorrel, rosemary Minted Pea & nettle purée 10g of shallots, very finely diced 10g chopped mint 2 x sprigs nettle tops washed throughly 1 tbsp of oil 200g of fresh garden peas 4g of salt 100ml of milk Sweat shallots in oil until soft but not coloured. Add garden peas, nettle, salt and milk and simmer for 8 minutes. Drain milk into a jug and pour peas, nettles and mint into a blender. Blitz until ultra smooth adding enough of the milk to make a thickish purée. After blending, cool quickly as the colour will begin to fade. Croquette 200g potatoes, quartered and turned into a dry mash potato 1 shallot, minced 100g of fresh dulce/ sea lettuce 15g of parsley, finely chopped 1 tsp rapeseed oil 150g of plain flour 3 large eggs, beaten 200g of panko breadcrumbs oil, for frying salt and fresh ground black pepper Chop seaweed into a bowl, and fold in mash potato, lemon zest, chopped parsley and seasoning. Divide mix into even pieces and roll into balls with your hands. Place in fridge for 15 minutes to firm up. To coat the fritters place flour, beaten eggs and breadcrumbs in 3 bowls, seasoning with salt and pepper. Dip chilled croquettes first in flour, then eggs, then breadcrumbs. Return to fridge to chill for a few minutes. Soufflé 150g of fresh white crab meat 300g of spinach 150 ml milk 33g of flour 30g of butter 1/2 tsp mustard 1/2 tsp ground nutmeg 53g of mature cheddar, grated 5 eggs, separated 16g of Parmesan, grated 1 pinch of salt 1 pinch of pepper Place the white crab meat into a bowl. Heat oil in a frying pan, add the spinach, so that it wilts. Remove and drain. Grease inside of the metal rings, place onto a greased baking tray. Divide spinach into 4 rings. Bring flour, 115ml milk, butter, mustard and ground nutmeg to the boil, whisking continuously. Turn down heat, simmer for 2 minutes, remove from the heat. Add to a mixing bowl and whisk in 37g of grated cheddar until it melts. Using a handheld electric whisk, whisk egg whites to the hard peak stage, add egg yolks and mix. Add crab and mix, fold in egg whites. Divide mix into the metal rings. Place in an oven set to 180°C for 12 minutes. Combine the remaining cheddar and Parmesan in a bowl. Remove from the oven and place the grated cheddar and Parmesan on top. Allow the soufflés to cool. With a sharp knife, gently go round inside of the ring to remove. Sauce 20g of shallots 50ml of dry white wine 1 bay leaf 200ml of brown chicken stock 20g of butter salt and pepper Remove some fat from lamb roasting tray and heat in small pan. Add shallots and leave to sweat until lightly browned, then deglaze with wine. Add bay leaf and simmer until reduced and pan is almost dry. Then, add chicken stock and reduce by 2/3, whisking in butter and checking seasoning. To assemble Place a roasting pan over a high heat and add the olive oil. Season lamb and seal until lightly golden brown all over. Transfer to oven and roast for 8 - 12 minutes, remove and rest. Slice and arrange. Arrange the reheated puree, croquette and soufflé next to the lamb, drizzle with the sauce, garnish with foraged herbs and shelled peas. Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) Is it legal to forage for wild food in the UK? Generally, under UK common law, you are allowed to forage for the "Four Fs"—fruit, foliage, fungi, and flowers—for personal consumption from public land or rights of way. However, it is illegal to uproot any wild plant without the landowner's explicit permission, and foraging is strictly prohibited in specific protected areas like SSSIs (Sites of Special Scientific Interest). Always forage responsibly and leave plenty behind. What are the easiest wild ingredients for beginners to identify? For beginners in the UK, wild garlic (ramsons) in the spring and blackberries or elderberries in the autumn are excellent starting points because they are highly distinctive and have few dangerous lookalikes. Dandelion greens and young stinging nettles are also incredibly common and easy to identify safely. How can I tell the difference between edible plants and toxic lookalikes? Never eat any wild plant unless you are one hundred percent certain of its identity. Use multiple reputable field guides, look at cross-referencing features (such as stem structure, leaf patterns, and smell), and when in doubt, leave it out. Joining a guided foraging walk with an expert is the safest way to build your confidence and knowledge.

What Makes a Classic English Tea-Garden So Special? If you were playing host to a foreign guest who had never been to the UK before, which unique British delight would you be tempted to show them at this sunny time of year? A country pub with a garden, perhaps? Well, you can never go wrong with a country pub, but other countries have bars or restaurants that are similar to pubs in many ways. The classic English tea-garden, however, represents a little corner of earthly paradise which is hardly ever seen elsewhere. Tea-Garden Culture in the British Summertime If this were the middle of winter, I might rephrase that to say “tea-room” - but, given the fine weather, it’s time to celebrate that very English experience that can be found outdoors across our green and pleasant land. A Walk Through Britain’s Garden Cream Tea Spots We’re talking about those little places - basically, private homes - where the owners have thrown open their gardens so that visitors can enjoy a classic cream tea, or some other culinary delight of the lighter and less substantial kind, out among the lawns and herbaceous borders. From Hidden Hamlets to National Trust Estates They come in all shapes and sizes. Some, indeed, are not private homes at all, but popular tea-gardens belonging to large organisations like the National Trust. Others are to be found attached to cafes in little oases of peacefulness and greenery in the centre of villages or towns. You’ll find many exquisite versions of the genre set in the grounds of luxury or boutique hotels. My Favourite: The Surprise Tea-Garden in the Countryside But my favourite type of tea-garden is the kind of place you stumble across in out-of-the-way corners of the countryside. I’m talking about somewhere that’s literally someone’s private garden where they’ve simply scattered around a few tables and chairs and they serve a very limited menu from the cottage door. The Joy of Walking to a Cream Tea This kind of tea-garden scores even more points for me if there’s some kind of country walk to be enjoyed nearby. You need the ability to burn off all those calories to be found in a classic cream tea. Forget the Jam or Cream First Debate And, by the way, I am not going down the cream-or-jam-first rabbit-hole in this article... Setting and Scenery Matter Most Far more important to me is the location of the said cream tea... Somerset Tea-Gardens to Discover I visited two such places located within ten minutes drive of my West Somerset home this week... Chantry Tea Garden, Kilve: Tea Among the Ruins This place ticks all my perfect tea-garden boxes. It is located in one of the least-visited sections of the Westcountry coastline and the tea-garden enjoys an air of intrigue and mystery, being set among the historic ruins of an ancient chantry. Just a short walk away you’ll come to one of the most amazing beaches in England. Although it’s not for the bucket-and-spade crew (no clear seas or golden sands), Kilve beach is rich in fossils which you can find out among the extraordinary blue-lias “pavements” that are a highly unusual feature of the place. Nick and Jacqui Dawe have lived in the cottage next to Kilve’s chantry for 40 years and have been running their popular tea-garden for the last 34 years. To find it, turn north out of the village of Kilve and head down the small lane a mile towards the coast. You will see the church and the chantry - and the tea-garden has its own car park. You get a generous cream tea at The Chantry, and some of the other food looked good too. All of it comes on recyclable plates or in cups - same goes for the cutlery - which would be a minus for some, although I didn’t mind (with the exception of the flimsy paper carton containing the wonderfully thick cream -it was fiddly getting the clotted treasure out and onto the scone). My wife and I shared a single cream tea (two large scones, cream and jam) and ordered two individual pots of tea at a cost of £11, which was fine by me. A Scenic Walk from East Quantoxhead For those in need of a walk, I can recommend parking a mile away to the west in the sublimely lovely and peaceful hamlet of East Quantoxhead, where nothing seems to have changed for centuries. There’s a small car park with an honesty box - you walk past the large village duckpond and take the public footpath across the fields. This takes you directly to Kilve Church and The Chantry tea-garden. After you’ve indulged, you can enjoy a flat but highly scenic stroll back by walking down the lane to the beach, then turning left along the coast path to reach the the point where another right-of-way will take you back inland to East Quantoxhead. Wonderful! One of the nicest things to do in the entire South West region on a sunny afternoon. You’ll see no crowds, but you will experience a very different kind of coast to any other in the UK and get to enjoy a super cream tea. This place ticks all my perfect tea-garden boxes. It is located in one of the least-visited sections of the West Country coastline and, according to local historian Beth Shuey, the tea-garden enjoys an air of intrigue and mystery, being set among the historic ruins of an ancient chantry. Just a short walk away you’ll come to one of the most amazing beaches in England. The Rocking Horse Tea Garden, near Stogumber: A Hidden Gem This popular and handsome venue has only been up and running for four years. Located in what is an extensive private garden deep in unspoiled countryside, it evolved after the owners were forced to adapt their catering business during the Covid lockdowns. They’re glad they did. People now travel miles to visit this lovely tea-garden and enjoy beautiful views of the hills and dales of rural West Somerset. Mum, Julie Long, owns the place and lives in the house, but daughter Charlie runs the extensive and busy tea-garden everyday of the week except for Wednesdays (9:30 to 5:00). “People love to come here for tea or lunch and simply chill-out in the gardens, although we have extended our indoor cafe area for when the weather’s not so nice,” Julie told me. There is indeed a large area with tables and chairs both inside a barn and also out on a covered terrace which enjoys extensive views of what one famous writer on agriculture called the “Dingly Dell Land”. We’re talking about the little visited central area of West Somerset which climbs in a series of hummocks towards the Brendon Hills. There’s also a hugely impressive carp pond in a secluded part garden (impressive because the fish are gigantic) where you can sit in a sun-trap out of the wind. The Rocking Horse tea-garden also ticks many boxes. It is set in a highly rural landscape between the villages of Stogumber and Crowcombe - there are plenty of wonderful walks to be had on the nearby Quantocks or in the magical area of Crowcombe Heathfield, which is even closer. It’s also just a short walk from Stogumber Station on the West Somerset heritage railway line (the station also has its own tearoom, by the way). I had a slice of quiche at The Rocking Horse, served with salad and crisps for £10.25. A plain or fruit scone with clotted cream and jam is £5.35. Now for some other Somerset tea-gardens as recommended by Hesp Out West readers online… IF YOU ENJOYED THIS POST HAVE A LOOK AT ANOTHER ENGLISH TEA BASED ARTICLE More Somerset Tea-Gardens Recommended by Readers Periwinkle Tea Rooms and Gardens, Seaworthy A wonderful little place with truly magnificent views... Horner Tea Garden, near Porlock Situated at the foot of one of the most scenic and special valleys on Exmoor... Kitnor Tea Room and Garden, Bossington Under new ownership and said to be opening soon... No.57 East Street, Ilminster As recommended by a reader called Carmel Wilkinson... Millhouse Arts Centre and Cafe, Ilminster Sit beside the River Isle and enjoy... Share Your Favourite Tea-Garden As I say, we will revisit the subject soon - so if you have any recommendations for tea-gardens elsewhere in the West Country email them to me at martinhesp1@gmail.com. Frequently Asked Questions What is the difference between an English tea garden and a tea room? While both serve traditional tea and scones, an English tea garden is specifically an outdoor space—often set within a courtyard, orchard, or walled garden—allowing you to enjoy the British countryside and fresh air. Tea rooms are typically indoor, more formal establishments. What is traditionally served with a cream tea in a tea garden? An authentic cream tea consists of freshly brewed loose-leaf tea, warm baked scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam. Should jam or clotted cream go on a scone first? This depends on where you are! In Devon, the tradition is to split the scone and spread the clotted cream first, topping it with jam. In Cornwall, the jam goes on first, followed by a dollop of clotted cream. Both ways are delicious, but locals take the distinction very seriously.