For nearly 25 years I have been writing walks articles which explain exactly how to find the place concerned and how to follow the route - but this time I’m keeping schtum about the geography of the location in the photographs.  A smallish handful of Exmoor-lovers will know it well - a great many will not.  My father, Peter Hesp, brought me to this place when I was six or seven years old (some 60 years ago), because he used to like writing feature articles about “hidden Exmoor” for his newspaper. Eventually those articles - with the help of the national park authority - were put together and turned into a book, called Secret Exmoor - which today has become a bit of a collector’s piece.  However, I this location did not make it into the final cut. Maybe my dear old dad felt the same way I do about the place. There is something secretive and arcane about it.  The little circle of trees in the moors deserves to be visited, but not shouted about.  Perhaps it’s the fact that the trees appear to have sunk down into the moorlands which helps to promote this air of hiddenness. It’s as if the place doesn’t want to be known to the world - as though it is in hiding, more than happy to be far from the eyes of humankind. Too catch a glimpse of this junction of moorland streams from afar, you would need to be in some kind of aircraft. And who can blame this clandestine corner for wishing to retain its privacy in this day and age when we’ve done so much to wreck the planet that we now call this era the Anthropocene? To some slight degree I felt like an interloper when I walked there yesterday in bright winter sunlight. And certainly we did not tarry for long. The January sun was sinking fast and this is no place to be caught out in the dark.  However, I do intend returning every now and again - and to carry on doing so for as long as my limbs will take me across those sodden moors. Next time, I’ll go earlier and maybe take a flask of soup - or maybe we’ll have a summer’s picnic there later in the year. But we will always, always, ensure that we leave nothing save for the odd boot-mark here or there. This place, above all others I know here in crowded Southern England, deserves its sanctity and its unbelievably refreshing sense of peace and quietude.  And now, having visited the ring of trees in the middle of nowhere and having written this little piece, I am considering creating an entire series of articles and illustrations focussing on the hidden places of the West Country - - so I am wondering what others would think… Is it a good idea? Would you like to read and see such places and have some fun trying to puzzle out where they are? Let me know.

It being New Year and all that, I have been looking back at the 20 year stint I did as a professional walks writer working for a large regional daily newspaper… It meant going for a scenic country walk and getting paid for it, which can’t have been a bad gig. My wife thought I’d lost my last remaining marbles when I posed the question 20 years ago in a bid to come up with some plan for, what then, was a faltering career.  After some years working as a freelance radio reporter and producer for the BBC, I’d had a bash at running my own video production company - a crazy move which saw me both make and lose money. Unfortunately, my being almost dyslexic when it comes to numbers and accounts caused me to lose more than make, so I needed to change tack before I managed to get myself into financial difficulty.  Hence the seemingly bizarre idea to walk and get paid for it. Not quite as crazy as it sounds when, for long periods of your working life, you’ve made a good living out of being a freelance writer for newspapers and magazines. I had done just that for more than a decade in my younger years.  Indeed, for the best part of five years I’d worked almost exclusively for one of the major national newspapers as a freelance feature writer - and it was a collection of my yellowing Guardian articles that I took with me to the WMN HQ in Plymouth in 1999. “What a regional daily paper needs is a weekly country walk, illustrated with some nice photos,” is what I said to Philip Bowern, who is still my friend and colleague to this day. Amazingly - and much to my wife’s surprise - Philip agreed, and I have produced a weekly walk for the WMN ever since. I’d like to be able to say that this totals over 1100 different hikes, but it wouldn’t quite be true. Firstly because I picked up a dangerous illness in a jungle some years ago and spent time in hospital where the medics had to think and work hard to save my life. That six-week gap was followed almost ten years later by a major heart operation to fix the heart valve which the jungle bacteria nearly wrecked. That resulted in another 10 weeks away from the long and winding road.  It’s also true to say that things like long periods of really bad weather, alongside a few other factors outside my control, have occasionally forced me to revisit and rewrite old walks done years ago. Having said that, I’ve put some miles in to the WMN walks pages - perhaps 4000 to 6000 miles by my (admittedly hopeless) calculations. I’ve climbed and descended the equivalent of half a dozen Mount Everests and I’ve been baked, soaked, boiled and frozen.  And just once in 20 years have I got lost on a hike. I was in the middle of northern Dartmoor when a sudden fog made everything further than the tips of my fingers disappear. This was in pre-mobile-phone days so I had no satellite positioning aid - and, I’m sorry to admit, no compass. You don’t really need one for 999 out of a 1000 Westcountry walks, if you have a good sense of direction. I knew we were slightly to the west of the main watershed, so reasoned that any stream we could pick up would flow in the general direction towards the place where we’d parked. So by listening hard and then stumbling towards the sound of moving water, we found and followed a brook that eventually joined the River Tavy, which in turn took us back to within 50 metres of my car.  The first real hitch in my walks-writing career came in the form of a terrible thing which had serious ramifications for a great many careers and businesses. Nearly mine, but not quite. When the foot and mouth outbreak hit in 2001, WMN editor Barrie Williams called me in and said: “That’s put the kibosh on that then, Hespie. The countryside is closed so we can’t even reprint some of your previous walks. We don’t want to frustrate readers by suggesting walks they can’t do - so for the time being your goose is cooked.” I don’t often think fast on my feet - not successfully anyway - but on this occasion I managed a career-saving: “On the contrary Barrie… People need places to walk more than ever, now the countryside is closed. I’ll do town and city walks. There are plenty of town trails and both the readers and the good burghers of such places will be chuffed.” They were. Or so it seemed. I believe that to be true because eventually Mr Williams presented me with an offer I couldn’t refuse. By then the WMN was paying me a freelance rate to write all manner of news features and columns and Barrie suddenly announced that he was fed up with “haemorrhaging money like water” in my direction.  The choice was to either quit freelancing for the paper altogether, or become a fully-fledged staff member.  I took the latter option and still have the official letter of employment in which Barrie said he was pleased “to make an honest man” of me. It also states that I would never be expected to work from a company office - which explains why I only darken the WMN doors about once in every two years.  “No good newspaper story was ever found inside a newspaper office,” is what Barrie said, when I pointed out that I lived (and still live) 96 miles from WMN HQ. And so the walks continued - and still do all these years later. During the 20-years I have been attacked by dogs just three times, I have been almost overwhelmed by the stench of a dead whale rotting on a remote Devon beach, almost choked by a vast thick cloud of flying ants on the very top of Brown Willy, dodged pheasant shot several times, avoided ranting nutters on at least four occasions and ducked to escape flying golf balls twice.  I once made my elderly mother and father wade through an icy Dartmoor stream having discovered a footbridge was down on a rapidly darkening winter’s afternoon. On another occasion I watched with alarm as a friend who’d just had a heart operation turned white on the slopes of Golden Cap. A friend and I once flirted with pneumonia after we’d rescued a drowning ewe from a raging Exmoor river. And, also on Exmoor, I once came face to face with a rutting stag in the gloaming. As he galloped at me I thought my end had come, until he suddenly veered away and shot off through the woods. People often ask if they can join me on my newspaper hikes and so I’ve walked with international business consultants, out-of-work printers, blacksmiths, computer analysts, airline pursers, writers, farmers, surfing-instructors, acorn pickers, famous actors, housewives, WI members, drug addicts, alcoholics, CEOs, PR people, TV executives, teachers, male poets and one very beautiful female poet.    I must have had more than a dozen enquiries from publishers asking if I’d consider making the walks into a book, and one day I will.  I have lost count of the times people have asked me to name my favourite Westcountry walk, or the equal number of times I’ve had to say something about that being mission impossible. Walks are like music or food. One day you’ll be in the mood for a particular dish or tune - the next you might want something more spicy or perhaps more calming. If I had to go for a shortlist of, say, five great Westcountry hikes I’d divide the region up and go for the splendour of the multi-level Woody Bay to Hunter’s Inn and Heddon’s Mouth hike on the Exmoor coast; the glories of the Otterton, Budleigh, Ladram Bay, High Peak circular on the east Devon coast; the Dr Blackall’s Drive hike in a fabulous part of Dartmoor; the Fowey, Hall Walk, Lantic Bay circular on the south Cornish coast; and the circumnavigation of St Mary’s in the Isles of Scilly.  But if you came back to me with suggestions for better walks I’d probably agree with you. My lists are hardly written in soft Exmoor shale, let alone in hard Dartmoor granite. The thing is to be enthusiastic about all the walks which you end up following and writing about. Which is sometimes tougher than you may think. People often say they’d like my job - and some even occasionally tell the editor they could do a better job. I’m sure they could. But for how long? Writing any series of articles without a break, week-in, week-out for 20 years, is a proper job of work. Doing a couple of dozen, then running out of steam is not what a newspaper editor wants. What they need is for correspondents to have consistency - and a rapport with the readers. Remaining upright and walking through beautiful countryside is as good as life gets - and to be paid for doing it is a lottery-winning ticket if ever I heard of one.

As this is the time of year when we’re supposed to be making resolutions - or, at least, pronouncing promises to ourselves that are difficult to keep - why not throw a few exciting ones in to the mix? The theory is this: such resolutions are pleasing to contemplate - and, if they come off, you will be hugely rewarded for your efforts.  That’s a win-win situation because merely planning say, for example, a walking adventure somewhere very special can help wile away the dark damp winter evenings still to come. Here’s my News Year’s Resolution Classic Walks special for 2023 - based on the idea of hiking in some of the Westcountry’s most difficult to reach, but beautiful and hugely rewarding, locations… By which I mean islands. Yes, the isles surrounding this peninsula take a lot more time and effort to reach than our inland hills and dales - but spend a day circumnavigating one of them and you will be rewarded with memories that will last longer, and be far more treasured, than can be gleaned from most walks in the region. There is something very special indeed about sailing or flying to a lump of rock out in the ocean - and the isles I mention here have little footpaths that allow you to circumnavigate the place so that you can return home really believing you achieved a full blown expedition rather than just a hike. LUNDY Perhaps the outstanding example of an ocean-going adventure is Lundy. Most people who travel out to the island attempt the circumnavigation of this three mile long, half-mile wide, lump of rock located where the tide races of the Bristol Channel meet the Atlantic. Basically, Lundy is a high plateau surrounded by cliffs - the walk people like to do most is a clockwise circumnavigation of this maritime tableland. After visiting the small village at the top of the track from the landing jetty for refreshments or supplies, walk past St Helena's Church and west to the cliffs of South West Point, and then turn north towards Goat Island. This is where you might spy a black rabbit - a breed indigenous to Lundy. Walking north past Old Light on Beacon Hill, we cross Ackland's Moor which boasts the unlikely remains of a nine hole golf course as well as what is supposed to be an airstrip.   Earthquake is the strange name of the next corner of island, which we find after crossing the Quarter Wall. Lundy is divided into four by the three great walls placed at quarter intervals that cross from one side of the island to the other. At Earthquake there are chasms that you can't see the bottom of - apparently caused by the Lisbon earthquake of 1755. It is a good place from which to view the sea-bird colonies that cling to the cliffs around Jenny's Cove.  Now we march past Halfway Wall and Threequarter Wall, to the quiet wilderness of North End. On the way you may pass some of the island’s goats and see the wild Soay sheep which are Lundy's answer to antelope.  Rounding North End we begin our journey down the eastern side of the island. Soon we come to Gannets' Rock where you can, if you’re lucky, see the local seal colony lolling about on the rocks far below. Then it is south again, past the remains of the old gun battery called Brazen Ward. Once across Threequarter Wall, you can chose either to walk directly south along the island’s central track, or take the more interesting coast path.  This will take you down the east side of the island, past the historic quarries and through the rhododendron jungle where you might see a Sika deer or two. Eventually a steep path will take you back up to Lundy’s small settlement where you can enjoy a well earned pint at the Marisco Tavern. FLAT HOLM The Lewis Alexander is the sturdy little 45-seater passenger ferry that services an isle which some might argue is not really part of the Westcountry. 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 article.  And it’s fun to walk around. Flat Holm, or Ynys Echni to give it the unpronounceable Welsh name, is a limestone island lying 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. Flat Holm is 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. The tower was eventually in operation by 1738. 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. After the saints, came the Anglo-Saxons - who called the island Bradanreolice. “Reolice” 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.  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. Flat Holm long played a cosy host to smugglers. There is even a legend that various secret tunnels were dug around an old mine shaft.   Next on our round-the-isle hike we come to the island’s sanatorium – now a ruin surrounded by nettles. It was in 1883 that the steamship Rishanglys left three cholera stricken seamen on the island. 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. 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 - cremated on the island at the end of the 19th century. Today people go to Flat Holm for fun rather than for medical purposes. The place is a Local Nature Reserve, managed under The Flat Holm Project which is supported by a registered charity.  Find out more about Flat Holm by visiting www.flatholmisland.com ST GEORGE’S OR LOOE ISLAND St George’s, or Looe Island as it’s sometimes called, has all the attributes of other-worldliness necessary for an oceanic adventure, which is probably what so famously inspired two sisters from the Home Counties to buy it many years ago.  More about them later, first the vital statistics: St George’s is 22.5 acres of rocky, woody, heathy beauty lying just off a place called Hannafore, which is a kind of seaside suburb of West Looe. In a way, its shape on the map resembles a tiny Cyprus. The eastern peninsula points toward the heart of the English Channel and is backed by a 150 foot hill, skirted on its northern edge by dense woodland. The upper and western flanks play host to windswept heath, now being grazed by black, agile, Hebridean sheep. Those sheep have their own story to tell and it relates to the very recent history of the island. They were introduced by the Cornwall Wildlife Trust (CWT) which now manages St Georges, having been bequeathed the place by the two Atkins sisters, Evelyn and Babs in 2004. Evelyn wrote several books about the subject of looking after a tiny kingdom, including the celebrated We Bought an Island. The blurb on the back of the book tells the long story succinctly: “Evelyn Atkins and her sister Babs were two middle-aged sisters who lived in suburban Surrey and led the humdrum life of so many commuters. Like other people Evelyn dreamed of owning an island. And Evelyn was a very determined daydreamer… There is only one reason to hurry when walking around tiny St George’s, and that is when you are keeping oyster catchers off their eggs – which is what we were doing by standing feet away from a nest precariously placed on the beach. Suddenly we found ourselves in a delightful wooded hinterland – the kind of peaceful sylvan place you most definitely do not associate with windswept Westcountry islands. This tall sycamore woodland is on the protected north-eastern slope, away from the ruinous salt-laden gales of the west.  Past a tiny dingly-dell cottage we walk, past the grave of one of the sisters and some vegetable gardens containing the aforementioned artichokes, to the main house and its annex situated at the base of the eastern peninsula.  The house has that Miss Havisham feel so beautifully described by Charles Dickens in Great Expectations… Like the whole island, it is a place arrested in time. The public can visit the island aboard Cornwall Wildlife Trust’s 12 passenger boat - to find out more visit http: www.cornwallwildlifetrust.org.uk/nature_reserves/

My popular Exmoor-based Christmas fairytale The Deer Park has been made into an audiobook that has just been made available across some of the world’s largest online platforms. You can listen to a sample of the audiobook here… Audible, the world’s leading audiobook platform (owned by Amazon), has in recent times made it possible for authors to submit readings of their own works - but the recordings are required to meet exacting standards and parameters before they could be presented as a completed production and advertised for sale.  The Deer Park - A Modern Fairytale - is available as an audiobook on Audible and as an audiobook, ebook and paperback on Amazon. We have a limited number of free-to-listen vouchers which we could email to potential readers/listeners in return for a review - contact books@martinhesp.co.uk

As we’ve been saying in recent posts, we have just returned from a wonderful stay at the amazing Mullion Cove apartments - and while there we visited nearby Porthleven on a windy grey October day. Since I wrote the article below many years ago, Porthleven has become a kind of foodie mecca - as witnessed in these inviting looking dishes I snapped (but didn’t actually get to taste) at The Ship Inn located right out near the mouth of the famous harbour. Alas, all I was able to try was a brisket in a bap dish which we consumed outdoors on a cool and breezy lunchtime - but no matter, it was very good indeed. Anyway - please have a read of the article which I wrote about Porthleven 20 long years ago when it was a very different place. There's a famous photo of the Bickford-Smith Institute and its gaunt clock-tower surrounded by wild seas. In a way, the picture is an icon that illustrates man's mad desire to be by the sea, regardless of what the elements may chuck at him. He will sail, surf and swim, he will fish and frolic on the beach - he will even build a special place in which to read - just as long as he can be beside the sea. Anyone who's ever been to Porthleven will know the Bickford-Smith Institute because its dark, rather austere old reading rooms dominate the harbour mouth. The adjoining 70 foot clock-tower watches over the town and lords it over the occasional tempest - just like Big Ben watches over the Thames and stands aloft from the boiling cauldron of Westminster. Stark and indomitable the tower seems to say to the ocean - look, you have your mysteries-of-the-deep and your terrible violence; we have intelligence and books. Man meets sea. And when he does he must build - not only literary institutes - but groins and quays, piers and wharves so that he can protect his frail vessels from the mayhem of the waves. At Porthleven that mayhem is kept firmly outside the Baulk, the narrow mouth of the inner harbour where massive beams of timber are lowered to take the punch out of the waves that come hurtling past the pier, past the Institute and into the outer basin whenever there's a sou'westerly howling in across Mount's Bay. It's an odd name - the Baulk. Being in a reading-room frame of mind I looked up the word in a dictionary and it said: "A hindrance, a check; a disappointment." Disappointing indeed if you get home in a storm and find that the harbour staff have used the derrick on the quay to lower each beam into its special place. They're not meant to, and don't without contacting each of the port's vessels, because this is an official Port Of Refuge according to an Act of Parliament in 1860. At least, that's what a local skipper told me and he seemed proud of this curious old-fashioned status. But disappointment can also rear its ugly head when massive waves pick up the big beams and throw them about like match-sticks. I talked to some Porthleven men who were congregated by the harbour-master's shed and all of them had seen the Baulk come unseated in a gale. "It takes a special sort of wave from a particular direction," said John Russell who works at the harbour. "And it has to be big..." Gigantic I would have thought. The pieces of timber employed to create the Baulk are between 28 and 32 feet long and two feet thick. Each one weighs two tons, but John and the other men had seen the beams plucked from their settings like bits of cork. Later harbour master Ken Milburn explained to me that the timbers weren't designed to be an impenetrable dam, but float in their seatings and act as a calming influence on the big 'runs' that come into the harbour in gale force conditions. "It doesn't even have to be gale-force," said Ken. "If you get a south-easterly swell in certain tide conditions, you can get a run occurring in here big enough to damage things. Anyway, when they were tightening belts in war-time, they narrowed the channel at the bottom so they could use up some damaged pieces of timber and this narrowing had the effect of allowing the beams to float more. But they don't come out often - I can only remember it happening two or three times." "I'll tell you one thing," laughed Jim Allen who has lived in Porthleven all his life. "The timber's a lot better than the steel gates we had about 25 years ago. They only lasted two tides and were so bent and damaged they had to be cut out." Porthleven's problem is that the narrow, natural inlet faces south west, straight into the eye of the worst weather you can get roaring across Mount's Bay. A pier points nobly out to sea on the southerly side of the harbour mouth, but it can do little to prevent the waves from entering the outer sections of the port and building up into what Mr Milburn calls a run. Just past the Institute, the natural contours of the valley curve slightly to the north and this is where the Outer Harbour, with its own small outer quay, offers the first stages of protection. The community to the north of the inlet is called Breageside and it is here, near the Ship Inn, that a second quay forms the Inner Harbour where the boats are moored. You'll see the baulks of timber and the derrick on this quay, waiting for the weatherman to use the words south-westerly in conjunction with the term Gale Force. Just inside this quay are the fishing boats and it was here that I met skipper Robert Williams of the "Girl Penny" who had just been out, in what I thought was a horrible chop, to reap the harvest of his pots. He was kind enough to do us a good deal on a fiver's worth of crabs, but alas we were far too poor to even ask the value of the splendid eight-pound lobster which he proudly hauled ashore. "I remember the days when we could catch 100 of these in the 150 pots which we would put out," shrugged Robert looking down at his haul of about a dozen lobsters. "But a lot of them were really crayfish and we don't seem to get them anymore." I told him that I didn't envy him his work on a day when you could hear the surf booming at the harbour-mouth. "I'd be sick as a dog," I cringed. "I get sea-sick, suffered from it all my life," laughed the skipper. "Sometimes its worse than others. If the crew behave though, it doesn't tend to be so bad..." What about being caught out at sea when the weather's brewed up rough? "You can go to Newlyn, but the harbour master here will always radio to ask you if you're coming back or not. He's got to because its a Harbour of Refuge according to the Act of 1860." I asked Ken Milburn about the shutting of the Baulk: "You usually get plenty of warning of gales and I try to have a word with each crew before they go out to see if they intend coming back. Then, if things get worse, we'll radio each boat. If they say they're coming back, we'll wait 'til they do." None of this was necessary back in the 14th century when Breage on one side, and Sithney on the other, were tiny fishing hamlets surrounding a stream flowing into a small cove. A bar of shingle created the only protection for the tiny boats that worked out of here back then. Work on a proper harbour began in 1811 because of the increasing need for coal and supplies for local mines. It was a good time to start - soon there were plenty of prisoners from the Napoleonic wars to do the donkey work. But even with their help the development took 14 years to complete and was eventually opened in August 1825 with a feast of roast beef and plum pudding. 30 years later Harvey & Co of Hayle leased the harbour and built the inner basin so that trade could increase with imports of coal, limestone and timber and exports of tin, copper and china clay. From that time Porthleven became well-known as a ship-building port. Clippers, schooners and yachts were built in the big flat yard just behind the inner harbour in a trade that survived until the late 1970's. Much of the local fishing fleet, which crowded the harbour 120 years ago, must have been built just a few feet away. No fewer than 144 boats worked out of here in 1880 with a total crew of 583 men and boys. Hundreds of women and children were paid threepence an hour to salt and pack the large catches of pilchards which were processed along the harbour-side and, added to these, were the craftsmen making sails, nets, ropes and other equipment essential to the fleet. So thank goodness for William Bickford-Smith of Trevarno who, in 1883, spent a large sum on finding them all something to do with their spare time rather than drain the contents of bottles. He built his Literary Institute so that they could go down to the sea and have a thumping good read regardless of the tempest that would occasionally rattle the Baulk in this most pleasant of ports.

Blackberries can be a hit-or-miss crop. Over the past week I’ve noticed a phenomenon regarding these delicious fruit that I’ve never seen before - by which I mean a height differential when it comes to which berries are ripening, and which are not.  The brambles in my part of the West Country seem to only have ripe blackberries right at the top of the bush - while those at reachable height are still little green bullets.  Why this should be I cannot imagine - unless it is something to do with the extremely hot weather we’ve been having in recent months.  It is not, by the way, because other people have been along and picked all the ripe berries at lower levels - not unless they’ve done so in the middle of the night. I keep a close eye on the brambles near my house and know that the one or two other folk in the valley who pick blackberries have not come along with their collecting trugs quite yet.  Earlier I saw someone who had found an answer - the woman was reaching up with a special old fashioned kind of hay fork with bent tines and with the help of this fearsome looking implement she pulled down the fruitful thorn-covered limbs to a convenient height.   There are reckoned to be no fewer than 41 different species of bramble growing wild in the UK, and there seems to be a difference in opinion as to whether there is one true blackberry with many aberrant forms; or many distinct types. The name of the wicked, barbed and evil mother bush is derived from brambel, or brymbyl - signifying prickly. Brambles were first recorded in ancient Greece where blackberries were considered a remedy for gout.  The fruit has plenty of history in these islands - in some parts of England the blackberry was known as 'scaldhead,' though the reasons why the name came about are pretty diverse. It could be to do with indigestible over-ripe berries causing a condition that used to be called scaldhead in children who ate too many. Or it could be derived from the curative effects that the leaves and berries have in treating this malady. It may even have come from the fact that the leaves were once applied to relieve scalds.  In Cornwall long ago crawling under a bramble-bush was thought to cause protection against all sorts of skin problems from boils to blackheads. However, I much prefer thinking about more pleasing things to do with blackberries than worrying about what they may or may not cure. Jam-making must be top of the list - a good blackberry conserve will bring scented memories of late summer fields and hedges throughout the winter months.  Thinking of things to do with blackberries is always one of the pleasant challenges of September. Jam-making must come first, a good blackberry conserve will bring scented memories of late summer fields and hedges throughout the winter months.  My own small problem with the succulent black orbs is how to turn them into a jam with a good firm body. Well, it's not really a problem, more of a niggling frustration and I bet many readers will have shared my chagrin. It occurs thanks to a somewhat tight-fisted reluctance to go out and buy a packet of pectin.  “The juice of a lemon will set the jam,” say various recipes. “Put in a chopped apple with its skin.” But four times out of five this advice fails to set my ruby red preserve. Not that I mind too much because I use the runny stuff in cooking. A spoonful or two does wonders to any sauce that is about to accompany meat. Liquid blackberry jam also boosts a marinade with all the panache of port. Blackberry and apple crumble is always a favourite with just about every West Country family I know, but my grandmother, who was a Somerset baker's daughter, used to treat us with the ultimate in 'comfort-food' puddings after she'd been out among the hedgerows at this time of year.  It was basically a Yorkshire pudding filled to the brim, spotted dick-style, with blackberries, dusted with castor sugar and eaten with clotted cream or ice cream.  Quantock Pudding At least, that’s what I’m calling it… 3 ounces of plain flour 1 egg  3 fluid ounces of milk  2 fluid ounces of water – fizzy is best a pinch of salt  sunflower oil  Whisk together all the ingredients expect for the oil which you put in a non-stick over dish and heat until it is spitting. Add the batter mix, watch it bubble and rise, scatter in the blackberries, put in a hot oven (200c) and cook for 25 to 30 minutes until fluffy, crisp and golden. Sieve castor sugar on top and serve with cream.

Continuing this short series of East Devon hikes to coincide with the Taste East Devon Food Festival, I have been remembering a walk I did years ago in the Budleigh Salterton area. I firs did the hike just after I’d written a piece about Budleigh being Britain's worst-value-for-money location. In order to write the article I spent a few hours marching about the main street interviewing people and, having purchased an extremely good value-for-money pie in a local delicatessen, I repaired to the beach for peace and quiet, fresh air and jolly maritime views. At that moment the sun came out and the whole Devon littoral lit up in a glorious way. The newsdesk can wait - thought I, to myself - Hesp is off on a Hike. This website has marched east of Budleigh before - across the River Otter and around to Ladram Bay before returning over the hills to Otterton. One of the best hikes in Devon, as far as I'm concerned... But never before have we wandered west of Britain's most over-valued town. The reason for that is two, or even threefold. One - because the route to Exmouth takes in one of the biggest caravan sites in the West Country, and I am no fan of such Cubist vistas. Two - because the coastal walk is interrupted by the Ministry of Defence - the entire area of Straight Point is a firing range, strictly out of bounds to walkers. And three - because Exmouth is a sprawl that I have fallen out of love with. But so alluring was the mercurial look of the sea, so exotic did Straight Point appear, so warm was the sun - that I took myself off in the general direction of the town at the mouth of the Exe. Not that I reached it. I found a splendid inland alternative instead, of which you shall hear more. Before we begin, allow me to mention Mr George Mitchell - a 78 year old retired gardener I met pushing his bike along what passes for a prom. George told me how he grew up in the wooded hills behind Budleigh Salterton and how, during the war, there was an Italian spy who told the German Luftwaffe all about some mock aerodrome the forces had built somewhere near Woodbury Common. The bombers duly came and blew it all to smithereens. What happened to the Italian spy, I have no idea, but if anyone knows I'd love to hear. Having bid adieu to George, I set off up the hill. And what a hill it is. The cliff path that goes west out of Budleigh climbs and climbs. I had no idea there was such a tall eminence in these parts. It's called West Down Beacon and is well known among golfers who go to play upon what looks like the thoroughly excellent East Devon Golf Course. This takes up much of West Down as a whole, and the coast path runs nervously along between the border fence and the cliff. I say nervously, because the cliffs are here are not exactly granite in their constitution. They are red sandstone. More sand than stone, I should say. Bits of cliff regularly depart seawards. Halfway up the hill, the path veers from the cliff edge and passes through a rather scenic wood. This is probably a good idea. The wood is of the pine and scrub type that Winnie the Pooh would have known - if you've ever seen Shepherd's wonderful pen and ink drawings... More of Pooh later. Suddenly we are reintroduced to the cliff-side as we approach the 129 metre summit. You will know you've reached it because you will see a trig-point situated just inland of the path. You will also know, because this is where you get the very best views. Not only can you look down on Budleigh and its tiny estuary to the east - and gaze beyond to Sidmouth and way into Dorset past Chesil Beach to Portland Bill - you can also look west across the gigantic Exe estuary and follow the coast down past Torbay to Berry Head. As coastal vistas go, this has to be one of the best - thanks to the fact that West Down Beacon is situated at the apex of one of the biggest corners to be found along West Country shores. My plan had been to go on to Exmouth and catch a bus back to Budleigh, but the Marines were shooting hell out of something or other on Straight Point. So, looking at my map, I saw that the public right-of-way heading north of the trig-point would take me into what looked like a pleasant wooded area. From there I could take a lane a few hundred yards to find the Exmouth to Budleigh Salterton Cycleway, which in turn would take me on a large arc around the back of the town. This struck me as an excellent alternative and, having done the route, I can now assure you of its merits. The path from the trig-point offers fantastic views of the Exe basin up to, and beyond, Devon's capital city - and it introduces you to those pleasant woodlands. Be warned that you must cross the golf course at one point - so watch out for small white projectiles and listen out for people shouting "Fore!" Eventually the path meets a lane and a minute's walk along this will bring you to the cycleway. You have to turn left and walk down a longish feeder-path for a few hundred yards before you can get onto the sunken track - then it's a matter of turning right. It is, of course, a disused railway. To be exact, it was the railway that used to run down from the mainline, past Tipton St John (the junction for Sidmouth) and on to Exmouth where it linked up with the branchline to Exeter. Anyway, it bit the dust like most of our rural lines and now looks set to become part of what is known as the Southern Coastal route (National Cycle Network Route No.2). A website on the subject tells me: "The final route when built is expected to run from Plymouth to Dorset and beyond. It is planned to pass through Totnes, Newton Abbot and beside the Teign estuary, Teignmouth, Dawlish, beside the Exe estuary to Exeter, Exmouth and on eastwards to Sidmouth, Seaton, Axminster before heading into Dorset." I look forward to it. I first wrote this article over 15 years ago and there’s no sign of this cycleway coming to full fruition yet. In the meantime we have to content ourselves with cycling - or walking - along this pleasant section to northern Budleigh Salterton. The path weaves along through a deep cutting and then makes a big bend to the east. After a mile or so it ceases and we are led away from the old line to a place called Bear Lane. I saw a board here advertising Pooh's bed and breakfast establishment - which seemed fitting for a byway of such name. Down the lane I walked - regretting that the cycleway didn't go further - and then it was a matter of crossing the main road and entering the northern hinterland of Budleigh Salterton. You can't lose your way - it's simply a matter of heading through the housing estates towards the sea. The only puzzle was why this town should represent the worst value for money in the country? It seemed a fine place to me - and it will to you if you have a bash at this excellent coast and country stroll. Fact File: Basic hike: from Budleigh Salterton west along coast path to West Down Beacon then inland to find cycleway which takes you back east to inland Budleigh. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey 115 Exmouth and Sidmouth. Distance and going: four and a half miles.

The wind was stabbing down the beautiful Branscombe Valley like some dreadful dagger from the north. But later, along the Undercliff, we hit spring. We were so warm there that we could have pulled out deckchairs and bathed our white limbs in the rays of the winter sun. Not the merest touch of breeze wafted in that lovely, vertical demesne. The icy-petticoats of the freezing zephyr danced far over our heads above the cliffs. All was sun and dazzle. It was Mediterranean. Equatorial even. Above all, it was southern. The great yellow orb blasted its rays at the sea - and the sea skittled them right back up at us. For the first time in a long, long while, I felt the merest, slightest, shimmering hint of something that was not winter. No wonder they used to grow mainland England's earliest spuds and broad beans along here. The place is a little bit of somewhere else - an embassy of some southern country that lies far beyond the horizon. 'Twas ever thus with the Undercliffs of Devon. These huge chunks of the West Country depart for the south, only to stop in their journey halfway to the sea. They droop like lovely escapees, but are held in no-man's land for centuries. Lofty has-beens of some long-lost promised land. And the great shelves offer the best areas of shelter to be found anywhere in mainland Britain. On a sunny winter's day, when there is a north wind, these places make for the best walking territory in our region. Anyone attempting this walk will soon be warm - no matter what the weather - just by climbing the Alpine slope that stretches up from the seaside car park at Branscombe. It is a slope of the house-roof variety. As you walk, so your nose scrapes the steep hillside in front of you. Goodness knows how high the ridge is at the top. It is a ridge by-the-way - rather than a bluff or cliff. I say that because, only when you get to the top do you realise that the southerly hill which protects the village of Branscombe is in fact one of those sham eminences with no substance to its spine. The slope ascends steeply up through the beech hangar from the village - and then ends abruptly in a sea-facing abyss. The South West Coast Path follows this ridge as it treads its way prettily west past various old quarries towards a place called Berry Camp. From the path we can look down through the woods to see the picturesque village escorting the stream past the ancient and handsome church of St Winifred. On the other side, far below, there's the beach at Branscombe Ebb and from this high vantage point you can see why Branscombe became one of the smuggling capitals of the south coast. What looks like a remote and isolated stretch of coast is in fact just a few hundred yards (as the seagull flies) from the village which is hidden and protected by the great ridge. Apparently two Branscombe farmers, called Bray and Fry, were the hardcore smugglers here back in the bad old days. It must have been a romantic time of swash-and-buckle, but it wasn't so funny if you were caught bringing in the brandy. There were huge fines, long terms of imprisonment, hard labour - and, if you were really unlucky, transportation. The high odds meant people played the game very seriously - sometimes fatally. Things came to a head in this loveliest of all corners of South Devon with the suspected murder of Branscombe customs officer John Hurley in 1755. But it wasn't all hatred and murder - a contemporary account of smuggling in Branscombe by George Pulman, published in 1857, portrays quite a different picture: "Smugglers could not have been much in dread of the exciseman for, when a child, I have often met strings of their horses by daylight, in charge of only a single person, travelling along the secluded roads and heavily laden with the contraband. The smugglers' horses were all remarkably sagacious. They travelled in single file, eight or ten together, and one of them - the oldest and most experienced - was called the Captain. He led the rest, and they all knew the 'enemy' and how to treat him. It was dangerous to attempt to stop them and, truth to tell, the experiment was seldom tried." Without seeing a single smuggler we continued our walk in the sunshine along Coxe's Cliff, over the top of Weston Cliff, and down to Weston Mouth. Much of the territory covered on the route is, by-the-way, owned by the National Trust - including this latter chunk down the steep contours into Weston Combe. The tide was out so we decided to head back along the beach. It's a bit of a trek, made all the more arduous by the fact the shingle is of the small and rolling variety. The actual distance is about two-and-half miles, but it feels more like five by the time you get back to Branscombe Mouth. It's worth it though, because this is a wonderful, lonely bit of the littoral - and you can do what we did, and stop for a picnic on the way. We came to a halt at a place called Littlecombe Shoot where I was amazed to find a sort of secret holiday camp. The place is merely a scattering of chalets, old and new, spread across the undercliff in a higgledy-piggledy way. I very rarely envy other people - but I am jealous of anyone who owns one of these delightful abodes. I can see myself perched up in that secret and warm demesne penning some romantic maritime yarn of old. Instead I marched onward - stumbling along the shingle until I was met by the icy blast that was coming down the valley from Branscombe. But I'd had my trip to foreign climes - my fix of summer's warmth - and was happy to return to the wintry wastes of my native heath. Fact File Basic Hike: from Branscombe Mouth west on coast path to Weston Mouth and back along the beach. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 115. Distance and going: five miles, one steep climb and descent. Food and drink: there's an excellent little cafeteria at Branscombe Mouth or two pubs in the village.

In the last post we mentioned the wonderful Taste East Devon food festival - so we thought we’d add this walk as an ideal way of earning your lunch, so to speak… It’s not too far but you will be feeling ready for a good lunch or supper after you\ve strolled around this lovely scenic part of the East Devon countryside. The East Devon Pebble Beds are nationally famous, providing a home for all sorts of rare flora and fauna. To be honest I didn't know exactly where we were as we drove south towards the English Channel the other day. I knew we'd just passed a crossroads at the top of a hill, and I seem to remember seeing a Halfway Inn. So how was I to know that we had entered the demesne of the elusive Dartford Warbler? Until I saw one. For those who don't know it, this is a brown feathered little fellow with a long tail, and it is just one of the reasons why the RSPB runs a reserve at Aylesbeare Common. There are other reasons, but apart from the warblers, nightjars and stonechats, this is a rare chunk of ancient heathland that plays home to the largest number of butterfly species to be found in any RSPB reserve. Incredible really, to be just a few miles outside Exeter and into such a great swathe of nature-rich wilderness. That's why we pulled over: the fields of South Devon had suddenly given way to heath and somehow the countryside reminded me of the area near the North Pole. By which I mean the North Pole explored by Winnie the Pooh and his friend Christopher Robin, and the other denizens of that friendly forest including all Rabbit's friends and relations. Aylesbeare Common has that look about it, and because it is well endowed with paths, we were soon enjoying our own exploration. Not knowing anything about the place, we started by turning our backs on the RSPB reserve and heading south from the car park towards the distant sea. We could sea its blue horizon glimmering way out past Budleigh Salterton. Having crossed the lane a footpath swung left and off we went across the heath, and after a mile or so we came to a sort of border of this magic land. But that was all right because we were able to follow another path east, back across the lane and into a particularly picturesque corner of the Common. This is where you begin to realise how high up you are, because a valley opens up below the heath to your right, and in it is the pretty village of Newton Poppleford, looking like a collection of doll's houses far below. Why Newton should be suffixed with wonderful sounding Poppleford, I do not know. In fact I have very little knowledge of the place save for one rather trivial fact. And that is that long ago I interviewed a man who lived there who was responsible for setting all the questions to be found in the first editions of Trivial Pursuit. While we are meandering our way aimlessly up the eastern edge of the Common, allow me to furnish you with a few details about heathland in general. You wouldn't know it to look at them, but they are man-made environments which have been with us since Neolithic times. Low intensive agriculture. That's the phrase. The gist of it was (no pun intended: 'gist' also means right to graze) that the well-to-do snapped up the fertile valley land, while the poor old paupers were told they could put a few manky cattle and sheep up on the common where nothing much would grow. Anyway, the point is that these areas developed a very special mix of plants, thanks to this low intensive agriculture, which in turn became the favoured home of many birds, animals and insects. Of course, modern agricultural techniques, not to mention quarrying and housing, have bitten into the heathlands causing them to shrink at an alarming rate. That's why the RSPB has a reserve, so that at least 184 hectares can remain traditionally heathy without threat. The Society takes an active role in maintaining this delicate environment by allowing non-intensive grazing and occasionally cutting back the gorse. But we haven't reached the reserve yet, simply because I didn't know it was there. So far I've only got you back to the A3052, but there's no need to risk life and limb on this busy road as a path will lead you back up towards the car park. That's where I happened to see the RSPB sign and, making my way across the main road, found that there is an excellent Visitor's Trail around the reserve. By following the green topped posts we were able to enjoy a three mile circular tour of the more northerly corners of Aylesbeare Common, and a good deal of Harpford Common too. It's an excellent hike and I can happily recommend it not only because it is packed with nature, but because it is an exceedingly pleasant tract of Old England. As it was a mild day I was lucky enough to spot a couple of the famous Dartford Warblers - apparently they make themselves scarce when it gets cold. Obviously I didn't see, or hear, the nightjars as they were away in Africa or somewhere, and won't be back until June. Nor did I see any of the 38 species of butterfly which have been spotted in the reserve since 1997. These, by-the-way, include the brimstone, silver washed fritillary, grayling and silver-studded blue. I can also admit to finding the skies uncluttered by the 23 species of dragonflies and damselflies which merrily haunt the pools around the reserve. Nor did I count anything like the 450 species of plants which have been recorded hereabouts. I saw the ling heather and the bell heather, but did not examine their rarer crossed-leaved heath cousin as I wouldn't know it if I fell over it. Nor would I be able to identify sundew, bog asphodel, dodder, heath milkwort and heath dog violet. But believe me, they are all out there on Aylesbeare Common. Somewhere. And next time you're down Exeter way, maybe you should be too. How to get there: A3052 east from Exeter, you'll recognise the heath just before Newton Poppleford Basic Hike: Martin did a figure-of-eight around north and south Aylesbeare Common with a bit of Harpford Common thrown in for good measure, but you could just do the RSPB Reserve Visitor's Trail. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 115. Distance and Going: Six miles for the longer hike, three for Visitor Trail. Good level going.

Driving through the sunlit hills and dales of East Devon last weekend with well-known agriculture expert and writer Graham Harvey, we found ourselves admiring the countryside and agreeing that, if you could play God and you wanted to create a fabulous landscape in which to grow wonderful food, then this would be the blueprint. The historic patchwork of well-watered fields which fills the sheltered south-flowing valleys tells you that this part of the West Country has been farmed for a very long time. Indeed, until quite recently the East Devon land of milk-and-honey was famous for its dairy industry. The rich milk that went into creams and cheeses inspired the building of entire branch-lines, such as the Culm Valley Light Railway which terminated at Hemyock next to a large dairy.  As we drove ever south through the undulating landscape, so we saw how the area’s agriculture had changed over the years. Ancient orchards had been supplemented by new planting, and large vineyards now covered several south-facing slopes. And when we arrived at our destination our luncheon hosts showed us large baskets of fabulous-looking produce which they’d bought from a local veg-growing cooperative (https://inmybackyard.co/). Even the view from their house held culinary promise - we could spot the sparkling English Channel, which continues to supply the area with a diverse array of first-class seafood. To us, this rich and fertile land appeared to be the exact antithesis of all those poor and unfortunate regions in the world which we see on our television screens where people increasingly struggle to grow enough to eat. Even after a long dry summer which has caused the area to be officially classified as a region of drought, East Devon looked green and luxuriant. A little parched in places, yes - but nothing like the yellowing landscapes to be seen elsewhere in England.  The people of this fertile dingly-dell countryside are very fortunate indeed. And it is right and proper they should celebrate the fact by staging an annual festival in honour of verdant East Devon’s food and drink. Following the success of last year’s inaugural event, the Taste East Devon food festival is to run from today until the 18th September. Award-winning venues, producers, chefs and restaurants across a wide area stretching from the Dorset border down to Exeter and up across the Blackdown Hills have joined forces again to celebrate the local food and drink on offer. Founder Members include THE PIG-at Combe, Darts Farm, Otter Brewery, Deer Park Country House, River Cottage, East Devon AONB, Donkey Sanctuary, Mazzard Farm holiday cottage complex, the award-winning Jack in the Green dining pub and Michael Caines’ Lympstone Manor.  The celebration kicks off today at the increasingly popular Ottery St. Mary Food and Families Festival - a not-for-profit, free, event, organised by a group of individuals enthusiastic about local food and drink.  A spokesperson said: “Driven by a passion for local food and talent, this event shares our wonderful local producers, products and chefs. Our key aim is to raise local and regional awareness of Ottery St. Mary as a destination for all things food and drink related, be that buying, eating out, or producing.” And continuing over the next couple of weeks, the area will play host to a series of events great and small - from pop-up street food parties like the Sidmouth Eats event next Friday, to a five-course seafood feast at Topsham’s Salutation Inn (see recipe). There’ll be wine-tastings, brewery tours and visits to flour mills, cider-suppers, afternoon teas, coastal foraging trips and much much more. Ruud Jansen Venneboer, Taste East Devon chair and owner of Mazzard Farm, which is located close to Ottery St Mary, told us: “Last year’s festival was a huge success! East Devon has an incredible food community, and it was amazing to see so many world-class businesses join together and really put our county on the map.  “During last year’s festival, we had a whole host of events - an evening with Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall at River Cottage; a Field, Fire, Ferment feast in Darts Farm’s new restaurant, The Farm Table; tasting Experiences and set menus at The Jack and The Green, The Salutation Inn and the Donkey Sanctuary; brewery tours and tastings with Otter Brewery; hands-on masterclasses and bike tours. The list was impressive and comprehensive and this year it’s bigger and better!” Mark Godfrey, managing director of Deer Park Country House added: “What makes the festival such a success, is its incredible diversity. There really is something for everyone; whether you are looking for something fun to do with the whole family, an experience with a loved one, or something that you are able to go to on your own. Some of the events are ticketed, and some are open freely to the public.” And another of the festival’s organisers, Fiona Moores, regional operations director at THE PIG told us how fascinating it was to work on the event: “We all have deep roots in local, seasonal produce and growing things, yet we learn so much from each other. It’s a joy witnessing the enthusiasm in the group - from specialists in farming, creating a product or service delivery.” Fiona said that the main idea behind the festival was to be fully inclusive. “We want it to appeal to families and so we offer value-for-money and free events, as well as some that are a little more upscale as well. Given where we are with the world on the back of a pandemic, there’s an appetite to go out and enjoy each other - but with the recession knocking on the door, it’s important to have a line-up of events that suit every pocket.” So if you’re in or around East Devon over the next couple of weeks, check out the festival website at https://www.tasteeastdevon.co.uk/ and make sure you take advantage of the events on offer.  RECIPE The Salutation Inn at Topsham is well known for its fabulous locally sourced food. Here's a recipe for one of their popular East Devon dishes… Devon Crab Watermelon Gazpacho, cucumber granita Serves 4 Crab 200g white crab meat  20g shallot, finely chopped 10g parsley, finely chopped  15g capers, mini or chopped  15g cornichons, roughly chopped  Granita ½ cucumber 2 springs mint 35ml gin  Juice of a lemon  Gazpacho Flesh of ½ watermelon, chopped  ½ cucumber  1 red pepper  ½ red onion  ½ red chilli, seeded  1 clove of garlic, skinned  1 tsp sherry vinegar  Method Start with the granita, ideally made the night before serving. Blend cucumber, mint, gin and lemon juice before seasoning to taste with salt and pepper. Pour into a flat baking tray and freeze overnight. Next day, chill your bowl - pick through the crab to ensure there are no bits of shell. In a bowl, combine the herbs, shallots, capers and cornichons. Season well with plenty of salt and pepper to taste, and chill while you make the gazpacho. Blend the watermelon, cucumber, onion, chilli, pepper and garlic. Pass through a sieve until it becomes smooth. Stir through sherry vinegar. Season to taste. You can add Tabasco or Worcestershire sauce for a little kick, if you like. Chill in the fridge.  To serve, pour the gazpacho into your chilled bowl. Carefully spoon the crab on top – either sprinkled or quenelled. Finally, scrape the granita on top for a final burst of flavour. Taste East Devon Events Timetable Further information found at www.tasteeastdevon.co.uk Saturday 3rd 9am - 5.30pm - Ottery St Mary’s Food and Family Festival  Saturday 3rd - 10th - Celebration of Sidmouth Menu Sunday 4th -  Darts Farm City to Sea Taste Trail Tuesday 6th 11am - 12.30pm - Garden Tour at River Cottage Tuesday 6th 10am - 1.45pm - Lyme Bay Winery and Quicke’s Cheese Tasting Tuesday 6th 6-9pm - Deer Park Cider Supper Evening Tuesday 6th 2-4pm  - Kitchen Garden Gatherings at THE PIG at Combe Tuesday 6th - Saturday 17th  - The Salutation Inn five course seafood menu with fizz Wednesday 7th 6-10pm - Floral and Fizz Ladies Night at The NightJar Inn with Wood Barn Flowers Thursday 8th 7-10pm - Field, Fire and Ferment Feast in The Farm Table Thursday 8th 7-10pm  - Eat For Charity with Jack In The Green Friday 9th 4-9pm - Sidmouth Eats Boutique Friday 9th 6-10.30pm - South West Seafood Night with Sidmouth Hotel Friday 9th 6.30-10.30pm - Otter Brewery Open Evening and Tour Saturday 10th 10am - 4pm - Field, Fire and Ferment Food Festival Saturday 10th 10am -1.45pm - Lyme Bay Winery and Quicke’s Cheese Tasting Saturday 10th 4 - 11pm - Street food and sounds at The Forge Saturday 10th 2-4.30pm - Vintage Honey Afternoon Tea with Blackbury Honey Farm Sunday 11th 11am - 4pm - Meet The Miller, The Baker and Chutney Maker Sunday 11th 10am - 3pm Scone Sundae at ColdHarbour Field Kitchen Sunday 11th 6-8.30pm - East Devon Taster with The Point Monday 12th/Tuesday 13th 12.30 - 3pm Coastal Foraging with Ebbtides Seaweed Tuesday 13th 10am - 1.45pm - Lyme Bay Winery and Quicke’s Cheese Tasting Tuesday 13th  2-4pm - Kitchen Garden Gatherings at THE PIG at Combe Wednesday 14th - Lympstone Lunch and Vineyard Tour Wednesday 14th  5.30 -7.30pm Sidmouth Distillery Gin School  Thursday 15th 11.30 - 2.30pm - Sowing With The Donkeys Thursday 15th 12-5pm - Garden BBQ at Heron Farm Thursday 15th 5.30 -7.30pm Sidmouth Distillery Rum School Thursday 15th 7-10pm  - Meet the Brewer with The Jack In The Green Friday 16th 11am - 3pm  - East Devon Lunch at High Grange Friday 16th 2-4pm - Lily Farm Vineyard Tour Friday 16th 6.30 - 8.30pm - Spirit Pairing Evening with Sidmouth Gin Friday 16th 6.30-10.30pm Feast at River Cottage Friday 16th  8-10pm - Jazz and Seafood Evening at The NightJar Inn Saturday 17th 3-5pm - Picnic at Pebblebed Saturday 17th 11am - Sunday 18th 6pm - Courtney’s Big Pick and Open Orchard Sunday 18th 1 - 7pm - Party at THE PIG at Combe

I have written the following article this week and it has appeared in newspapers like the Western Morning News today… But here I add some extra words and photographs… There is always something ominous about a roll of thunder, but as I sit here on Exmoor listening to the drumming of heavy rain and the canon-retort of distant lightning, there is an extra edge to the foreboding. It comes not only because the Met Office has just issued an Amber Warning for severe thunderstorms - but also because it is exactly 70 years to the day since 34 people lost their lives during the Lynmouth Flood Disaster which occurred just a couple of dozen miles from where I am now. Indeed, it is exactly 18 years to the day since extreme heavy rain caused the Boscastle Flood Disaster.  What is it about this strange and ominous date? On August 16, 1952 a rain-gauge on Exmoor showed that in the 20 hours before 9am, nine inches of rain fell across Exmoor’s Chains area causing the Lynmouth Flood Disaster. More than 90 million tons of water had cascaded down the steep narrow valleys of the twin rivers Lyn towards the small harbour village causing death and devastation beyond anything ever seen in the region during peacetime. People forget that it wasn’t only Lynmouth which suffered such devastation that night. Of the 34 people who lost their lives, half a dozen perished in other parts of Exmoor National Park.  So terrible was the rainfall - which fell in solid sheets rather than in single droplets -  babies, children, teenagers, back-packers, husbands and wives and the elderly were all lost as the normally innocent and picturesque streams of the moors built up massive walls of water. There was nowhere else for these walls of water to go but down the steep sided valleys - building and becoming more terrifying each time the spate was momentarily delayed by one of the area’s ancient stone packhorse bridges.   I spent years as a journalist talking to survivors of the flood and well recall the late John Pedder of Lynmouth telling me how he’d made his way to safety across rooftops - watching as cars, buildings and whole trees swept by just feet away from him in a torrent which had turned the modest stream into a raging giant as wide as the Thames at Tower Bridge. Eyewitnesses described clouds that accumulated over Exmoor as glowering a “purple black” - some even said the threatening skies had a weird greenish tinge. And more than one person observed that the clouds above North Devon and West Somerset were moving in completely opposite directions.  Within hours, one of the most violent precipitations this country has ever seen was underway. The bogs on top of Exmoor were quickly filled to overflowing and Lynmouth would soon be a disaster zone. At the 65th commemoration of the terrible event I talked to a woman called Wendy Marker.  She was working at a local hotel on the evening of that fateful Friday night, when her parents decided to evacuate their home.  “When I got back along the road I couldn't use the river path - they were all up at the school. Was I frightened? No, not really,” said Wendy. “I'd lived by the river all my life and was used to hearing it roar. The school was above where we lived and they were all there except three people who lived in one of the other cottages. They refused to leave. But then they were always a bit like that - the sort who'd peer out from behind their curtains at you. Very old. “And I remember the great crash that happened at around one in the morning. That was that for the cottages - and for the three old people. All gone. Not a thing left. “It”s strange really,” she added. “You know most people have got something handed down from their mum, or their grandmother. I haven't got a thing. Not a single hand-me-down. It all went in the flood.”  The nine inches of rain which fell on the central plateau of Exmoor has only ever been equalled twice in the British Isles. Most of the precipitation fell between seven in the evening and midnight. More than 90 million tons of water cascaded down the steep narrow valleys of the twin rivers Lyn towards the small harbour village causing death and devastation beyond anything ever seen in the region during peacetime. On the same night in August in 2004 a rain gauge in the Valency Valley recorded an awesome seven and a half inches of rain in just five hours - and that downpour built a wall of water that shot down the valley to cause the Boscastle Flood Disaster - in which, miraculous, not a single soul lost their lives.   “And yet, just a few miles over the hill at Slaughterbridge, a rain-gauge linked to our centre here recorded just five inches during that time and another of our gauges, five miles distant again, was measuring almost nothing,” I was told by Martin Weiler, a regional strategic officer for the Environment Agency. He showed me a high-speed replay of the incident on a radar screen. One thing soon became apparent – the eye of the storm lingered long and loud in just one spot on the computer map. It was stuck above the hills behind Boscastle. Radar shows storms in different colours – the more violent parts tend to be redder, moving up to mauve and eventually to pure white. You don’t get white blobs being recorded by radar over Britain often, but on this occasion a single white square was centred over the Valency River catchment area for the best part of two hours.  As I sit here on Exmoor on this August 16th I can’t help but wonder what the meteorologists are seeing now. They’ve already issued their Amber Weather Warning - like thousands of others in the region I will be praying the freak weather doesn’t strike for a third time on this fateful day.  The rain did hit us last night. Really really heavy rain. The worst I’ve known in the 25 years I have lived in this cottage. I see on social media that the deluge caused floods and landslides all around this immediate area. I have just been for a walk around the valley and the results of the rain are plain to see. Long summer grass has been sort of combed downhill as if a hairbrush had stroked its way through the countryside. Rocks and stones and other debris lines most roads - especailly in palces

Drink! It is a word I cannot contemplate without being reminded of the irascible old priest in the TV comedy series, Father Ted.  Yes, the wild-eyed Father Jack did have an obvious problem on the alcohol front - but it was the way in which he savoured the idea of drink to the point where he would explode with violent enthusiasm when uttering that single word. Drink! I can never hear it spoken without thinking of him.  Drink! That wondrous, delicious, intriguing, constantly-improving liquid with which we humans quench our thirsts… I add the term ‘constantly-improving’ because it really is very much the case, especially here in the West Country. When I look back to the drinks on offer when I was young, I recall a liquid world which was very limited indeed. As Gabriel David, founder of the excellent Devon-based Luscombe Drinks, once told me: “If you visited a local pub when I was in my late-teens and you were, wisely, being careful about your driving licence, there was lemonade-and-lime or Britvic orange, and not a lot else. In rural Devon you had to travel miles to meet your friends in some local watering hole, so you were acutely aware of how important your driving licence was. You were not exactly rewarded by the choice on offer.  The lack of interesting and delicious non-alcoholic drinks was part of the reason we started Luscombe.” And what a fantastic job Gabriel and his team have done. The company produces an award-winning range of premium soft drinks, including organic fruit juices, crushes, bubblies and sparkling fruit waters, plus a traditional organic Devon cider, and has recently launched a range of Devon tonic waters.  But the West Country revolution featuring both interesting non-alcohol and alcoholic beverages flows in a river far wider than just one pioneering company, which is why - in the middle of what looks to be a fairly warm dry summer - we have put together a listing of some of delicious drinks being made across the region. When it comes to Cornwall, the first person I contact when it comes to any question of this kind is Ruth Huxley, of the Great Cornish Food Store, that unique and wonderful emporium situated on the hill above Truro.  “Starting with soft drinks and no/low alcohol, I’d recommend Cornish Country Cordials who make a delicious range - all natural, so no cloying aftertaste, really refreshing…” says Ruth. “You dilute with tap water or sparkling spring water. Sally who makes them calls it ‘proper squash’, but they’re also a great cocktail ingredient.   “Then there’s Firebrand Shorebreak alcohol-free beer. It’s really good. One of our crew who is a bit of a craft brew fiend said ‘you could even drink a couple of these and not feel cheated’! Comes in a 330ml can, pale ale style,” said Ruth before going on to recommend the High Point Ruby Aperitif  … “Fermented for depth and complexity of flavour but without the alcohol, this one brings sophistication to the ‘no and low’ category… “Now the alcoholic recommendations… Caspyn Summer Cup is Cornwall’s answer to Pimms. Try it with Navas ginger ale or ginger beer, which are great mixers but equally good on their own too. “Skinner’s HellUp lager is a typical Skinner’s-style play on words for this Helles style crystal clear lager. Can’t think why they didn’t do one before now, it’s been a real winner with us since its launch in spring. The there’s Harbour Hop Box - a neat box of 10 x 330ml easy drinking craft beers from Cornwall’s hipster brewery.” Ruth continued:  “I really rate Rosemullion Summer Gin, a from-scratch distillery, run by husband and wife team Andrew and Liz Bradbury who changed course after careers as scientists, which shows in their meticulous attention to detail.  The Summer gin is very refreshing. “Haywood Farm Cider is one for the purists - and who can beat a traditional still cider on a hot summer’s day?” asks Ruth, adding Trevibban Mill Pet Nat cider to her list. “It is bottled before the primary fermentation has finished to create the bubbles, an ancient cider-making technique recently revived. Trevibban Mill make a white version with 100% organic apples, and a pink version which gets its colour from red grape skins added during fermentation.   “I’ve saved the best ’til last with Aprez Spritz from Knightor winery. It launches officially this weekend, so very timely for this article. Knightor’s winemaker David Brocklehurst has created a drink that really captures the essence of summer and current trends in relaxed drinking. It’s a rosé wine cocktail, ready to drink in a 250ml can, so great for the BBQ, beach, festivals, or just chilling in the garden!  I love the flavour, which is reminiscent of vermouth and really well balanced. We will have plenty of stock for this weekend.” Moving across the Tamar, our next summer drinks listing has been put together by my colleagues at RAW Food and Drink PR, and it begins with Luscombe’s Strawberry Bubbly… “One for popping in a picnic hamper or as a seaside refresher, this new bubbly brims with a blend of the finest organic strawberries, organic Sicilian lemons, Madagascan vanilla and soft Dartmoor spring water.  Free from additives and nasties, Luscombe was recently awarded a Royal Warrant, a sure sign of Devon quality.” Next comes Sandridge Barton’s Sharpham ‘Summer Sparkling’ 2020. “This delicious sparkling rosé is packed with delicate red berry, crunchy red apple and pink grapefruit characters. (£22.00 - sandridgebarton.com ). Now for a tot of Devon’s world famous gin… “Since its launch in 2016, Salcombe Gin’s Start Point has become one of the most internationally recognised gins - winning all the most prestigious prizes in the international world of spirits, including ‘Gold’ at the World Gin Awards and ‘Double Gold’ at the San Francisco World Spirits Competition (known as the World Drink Oscars). The signature flavour is inspired by the voyages of the Salcombe Fruit Schooners, which carried exotic goods, fruits and spices. For those looking for a non-alcohol tipple with the same kind of hit as a real gin, New London Light ‘Midnight Sun’ is also distilled in Salcombe… “Inspired by Nordic regions where daylight ventures through the night, ‘Midnight Sun’ combines hand-picked seaberries and elderberries with the creative use of kelp and pine to give a new perspective on complex flavour combinations.”   Hattiers Egremont Premium Reserve Rum is also distilled in the South Hams, this time at Mothecombe. “Give your cocktail a Caribbean spin with Hattiers Rum’s Premium Reserve Rum, ‘Egremont’.  Sourced from the world’s finest distillers and blended with pure soft water, fresh from the hills of Dartmoor.” Devon Cove Vodka is made from potatoes grown and harvested on a family farm in Hope Cove. “We’re talking lime and cream on the nose and sweet apple finish. It’s also as low-calorie as alcohol can be, as the carbs in the potatoes don’t translate, and, unlike much vodka on the market, it’s grain-free so gluten-free, to boot.” Sandford Orchards’ Devon Red Cider is named after the colour of the county’s distinctive red soils. “Crafted with cider apples from local orchards, you can’t get more Devon than this medium cider from Sandford. No surprise it’s their number one best-seller, thanks to its light, pure taste - creamy, ripe apples with just a hint of refreshing sparkle. No artificial flavours are used, just the best natural ingredients.” Salcombe Brewery’s Shingle Bay featured in these pages recently - a fruity golden ale, one of the company’s five core heritage beers. “Shingle Bay has been joined by the Discovery range of lager, pale ale, porter, cider and Salcombe Pilsner which has just snaffled a Gold in the Taste of the West Awards 2022.” Boo Chi Kombucha’s Fresh Mint to Revive is brewed in the heart of the Devon countryside and is packed full of good healthy things. “The company uses only the freshest organic and locally sourced ingredients to flavour their original kombucha. The mint cuts through the acidity of the kombucha to give it a slightly sweet, bright, refreshing taste.” Devon based company Wickhams was recently named Specialist Merchant of the Year England 2022 at the International Wine Challenge (IWC) Merchant Awards. One Devon wine the company has been highlighting recently is Huxbear winery’s Classic Sparkling 2018, which it says is “as good as anything you'll get from the Champagne region - and at a great price”. (£25.54 for one bottle or £22.99 for any mix of six bottles - Wickhamwine.co.uk We must not forget coffee, because this region does have some really good blenders. Bantham is one of five house-blends from award-winning Owens Coffee, which has a state-of-the-art ‘roastery’ near Ivybridge.  “This smooth and chocolatey blend is a medium roasted blend of Arabica coffee beans from South America and Indonesia. It’s ideal for espresso and filter as whole beans, perfect for cafetière and filter as medium ground and it’s also available as fine ground for espresso.” Plenty there, then, even for the likes of Father Jack to be getting on with - and lots of lovely liquids for those of us who simply want to refresh ourselves during a long, hot, dry summer… Whisky and Apples As you’ll see in the main article, new things are happening in the world of drinks. But one development you’d perhaps never expect to witness is a joint venture between a Somerset cider maker and a Scottish whisky distillery.  Many readers will know all about the famous Somerset Cider Brandy, which is made by the Temperley family from their own traditional cider on the Somerset Levels - but they may not know that the famous Glenfiddich distillery has been developing what it calls The Experimental Series.  Now the two have got together to create to create a remarkable first - a single malt whisky finished in Somerset pomona spirit casks. Described as a “distillation of art, tradition, and philosophy”, The Orchard Experiment combines “the depth and intensity of Glenfiddich with the delicate sweetness of Somerset apples”.  The sales blurb states: “This unique liquid was created using select Glenfiddich liquid that had matured in American Oak while held in Glenfiddich’s Experimental Warehouse. It was then finished for approximately four months in sweet Somerset Pomona Spirit Casks, an exquisite apple spirit which graces the tables of top-ranked restaurants throughout the world, to a distinctive and fruity effect.” I reckon the old drink enthusiast in Father Ted would definitely approve…