Today’s adventure took us along the coast path from Brixham to Berry Head and Sharkham Point. We left mid-morning in no hurry at all, and slowly made our way out past the marina and breakwater before picking our way along the footpaths that snake their way from beach to cove along the coast.
Within an hour we arrived at Berry Head, where my imagination told me there should be a picture perfect lighthouse, painted in brightly coloured stripes to warn ships about the treacherous rocks below. The modern station was something of a let-down - adorned with a suitably huge lamp, but mounted at eye-level on sloping ground that obviously works perfectly well, but doesn’t look anything like my obviously over-active imagination had foreseen.
Just to cap off the disappointment, a little fat twenty-something with a goatee beard and a mustard coloured fleece launched a drone over the headland - scaring away all of the sea-birds and causing every visitor to scowl furiously in his direction. Not quite furious enough to incite any sort of violent uprising unfortunately. Scowling furiously is about as far as most English people take their retribution.
I walked towards my better half - both shaking our heads - and joined the exodus of visitors away from the screaming buzz.
A mile or so further along the coast we discovered St Mary’s Beach, and made the descent down countless steps towards the lapping waves below. I say “countless steps” - at one point I began to wonder if the steps lead either directly to the earth’s core, or to the various versions of hell that religious people warn you about.
We did reach the beach in the end, and I caused a smile from my other half - taking off my boots and socks before heading towards the sea barefoot.
Her shouts of encouragement were pretty enthusiastic:
“You’ll never get your feet dry again”.
I walked the half-mile or so of the beach barefoot - rather glad to be free of the clumping great boots (carried in my hand). Along the way I passed a fisherman and a group of metal-detectorists. We accosted the detectorists a little later (my other half fell in love with metal detecting during the pandemic), and asked what treasures they might have found. They seemed overjoyed at our interest, and stopped to tell us about a variety of victorian coins.
No “bits of old tractor” then… (something of a metal detectorist joke, I’m told).
After climbing back out of St Mary’s, we rounded Sharkham Point, and made our way back towards Brixham - passing an endless succession of caravan parks and tired children perched on parents shoulders.
Back in the town, we searched out a wonderful secluded pub overlooking the town, and enjoyed a glass or two of local cider while recounting the day’s adventures.
Tonight we’re wandering around the harbour for something to eat, and then daring ourselves with “Disco Stu” at the “Blue Anchor”. We’ve been joking about the Simpson’s character all afternoon.