SWCP -Durdle Dor to Bowleaze Cove
Before we head off towards Weymouth take another look at this fabulous beach.
I’ve no idea how this couple managed to get down there, but they looked like they were having a good time.
Ten minutes later we’d climbed up the next slope, shortly after chatting to sprightly 60 something American lady who was heading the other way.
Ahead of the steep cliffs were whiter than white, and more impressive than the Seven Sisters at Dover. It’s wonderful that there are no silly fences to spoil the views, and walkers are allowed access in spite of the obvious risks.
Parents are best advised not to explore such spots with small children, and adults may wish to proceed with caution in fog or high winds.
Adults may wish to consider sun cream, or they’ll end up with a sore neck (like me).
That obelisk like structure offered a little shade to Mrs & Mrs B as they looked to leave the most challenging part of our 14 mile adventure behind us.
Up ahead we were fascinated by 4 para-gliders and one chap riding trapeze style beneath a complex hang glider with a tiny stabiliser out back.
Slightly off route was a brick structure that just had to be linked to World War II, here I am being photographed before an aborted attempt to climb up on top of said building.
After the briefest of delays we headed onwards towards Ringstead Bay, sticking to the official path rather than risk trekking through the unstable ground that made up the under cliff.
I was getting quite excited by this stage.
- There was the promise of a cafe, and rest for our weary legs.
- All the tough climbing was behind us.
A few moments later we passed an idyllic thatched cottage.
Here’s the scene back down at sea level, looking towards White Nothe.
Down by the sea were umpteen holiday makers, many playing with boats or simply throwing pebbles into the waves.
TBH the cafe was dreadful.
The proprietors proudly displayed their 5 star hygiene sign, but the heat had got to ’em, and they served up tea that looked more like Gnat’s ****.
Not only that the crude picnic benches were too low, and we didn’t enjoy the experience as anticipated.
Never mind, ever onward.
Osmington Mills, and a dinormous PGL Activity Centre, and hundreds of tents.
Scores of folk were climbing back up to their tents for their evening meals.
More fool them ,the site had wooden shacks for toilets, very little space for cars and a total absence of privacy.
£80 a night for a hotel room 45 miles away seemed like a bargain.
And then we’d arrived, all apart from a gentile stroll to Bowleaze Cove and a woeful sixties looking Holiday Camp that looked worst than Butlins, and which i guessed was now derelict.
I was wrong, the place is still in operation, with its’ own little jetty to assist those inclined to participate in rowdy water sports.
After a 15 minute walk inland we were back at the car, and a welcome glass of lemonade.
I deserved it!