Monday, June 13
Weymouth to Osmington Mills or Lulworth Cove
We woke to another day of brilliant sunshine…the weather had been so good that we couldn’t be sure we were in England! The first part of the stage took us along Weymouth’s long Esplanade…the closest thing to honky tonk we’d seen on this coast, with carousels, a carnival, and lots of fast food.
By the end of the Esplanade it was clear that I had a problem: I had had tendinitis in my right Achilles tendon over the winter, but had done PT and it seemed fine when we left. But 90 miles of pounding had taken its toll, and I was walking with a limp. The last thing I wanted to do was abandon on the very last stage, so I decided to keep at it.
Looking out to sea, it was clearer than ever that we were walking along the English Channel coast; shipping traffic was in evidence throughout the day.
There were also fine views back across the bay to Portland and the cliffs of the Underhill.
We passed the end of the esplanade and climbed up and over Jordan Hill…a modest ascent by path standards. We managed to survive yet another caravan park and then passed by a rather peculiar Art Deco hotel called the Riviera.
The path then passes through a number of fields atop the cliffs; looking inland, we saw a strange sight: a horse and rider carved into a hillside. This is actually an image of George III cut into the limestone of Osmington Hill in 1808; George was a frequent visitor to the area, and the locals commemorated this in fine fashion.
Descending from the fields, we encountered a pair of walkers who knew the entire path very well: they live in Minehead, where the path starts, and have walked the whole thing section by section.
The first half of the day’s walk was a breeze, even for a cripple. Before we knew it we were descending into Osmington Mills, a tiny village in a dip between cliffs. The heart of the village is a spectacular pub, The Smugglers Inn, with roots in the thirteenth century.
After lunch came the parting of the company. I knew my leg wasn’t up to the rigors of the day’s second half…even if I had wanted to continue, I know I would have slowed the others down too much. So I walked up the road to a bus stop and took the laggard’s option into Lulworth.
What follows is my reconstruction of their walk based on eyewitness accounts, photos, and our trusty guidebook.
From the inn, the path rises and falls rather gently over the first, smaller cliffs.
Off in the distance is a small structure, which turns out to be a charming little chapel dedicated to Saint Catherine.
And this is where the fun starts. The next several cliffs all involve steep ascents and precipitously steep descents. Talk about a roller coaster! My knees hurt just looking at this and poor Cindy had to walk it.
Sue, of course, was unfazed by all of this.
But at this point she couldn’t guess how close the path would bring her to the cliff’s edge, even on perilous descents.
What a change from the brilliant red cliffs of the Jurassic! These white cliffs are, if anything, even more spectacular against the greens of the fields and the blues of the sea.
This is not a black diamond ski run, just a typical descent on this part of the path.
Spot of vertigo, anyone?
With the strong onshore wind, the cliffs make for spectacular updrafts…perfect for paraglides.
As a reward for their labors, our intrepid hikers soon arrived at the most iconic sight on the Dorset Coast, Durdle Door. The photographers were kind enough not to show the caravan park that sits just inland.
The cliff above Durdle Door soon brought the crew to a viewpoint above Lulworth Cove, where I (and a cold beer or glass of wine) awaited them at the Lulworth Cove Inn.
The inn was very comfortable, and the food and drink were excellent. The staff, while well meaning, was pretty shambolic, but we didn’t mind…we were still basking in the afterglow of a great adventure!
