18-20 September: A weekend in West Bagborough

Author: Mr A

Location: West Bagborough, Quantock Hills, Somerset

During lockdown, the tiny village of West Bagborough in Somerset had become our home, our safe little bubble. The world went crazy around us, but we just strapped on our boots and headed for the hills. While there we had got to know the owners of the local campsite, Quantock Camping.

We decided to pay them a visit on our journey between Cornwall and Wales. We arrived after lunch and got Truffy settled on to a lovely grassy pitch. Catherine cooked up one of her fab spaghetti bolognaises for us all, and the conversation and laughter flowed, with the odd bottle of wine to lubricate us. Their Great Dane, Genevieve, tended to dominate the skyline somewhat, and the odd cat or chicken made its appearance, all the usual stuff at their place! So lovely to be back among these people who welcomed us into their lives when we so needed to feel part of somewhere safe.

On Saturday morning, with some fresh eggs inside us, we once again strapped on our walking boots and headed up into the Quantock Hills, walking straight from the campsite (Strava). After leaving the village, within minutes we were enveloped in the sights and smells of the countryside we have come to love so much.

Autumn is just starting to make its presence felt, with a few leaves turning a bright gold, and some giving up to the inevitable and scattering themselves on the welcoming ground. We chose a route that would take us back to a hidden valley we had only walked through once, dissected by a perfect little bubbling stream. The last time we were here in the full bloom of early summer, now it looked and smelled so different.

Stout Lane – we have seen this change from bare branches, to buds, to full leaf, and now beginning to look autumnal
A scattering of beech leaves on the ground
After 25 minutes climbing straight up, it is straight down again on the other side of the hills
And down…last time we came here it was full of sheep with their lambs…now cows and calves enjoy this valley
The towering woodlands as we walk towards the village of Aisholt

We pressed on to the next little village, only passing a couple of other walkers on the way. Tea was supped from our flasks sitting on a bench in the churchyard. I have rarely felt so content in my life as I did at that moment. We wanted for nothing. The sun was warming our faces, a fresh Somerset-grown apple to munch on, and we headed back over the hills for a fish and chip supper with our hosts. What a perfect day.

Looking like delicate lace, the last of the flowers blooming in the woodland
A magnificent thatched cottage, the Old School House in Aisholt. Apparently it was the holiday home for Sir Henry Newbolt (a poet in the 1800s) and the house that Coleridge thought of renting – but his wife said no!
It was so warm we retreated to the shade on the hike back up hill
A perfect toadstool
Looking north across the hills
The hikers
A hill pony. They have recently been part of a roundup and all the foals have been taken away to be sold.
Early fallen sweet chestnuts and another perfect toadstool

The next day we joined our friends and their dogs (Strava) on a walk through ancient birch forest. There is hardly a sentence said between us without a laugh while the dogs romp around, Genevieve crashing though small trees like they’re not there. We got a little lost, a crumpled map was produced, ignored and good humoured debates raged about directions, But it doesn’t matter, we are all just loving being enveloped in this stunning countryside where there’s a new view around every corner, and another bed of nettles to keep you honest.

Leftover fish and chips heated up with an egg for lunch
Terry, Jane and Karen working out the next stage of our walk
Following a farm track down to the next style
Gwen looking back for mum, Karen who is lagging behind
Looking back at the Quantocks

We just made it to a pub for last orders. A beer never tastes as good as when its drunk after a walk like that. Shared with friends in a sunny garden, and brewed just up the road on Exmoor.

Cheers! A perfect chaotic scene…

Sadly we said our goodbyes, but knowing we have a safe refuge we can head back to if things go pear shaped makes all the difference to our confidence as we head off to Wales. Well, it’s only 90 minutes down the road!

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