Blizzards , buzzards , and high spacious sunshine

It's been an interesting few days. When I took the train down to Cornwall I thought I was leaving behind the experience of trudging through snow drifts. But I have also experienced the kindness of strangers, and the bewilderment of other strangers.

The snow fell for most of Saturday night, but had stopped when I left Moretonhampstead. I couldn't stop taking photos of the suddenly silent white blanketed landscape. Every tree had a cloak and every hedge a covering. Up onto Mardon Down, I could see all around the sky was low and grey and heavy. A runner came up alongside me in hi vis yellow shorts. He said his legs were fine but his hands were frozen. He had bare red knees and big gloves on. I crossed out of the National Park with wind blown surface snow in my eyes. Shortly after this it began to snow, first finely, and gradually getting heavier, looking faster due to the Easterly wind blowing it through. I reached Tedburn St Mary and the pub wasn't yet open so I dived into the village shop and asked the bewildered shop keeper if I could stand by her coffee machine for a while. I don't think she had a choice. As the pub opened I ran over the road and took shelter there,  with coffee and more coffee. Watching the snow get thicker and bigger, and the main road fast disappear, I made the decision to head four miles, fast, to Crediton. As I was leaving the pub a couple with their baby granddaughter couldn't believe I was heading back out in it and gave me £20 towards the fundraising. He said I could also spend it on a taxi if I wanted, but even if I had wanted, I doubt any vehicle would come and saved me now. 

Crediton was quiet and deserted. I found the church - a huge Gothic cathedral like building in a smaller version. And it was so warm inside. I put my rucksack down and wandered into the sudden peace of it. I found a grand piano in the south aisle and as no one was about, I played, and sang. The cliche 'sing as though no one is listening' came true. No one was. I did find a place to stay, not without a little difficulty. And it didn't stop snowing until well after darkness fell. 

The following morning dawned bright and clear and freezing. The little lanes were overshadowed by the strangely alien shapes of snow drifts emerging out of high hedges, and the pyramidal upsweep of piled snow overwhelming gates and junctions. Buzzards were circling low at every turn, hungry for suddenly invisible food. I stopped in a lovely bus shelter in Shobrooke, with poems on the walls and information leaflets spread between the assortment of chairs. A concerned lady with her dog and a fascinated chap who lived opposite came to say hello. The lady gave me directions and told me to eat a lot, and the man came over the road in his slippers to take photos of the icicles hanging from his thatched roof. And a large van slid down the lane, delivering a fridge, of all things, to number 7. 

East of the M5 the snow was lighter, although only for a while, and I walked without waterproofs on for the first time in days. The morning had been slow going and I couldn't imagine getting to my destination for the day, slipping all over the place. But coffee in a warm pub and the shedding of the waterproofs made Ottery St Mary possible.

And I am now in the tent again for the first time in days. The pub landlord in Ottery last night made the observation, in his jumper behind a warm bar, that people survive at Everest base camp. Today for the last 9 miles I walked a high ridge out of Honiton, a huge high plain that went straight and level all the way, lit by high sunshine and blown with a cold easterly. Perspective and patience became the objective. The high road was edged with snow drifts and cleared piles of snow that will take days to melt.

St about 3.45 I crossed the border into Somerset, There was no sign to welcome. Looking back there was a Welcome to Devon sign. Maybe Somerset has some identity issues. 

It's a clear night and I am wearing every layer possible to still fit in the sleeping bag. The ladies at the campsite were very welcoming, with their tiny puppy called Wilf . The shower block has a gas heater that is lit at 5 and turned off at 9. And I am in danger of finishing the whisky supply, purely for warmth. My phone has died once already due to cold. I put it somewhere between some layers and it revived.

So, all of this weather has got to inspire some donating to the fundraising. Even in my sleeping bag, typing this, my fingers are losing their feeling. 

The sun will shine again tomorrow.