Years ago, when Kian was little, maybe about 5 years old, I lost him in Marks and Spencer. In the post mortem I got most of the blame but he did play his part. He ran off, cut underneath a clothes rail full of clothes, and then disappeared.

I’m not sure of the time scales but initially I wasn’t concerned. I figured he wouldn’t go far and I’d find him down the next isle. Ok, maybe the next isle to that then. Hmmm, the next. No. Oh dear. It might have been 10 minutes, or even as short as 5, but when I started to get the feeling of uncontrollable panic, I went to a checkout desk and asked for help.

It was quite embarrassing because when the security team asked me what he was wearing I couldn’t remember. I knew he had blonde hair and that he was short like a 5 year old would be, I remembered all that, but I just couldn’t remember what he was wearing. The lady from security didn’t look overly impressed. In my defence though, I doubt I’d have remembered what I was wearing if it wasn’t for the fact I was standing there, wearing it.

Again, I can’t remember the exact time scales, but it suddenly came to me that he was wearing a silver coat. I was relieved. This was a mini breakthrough. I quickly found the same lady and told her my exciting news, but shortly after, when she spoke into her walkie talkie and said “apparently, he’s wearing a silver coat”, I realised that I hadn’t shifted at all in her judgement of me.

As is probably obvious, this story had a happy ending. Kian was found. He arrived on the shoulders of a security guard – a big grin on his face. He’d actually left the shop and moved onto another one so I felt sick about what could have been. I was glad I’d got help when I did.

He continues to do things like that even now, years later. All my kids do. No matter what I advise them, they have to go their own way, which is usually the wrong or most illogical way. But that’s learning I suppose.

I got thinking about this story when I was walking through a field of black sheep and lambs. It wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed this on my time on the trail but today it seemed even more haphazard.

The first time I could hear a lamb calling out, and then its mother calling back. This going on for some time before eventually the lamb, finally locating its mother, ran over to her and started feeding. This made me feel good. I wondered if there had been any anxiety on either part, or this was just typical behaviour. It didn’t matter though, they were reunited.

Today though, with the black sheep, there seemed to be more separation. I could see mother and lambs paired off. But I could also see lambs on their own, or groups with more mothers than lambs, or groups of lambs with no mothers. And there was so much calling out, in both directions. There were a lot of lost lambs. The calls all sounded the same to me as well, and all the sheep looked pretty similar, so I couldn’t work out how they’d find each other again. It worried me a bit. Were they all going through a sense of panic? Was it a full time job for the farmers to make sure each lamb was with its parent? How was this ever going to get resolved – should I intervene?

Anyway, seeing all this, just made me think about the time I misplaced a child.

Where am I

I’m used to waking up in a tent now. This is definitely the longest time in my life I’ve spent in a tent, the longest time I’ve spent away from home. I’ve got a sort of routine so I’m quite quick at setting up and packing away. It’s not really a chore anymore – it’s relatively easy. I generally, unless it’s very windy, have a good sleep as well.

The only area I struggle with is that I often dream I’m in a different place. Even when I’m at a campsite I dream I’m camped out on the path, normally blocking the route completely, and it’s not until I wake up that I realise this isn’t the case. I’m not sure it’s affecting my sleep, I don’t think it is, but it is strange. I wonder if this will continue once I get home.

Anyway, last night was no exception, and I dreamt that I was camped in front of a stile. But it felt like a good sleep so I was excited to get on with my day because today I knew I was turning a corner and I’d have a brand new set of coastline to aim for.

They don’t clear themselves

It’s funny because I’d got it into my head that Hartland Point is where the path transitions from Cornwall to Devon. Of course it’s actually further south than that and I’d arrived in Devon yesterday. I think because of the confusion about where that actually was I’d forgotten that I was now in Devon. Not that it matters particularly but it was nice to have finally made it out of Cornwall – that felt like a milestone.

And despite not being the transition between counties, Hartland Point was also a milestone. I could now see Westward Ho!, Appledore, Baggy Point, and Wollacombe. All these places had been hidden before and now they’d appeared, I felt like I was making progress.

So, shortly after, to celebrate, I sat down and had my lunch. I then got chatting to one of the men who were cutting back the hedges and clearing the ground on the path. He told me that it’s gets cut back twice a year, and this was the first of the year, and also how the sections are split up. This is because different people have responsibility for different sections, so he wasn’t responsible for one long section but instead multiple smaller sections. I found it quite interesting.

We then talked about the walk I was doing and I think he was genuinely impressed, or was just very nice about it. I mentioned that I could now see Woolacombe and he said he was based there, but said with a chuckle that he wouldn’t offer me a lift.

Camping dilemma

It’d been another gorgeous day both in terms of weather and the scenery. As the path approaches Clovelly it spends more time in woodlands with the occasional glimpse of the sea. It’s strange because the path doesn’t feel very high until there is a break in the trees and then you realise how high up it is.

I went into the visitor centre and ordered food with 1 minute to spare before they stoped serving and then, feeling rather too full after eating, headed back to the path.

There were a lot of fallen trees on this section. For one I had to divert quite far from the path but luckily a runner I met showed me the way. It’s amazing how big these trees are and how, as they’ve fallen, they’ve left huge craters in the ground. I didn’t count the rings but some appeared to be very old.

Last year I’d stopped at a campsite along this stretch but it had been quite a long way and I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for a late evening push today so considered wild camping instead. This would have the benefit of being near the path compared with the campsite that was a mile or so off it.

I must have changed my mind several times, and just when I’d accepted that I was going to have to use a campsite a wild camping spot appeared. It’s funny, all the anxiety that builds up while searching and deciding what to do just disappears instantly. And then it feels like, what was all the worry about.