Peter Rhodes on turtles, hammers and doing The Salt Path thing
Beer, south Devon.
That's it for another year. Another restorative break in Beer is added to the great tapestry of life. Home again, we find the garden has gone mad, the electricity company has sent us a stern “pay today” warning and our old weighing scales are malfunctioning; must be the heat.
Even in Beer with its famously dodgy mobile-phone and TV reception, it was impossible to avoid the news as Donald Trump cemented his place in history as the most unpredictable of leaders. Daily life at the White House consists of Trump's aides solemnly relaying what the President says, followed by the President saying something entirely different. Does anyone know what Donald Trump thinks? Does Donald Trump know what Donald Trump thinks?
Can anyone answer the fundamental question of the early 21st century – is Donald Trump a) the most gifted, intelligent, charismatic and far-seeing statesman of our age or b) as thick as mince? He's like the legendary hammer who sees all problems as nails. Or is he?
Strangest sight in Devon was the beach at Branscombe. When we used to hire the beach chalets 50 years ago there was a gentle step down from chalet to beach. Today it is a 20ft drop, thanks to a succession of storms which have washed away millions of tons of pebbles and dumped them in the next-door bay at Beer. This may or may not be caused by climate change but something strange is clearly happening.
If you doubt that, take it up with the latest exotic sea species, quietly minding its own business in Lyme Bay – a huge leatherback turtle thousands of miles north of its tropical home. Leatherbacks grow to half a ton and if you hooked one while quietly fishing for mackerel, “surprised” would hardly seem adequate.
Another intriguing species this summer is Salt Path Person, those who have read Raynor Winn's bestselling travel book and seen the film and are now living the yarn, slogging along the coastal paths of the South-West in breathless imitation of Winn and her ailing husband, Moth. What's missing is the grinding poverty, illness and despair that haunts The Salt Path. Today's wannabe walkers seem well-heeled and I wonder how many of them sleep rough when they can afford decent meals and B&B. Hold the salt, pass the Balsamic Vinegar.
