Peninsula Hotel, Grand Havre to St. Martin’s Point – anti-clockwise.
The day stared overcast and chilly with a fresh north-westerly wind. Not that I minded, I just got the coat out – much too warm still for the fleece. Not 5 mins from the hotel a Kestrel plunged over my right shoulder to take a mouse in the sea grass then flew off to have a munch. Very surprised that it dove so close to me (3 metres). Not a whisper of noise did it make, indeed, it barely slowed down. Lovely to see. Of course, it was a different matter for the mouse who was having his guts ripped out with a razor sharp beak. The plan today was to see how far I could get anti-clockwise towards St. Martins. Then tomorrow, after the morning on Herm, well rested from two boat trips and a leisurely 4 miles ashore, I would finish the hard stuff, the 10 miles of cliffs on the West of the island. However, what use plans. For instance, I have a blister. My lovely boots, that have coddled my old feets, and done hundreds of miles, have rubbed me up the wrong way.
Le Grand Havre from the other side. The hotel just popping in on the right.I’m struck by how these towers must have looked. The fishing villages would have all the people huddled around the fishing fleet. If they ever ventured out along the coast they would be amazed at these as tall as their church. Perhaps they weren’t let near them. Certainly, the Germans would have moved everyone off-site during their holiday spell.Portinfer and the wind is getting stronger. I’m playing judge the on-comer from their perfume. Bear in mind that women hikers do not ever reek of perfume. These are all dog walkers out early with their woofers I’m talking about. So, grossly offensive and lingering as I walk past is usually a couple with more than a hint of Landin (London) about them. Subtle and difficult to get before I meet is local rich bitch – who has special dog walking clothes. Funnily enough their male partners reek of some, no doubt, hideously expensive – and just plain hideous – cologne. I feel that I’m back to being able to smell a dirty nappy at 10 paces.When I was a young’un, tomatoes came, somewhat exotically, from Jersey (inc. Guernsey) We joined the EU and Spain swamped the market. Collateral damage I feel.Very soon this will be Esme’s problem as her child just leaves everything at the beach, believing that magically it will all be returned. Port Soif.The rabies rapid reaction force await the call.A wee look back and the sad-faced rock.The small gulls are having a meeting about how to deal with the constant bullying from their bigger neighbours.This is the first village shop that I’ve seen in either Jersey or Guernsey.Looking back again, having just conquered Grandes Rocques.This constitutes a bus stop in the Channel Islands – they do have the normal ones too. Here you sit in comfort and the bus stops in the place marked for it. Oh! The Sands of Purgatory. Sounds a desert type thing – hope they get the weather.This is a giant spinning top used to select the King. He who can spin it, can win it.Free ranging chicken’s wife seems to be going the wrong way.A “French” man. God! his long dangling testicles have migrated to his arm.Low rise ones.I do love these Naval towers. They funky.La Perelle done as well.On L’Eree beach you can get a look into the gun port. The concrete is at least a metre thick and the port is protected with 4, four inch steel shutters.A marshmallow with a smarty on top tower.Finally at the end of L’Eree. I’m done. A light lunch in the Imperial Hotel and then taxi back to the gaff for an early shower and sleep, My knee can’t go on and is in need of a rest.I’ve decided to carry on. At least 10 miles of hard cliffs ahead and very few outs. I have no idea what I’m doing. Very nice example of Naval tower – a sort of double decked one.More upez and downez than the knickers of a Portavogie hooker while the fishing fleet’s in. As we used to – very inappropriately – say. After every headland is a river valley.Isn’t this lovely, a bit of fencing to keep us from the edge.My first sea-arch. Here’s the funny thing. All the up and down is making my knee feel better.Canoe’s not much use to you up here, mate.Fuck me! Hundreds of steps.I am up the steps and feeling OK.I can’t imagine they had windows but perhaps steel shutters they could pull round. A big Dalek without his fizzer and plunger.The masked, cliff dwelling bandit horse causes havoc among the feeling tourists.The gov get their money’s worth out of the Fuzz here.Just had a cappuccino and instead of calling a taxi, I’m going further. Can’t believe how good I feel compared with lunch time.Jersey on the horizon.Another chance, soon to be ignored.That was a toughie, climbing away from the lovely named, Petite Bot. My last chance gone now. It is all the way or bust. Well dark probably and all the difficulties that brings.Glad I can just ignore that descent.The sun is going . Do I have an hour left?Saint’s Bay. It’s a long old trek round. Starting to flag a little.Moulin Huet. Old Pierre-Auguste dragged himself all the way up here for his art – it appears.St. Martin’s point, again.
I don’t really know what came over me. I went from near despair to motoring up and down an extra 10 miles of cliffs and felt better for it. My reward is that tomorrow, after I do the 4 miles of Herm, I have nothing to do for the rest of the day. I couldn’t have thought this after that first day. But 2 main Islands done and Guernsey in 2 days!
