Into Devon and the Curious Case of "Robert Segal"

An uneventful train journey down to Plymouth, then on the ferry over to Mountbatten Point and I was heading east towards Wembury.

 Tent pitched and down the local not-very-good pub for refreshment.Next morning I started early and bumped in to a bearded, smelly backpacker who ignored my "Good Morning" and silently glared at me. Ignorant turd.

 A few miles later and I was waiting for the ferry across the Yealm and there he is again, the smelly, silent backpacker. He grunted a few words in a Russian ish accent, until an American walker passed by. American bloke says "Where are you from ?" and for reasons that will soon become apparent, he quickly came to regret asking that seemingly straightforward question.
Smelly Russian's answer was as follows ( none of this has been exaggerated for comedy effect )..... His mother was born in Slovakia, but moved to Germany. He lived in Las Vegas. He didn't know his father, although he'd narrowed it down to two people. So far, believable.
His name was Robert Segal, he said his Dad was possibly the actor Steven Segal and one of the said actors films was based on him. Lunatic alert ! Lunatic alert !
He said other person who was possibly his father was Putin. Yes, that Putin. Putin apparently had the KGB spying on him since he was four years old. Everything was going to be sorted though, as Robert was meeting George W Bush in Romania to ask him for assistance.....oh dear, we seem to have an utter fruitcake in our ranks.
And on and on he went, until the American got worried and walked off, pushing past Mr Segal, with a look of terror on his face. Unfortunately, the bullshitting Segal was walking in the same direction as me and I had the misfortune to bump into him on several other occasions, although thankfully he didn't share any more of his made up life story with me, as I had very obviously made it clear he was boring the shite out of me.
Anyway, I continued walking from the Yealm towards Stoke Point, where I met the Capel Midgit (Goozgog) and his family for a bit of mackeral fishing from the rocks.

We were lucky, as huge shoals of mackeral were harrying fry into gullies and bays, hard against the shoreline. It was an incredible sight and we soon had enough for an evening barby. Or rather the Goozgog family had, as I had to crack on, to reach the estuary at Mothercombe at low tide, as this was the only time you can wade across, there being no ferry.
Saw this ugly bugger perched on a gate, looks like a locust. Bloody massive, it must have been four inches long !

The last few miles leading up to Bigbury were without doubt the hardest of the day, but when I stopped off for fish,chips and mushy peas this was soon forgotten.
The tent was soon pitched at Mount Folly Farm, with great views over to the beach at Bantham, all for a fiver. Unfortunately, when I walked across to Burgh Island to The Pilchard Inn I found it closed at 7.30 pm. In August !?! What ?

Next morning dawned fine and I was back down to the beach at Bigbury in the Venus Beach Cafe, tucking into a full English, reading the paper with the sun on my back. It doesn't get much better than that. Simple pleasures.
Yet another ferry trip, this time across the Avon into Bantham and in no time I'm walking between Bolt Tail and Bolt Head, another absolutely fantastic walk. As I rounded Bolt Head, I looked up the estuary to Salcombe, a great sight. 

Salcombe itself was full of posh Yachties, BMWs and Mercs, but a great place nonetheless. I stopped off at The Salcombe Coffee Company and pigged out again, this time on....you're not interested are you ?

On the ferry to East Portlemouth and another beautiful walk to East Prawle, just about my favourite place anywhere. I pitched the tent in a field a few minutes from the rocks and spent the night in The Pig's Nose, as you should if you ever visit. How to describe the Pig's Nose ? Old world, quirky, I don't know, have a look yourself. You'll like it, unless you're a tosspot.

Anyway, I had a few pints of local cider and one or two pints of local bitter (and a curry) and staggered off to the tent. I was up early the next day for a few hours fishing on the rocks and had a great time in the sun (again).

 Before I started the day's walk I had brekkie in the Piglet Cafe and damn fine it was too.
Yet another fantastic walk along Lannacombe Bay to Start Point, where I stopped to admire the view and have a break.

A few more miles and I was reached Torcross, where I stopped at the Start Bay Inn for (you've guessed it) fish and chips. This time whole plaice since you ask. Another few miles, with Slapton Ley on one side of me and Slapton Sands on the other and I reach Strete where I pitched up at Manor Farm Campsite, where I froze my nuts off despite being fully clothed and curling up into a ball underneath the sleeping bag. It may have been August, but it was bloody cold.

I got up early, packed everything away and after an hour walk decided to treat myself at the beach side cafe at Blackpool Sands. Excellent breakfast and even better view. Bloomin' lovely.
Great walk into Dartmouth, a visit to "Officially The Best Pasty Shop in the UK" (the second I'd been in with the same claim !) for an extra large traditional....and yes, it was very tasty and then yet another ferry over to Kingsweir, for the final stage to Brixham.

The Kingsweir to Brixham section was another very tough section and by the time I got to the outskirts of Brixham I was knackered and not looking forward to another night of being cold in the tent. I reached my intended campsite, it looked horrible, cramped and crowded, so I decided to walk on towards Paignton and hopefully find a B and B with a vacancy.
I got lucky. Very lucky. I was walking along a small lane and came across Elberry Farm, knocked on the door and asked if they'd got a room. Yes, they had and what a great place it was. Squires fish and chip shop at the top of the road was just about the best I've had in the past few weeks and that's saying something, as I've practically lived off fish and chips.
Got the train from Paignton and had the misfortune to have a seat in amongst half a dozen of the roughest women I've ever encountered. Burping, drinking, swearing like troopers and taking the piss out of any poor bastard near them. Including me ! After a while I had to take extreme measures and launched my own barrage of piss taking at the loudest member of the group. This had the desired effect and they then picked on some other poor bugger ! You're on your own son.....