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Tarka Trail Tested
– Cycling in North Devon ...
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The Tarka Trail, a 180-mile figure-of-eight, is named after Henry Williamson's
novel, Tarka the Otter which tells the story of, well, an otter called
Tarka. You can sample a good chunk of the trail on a day out, or with
an overnight stop or two do all 60 or so miles suitable for bikes –
which is what we did.
The route is perfect for wildlife-spotters: it clings to estuaries,
with their plentiful wading birds, and crosses several rivers. Best
of all, most of it is completely flat.
The small town of Barnstaple makes a great starting point. We made
use of its park-and-ride service. It's free to park and the bus ride
in costs just £1.
Going by train is a pleasant alternative. The station lies at the
end of the Tarka Line from Exeter. Just a few metres from the platform
you'll find a bike-hire centre. Within 10 minutes of reaching the station,
we were riding away on two rather posh bikes, complete with panniers
– Integrated transport at its best.
Barnstaple is home to the Museum of north Devon, where you'll find the
`Tarka centre'. It has plenty of worthy videos about conservation and
otters. And there's a chapter-by-chapter summary of Williamson's classic.
I must confess I've never been able to get more than half-way through
the book. So this lazy reader's guide – complete with an interactive
map which flashes lights for each part of the otters' journey –
was perfect.
Most of the route follows an old railway line, which couldn't be better
for cycling. And it's completely traffic-free – mostly there's
not a car in sight: just a smooth surface to cycle on, and a surprising
number of cyclists. At times it feels more like cycle-friendly Holland
than the UK.
Tarka's life centred around two rivers, the Taw and the Torridge. The
trail incorporates both, and the last part of the route takes you upstream
along the Torridge.
But although conservation work is making the river a haven for otters
once again, they're still shy creatures. As we were told in the Barnstaple
museum: "If you see an otter you should feel very honoured".
The town of Torrington is well worth visiting – but you're in
for a shock after all those miles of flat cycle path. The town is on
top of a huge hill.
Molten
Standing above vats of molten glass may not be the most refreshing
activity after a hot, tough climb. But that's what we did at Torrington's
Dartington Crystal visitors' centre. The company has produced stylish
glassware here since the '70s and we had a fascinating morning. Raised
gantries lead through the factory. You can look down and see every stage
of the glass-making process. It's possible to spend hours here, mesmerised
as red-glowing liquid glass turns into upmarket tableware.
Strangely, I came out with the impression that glassmaking is easy.
Just a few seconds of blowing into a long tube and – hey presto
– out comes a desirable glass vase. Apparently, though, it takes
years to get to this `master blower' stage.
Down the road, an impressive demonstration of loading and firing a
musket three times in one minute had the opposite effect on me –
never would I be able to do this in a thousand years. Not without blowing
myself up. Even more impressive, we'd watched the musket balls being
moulded from lead shot in an open fire only an hour before. We were
at `Torrington 1646', an impressive snapshot of Torrington during the
civil war. The attraction was developed by the Sealed Knot (responsible
for those civil-war reenactments that take place throughout the country).
Assuming the role of frightened civil war fugitive, you're led through
a mockup of the town by night. It's a miniature history lesson, but
fun. And you get the impression a tour round the attraction would be
different every time – you're not watching a performance, but taking
part in it.
After this I was dressed up in Cavalier armour and made to twirl around
for the other visitors. Later still I was unsuccessfully performing
manoeuvres with a nasty-looking 12 foot pike. Though I couldn't help
wondering why everyone kept picking on me, I was having a great time.
Most fascinating of all is the Physic Garden. Its occupant, `Old Jacobus'
was given the `part' after a good performance as Father Christmas –
not hard to believe given his flowing white beard and Gandalf hair.
His herb garden is home to a bewildering variety of plants – we
tasted several. But beware the common sage. Sage helps mouth ulcers
but – as a hapless, ulcerated, American visitor once discovered
– not if swallowed. Having, despite instructions, swallowed the
sage instead of merely chewing it, the visitor apparently turned green
and was violently sick.
We went in search of more history the next morning. The Torrington
museum, right in the middle of town, is well worth a visit – and
free. Not so good for the nerves though. An almost too-realistic air-raid
siren had us running for the door before we realised it was coming from
above a convincing mock Anderson shelter.
The museum houses an excellent exhibition on the 2nd World War –
especially interesting are the stories and sound clips from local people.
Saddle-sores and aching bones from all the cycling were remedied by
a casual stroll in Rosemoor Gardens, run by the Royal Horticultural
Society. Wandering through the herb garden we were sorely tempted to
try out some of our newly-gained knowledge. The strawberries in the
fruit garden were even more tantalising. But we refrained. Trying the
strawberries at Rosemoor would have been like visiting the Tower of
London and making off with the crown jewels.
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Photos
© Tom Kerswill
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