The continuing gloopy adventures of a walk in Dorset.
We thought by the time we reached the Smugglers Inn, that there could be no more mud left in Dorset to wade through, we’d already walked down a track that literally flowed with the stuff, no photos, I was too busy trying to stay on my feet.
We managed to clean Spud and our boots sufficiently to be allowed entry to the pub and as the route back to Weymouth was along the coast path we thought we’d fair a little better, after all, you’d think the water would flow to the sea from there wouldn’t you?
Tom and Spud, take to the coast path.
So far so good, scores and scores of rabbits for Spud to chase
Then things got a little trickier; we’d long since given up on trying to keep our feet clean, staying upright with some dignity was all that remained. This was not easy. The only way down this stretch was to straddle the path
This could only be achieved by adopting the gait of a saddle sore penguin (did I mention dignity?) And the only things to grab hold of, to steady yourself? Brambles, blackthorne and barbed wire.
Don’t mention the mud
Tom found a friend in the brambles and blackthorne,