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About 90 minutes away, on the north Somerset coast (shhhh), Dunster is a little far from me to just pop over to. I had been to the coastal village twice before, once passing though with a group when we stopped for a meal, in the Luttrell Arms I think, and another time taking the volunteer-run West Somerset Railway cream tea trip from Bishop’s Lydeard. But both were long ago, and all I could remember was that the village high street was very pretty, and that the walk up to the castle was very steep. I had never been to the beach, but have a friend who regularly goes there to spend a day or longer to unwind. With a day of fabulous weather in prospect and a short walk leaflet (Somerset – ex-County – Council) picked up at Taunton tourist office several months previously, I decided that yesterday was the day to find out more.

I thought that the beach car park would be really crowded on such a lovely day. I was wrong. When I arrived at 11.00, it was almost empty. Well, it was a school day.

The tide was out.

Faced with car parking charges for four hours or all day, I went for the latter, since I had not yet decided whether to visit the castle, and didn’t want to be worrying about rushing back. (I read later that the money is entirely used to maintain the groynes, rock armour and pebbles, which in turn protect the beach and coastline, so felt that in any case it was money well spent.)

The walk was roughly triangular, with an added walk around the village, and an optional haul up to the castle. It started with a grassy mile or so along the coast westwards. I was delighted to see scarlet pimpernel, among many other wildflowers.

I also enjoyed seeing the colourful imported pebbles.

The more so when there was a bird (a wheatear I think) perched on them.

I looked back over my right shoulder, still unable to see much sea.

With my camera on maximum zoom I could see there were a lot of birds at the water’s edge, including, as I can now make out, gulls, shelduck and a cormorant.

I was coming to the end of the beach part of the walk.

Mine was the footpath towards the station,

through Lower Marsh Farm,

and past The Old Manor,

where these three guard dogs did not frighten me.

In the course of all that time, I failed to get photos of two rabbits and two honking geese flying overhead. The geese flying, that is, not the rabbits.

Next was Dunster Station, lovingly maintained by those West Somerset Railway volunteers.

Then an underpass under the very busy A39, decorated by (presumably) local children.

There followed a ten-minute walk up the well-named Dunster Steep, (perhaps it was less, but it felt like ten minutes) before I arrived at that pretty High Street, where it seemed I had just missed a performance by some Morris Dancers.

I felt cheated that in order to reach the road at the end, up to the castle, I actually had to descend by a few metres.

It is difficult to show the real character of the old street, with its enormous variety of old buildings, because of all the cars parked on either side of it. But when I looked back I got this.

My intention by now was to go to the castle, have a bite to eat, then go round the its rooms. When I checked in at reception at the bottom of the mound, (but which had already involved quite a climb) I noticed that there was a courtesy bus, so hitched a ride in it.

It seemed to take an age and to be going very flat. Only on checking on the map that reception had given me did I realise that it had been going round and round the mound, and that, had I made a bit (well, a lot) more effort, I could probably have reached the entrance to the castle itself almost as quickly, since the absolute distance was not far at all!

There was a small café at the entrance in the gatehouse. But all it sold was cakes, ice-creams and drinks. Not what I had in mind. I checked with them whether there was another café, as I had read in the National Trust handbook. Yes, there was, for proper lunches. ‘It’s all downhill’, he said, by the watermill on the other side of the mound.

No way! I was not going down there only to have to make my way up again to see inside the castle! So I decided to visit first, and then make my way back to the village for some lunch afterwards.

Here are just a few of the many pictures I took inside.

The views from windows were spectacular.

Visitors were guided round a set route, and emerged via the conservatory onto the terrace and some fine gardens.

According to the map, there were some lovely outdoor paths to be explored, cleverly exploiting the mound, and another hour or so’s entertainment to be had, but I was getting hungry by now, so took just one which would lead me back to the village. It was beautiful.

At the bottom, had I turned left and taken West Street, I would in due course have found myself at the watermill and that café. Had I turned right, Church Street, I would be back in the High Street, and much nearer to resuming the set walk, and on to the beach. So I took the latter.

On the way, next to the church, I came across some gardens maintained by the villagers.

I just love ceanothus.

I stopped at a place in the High Street serving light lunches, and enjoyed a caramelised onion and goat cheese tart, sitting at a table on the pavement, enjoying the view of the picturesque buildings. And cars.

On the way out of the village I paid more attention to the Yarn Market,

the Luttrell Arms,

and the Yarn Market Hotel,

which seemed to be offering short stays to suit many interests: choral singing, jazz, stargazing, (the Exmoor Dark Sky Reserve is not far) and walking.

The recommended route, having guided one back via the underpass, indicates that the Riverside Jubilee Walk be taken. And what a pleasure it was. The river is very narrow, and shallow, but attracts much wildlife.

Indeed, I was surrounded by noisy birdsong, and sat on a handy bench for a while, just drinking it all in. (On reflection, the video I took should have moved much more slowly.) I think the main soloist is a robin.

Humble sparrows decorate white,

and yellow, blooms.

And a buzzard soared overhead, quartering the field. I was so pleased at not having to rush back to my car!

A moorhen made a lot of fuss, with much fluttering, perhaps to distract me from a brood?

When I saw this from a distance, I thought it was a child’s toy, left there to be recovered. But as I drew nearer, I could see that it was rather a decoration, probably just left there by a whimsical person. How delightful!

In due course I was back at Dunster Beach, and an ice-cream tempted me, successfully.

I had wondered if the tide would be back in on my return, but no, it was further out than ever. Not for nothing does the Bristol Channel boast that it has the second-greatest tidal range in the world, while never naming the first. (I’ve just looked it up. It’s the Bay of Fundy, Canada.)

What a lovely day!