Fishy Tails and Tail Ends

Another day, another ancient monument.

On Thursday we traveled to Dartmouth, to tour the compact castle, situated on a rocky promontory, close to the entrance of the Dart.
We have often visited the town, but it was our first visit to the castle.
As it is not a large site, there are no audio guides to hear here, but there are a couple of places where short videos play, which helps to bring history to life.

Afterwards, we took the passenger ferry back to the centre of Dartmouth.
The boats are small and can only take a dozen passengers at a time. We were the last three on that particular boat, but the shuttle service is continuous on a busy day, so we wouldn't have had long to wait for the next one.
The waters were slightly choppy, especially as we had to begin by crossing to the deeper water close to the opposite bank.

As he headed into the middle of the river, the ferryman informed the passengers that he was taking the passengers to Dartmouth, not Kingswear, but that he needed to cross close to the far bank to begin with.

Any passengers feeling seasick were encouraged to throw up over the side, rather than in the boat.
When we were in the middle of the river the ferryman collected his fares.
A cunning ploy, I thought. Who, but a total idiot would refuse to pay, when we are at the mercy of the captain of this vessel, especially as we transversed the wakes of the larger vessels, which were heading out to sea on adventures unknown.."

From one of the viewing decks at the castle, DH had been identifying other nearby fortifications, but one opposite was unlabeled, so DH asked the ferryman what it was.

"How old do you think it is?" he asked us.

"Victorian?" I guessed.

"Is that a shot in the dark?" he enquired.

"Well, it does seem to have very straight edges, like a Victorian folly."

"It's about 20 years old". He replied, "And the only bit that has planning permission is the summer house..." He then told us of the tale of how a landslide had mysterious happened, the house was then built on the land that appeared and the council had given up trying to fight it as it cost too much. 

How much was true, I know not, but it made an interesting tale.

The boatman was very efficient at guiding his less able passengers to terra firma as we disembarked at the quayside in the centre of town.
Meanwhile, as we had been seated in the stern, we were the last to leave.
I found myself hoping that everyone on the opposite side of the boat wouldn't leave first, causing us to do a 'Mary Rose' and capsize...

Our plan had been to eat in our usual cafe in an old railway station on the quay, but it has gone upmarket - the familiar bench seats mostly replaced by trendy stools and tables, lasagne superseded by shellfish and champers. Close by we found a cafe that could meet the exacting requirements of our party, and they got our custom.

Art galleries and an art exhibition in the Masonic Hall were graced by our presence, but we avoided buying anything  - arty, or otherwise.

If you visit the town you may notice that anyone vaguely posh seems to wear navy blue, preferably striped.
Was there a checkpoint we bypassed?
The 'Navy Gate', through which only those wearing nautical-themed clothing may enter?

We browsed the adverts, promising voyages by coast and river, to see wonders various.
Then, no sooner had we sat down on a bench to admire the view over to Kingswear, than the heavens opened and raindrops fell - slowly and sparingly initially, then with great gusto and generosity!

We retreated to a shelter the other side of the road,
and watched, amused,
as those waiting for a bus attempted to shelter under the limited canopy of a small tree...




When the skies cleared,
we walked back to to the castle,
where we had left the car,
pausing regularly to admire glimpses
of the very photogenic reaches of the lower Dart, and to keep an eye on the grey clouds that gathered over the nearby hills.






That evening we had been invited to ring with some traditional Devon call-change ringers out at Chivelstone, the other side of Slapton, so we decided to have our picnic tea at Slapton Sands.
This should have been a straightforward journey, but the main road was washed away at Strete Gate earlier this year and is still being repaired. As a consequence, we had to take a long and very winding detour through exceedingly narrow lanes to Slapton.
On reaching the car park we discovered that only tariff available for after 6pm, was a hefty sum of £5 - which admittedly covered parking until the next morning. We only wanted a couple of hours! We sat in the carpark overlooking Slapton Ley eating our tea.



Suddenly I noticed an inflatable pink flamingo on a balcony of a house. DH, couldn't see it.. though












Later, walking along the beach we noticed a strong fishy aroma - not unusual besides the sea.
Then we noticed small fish washed up close to the edge of the tide.











As we watched we could see shoals of fish moving close to shore. We watched sadly as shoal after shoal were driven on to the beach by larger fish.
It all seemed a rather pointless part of nature. Any that did manage to flip themselves back into the sea, were just washed back on to the shore by a subsequent wave.
At times mother nature seems rather cruel and unnecessarily destructive.





We then headed off, along more very, very narrow lanes, with right angle bends to the tiny settlement of Chivelstone - the parish of which includes the most southerly tip of Devon, where we were made very welcome by the call change ringers.

Much nicer tail ends to finish the day with!