We’ve been kept awake by the beating rain on the roof of our cosy bedroom in an outbuilding behind the pub, flashes of lightning lighting up the room through the Velux window. Even the landlady says it was exceptionally stormy overnight, as we enjoy our full English breakfast in the now deserted bar.

As we leave our delightful lodge at the end of the pub garden it’s as if last night’s downpour never happened. We take the steep track back down the valley to re-join the North Devon coast path then up the other side where we discover “Ronald Duncan’s Hut”. A massive thank you, firstly to Ronald, a “poet, playwright, journalist, farmer and lover”, for the foresight to create his writing hut on the cliff above his house at West Mill. An even bigger thank you to his daughter Briony who restored this hut in his memory. We spend longer than planned reading up about the exploits of Ronald Duncan (1914-1982) as we wait for the torrential rain to ease.

Continuing on, the paths have turned into a muddy river flowing towards us, but the clouds are now parting to reveal blue sky. Ahead the waves are gently breaking into Welcombe Mouth, the seawater trickling up the ridges in the rocks which run perpendicular to the land.

The stream through the valley is flowing fast but thankfully the beautifully constructed stepping stones are still visible and it’s a long way up river to find a bridge. But I hadn’t contemplated what happened next.

Nigel jumps to the first stone, reaches out to grab my hand and I successfully join him on the metre wide stepping stone. However, as he twists round his backpack swings into me and I start to topple backwards into the water, thankfully he spots and grabs me. From here on I’m on my own stepping across the stones! Relieved to reach the other side I venture down to where the stream is crashing down to the sea and picture myself like Eeyore floating downstream.

The climb up the other side to Embury Beacon is steep but we are now on level ground between the cliff edge and farmerland for a while. The pace would be quicker if it wasn’t for the mud mud mud.

As we near Hartland Quay the landscape gets rockier with more and more people out exploring. A wooden bridge takes us across the stream above Speke’s Mill Mouth and we join a family group looking back at the incredible waterfall, the sound of the water gushing over the rocks deafening.

The coast path swings round the edge of the next hillock, Screda Point pointing out to sea with its incredible linear rock formation. Just around the corner and we are in the upper car park for the Hartland Quay Hotel, we dodge the cars down the sweeping drive to the hotel and our bed for the night.

We check in at the bar, drop our heavy rucksacks in our room and head out, our shoulders buoyant and free, up the hill to explore the gardens of Hartland Abbey and the promise of a cream tea.

Dinner, bed and breakfast at the Hartland Quay is a welcome break from the long walk, in fact in the past 48 hours we have walked a marathon! With a blowy, wet weather forecast we opt not to continue on by foot to Clovelly but save that walk for our return in the summer. It’s off to try out the cream tea at Docton Mill and admire the magnolias, tulips and spring blossom.