On the one hand, I’m eager to reach the end of the South West Coast Path. I’m looking forward to the large, artistic sign symbolizing the end of the SWCP (or the beginning if one is just starting out). I’m hoping that I don’t have to wait long for one last ferry to catch a bus into Poole. On the other hand, my guidebook says that this last hike is an “exhilarating length with superb views.” As I take in those views, I’ll pass “Old Harry’s Rocks,” an iconic site on the SWCP. I have those mixed feelings, looking forward to the day’s destination, looking forward to the day’s walk.

The day is initially sunny as I leave around my usual 9:00AM. I walk with a spring in my feet as it’s the last day where I’m free from carrying my backpack! I head for the beach. What do I see? There’s a pirate and a “cabin daughter” with a parrot on her shoulder. “May I take your photo and what’s going on?” “Sure, and there is a Pirate Festival today and tomorrow. Just up the hill here.”

I walk up the hill to a large park-like, green area. A dozen tents with probably twenty or thirty costumed reenactors clusters in small groups, on one side the English militia, on the other side pirates. I approach a smiling and dignified-looking man dressed as an English militia. Rick explains that they represent the local English militia of 1685. Although not the army, Rick proudly describe that these local units often played important roles. When the Duke of Monmouth and his army landed in southern England in order to surprise King James II and seize the throne, the local militias sufficiently slowed his progress that King James II could collect his army to defeat the Duke. Kingsley, his son, soon joins us. “Lots of enactors go for the medieval period, but we love the 1600’s and 1700’s.” Both show me their guns. Rick’s gun is an authentic dragoon gun. Since I had to ask what is a dragoon gun, Rick explained that it was a gun designed for horsemen. “When I dismount, I can hit a target at 100 meters; it just may not be the target that I was aiming for.” Kingsley’s gun is three times as long and heavy. Impressive.

I move down the green to the pirates. The pirates are more diverse with children, young and old women, men with a hook instead of a left hand, and, of course, several Jack Sparrows. “When did you take up pirating?” I ask one Jack. “Well, of course, shortly after The Pirates of the Caribbean came out.” “I even had a friend write a pantomime in which I and others performed in front of school groups. Quite fun.” “Three weeks ago my friends and I were at Brixham. Well, with 30,000 pirates I guess that they weren’t all friends. I and several others were in the rigging of Francis Drake’s The Golden Hind having a dual. Lots of fun.” He explains that if I stick around until noon, then I’ll see the militia and pirates fight on the beach and also watch the militia fire their cannon. Unfortunately, I feel the urge to be on the path and reach my destination. But, what fun. These reenactors live in a world of perpetual Halloweens!

I’m two hours into my walk when I approach a hill overlooking Old Harry’s Rocks. Again, I just love the English names for their landscape. There is debate to whom “Old Harry” refers. On the one hand, “Harry” is an old English term for the devil. On the other hand, “Harry” could refer to the local 17th century pirate Harry Paye. The debate continues.

As I’m walking down the hill, I approach three uniformed officers walking toward me. Naively, I ask in my chatty way “Do you usually patrol up here?” Without that belittling look of ‘who do you think you are asking us about our business’, one officer says: “Special circumstances” and continues on. As I pass the dense shrubs on each side, I see two police cars and three other rescue vehicles. On the other side of the path, separated by a fence, probably ten individuals are gathered, two or three are on their knees clearly examining a site. “Hmmm….no doubt something bad has happened here just recently.” I decide that I best detour around them. Later, after googling, they were recovering a body of a young man. No more information. My suspicions are right.

I keep walking. Down from the hills, I emerge onto a sandy beach stretching until the final sign and ferry. Probably three or four miles. For awhile, I walk on the wet sand; however, I eventually have to move slightly inland because the wet sand turns to wet mud. Yuck. I’m minding my own business walking through heather when I come upon a sign: Naturalist Area. While this could refer to an area protected for the local wildlife, this sign isn’t designed to inform the walker to watch out for birds and ducks. I decide not to look to the left and not to look to the right. I keep my head down and look at the ground in front of me for a good twenty minutes. As I pass a sign that gives me an “all clear” meaning, I return to the beach.

One more photo though. I pass a young girl and the rest of her family. She is quite excited. She has just found a small crab. When I ask if I may take her photo, she proudly and carefully holds the crab in front of her face. Nice!

There is the ferry. There is the sign. Do I feel a sudden surge of excitement in reaching my ultimate destination, Poole? Do I feel a deep sense of accomplishment of walking 10- weeks, 5 ½ last fall and 4 ½ this spring? Do I have a sudden recollection of all sorts of random memories from the previous 630 miles? None of the above. All I want is to get my photo by the sign and make sure that I’m on the next ferry! The destination that has always been in my mind doesn’t warrant any deep feelings or profound thoughts at this moment. Maybe later I’ll have all sorts of feelings and thoughts, but not right now.

But, I do dwell on what I’ve felt this last day on the South West Coast Path. Amused. Saddened. Embarrassed by possibly running into nudists. Gladdened by a girl’s innocent discovery. I’ve reached my destination; I’ve walked my last day. Why should I be surprised by my last day? The path has provided many, many surprises each and every day!