Bagwell Farm and The Fleet
Heading out into Storm Jorge we didn’t really know what to expect, especially in our new van. We thought there would probably be some strong winds, a bit of heavy rain, we’d probably have to hide in the van out of the elements and find something to binge-watch on telly. What we didn’t expect was long spells of sunshine and far reaching blue skies; the perfect weather for walking (ok so it was quite windy and the dog might not have agreed it was the best weather for walking because she’s only small and didn’t fancy being a kite).
We had been trying to get a weekend away for a little while now but each time somethings come up. So, with a free weekend on the horizon we ran for the coast in the camper and ended up with a lovely little pitch at Bagwell Farm Campsite in Dorset. This rurally situated campsite is about 4.5miles outside of Weymouth, a favourite spot for fish and chips, but this time we were more interested in exploring the Fleet Lagoon, which is within walking distance from our pitch.
The lagoon is an 8mile stretch of salt, brackish and fresh water that runs from Portland to Abbotsbury in the shadow of the famous Chesil Beach. From the coastal path that runs along the outside of the campsite you get fantastic views of these geographical marvels and to see it from such an angle highlights just how tall the beach at Chesil gets in places. It appears like a towering mound reaching as far as the eye can see; on our visit it gleamed white against the cornflower blue skies, with the odd inky coloured cloud passing overhead increasing the contrast. Storm Jorge had whipped up the waters of Lyme Bay and a sporadic spray of breaking waves would burst over the bank, which took the brunt of the storm, sheltering the lagoon that lay calmer beneath it.
There are various walking loops that run from the campsite, taking in stretches of the coastal path and that Hardy country scenery that Dorset wears so well. The onsite shop has plenty of information on these walks, but we decided to wing it (as usual) and set out to find our own way, heading in whatever direction we were blown.
Our walk was blessed before it had even really begun. Leaning on a small gate that led us from the campsite to the coast we found ourselves face to face with a white figure in the brambles ahead. A barn owl. Perched low, sheltering from the wind, we hoped it had found itself a meal now that the rains had relented. Crossing into the field it alighted from its perch and led us for the first few 100yards, its wings catching the golden light of the sun before peeling away into the next field on course for a looming barn structure at the end of it.
From here we headed through a sodden field, towards the fleet where the path skirted its edges. The winds stirred the waters disturbing the sediments causing them to take on an opaque sandy quality, but it was still a pleasant sight lined with reeds, gorse and a collection of evergreen oaks that held their waxy leaves despite the ensuing gale. Past a line of sorry looking boats, their brightly coloured paints peeling, the path headed up. Up past a line of too white houses, with big windows, so that our backs were to the lagoon and the beach and the raging waves of Lyme Bay as the rolling hills of the county sprawled out before us.
A group of sheep huddled together behind an electric fence, they didn’t seem bothered by the wind – they were probably pleased for the break in the rain.
Down in the field below the shapes of deer picked their way through fresh shoots, as we clambered over a break in a dry stone wall to pick up the path back to the campsite commenting on how easy it must have been to set books and stories in this landscape. There is something about Dorset, I can’t quite put my finger on it, that just encapsulates the English countryside.
After a good hours brisk walking, breath stolen by the wind and trying to keep the dog’s feet on the floor the campsite shop was most welcomed – obviously chocolate and biscuits is needed to fully complete our stroll, which apparently, we timed just right. From the van we watched as heavy clouds gathered and spilled over with rain and hail, as we sipped tea and dunked chocolate biscuits and the dog hogged the heater as usual. Surely this is the greatest of ways to spend a weekend?
