The last time we paddled this part of the Jurassic Coast (video above; more here) we a were mostly zipping along under sail in choppy waters and I didn’t get a chance to have a good look around. Now the latest heatwave and strong winds has subsided, today I wanted to take a slow ride along this world famous section of coast riddled with geological marvels.
The Lulworth Estate owns this spectacular stretch of coastline and makes several million a year off what must be the most expensive car parking in Dorset. And while you can get here on a bus, I’ve got a new way of getting around with a packraft: an e-MTB which can tackle traffic-free bridleways linking quite backroads with the boat shoved in the panniers.
PackhaulingTraffic-free byways
My e-bike weighs 28 kilos and, along with the delicate electronics which have already played up in the rain, is not a good candidate for seawater bikerafting. That was hard enough the other week with my folding bike at much less than half the weight of the e-bike. So at Lulworth Cove I locked and covered bike to a fence, hope I’d not get clamped, and set off for the long haul up and over Hambury Tout.
Thankfully some of the parking millions has been spent on a stepped cobbled path making the climb as easy as you can expect. But in one go it’s like 20 minutes on the cross trainer.
My plan was to trek along Durdle’s gravel beach to the far end, paddle through Bat’s Hole arch, then come back via Durdle Door and Stair Hole to Lulworth Cove, only about 4km.
And you can see why. It is amazing. (Though not always). The sea is glassy smooth.
At times this must be the most culturally diverse location in all of Dorset, and is especially popular with people of an Indian heritage after a Bollywood comedy called Housefull 3, was shot here. Several are posing for selfies.
I trudge on past the throng and pass a woman inflating her paddle board. Nice day for it.
While the fine gravel is jammed in my shoes, at least there won’t be the nuisance of sand getting everywhere.
Approaching Bat’s Hole. One day when Durdle Door collapses, this will be the replacement. Oddly, I’m wobbling about on the seat like it’s over inflated, which it’s not. Unusually, I’d put it in with the baffles crossways and wonder if that’s the cause. I turn the seat 90° with the baffles now in line with the boat. The wobbling stops. Paddle board woman catches up but, despite the perfect conditions, I’m disappointed to see her kneeling, grappling with the over-long SUP stick. In the dozens of paddle boarders I pass today, only one stands. Honestly, the kneelers and sit-downers would manage so much better with a kayak paddle. Full transparency: like gravel bikes, I don’t get paddle boarding at all, which merely goes to show how stratospherically out of touch I am with the popular zeitgeist.
I hop out behind Bat Hole and top up the TXL. These big volume packrafts often need a second top up 10 minutes in (it can be done on the water). My much-bodged balloon pump finally breaks (the better 2-part Mk2 version waits at home). I also install the inflatable footrest like I should have before setting off, then go all out and deploy the thigh straps too. I’m reminded how connected and comfortable you feel in the TXL with all these things in place. It’s like standing on a paddle board.
A light breeze is blowing from the west through the arch, the opposite of the forecast. Oh well, it’s light enough not to matter and is now with the tide for the ride back. On the far side an unseen air pocket is huffing and puffing with the swell.
Careful to dodge swimmers and unseen tombstoners (vid), I pass through Durdle Door and leave the throng for now. Tombstoning has a strong attraction with young males and I used to love doing it myself; the sheer thrill of jumping into thin air and, ideally, landing harmlessly, unlike the vid link above. I pass through St Oswald’s Bay / The Man o War and as predicted, around noon the wind pivots to onshore and is ruffling the surface. I pass a bloke standing on his board, with his Mrs laid out on her elbows between his feet, like a forward gunner. ‘High Five, bro!’ I should have exclaimed.
I weave in and out of the rocky maze around Dungy Head, where it’s said late Neolithic farmers once span dried cowpats off the cliff as votive offerings. The practise survives in Kentucky.
I reach Stair Hole, an intriguing network or arches and caves, packed with young revellers. You can enter a lagoon, but at the tide I was on, need to go out again the enter one arch and exit the other, again on the watch out for tombstoners and snorkelfolk.
The Lulworth Crumple they call, this. Reminds me of Morocco’s Anti Atlas ranges where such formations are common.
I probe a sea cave with a sandy beach at the end, and am reminded on Moonfleet, just a few miles away
The sea view of Stair Hole. Note the boarder paddling with dangling legs; good for the pecs.
Talking of pecs, on the right arch I realise it’s not just another bunch of young daredevils egging each other on, but proper climbers taking turns to traverse the arch’s overhanging span. How great it must be to free climb with just shoes, shorts and chalk bag, knowing it’s a short, harmless fall into the water. The bloke in the black shorts made it to a round of applause; blue shorts bailed.
By now the sea has kicked up and is bouncing clapotis off the cliffs. But I feel stable and safe in the pitching TXL, partly because I know it’s not far to go.
The entrance to the calm waters of Lulworth Cove. It’s a shame to end so soon.
Walking back to the bike, I’m struck by the steepness of the path up Hambury Tout.
Riding home, some bridleways pass right along the edge of the Lulworth army ranges and I hear the sound of heavy calibre machine gunfire. They were still at it 10.30 that night.
Did I tell you I wrote a packrafting guide book during Covid? I mention it as i happened to reread it the other day after having scanned something similar. ‘Information dense’ I’d call my style – they only gave me 48 big pages. I should have been nominated for an award from the ITF.
Inflatable Kayaks & Packrafts 