The last time we paddled this part of the Jurassic Coast (video above; more here) we were zipping along under sail or navigating 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 for packraft day trips: an e-MTB which can tackle bridleways and traffic-free backroads with the boat shoved in the panniers.
PackhaulingTraffic-free byways
My e-bike weighs 28 kilos – double a normal MTB – and, along with the delicate electronics which have already played up in the rain, is not a good candidate for seawater bikerafting. That proved hard enough the other week with my folding bike at less than half the weight of the e-bike. So at Lulworth Cove I locked the bike to a fence and covered it, hoping I’d not get clamped, then set off for the long haul up and over Hambury Tout to Durdle Door beach.
Thankfully some of the parking millions has been spent on a cobbled path making the climb as easy as you can expect. But in one go it’s still like 20 minutes on a cross trainer.
My plan was to trek to the far end of Durdle’s gravel beach, paddle through Bat’s Hole arch, then come back via Durdle Door and Stair Hole to Lulworth Cove. All up only about 4km. A neap tide was coming in and winds were a cooling 5mph from the east, turning onshore at noon.
Crowds thicken as you near Durdle Door and you’ll easily hear half a dozen foreign languages as pilgrims the world over come to view the limestone marvel.
And you can see why. From the top it all looks amazing, though not always after a busy day. I’m pleased to see the sea is glassy smooth.
At times Durdle Door 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.
I trudge on and pass a woman inflating her SUP. Perfect day for it.
While the fine gravel gets jammed in my Omniums, at least there won’t be the nuisance of sand to wash off.
Approaching Bat’s Hole. By the time Durdle Door collapses into the sea and becomes a stack, Bat’s Hole will have grown enough to become the replacement, producing a seamless transition in parking fees. The TXL zips along but 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 longways and wonder if that’s the cause. I turn the seat 90° with the baffles now across 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, I wish someone would tell these kneelers and sit-downers they’d manage so much better with a kayak paddle, like this chappy 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 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. That done, 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 through the arch from the west, the opposite of the forecast. Oh well, it’s light enough not to matter and will blow with the tide for the ride back. On the far side of the arch an unseen air pocket is huffing and puffing and snorting with the swell.
Careful to dodge swimmers and unseen tombstoners (gruesome vid), I pass through Durdle Door and again leave the throng for now. I used to love tombstoning; the thrill of jumping into thin air and landing harmlessly, feet pointed and nose pinched. But falling 200 feet from the top of the Door would be very painful. I continue through St Oswald’s Bay / Man o War and as predicted, around noon the wind pivots to onshore and ruffles the surface. I pass a bloke standing on his SUP with his Mrs laid out on her elbows between his feet, like a forward gunner. ‘That’s how to do it my man, with your reposing young lady providing added stability by virtue of a lowered centre of gravity!‘ 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 today in Kentucky.
I reach Stair Hole, an intriguing network or arches and caves, packed with young revellers. You can enter a mini cove, but need to go out again then enter one arch to exit the other, again on the watch out for tombstoning lads and furtive 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 and CoG, I suppose.
Talking of pecs, on the right (east) 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. I was never into the clobber of climbing. 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 across 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.
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. No wonder I was puffed out. Ready to go, my boat and gear in a bag weighs 8.6kg.
Riding home, some bridleways pass right along the edge of the Lulworth firing ranges and I hear the sound of heavy calibre machine gunfire. They were still at it at 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 