The first day of October and Bodmin Moor was in my sights. First, however, I had to get to North Hill, the village I had chosen to be my 'launch point' onto the Moor. Unfortunately, due to a dearth of suitable footpaths, getting there from Launceston involved walking southwest along the B3254 for 5 miles. As it happened, traffic was light and drivers were courteous so the roadside walk was not as bad as I had feared.

My route across Bodmin Moor took me to Hawks Tor, Newel Tor and Hill Tor. I would have liked to include Kilmar Tor and Brown Gelly on my route, but walking the very rocky 1km length of the former would have taken too much time, and the latter was surrounded by barbed-wire fences. I had to climb a few walls and fences anyway because Bodmin Moor is not a National Park and there are few official footpaths across it. I kept a low profile and did my best to avoid attracting the attention of any farmers whose fields I might be crossing.

The weather was fine and the air clear, giving great views. Although I was not following paths, the good visibility made navigation easy. I wished there had been more days like this when I was walking the Pennines. I had expected Bodmin Moor to be bleak and boggy, but it was neither of these on this occasion. Of course, had the weather been wet and foggy my impression might have been quite different.

All too soon I came back onto the roads again just south of Colliford Lake. I continued past Pantersbridge, but the light was fading by the time I reached Mount. A local informed me that there was a small area of open moorland just beyond Mount where I could camp. I quickly climbed what turned out to be Treslea Downs and pitched my tent amongst the wild ponies that reside there.

The following day's trek involved yet more roads, although these were mainly unclassified and had very low traffic densities. It seems odd that I should have my greatest difficulty finding footpaths in one of the most rural parts of England. By mid-afternoon I had reached Bugle, and the opportunity to replenish my food and water. I continued on through Whitemoor and Nanpean until I reached the most appropriately named St. Stephen.

I had walked through the heart of the China Clay industry. The evidence of this destructive activity was all around. The hills had been systematically demolished to remove the valuable commodity leaving distorted, unnaturally terraced hills and pointed slag heaps, all too unstable and dangerous to walk upon. It is hard to appreciate the scale of the destruction this industry has wrought on the landscape until you see it with your own eyes. Much of the China Clay business is now owned by a French company called IMERYS which, when rearranged, spells MISERY, as one friendly farmer pointed out to me. Whilst misery may be too strong a word, the area certainly had a depressed feel about it which is infectious.

Anyway, the Landlady at the Kings Arms Inn at St. Stephen let me camp in the field at the side of the pub. That cheered me up.

The weather teased me with a little shower of rain in the morning. I packed the tent quickly before it got too wet, only for the rain to stop anyway and a glimmer of sunshine to appear. This mixed weather set the pattern for the day. It was drizzling as I continued my road walk west through Laddock and St. Erme, but dry by the time I'd reached St. Clement Woods to join National Cycle Network route no. 3 south to Truro.

What a cheerful place Truro is! I stopped for a while to eat lunch, explore the bustling town centre and enjoy the street music. I would have liked to have stayed longer, but I had this charity walk thing to do.

Cycle route 3 took me down to Bissoe (no, not Bisto, silly). About a mile south west of Bissoe I came to Frogpool, an apt name given what the weather was doing at the time. Local enquiries (at the Cornish Arms) resulted in my introduction to 84 year old farmer Mr Hall, who offered me the use of a dusty attic storeroom as my residence for the night. He even had an outdoor loo I could use! Magic. What more could any wild-camper wish for on a rainy night? Well, there was the additional pleasant surprise that my food and drinks bill at the Cornish Arms was mysteriously paid for me. I suspect that somebody by the name of Andy might have had something to do with that.

Although shared dorms are the norm in a Youth Hostel, occupation at the Okehampton establishment was low so I had a room all to myself. I didn't wake until 8.30am on Monday 28, which probably goes to show how much I needed the rest. I had to dress quickly to be in time for breakfast.

It was great not to have to worry about dismantling the tent and packing the rucksack. I spent the day washing socks, writing my blog, sending some emails and dropping in on friend Alan at his electronics factory in Okehampton, but really not doing that much at all.

I had decided to walk the whole of the Two Castles Trail in one go on Tuesday. This 24 mile path runs between Okehampton Castle and its counterpart in Launceston. It is the only footpath in the West Country that I walk in its entirety, the other footpaths I encounter being just short sections of longer paths.

Rising early, I set off shortly after 8.00am. I had left my main rucksack at Alan's factory when I visited him so that I would only need to carry a few essential items in my lightweight daysack.

The walk initially took me through a golf course and then up on the northern edge of Dartmoor National Park. Here I could free-roam for the first time since the Pennines, unconstrained by any path, much like the sheep surrounding me. One group of 5 sheep, 3 rams and 2 ewes, all decided to urinate simultaneously as I passed by. I came to the conclusion that this was probably some sort of collective insult to humans. I don't blame them. I too might be tempted to insult someone who was planning to eat me.

The 'official' route of the Two Castles Trail is a bit tame so I took a detour up to Sourton Tor where the rocky summit provided me with a brief reminder of what Dartmoor is all about. Leaving the moor and continuing west, the remainder of the walk to Launceston was dull by comparison, at least until Launceston Castle came into view, dominating the town from its hill.

The walk had taken me just under 10 hours, including lunch stops, and I had crossed my final county boundary into Cornwall. Not having brought my tent, I booked a room at the White Horse Inn.

I remained in Launceston on Wednesday to spend some time with Mum and brother Paul who had travelled up to see me. On their way they collected my rucksack from Okehampton, along with a further supply of energy foods that Matt Furber of Lucozade Sport had sent to Alan's factory.

When the family visit was over it was time to make preparations for the following day's trek. This would take me on to my next significant challenge, which is to cross bleak Bodmin Moor. I hope that the fair weather continues for a while.

With liberal amounts of tea and a bowlful of porridge inside me, I said farewell to Susan and Paul and headed west again. I principally followed the West Deane Way, but deviated onto minor roads and other paths when it suited me (or I made a mistake). My route more-or-less followed the River Tone to Greenham Weir where I was able to join the Grand Western Canal. I love canals because they are picturesque, I can walk quickly along the level towpaths and the possibility of making navigational errors is slight.

I followed the canal south until I reached Sampford Peverell, which has two pubs, both serving food, but decided that I still had time to walk a bit further. According to my map, the next village, Halberton, also had a pub. However, when I got to 'The Barge' I discovered that they could not serve food because the kitchens were being refurbished. They didn't have a lawn on which I could pitch my tent either. Naturally, I did what anyone else would do; buy a pint of cider and then break down and sob uncontrollably into it. My pathetic display soon attracted the sympathy of a chap called Ray who lives opposite and offered the use of his garden as a campsite. I also noted that there would be a pub quiz later that evening with an accompanying buffet supper, so for the modest entry fee of £2 (which Ray paid) I joined a team and solved my food problems too. Our team came 2nd and I received several charity donations from Barge regulars.

Next morning Ray's wife, Mary, gave me some breakfast and we had a photo-session before I walked the final part of the Grand Western Canal into Tiverton, an excellent place to find a cafe where I could carry out my blog-writing duties.

From Tiverton I headed south along the Exe Valley Trail, although I was somewhat surprised to find that a valley walk involved 150m of climbing! After about 8 miles I reached Thorverton where I turned west along some minor roads for another 4 miles to reach Shobrooke. "What's at Shobrooke?", you might ask! Well, you've probably guessed, and it's called The Red Lion Inn. I can hear some people saying, "This charity walk is just an excuse for a mammoth pub crawl". Well, I have only one thing to say to such cynics, and it's "Mine's a Guinness".

Outside the Red Lion was an unassuming chap with a tea-towel tucked into his belt smoking a cigarette. Guy turned out to be the landlord. Pitching my tent on the lawn was no problem and Guy's wife, Lesley, was happy to feed me. I was also adopted for the evening by one of the pub's cats.

That night was the coldest so far and I had to tighten the draw cord on the hood of my sleeping bag for the first time. When I poked my head out of the tent early Sunday morning there was a thick mist and the fly sheet was soaking wet. I wanted to be away by 9.00am so, inevitably, it was still wet when I packed it. Guy kindly treated me to some breakfast before I departed for what would be short road walk to Crediton, then a longer one to Spreyton.

I reached the Tom Cobley Tavern in Spreyton shortly after 1.00pm to be treated to food for the second time that day - this time it was a roast dinner courtesy of friends Anthea and Peter Benham, who had come to visit me during my trek. Peter had brought his boots, so he accompanied me to Okehampton afterwards, a walk of about 8 miles with the latter half mainly along the route of the Tarka Trail. We were met in Okehampton by Anthea, who had taken my rucksack in their car, allowing me to travel light.

After they drove off, I walked up to Okehampton Youth Hostel to enjoy my first night indoors for a week. Monday would be a rest day.

On Monday evening, just as I'd finished erecting my tent in the Wessex Water compound, I got chatting to a young lady who was passing with her dog. I must have a non-threatening, trustworthy look about me, because I ended up joining her in the walk back to the family home for a cup of tea. Eliza and her husband, Will, are a delightful couple who left London to find a better place to live and bring up children. As their happy household attests, they have succeeded admirably.

It was dark when I left so Eliza and Will lent me a torch to help me find my way back to the tent. I was able to bring it back next morning because I had accepted their invitation to return for a shower and some breakfast. I found myself wishing they lived closer to Southampton as I would love to have them as close friends, especially as we had a common interest in hill walking.

I continued my westward trek, roughly following the route of the Limestone Link, until I reached Hinton Blewett. Shortly after, I diverted south to join the Monarch's Way by passing through East Harptree. Ribbons were hanging all over the place as I entered the pretty village. They were having a festival. I needed batteries, so I called in at the community shop and quickly found myself the subject of considerable interest. The ladies in the shop were clearly pleased that I had chosen to pass through their village on my charity walk and I received significant donations from several of them. I left behind some cards and a poster before moving on.

My continuation south involved a steep climb as I was on the eastern end of the Mendip Hills. The eventual descent into Wookey Hole was equally steep. With such a name puns abound, but I will do my best to avoid falling into that trap as I will only have to dig myself out again.

It rained a little in the afternoon; the first rain I had seen in two and a half weeks. However, it was a gentle refreshing spray on a warm day, not the relentless downpours accompanied by an all-penetrating wet fog that I had to tolerate almost daily on the Pennines.

The kind lady running the camp site in Wookey Hole let me stay for free. Sadly the only restaurant in town, the Wookey Hole Inn, was prohibitively expensive, so I just ate what I had in my rucksack and walked into the tiny city of Wells next morning to have a substantial breakfast. Naturally, I could not possibly visit Wells without taking a look at the magnificent Cathedral.

Most inconveniently, it had showered in the morning so I had to carry a wet tent, but the rest of the day was generally dry.

My next destination was Glastonbury. As I approached from the north, the dominant feature on the skyline was Glastonbury Tor with St. Michael's Tower sitting like a candle on the top. Although it wasn't really on my route, I just had to climb it. The views from the top made the climb well worthwhile. As expected, Glastonbury itself had a hippy-ish feel about it and I enjoyed moseying around the town for a while before continuing west.

This part of Somerset was once sodden moorland and has a huge network of drainage ditches across it to make the land arable. Walking through the area was frustrating because on several occasions I found my way blocked by a ditch and had to retrace my steps to find another route. This lost me quite a bit of time, so I was pleased when I finally reached the village of Ashcott, where the owner of the Ashcott Inn let me camp in his adjacent paddock.

Next morning I joined a path with the rather long-winded name of 'Samaritans Way South West' which took me to Bridgewater. From there I followed the Bridgewater and Taunton Canal south into Taunton. The walk was pleasant but uneventful and the weather dry and sunny again.

Once I got to Taunton I had the usual problem of finding a suitable camping ground and a place to eat. I asked for advice from a local, Susan, and she invited me to pitch my tent in her garden. She and her husband, Paul, later took me out to a local venue to enjoy supper with their friends. It was a great way to celebrate the fact that I had now walked over 1,000 miles.

My weekend in Bath with Chris coincided with the start of the Jane Austen Festival, which seems to be a great excuse for a City-wide party. The streets were alive with music, street performers and people dressed in period costume.

In addition to giving my feet and knees a rest, the two consecutive rest days gave me time to wash some clothes and check over my gear. I noted that the lower section of my remaining Leki trekking pole had bent much as the first one did. Rather than try and straighten it, I inspected it more closely this time. I concluded that the pole's shock absorption mechanism had rubbed against the tubing, causing it to thin locally and thus weaken it. Replacement was the only practical option, so I ended up buying a pair of Black Diamond poles with no shock absorption and external locking mechanisms from a shop called Itchy Feet in Bath. The Leki's will go back home with Chris for Cotswold Outdoor to inspect when my walk is over.

The afternoon and evening were spent with my son David and his girlfriend Lisa who came over from Cardiff to see me.

Sunday involved more chilling-out around the centre of Bath, enjoying the glorious sun and listening to the musicians before Chris had to catch her train back in the early evening. I had an early night.

Monday 21 September, and my walk is due to resume. Before leaving, however, I receive a visit from Matt Furber of Lucozade Sport. His company has already provided me with a variety of specialist sports foods which I took with me to Scotland, and Matt has now given me a further supply in Bath.

Whilst in the centre of Bath I could see the Sham Castle overlooking the City from Bathampton Down. I was determined to take a closer look and this involved a 150m climb in the opposite direction to Land's End, which won't surprise those friends who have already concluded that I am quite mad. I came down the hill into Monkton Combe, where David Munn, the proprietor of the Wheelwrights Arms, kindly gave me a free lunch (yes, there is such a thing). Not quite so mad now, eh.

The rest of the day involved shortening the distance between me and Land's End by following a mixture of National Cycle Network Route 24 and the Limestone Link trail. The route of the latter occasionally passes through people's gardens, so it felt like I was trespassing at times.

It was about 6.30pm when I came to the perfect camp site. Although a mile short of Hallatrow, my intended destination, Wessex Water's Paulton Sewage Treatment Works had a lovely level patch of mown lawn adjacent to it with surrounding trees for privacy. What's more, it was up-wind of the processing plant.

I pitched the tent and prepared to settle down for the night, but then another nice thing happened which I will tell you about in the next exciting episode of Steve's Long Walk. Got to keep the readers hooked, you know.