Facebook and ale

I have created a Facebook group for this blog, which anyone can join (you don't have to be my "friend"). Just search for "Adam's Ale" on the Facebook site and sign up. I'm hoping it will become the most illuminating and thought-provoking Facebook group linked to one man's bittersweet pub odyssey around North Devon and beyond - certainly this year, anyway.

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Camra names North Devon pub of year runner-up

A VILLAGE inn run by a retired aircraft engineer has been named the runner-up in Camra’s North Devon pub of the year contest.

The Castle Inn, in Combe Martin, took second place in the annual awards, behind the much-loved Hunters Inn, in nearby Heddon Valley.

The Castle, which is a free house not tied to any brewery, is owned by 54-year-old Allan Stephenson, who went into the hostelry game after a career at Westland Aircraft in Yeovil.
Friendly

Camra (the Campaign for Real Ale) said the Castle Inn served consistently good quality ales in a friendly atmosphere, and had good staff with a knowledge of beer.

Allan, who also lives in the High Street pub, said he looked at hundreds of pubs before choosing the Castle six years ago.

"It was a case of I had had enough of what I was doing and wanted a lifestyle change. We toured all over the place for pubs and the Castle was very friendly," he said.

He said much of his success was down to the ever-changing roster of quality ales he $; there are never fewer than four different beers on offer, including many brews from North Devon and the West Country. Many of the beers on offer are seasonal.

Allan said: "We are a friendly pub. We get some holidaymakers and I’m in the Camra guide, so we get a lot of trade from that. We also do food and I have a 150-seat function room."

The Castle, a relatively large pub for a rural area, has existed in some form for hundreds of years, Allan, said, although he was unsure of the finer details of its convoluted history.

He knows that the current building is made up of a "mismatch" from various eras, which helps to give it its unique character.

"It was an old coaching inn and at one point there was a bakery," he said.

There are regular music nights at the Castle and Allan, who has a late licence, is open every day of the year apart from Christmas day.

Although he said the pub had suffered a recent downturn in takings, like many other pubs in the UK, he hoped a spell of good weather this summer would tempt in a steady flow of customers. He certainly guarantees a superb pint of beer.

From the North Devon Journal.

A peacock gives me the evil eyes in a remote valley where the gilded agers once danced in the dew-flecked gaslight

The peacock seemed to want to get near me.

Maybe the many evil-eyed creature wanted to get me for some mysterious slight, I thought, as I took another mouthful of ale and pretended not to jump when the beast boomed in the late afternoon like a wild boar at slaughter hour.

There is something about close range large birds which makes me think about self defence, and when I'm in the corner of a beer garden in a steep wooded valley in remote North Devon I know full well the air ambulance could take time to get here. And there would be a scene if I had to wrestle the animal.

But the large strolling peacock was not intent on violence. He found a scrap of bread on the ground and fluttered up to a low roof, from where he watched me. We had reached an accommodation.

I already knew a lot about the pub, but not about the peacocks. Advertising and anticipation can ruin, with good reason, any element of well-I-never-did-see in any pub visit. Once you have been told a certain pub is the greatest creation since eden itself, there is little you can do to avoid trying to demolish that assertion. Human nature being what it is - clever, forgiving, rational - you can't help making up your own mind, which always means clawing holes in the well-knit arguments of the advocates...

And so before I even crept down winding high-hedge lanes to a hidden valley between Lynton and Combe Martin, to pay a visit to the Camra North Devon Pub Of The Year, the Hunters (no apostrophe on the sign) Inn, I was already filled with the type of prejudicial thoughts reporters often carry in their heads, but must always discard.

The beards at Camra (I mean it fondly, gentlemen) are rarely wrong about beer quality, but I have been to Camra-loved alehouses (not in the Westcountry) brimming with as much chummy cheer as a pox-riven yacht scoot to Hades, the home of the departed spirits.

The Hunters Inn, the landlord told me, had been the site of an inn for centuries and was once a haunt of the gilded age, before the late-1960s, when the gilded agers decided to go instead to Portugal or Monaco or wherever they went. Then the place became more of a haunt for coachloads of pensioners staying in nearby Ilfracombe. Now, the pub is trying to move "up market" and pull in locals as well as tourists, to avoid becoming an evil theme pub. The inn does everything a "destination pub" does: offers you hot or cold milk or cream with your coffee, rooms, chefs rather than microwaves and spotty teenagers. I was expecting the pub to be posh, but it wasn't; it was pleasingly ordinary. It felt like a proper local pub, which is an achievement, because not many people live in the valley. Maybe they camp in the woods, guerrilla-local style.

Camra was right about the beer: four Exmoor Ales on offer and my pint was too good to drink slowly. Weirdly, I was the only person drinking beer; everyone else (about four or five groups) were drinking tea or coffee. There is something exciting about pubs in odd locations. There is something odd about pubs in exciting locations.

I hadn't been there long and the peacock wanted to get near me again, perhaps as much as I wanted to drink another pint of Exmoor Ale in that beer garden, but the sky had gone old and the trees were closing in.

HUNTERS INN, HEDDON VALLEY

ADAM'S ALE RATING: 4 OUT OF 5

DRINK THIS: EXMOOR ALE, 3.8%

Hunters Inn website

Exmoor Ales

National Trust information about West Exmoor

North Devon Camra pub of the year revealed

A THRIVING North Devon pub in a breathtaking rural idyll — which takes pains to welcome locals as well as holidaymakers — has been named “pub of the year” by real ale campaigners.

The Hunters Inn, which nestles in the Heddon Valley between Exmoor and the Bristol Channel, is this year’s Camra (Campaign For Real Ale) North Devon pub of the year.

Camra spokesman Chris Franks said the pub had won the award because it served consistently good quality ales, with sympathy for local breweries, in a friendly atmosphere. The pub’s staff was also praised for being knowledgeable and providing good service.

When David Orton and his wife, Deborah, bought the Hunters Inn three years ago they were well aware the pub had been a haunt of the wealthy and well-known — as well as more ordinary local folk — for decades. In the 1970s and 1980s, however, as the glamorous people increasingly went abroad for holidays, the inn became less glamorous and relied heavily on coach loads of pensioners staying in nearby Ilfracombe.

David, 38, took on the business while living in the local valley in semi-retirement after a successful career selling televisions and music equipment. The Ortons, who were keen to re-stamp a mark of quality on the inn, have since transformed the pub into a proper local, with numerous music and pub game nights, as well as quality food and accommodation.

The inn has become, to David’s delight, a successful “destination pub” and is likely to cement its success in future years as more people, perhaps conscious of climate-damaging air travel, choose North Devon over more expensive foreign holidays. “The original inn was an old tenant farm,” he told the Journal. “And the farm used to sell ales to the local farmers. It became famous with poets and artists because it is such a beautiful spot. In 1895 the inn burned down and the current building was built on the same site.

“The guestbooks are phenomenal; Thomas Hardy wrote about the pub, members of the royal family have stayed here, as well as people like Ringo Starr and Vaughn Williams. In its 1960s heyday, it was very famous.”

The earlier guestbooks have gone to Lynton museum but their spirit lives on. “Last year we repainted the building in its original Edwardian colour scheme and we have been upgrading the accommodation,” he said.

“Real ale is a passion of mine. When we came here there were just two real ales; we now have eight at any one time. We try to support West Country brewers, including Exmoor Ales.”

The pub even hosts its own beer festival in the second week of September. Families In addition to the history, bucolic setting and real local ales, the pub also boasts a welcoming attitude to families and children and no fewer than three chefs producing anything from chips for hungry walkers to top-class dinner for honeymooners.

While some pubs in North Devon are closing their doors or suffering declining takings, the Hunters Inn’s profits are increasing, perhaps proving claims by Camra that pubs that give the public what they want can still prosper in a recession.

David said: “We have trebled the turnover in three years and that is from the support of local trade. “Everybody who had the inn for the past 30 years concentrated on visitors and you can end up with a theme pub. What makes it fun is local trade and locals will only come if the food and beer is really good and that makes it a good pub.

“We have pool, darts and poker, a jazz band called the Heddon Valley Stumblers, a folk night, a pudding club.” And with all the excellent ale, music, games — and scenery — you might think the Hunters Inn could not sound any more perfect.

Well it can: the pub is open 365 days a year and if you do make the effort to visit — by car, bicycle or foot — you are promised a friendly welcome from a committed landlord who is unlikely to boot you out into the rain when the clock hits 11pm.

From the North Devon Journal.

Blaze at historic pub

By Kathryn Smith, North Devon Journal

A MAJOR fire at the historic Hoops Inn at Horns Cross has destroyed part of the 13th century pub.

But owners Dee and Gerry Goodwin say they plan to re-open for business on Monday.

There were 101 firefighters from across three counties fighting the blaze on Monday night.

Chimney sparks had been spotted by a passer by and combined with the high winds, set the thatch alight.

Dee said: “We are absolutely devastated. This is not just our business, it is our home. It may take a while, but we plan for it to be even better.” Gerry added: “Words cannot describe it.”

A handful of guests and staff were evacuated when the fire started around 5pm on Monday. No one was hurt and Gerry said the fire drill worked perfectly. He added: “Devon and Somerset Fire and Rescue Service did a wonderful, awe inspiring, mind blowing job. I have never seen anything like it. They were so professional, and so organised.

“We had spent a lot of the winter refurbishing and spent a lot of money on the pub, particularly in the room that was destroyed. But our basic plan is to open the restaurant and bars and 80% of the bedrooms on Monday.”

Between 40 to 50 bookings had to be cancelled on Tuesday morning, and guests due to stay Monday night had been transferred elsewhere. Gerry said: “We have had amazing support from the guests, staff and neighbours.”

The couple have owned the Hoops Inn, which is listed in the 2009 Michelin Guide to Eating Out in Pubs, for the past five years.

Fourteen fire engines from Devon, Somerset and Cornwall were at the scene, including foam units from Exmouth and Porlock which use a specialist technique to fight thatch fires. It was exactly three months ago that many of those crews were fighting to save the thatched George Hotel in Hatherleigh which was destroyed in a blaze two days before Christmas.

Bideford group commander Pete Newman was leading the Hoops Inn operation. He said: “When we arrived there was a well-developed fire in the thatched roof about a quarter of the way down the roof. We created a fire break halfway down and worked back towards the burning thatch to prevent it spreading. There were also crews inside and we managed to limit the fire damage to 25% of the roof.

“We also managed to move most of the contents out of the rooms to prevent further damage and some valuable furniture was saved.

“About 50% of the main thatched area was untouched, as was most of the pub downstairs. “We were cutting through the thatch, pulling it down and dropping it on the main road or to the back of the building which is quite labour intensive work.”

Mr Newman added: “I was very pleased with the way the operation went. The crews worked very well together and there was good liaison with other services. The initial actions of the fire break saved the rest of the building and thatch.”

While crews battled the Hoops Inn blaze, another 15 pumps were sent to a fire at the former Ambrosia factory in Lapford. Although resources in the area were said to be very stretched, it did not impact on the Hoops Inn operation.

The vexed question of ear-splitting pop music in 1970s-style back street boozers once again demands debate

We had a drink first, my good friend J and I, in The Fountain, a refurbished foodie bar in Trinity Street in the centre of Barnstaple.

We've both got a baby son a piece so we're always at the brittle-sighed point of terrible nervous exhaustion whenever we meet for a pint.

You could store bar snacks, cashew nuts perhaps, in the deep folds under our child-ruined eyeballs. You could hang us upside down by our ankles from a tower block, firing bales of flaming straw at us from medieval catapults, and we would take the opportunity to sleep in our stirrups, not soil in our cords, like cowards.

In fact, we're a bit like swimmers, as, I think, a lot of good-hearted pub fanatics are; like North Devon sea-plungers, we need to ease in to the passtime, to let the sheer saltwater move over our heads and wash away the work, the crying, the dancing chariots of gloom, the ever-howling mangy dogs of death, who stalk our every breath...

But so much for the chuckles; we need to let the soothing wooden cradle of the English pub bring us back to the earth frame of our characters - with love, with beauty, with beer. Shame then that the Fountain felt a bit like a three-star hotel lobby.

Yes, the Guinness (which is £3 a pint in most places now, gods help us all), was good enough. Yes, everything was in order. But it was a bar, not a pub, so I shall reserve further comment for our next engagement, which was at the Corner House, a well-known back street boozer in the centre of Barnstaple. The Corner House has pub DNA running through its wood and bricks and glass in genial torrents; it surely grows its customers like a tree makes its limbs.

It was mid-evening on a Saturday and the place was busily turning, but not overcrowded, with people who knew each other, a sure sign of a proper locals alehouse. As we rested our pints of Tribute (good pint, Tribute, and first brewed to celebrate the 1999 solar eclipse) on a lacquered table from the 1970s, I was transported to a semi-mythical era which ended just before I was born. Could I see men with long hair and flared trousers, smoke-billowing faces, chatting up "dolly birds" by the bar? Was that Rod Stewart on the "jukebox"? Were they strike placards by the door?

No. But I could not escape a, possibly delusional on my part, pleasantly anti-fashion Ted Heath-era vibe at the Corner House. Even one of the bar pumps was surely a little plastic block of nostalgia, not a bit of equipment. Full marks to them too for keeping the grand old ceramic urinals in the gents (a sign the pub's history goes beyond the 1970s). You know they don't make wee-holes like that any more, more's the pity. Ahhh, I thought as I relieved myself in the ample porcelain theatre. Ahhh, the nostalgic thought of trips to the outside bogs at the Bridge Inn in Topsham, with the cool night air birds made strange by a bellyful of Devon ale.

The only downer was the absurdly ear-shattering volume of the pop music (Britney Spears anyone?). Pubs are for conversations or solitary contemplation. Extremely loud recorded music is for discotheques, and discotheques are for dancing.

They still have discotheques, right?

The Corner House, Boutport Street, Barnstaple

ADAM'S ALE RATING: 3 out of 5

DRINK THIS: Tribute (4.2%)

My incantation did not work, and I think I know why.

In September 2008, seven months ago, I blogged a rather tongue-in-cheek "incantation", urging you all to go to the North Country Inn, in Barnstaple town centre. It is probably the town's oldest pub and has (still) not been ruined, as far as I can tell, by redevelopment or fashionable decoration. I really wanted this pub to succeed, to become a much-needed beer-drinking gem; the building and interior are superb, and it has a reasonable location.

I really wanted - want - that pub to succeed, because I can see the potential, but my plea was, in hindsight, somewhat misguided and too optimistic. The North Country Inn, which is owned by Enterprise Inns, one of the giant pubcos who are getting a lot of abuse from MPs, landlords and drinkers, has closed and is up for sale. I don't know who is to blame for the pub closing, but I know why I didn't go there after my last visit.

The second-to-last time I visited the North Country, and I was not a regular, I enjoyed some simple but enjoyable pub grub and a decent pint.  The place seemed friendly, if a little bare and devoid of Proper Local atmosphere, but it had, as I say, potential, not least because of its fabulous wooden windowframes. Well that was then.

The last time I visited, what I took to be the manic desperation of a pub fighting the wrong battle for survival was in evidence: the tacky corporate-style posters in display cases on the wall outside the front door, advertising wares as if the pub was a branch of McDonald's not one of North Devon's most historic inns, and the skull-splittingly loud pop music both indicated to me that this place had missed a trick and was doomed. At the bar, things were worse.

A handful of drinkers, most of whom had yet to see their 21st birthday, I guessed, stood with the unrelaxed demeanour of teenagers everywhere, occasionally shouting chunks of "conversation" above the tinny house music; I actually felt a bit sorry for them; it was hardly a carefree vibe. The barmaid was very friendly, but told me there was no real beer, only lager and Guinness. I ordered a pint of the latter, and the poor girl had no idea how to pour it.

I took my badly-poured pint to the unsurprisingly-empty front section of the pub, and hunkered down beneath the occasional teenage shouts and techno. I went in to a damage-limitation reverie and thought of a bustling, but unmaniac, town centre local, with a row of glorious well-kept local ales on offer, a careful and knowledgeable landlord or landlady busy behind the bar, groups of friends enjoying animated conversations at tables, maybe an old man reading the cricket scores at the bar, a game of darts in one corner, a round of cards in another corner, and all among us the unspoken sense that character and community are better friends than corporations and spreadsheets, and the enlivening feeling of useful escape from work and duty.

I drank my pint as quickly as I could and escaped in to the dank night, keeping my remaining beer cash for another day.

I am a passionate pub lover and I say this with no satisfaction: the deadwood in our pub trade is being felled.