Can we be pilgrims?

Yes we can, whatever we believe or don't believe.

As long as we're walking or hiking to enrich our lives and hoping for something extra from the journey.

So go to Exmoor, follow the 30 or so miles of the Pilgrim's Trail and you'll be rewarded, I promise.

Tiny Culbone church on the Porlock Pilgrim's Trail. Remote, once a penal colony, once a place where lepers were dumped and abandoned.

Location: Porlock in Exmoor, Somerset, England

Terrain: 29+ miles of coast, moor, valley and woods

Objective: get your guidebook stamped at 9 churches, then choose a pub in Porlock

When our friend invited us on the Porlock Pilgim's Trail we wondered if we were qualified, suitable or even worthy. We needn't have worried. What's needed for this challenge isn't a firm religious faith; it is a pair of stout boots, a supply of yummy picnics and a little fortitude when Exmoor turns windy or wet. Other kinds of faith are required, of course: faith in your route-finding, faith in your knees, faith in the famous oysters of Porlock.

View down the coast to Porlock as you climb up to the moor on the first afternoon

We broke down the walk into three sections over three days: of 9 miles, 9.5 miles and what turned out to be nearly 14 miles. So, in all, we covered around 32 miles. Perhaps we took a wrong turning somewhere.

Starting at St Dubricius in Porlock, you pass the iron church at Porlock Weir, then follow the coast path west, winding through woods, and stopping for lunch at St Bueno's, Culbone, before reaching your first day's end point at Oare.

Porlock Weir. Iron churches like this were flat-packed and delivered by train

The tiny church at Culborne goes back nearly a thousand years. It's in an abandoned village that has a chequered history: once a penal colony for adulterers and bankrupts, later a leper colony and then a prisoner of war camp. Oare has a more romantic tale to tell. If you've read the story of Lorna Dorne, you might recognise it as the place where she was shot at the altar on her wedding day.

Exmoor: bishop purple with heather and (below) giving wide views of the Bristol Channel and Wales

On the second day you climb quickly and begin a mostly church-less trudge across the moor. It is bleak and satisfying, although I guided us into a trackless bog. But we won't dwell on that. Instead, let us discuss how a long walk can be like a pilgrimage.

Why do we go for walks? Many reasons: to pass the time, for exercise, to clear the head, to enjoy the scenery, to talk, to tire out the dog and often, but not always, to get somewhere. It's the getting somewhere which joins us with the mind of the pilgrim. We may not have a religious objective but we still feel the joy of an objective.

There is something to see from a distance, to home in on, a goal, and there is a pattern, a route on a map, a succession of things to spot or note. There are like-minded people to share the experience and chat to and, at the end, the satisfaction of reaching the point we've been aiming at. Each point is magnetic. It draws us in.

The Exmoor churches were little magnets along our route, points to aim for with different stories to tell. They spoke of people who'd lived here over the centuries, by wood, moor and sea, in a sometimes unforgiving landscape and time. These people had left their messages on the gravestones, some amiable and others stern. James Paine at Stoke Pero church was:

Human and gentle, affable and kind

A plain but open, moral, honest mind

Charles Pocock is remembered fondly:

For never could widow weep nor children bend

O'er kinder parent, partner, or true friend.

But Jane Rawle, who died in 1850, has a tough message to deliver:

Farewell my husband and my children dear

Now I am gone don't for me shed a tear

As I am now so must you surely be

Therefore prepare for death and follow me

And in Porlock, Thomas Creech's wife laments:

In love we lived, in peace he died

Life was desired but God denied

Meanwhile at Culbone, where life wasn't easy, what with the lepers and the bankrupts and the prisoners, Mary Bromham's memorial tells us:

O happy change, my God has set me free

From this vain world and all its misery.

Mind you, she did notch up 86 years. Anyway, enough. If you are on a pilgrimage and take a breather in a churchyard, this is the sort of thing you end up reading.

The second day ends and the third day begins at Stoke Pero which has the highest church on Exmoor. The walk from here is a delight, through old woods of oak, across streams and gaining heights with broad vistas stretching to the sea.

We visited Luccombe, ate a picnic in Tivington chapel and sheltered from a deluge in All Saints, Selworthy.

The thatched "chapel of ease" at Tivington was for people who couldn't get to the nearest main church - or, most likely, local bigwigs who couldn't be bothered

Selworthy, a magnet which drew us to shelter from the storm

One more chapel, at Lynch, awaited us then a tired tramp close to the sea and back to St Dubricius in Porlock to complete our pilgrimage. Did I say complete? No, the true finish was with a glass of Exmoor ale and soon after a plate of Porlock oysters, picked that day from the cleansing tank by kind friends and shucked by me.

Porlock pub report:

The Ship or "Top Ship" (Bottom Ship is at Porlock Weir) - old, atmospheric, plenty of dogs

The Castle - nice sofas, friendly

The Royal Oak - tasty food, pool table

Thanks to Charlotte who introduced us to the delights of Porlock, who put us up, and who led us along the Pilgrim's Trail.