Bude to Parson's Cross

We had held a council of war the previous evening. Frank had heard from his taxi driver that the SWCP between Bude and Hartland Quay was a real killer: seven major combes before one had even reached half way, and more after that. Given the challenges of the stretch to Bude this did not appeal!

The weather was a further disincentive to stick to the SWCP. Consistent rain was threatened for the whole day, and was falling as we had breakfast – and that would make the Coast Path even worse. The final clincher was that I remembered that my goal was to get to John O’Groats in two years, and not religiously to follow any particular route.

Bude, v iewed from the Atlantic House Hotel

So a visit to W H Smith provided pencils, an eraser, a highlighter, and to the Mountain Warehouse next door a new and more waterproof anorak. A route was plotted from Bude to what we estimated as the midpoint between Bude and Bideford – a small town in the middle of nowhere called Bradworthy. We set off at a few minutes before 11:00.

Our mapreading skills were soon put to the test – and found lacking. There were two footpaths shown across the North Cornwall Golf Courses shown on the map. The start of the one we should have taken appeared to go through the local Co-op, so we mistakenly took the other one. This finished up in a housing estate, and it took some time, and more effective map-reading, to get back on track. It was then a series of muddy footpaths to get to the point where our course got on to the next OS map, covering the top end of Cornwall and the upper Tamar valley into Devon.  This involved muddy walking down tunnel-like paths of wild garlic and nettles before the country opened up somewhat before we reached the point where we had to cross the A39 – the main road to Bideford, The plan then was to climb up through Budge Farm to a footpath which apparently crossed the Ivyleaf golf course.

There we were met by an elderly lady who offered to help. She was pretty sure that there was an access point to a footpath at the top of the field, but would check with her son, who appeared just then as if on cue. She had obviously failed to pass on the gene for good manners: he was gruff and unpleasant. No, we could not go that way; no, there was no access to a footpath whatever the map said; besides, his neighbour over the hill had shown other walkers on a “ministry map” that there was no footpath anyway. His mother had, she said, lived there for 50 years, but wasn’t prepared either to say that there was a path, or to argue with her son. So after meeting the rudest man in Cornwall it was back down to the A39, and a mile-long detour with an extra 100m of climbing.

Soon after rejoining the A39 at the top of the track past the golf course we came across a farm shop. Frank had a “10 out of 10” local pasty, but acknowledged that it was 10 out of 10 only as a pasty, and that pasties as a class of food rated only 5 out of 10, if that. A mile later it was Kilkhampton and a ginger beer shandy and nuts for me – much more satisfactory.

 Country residents jostling for our attention

After lunch there was the only substantial length of footpath for the whole day. Muddy, of course, and once again we lost our way. Waymarking footpaths seems optional in this part of the world.  So we found ourselves in a field full of young cattle, all of whom started following us like the pied piper of Hamelin. We only escaped them by climbing over electric fences (for which walking poles are very useful) and making off with some alacrity. They were merely curious, I’m sure, but 60 or 70 beasts with the nearest but inches away can be somewhat unnerving.

After this it was only a mile or so to the bottom of the Tamar Valley, where we crossed into Devon. This was only the second county on the walk: thus far it had all been in Cornwall. I thought of this only a couple of hundred metres later – and 20 metres higher – and realised that I should have taken a photo. But going back felt a step too far.

Me, and our destination for the day - with exciting locxal options

The remainder of the afternoon was spent on minor roads, first to Bradworthy, and then for a couple of miles beyond to Parson’s Cross, little more than a house and a signpost, where the “Gnome Reserve” was the only significant destination indicated. Here we had arranged to be picked up by taxi to take us to the Hartland Quay Hotel, where I had arranged for us to stay when the plan was to follow the SWCP throughout. I found most of our cross country trip rather disappointing from the scenery point of view, and the taxi trip didn’t improve matters, as I could only look downwards from an elevated seat.

Hartland Quay itself is spectacular. There’s a long drop down from the nearest village, Stoke, and fantastic rock formations everywhere around the hotel. But it’s easy to see that it’s very demanding walking, so we were pleased to have made the inland diversion.

Joy of joy – my excellent room featured a bath! Frank was less fortunate, as he had only a shower, so I let him have first turn in my bath. (This may seem generous, but meant that I wasn’t time-limited, so there was some self-interest in my offer!) Whisky, before and after the bath, and a meal of pate and excellent moules.

Rain at first, but then just overcast. Some drizzle towards the end of the day, but not enough to require waterproofs. 28.6km. 600m ascent, r07m descent. Easy – but muddy, impossible to avoid roads, and navigation sometimes difficult.

Boscastle to Bude

Up early to see that it’s a glorious day with a perfect blue sky. An excellent breakfast to compensate for last evening’s lack of a meal, and on my way by 8:30. I have two hours to reach the meeting point with Frank Brierley.

 My new travelling companion ...

Jack has warned me off the initial bit of the Coast Path around the headland south of the village, and pointed out the alternative of a path leading inland with lookouts over Boscastle, followed by a number of fields before rejoining the Coast path after it turns back inland around the bay to the North. The path is lovely, solid with wildflowers and fluted with birdsong. And the whole ascent is so gentle as to be almost unnoticeable. Minor gradients don’t count! This is what happens if you get used to climbing down into and up from the combes that characterise so much of the SWCP.

I arrived at the meeting point agreed with Frank only fifteen minutes late than intended. Brian Rowson had driven him there from Bideford, where Frank had stayed with the Rowsons the previous night. Their route had paralleled the Coast, so Frank had a fair idea of what lay ahead.

... faced immediately with High Cliff - the highest point on the SWCP

Which to start with was High Cliff – the highest point in Cornwall on the SWCP at 223m – over 700ft. It’s made worse by the fact that one has to descend into a valley before tackling the steps – 176 of them – and the slopes between them and at the top. But the view is thoroughly rewarding, and the rest and refreshment at the summit are well deserved. We can now see people labouring up the long haul from Crackington Haven, and it’s out un to feel ahead of the game. That morning I had encountered only a couple of fit young solitary walkers walking South; now they began to be more numerous.

The descent towards Crackington Haven is a long, gentle one, which is just as well after previous exertions. It is at this stage that we notice that the numerous swallows are all flying North. This is visible migration, and over the rest of the afternoon we see several hundred if not thousands of birds. I had seen the same phenomenon in Spurn in Yorkshire in 2011, where the swallows were flying inland after the long North Sea crossing, which must be similar in distance to the crossing from Brittany to Western Cornwall.

But the view from High Cliff is magnificent ...

However it is not all easy, as there are a couple more combes with descents and climbs before Crackington Haven itself. There we had ginger beer shandies and sandwiches, a recharge of my i-Phone, and refills of water bottles. Plus more sunscreen – it was now vey warm and bright. Then it was back on the path, with the next way-point, Millook, advertised as 4¼ miles distant. 4¼ tough miles, as it turns out. After climbing up from Crackington Haven there were several sharp descents and climbs to regain altitiude. The coastal vegetation is different here – lots of small, wind-blown shrubs and stunted trees, with open pasture at the top of the cliffs. Fewer wildflowers than further West, and different species, though there are primroses and violets everywhere. Disappointingly there were none of the tiny blue star-shaped flowers I had wanted to show Frank. (I subsequently discovered that these are spring squill, restricted to coastal clifftops in the far West.

... even though there's still this sort of thing to come.

After Millook there were two more combes to cross before reaching Widemouth Bay. This is a two-mile stretch of sand, with occasional rocks, and an extensive dune system behind. There are small seaside shacks, caravans, surfing gear hire shops. Not attractive in comparison with the remote beaches we had passed earlier, but obviously popular. It was a surprisingly muddy stretch across the top of shallow cliffs to start with, followed by sandy tracks through the dunes.

It was here that Frank decided that he had had enough at 13 miles or so, so peeled off to a local pub to organise a taxi. I continued along the Coast Pat5h for a further two and a half miles, where I turned inland for Bude itself. I arrived at the Atlantic House about 45 minutes after Frank, only to find that he had been obliged to move room because the loo in the first had overflowed.

 A remedial bath with whisky to hand was followed by dinner at the nearby Tandoori restaurant.

Weather glorious – not a cloud in the sky at ant time. 31.4km. 1,298m ascent, 1,280 descent. Very severe.

Port Isaac to Boscastle

I’m now on my own for a day. Richard and Niki have to retrieve their car an be home in Polperro that evening for a prior commitment. They warn me that today’s bit is the most severe on the SWCP – twelve tough miles to Tintagel and then four or five more to Boscastle. Ted at the B&B expresses concern as well, and offers to rescue  me and take me on to Boscastle if I flake out. I brush off their concerns, and am on the way at 8:50.



Richard and Niki say goodbye



It’s a nice easy descent to Port Gaverne (the Eastern boundary of Port Isaac), and tehn there’s an encouraging sign that is 6¼ miles to Trebarwith, after which the going will be easier.  I’ll be there by midday! Even more encouragingly there’s another sign at the top of the hill saying it’s now only 6 miles. And shortly after that there’s one that says it’s just 6 miles to Tintagel! Wonderful – but completely misleading.

In the first place, I think someone moves signs. Or otherwise they must measure only on an approximate basis. Or Cornish miles are longer. It certainly feels that way. It took me nearly five hours to get to Trebarwith.

It’s stunning scenery, with something new to see around every headland. But it’s level only for short bits – and where it is level the path is extremely narrow and vey muddy. I figured that there were nearly a dozen combes before Trebarwith. They’re not always evident on the map, because coastal contours are packed together and not every little runnel of water is significant enough to warrant a little blue line. But they’re real enough on the ground. And this part of the SWCP is less improved than elsewhere – some of the climbs and descents are across broken shale rather than steps or firm rock.

Looking back at Port Isaac

Slow going – but wonderful scenery, and a plethora of wildflowers again. And today it isn’t swifts but wheatears – hundreds of them, all looking very smart and bold, displaying their white rumps as they flit away. Which they always do before I can get out the camera to take a portrait. I’m inclined to think they were migrants refuelling and not summer residents. Perhaps the larger Greenland race; I’ll have to check migration atlases and the like later.

The coast after Trebarwith becomes a lot easier – but not as attractive. The cliffs are lower and more even, and its largely open grassland with people out for short walks or exercising dogs. The church at the beginning of Tintagel – which has been visible for much of the last two days – signifies the beginning of the only wheelchair-friendly bit of the Path, which leads down to Tintagel Head and the ruins of the old monastery. This is King Arthur’s alleged base, and his Great Hall appears on the map. But there’s no obvious sign of it as I go through the village.

A typical combe. Can you count the steps?

Then it’s back down to the Coast Path for the final stretch into Boscastle. It’s more of what I became used to yesterday – constant undulations, little level ground, several streams. One of these is the reason for Rocky Valley, which is perhaps the most attractive of all the combes I see on the SWCP – and actually worth all the steps down and up. It may be only 4½ miles from Tintagel to Boscastle, but it feels more.

As I finally approach Boscastle there’s an area on the clifftop above the village marked with closely spaced parallel lines on the map. It turns out to be a National Trust preserved area of medieval strip farming. At this time of the year they are all newly ploughed, and it’s not evident what crop they will produce. In fact it’s one of the relatively uncommon areas of arable land on this section of the Coast, as it’s almost entirely pasture land behind the path itself.

The final descent into Boscastle is a long decline down the secondary Jordan valley which flows North to meet the main stream – the River Valency, according to the map – in the middle of the village. It was this that caused the flood in August 2004, when a month’s worth of rain fell in a couple of hours, and which demolished a large number of the waterside houses. Helicopters had to rescue people who had climbed up through their roofs to escape the water.

My B&B is on the far side of the harbour, with a wonderful view out to sea. It’s run by Jack and Fay, who have been here since just after the flood. They’re Londoners who have been gradually moving west, and have finished up here. He’s a psychologist, and once worked at the Royal Free hospital in Hampstead and lived in Belsize Park. The buildings are 450 years old, stone built, now divided into five apparently terraced houses with a parallel row of worksheds behind, almost like a London Mews. The B&B – No 5 – spans both rows of buildings.

Boscastle Harbour - My B&B up the track at the top

The buildings were originally used for pressing pilchards for oil and salting them in barrels. It’s a fishery that used to be a mainstay of most Cornish ports. I can remember as a nine-year old when we spent a whole summer in Looe being taken with the school to the local pilchard cannery. They were obviously still catching commercial quantities of pilchards in 1951, but the industry has now completely disappeared.

The tea and generous cake I was provided with on arrival made a return to the village for dinner unnecessary. Surprisingly I find that I’m not hugely hungry despite the energy I’m presumably expending. Let’s hope my weight confirms this at the end of the fortnight!

Weather fair, but still cool. 22.7km. 1,004m ascent, 1,084 descent. Severe.

Padstow to Port Isaac




Padstow all dressed up for May Day

A reasonable night’s sleep, given that May Day celebrations lasted until midnight or so. The bar was being hosed down as we had breakfast. All the furniture was piled up, waiting removal for even busier nights to come – no seats fo drinkers, obviously. It is clear that May Day in Padstow is a major event, and a large proportion of the local population gets a nightly skin full. It seems a pity to miss it, when we are so close to the main date, but the walking schedule was put together without taking such events into account.

Having discovered that my waterproofs were non-compliant with the Trade Descriptions Act, the first thing after an excellent breakfast was to buy a new pair of (hopefully better) waterproof trousers – hopefully a prophylactic rather than necessary. In the hope that today would be showery rather than a repeat of yesterday I stuck with the old ones, keeping the new pair in reserve. Then it was time for the ferry to Rock. It was a boisterous crossing, with wind against tide, and great showers of seawater breaking over the gunwales and smashing into the cabin – and me – before I changed my seating position.



Myself and Niki Dale between Rock and Polzeath

It was still showery when we arrived in Rock, but the intensity soon abated, and we had a pleasant walk with occasional sunshine along the coast path to Polzeath. Dunes to start, and then open grassland. We passed the church where John Betjeman is buried, now disentombed from the sand which had previously engulfed it. The whole way we were buzzed by swifts, with occasional house martins and swallows, obviously feeding up on the St Martin’s flies that were much in evidence. We continued to see swifts throughout the day, often unconcerned about flying within inches of us. New arrivals, presumably, refuelling after their cross-channel journeys.

Hot chocolates in Polzeath, in a local café which initially seemed reluctant to serve us. But it was good – with the added benefit that the ain had let up by the time we left. Then it was a steady climb up to Pentire Point, from which the view is tremendous. And wildflowers in profusion all the way. Carpets of tiny blue star-like flowers, which remind me of gentians, but for which I don’t know the name. Thrift everywhere, absolutely at its best. Patches of bluebells; sea campion; celandine; dandelions; gorse; wild garlic; stunted blackthorn, still in flower; others too numerous to mention, many of which I should know but don’t. I hope that Frank brings a flower book with him so I can fill in some of the gaps. The interesting thing is that the dominant flower changes from one place to another. Is it that the soil conditions are subtly different, or that once one plant becomes established it can dominate a large area?

The next stretch is Noth-facing, leading to a wonderful view over a coastal formation and offshore island called The Rumps. The view from the West is like a rhinoceros with five horns; from the East it’s less impressive. After you turn the corner at The Rumps you can see the next 20-plus miles of coast – all the way to Tintagel. The next two miles are relatively straightforward, with the path mainly about 70m above sea level. Then there is a series of combes (not sure whether that’s the correct Cornish expression, but it’ll do) where steams enter the sea and one has to climb down and up the other side. The last of these is at Port Quin, where there ae a few houses and a newly modernised set of old fish sheds, almost ready to rent for the summer. Here we judge that we’re in good time, and elect to take the Coast Path – “Port Isaac – 3 miles” rather than the inland diversion that’s also on offer.

The Rumps, looking North-East

We soon discover why. This is a really tough stretch. Not an inch of level gound – one’s either climbing or going downhill. It’s not because of steams here (except one towards the end), but because there are huge indentations in the coast where you have to go inland (and up) to make any progress. Richard leads, going twice as fast as us, only waiting at kissing gates for a kiss from Niki. It has to be a genuine kissing gate; it won’t qualify if superficially it looks like a kissing gate but actually has a latch. Niki goes uphill slowly and steadily, for which I am thoroughly grateful, because that’s my way too.

The weather is now quite good, and we finally arrive in Port Isaac just before 6:00 – not too bad, considering that we hadn’t started from Rock until 11:00. It’s a pretty village, Set mainly on a hill between two valleys with drying harbours behind great stone walls.  Richard and Niki thinks rivals Polperro as the top port in Cornwall. It’s not as wooded, but certainly attractive – though the newer houses at the top of the town display the normal lack of architectural merit one comes to expect in Cornwall.

Our destination - Port Isaac

A final (60m) climb from the harbour to our B&B at the top of the hill. Joy of joys – we have baths in both rooms! Although on the whole I’m a shower man, a bath is bliss after a day like this. Most B&Bs have rather puny electric showers, which are no substitute.

Dinner at “The Edge” which it least is nearby. Great views over the sea, if one can ignore the car park immediately in font of the building. Huge portions of indifferent food.

Showers at fist, then sunny intervals. 19.1km in 7 hours. 864m ascent, 811m descent. Mainly moderately severe; severe for last 5km.

Mawgan Porth to Padstow

Any hope that today would not be as bad as forecast was dashed as soon as I looked out of the window. Water dripping from overflowing gutters, wild convulsions by every bit of visible vegetation, birds battling against the gale, and low scudding cloud cover.

The traveller's assemble - before the storm

After a (necessarily) hearty breakfast, it was a question of putting on every bit of available wet weather gear, taking a photograph of posterity, and venturing forth into the gale.

The vey first bit of the coastal path gave a clear foretaste of what was to come. We were in a stream bed, with water cascading down the steps, as we climbed out of the village. Wherever the path was at all worn below its surrounds, it was full of water – flowing downhill against or with us, or in giant puddles on the occasional level bits. No gloves, as it’s Spring, after all – but my hands were stinging with cold within ten minutes. Within twenty I could feel the water in my boots, and in half an hour it became abundantly clear that my waterproofs weren’t.

So it was 4½ hard miles along the Coastal Path to Porthcothan. This is spectacular scenery, particularly around Bedruthan Steps, but its charms were hard to appreciate. Every time I looked up to see how far ahead Richard had walked I could see the vista – but also got a face-full of stinging rain. God knows why I chose to wear glasses – they were rain-spattered throughout the day – but at least they marginally moderated the assault of rain in the face. Perhaps a marginal compensation was that this stretch has only moderate descents and climbs, though there was a slight reduction in the intensity of the weather’s assault at these points.

At Porthcothan the decision was simple. No more of the Coastal Path; just a straight walk along the B3276 all the way to Padstow. If we’d done the whole of the SWCP it would have been the best part of 16 miles; as it was we reduced the stage to 9½. Quite enough! Nothing to note on the road walk – apart from the fact that for long stretches the road was as much a river as a highway. I’ve seldom seen anything like it – certainly not when walking.



At least dinner was as occasion - the Padstein experience



I should have taken photos – or movies – to prove just how atrocious the day was, but my hands were too numb and the camera too deeply pocketed to make it a realistic proposition. Besides, it’d probably have got completely soaked anyway.

We reached Padstow just before 2:00pm after a four-hour stint with no stops. The destination always appealed more than any thought of a temporary respite. There it was a question of climbing out of waterlogged clothes (nothing was dry!), having a long shower, dry clothes, and then a drink and a snack. The afternoon was largely dedicated to recovery and recuperation, but we did venture forth later on. The wind was already moderating, and there were only a few drops of ain by late afternoon. C’est la vie!

We are staying in the Golden Lion – probably the most popular of the many local pubs. It’s been jam-packed all day long, and now the music has started. Mayday in Padstow is a major event, and everyone is getting in the mood. The streets are decorated with maypoles and bunting, and the town is full.

Dinner was at the Rick Stein fish and chip shop. Nothing particularly exceptional, but he has the name and wins the game. Everything is served in smart labelled paper trays or tubs, and they even charge for tartar sauce. Half the restaurants in the town are the Rick Stein this or that, and he has delicatessens, shops, you name it. Padstein, really.

Musings over dinner on projects. What do I do after this trip? Richard has embarked on a project to use the local library in Polperro as a location for briefings on health topics for people “of a certain age”. It appears that it may be gaining traction, and could be rolled out across the county. And we also chatted about how one (Richard, not me) could produce an entertaining book of “Why am I here?” Lots of angles, and one I would love to see him explore more fully.

The weather’s fine this evening, but it’s another dire forecast, with severe weather warnings for Cornwall. Oh well …

Horrible wind and rain; only about 6-8C. 16.0 km (estimated). Tracking did not work; failed to switch on altimeter; estimated 350m ascent and descent.

... on to Week 2

I am approaching the second week with some trepidation. The weather forecast is awful – at least for today and tomorrow, which is the first day of walking. And the third and sixth days will be severe – lots of little blue lines at right angles to the coast, which signify streams – and steep-sided valleys to test the leg muscles.

Resuming where I left off in February

At least today was relatively easy – a drive through the rain down to Tiverton, where I left the car, and a nice easy train ride on to Liskeard, followed by drive back to Mawgan Porth.

An excellent lunch with Chris and Ann Hill, who had just returned from West Wittering in Sussex. It was good to catch up with them after a long gap. They also reported on the Kynge’s villa in Cyprus, to which they went in late March, and which we will be visiting at the end of next month. It sounds idyllic: when we go it should be warm enough to swim. It may well be recuperation from the next two weeks of walking. How exhausted (or not) will I be when I next see Chris in ten days’ time when he joins me in Combe Martin for two demanding days in North Devon and Somerset? I think Chris too is a little apprehensive about those stages, but as a regular long-distance cyclist he’s probably fitter than me.

Well met at Liskeard by Richard and Niki Dale, and then a pleasant country drive to Mawgan Porth. Wonderful wooded road along the River Fowey, and then largely treeless for the remaining few miles. 

The Merrymoor - a very comfortable B&B

Vey nice rooms at the Merrymoor Inn in Mawgan Porth, and a first taste of climbing to get mobile reception higher up in the village. A surprisingly good meal this evening, and excellent company. Richard relates the story of his latest research and published paper on the long distance pilgrimage business in medieval Europe. He’s treating it from an economic slant: although people undertook it in the hope of miracles and indulgences, it was very much a business on the supply side. And the church too made huge sums out of the pilgrims. He’s had all sorts of criticism from historians (many of whom write with a religious emphasis) and expects more. He relishes the controversy.

A last stroll after dinner reveals no sign of the threatened storm. I even saw a hazy moon through thinning clouds. Are the threats unfounded. We shall see on the morrow!

The Next Two Weeks

It's still seven weeks away, but I've now made all the B&B bookings, so I've pretty well committed myself to following the plan as originally laid out. People are warning me about the difficult stretches ...
Richard and Niki Dale are joining me for the first three days of the first week, from Mawgan Porth to Boscastle. I'd still welcome anyone who would like to join me on May 2 (Boscastle to Bude), May 3 (Bude to Hartland Quay), and May 4 (Hartland Quay to Bideford). Then it'll be a couple of days R&R with the Rowsons in Bideford (not too much walking, please!) before setting off for the second spell, which will actually be eight days.
On 4 May Susan will be joining me for the weekend and then on Monday for the flat bit along teh river from Bideford to Barnstaple. She is then travelling back to London on May 8. I'm currently on my own that day on the hilly cross-country bit to Combe Martin, where I'll be joined by Chris Hill, who will be sharing the hard miles between Combe Martin and Lynton, and Lynton and Porlock on May 8th and 9th.
I'd welcome anyone who wants to join me for Porlock to Watchet on 10 May (moderate), Watchet to Combwich on the 11th (largely flat) , and Combwich to Mark (maximum elevation unlikely to be more than 5 feet) on May 12. Ben Lankester is hoping to join me for the last day, which covers the most northerly part of the Somerset levels and a few miles on the Mendips, finishing at Blagdon.
Do let me know if you'd like to join me, particularly on one of the days where nobody else has committed themselves yet.
I'm updating the plan every time there's a change.