Walking parts of the path requires a good fitness level, comfort with climbing up and down rocky paths — and sturdy shoes.
A guidebook to Britain’s South West Coast Path describes it as “just a (very, very) long walk.”
After recently completing a leg of this 600+ mile (more than 1,000 kilometres) national path, I consider this typical British understatement.
My walk from St. Ives to Falmouth (over 90 miles/150 kilometres) involved rocky ascents and descents reminiscent of Mt. Doug/Pkols, several encounters with roaming livestock, and portions so overgrown the path itself was invisible. Hiking poles steadied me on climbs up kneehigh steps and over downhill slippery rocks. But the spectacular coastal scenery with aquamarine water lapping against powdery white sand and tiny centuries-old villages anchoring isolated coves made it all worthwhile.
Unlike the couple in the popular bookThe Salt Pathwho wild camped on their walk, I had pre-booked B and Bs waiting for me each day along with my suitcase that was shipped ahead. Huge Cornish breakfasts fuelled me for most of each day, and with the exception of just a couple of legs, even the tiniest hamlet had a waterfront café serving up tea and cappuccinos, scones and shockingly good baked goods to clientele in muddy boots carrying poles.
My last substantial trip to Britain nearly 50 years ago did not include Cornwall, the country’s western (and southern) most county. Its inhabited history stretches back thousands of years. Along the path, originally created in the early 1800s to assist the British Coast Guard to combat smuggling, this rich history is on full display. I encountered mysterious Neolithic rock circles both beside the trail and inland via roads and a public path. Ghostly ruins of tin mines, the lifeblood of Cornwall for centuries, cling to cliff sides while abandoned chimneys frequently loom over the trail.
I’d done a long distance walk in Scotland a few years ago but the John Muir Way linked trails, canal paths, urban streets and even golf course right of ways for its coast-to-coast length. I wanted to try something that was a continuous path with more open spaces. With the help of a tour company, I arranged accommodation to match my aim of between 11 and 17 kilometres a day. It ranged from a twin bed in a small room with my (private) bathroom down the hall to a spacious, thoroughly modern room with en suite under the eaves of a historic hotel.
A Coast Path experience is extremely dependent on the fickle Cornish weather. May is supposed to be its driest month and I was blessed with clear skies for the first five days. But with little shelter on the mainly exposed trail, sunscreen and a hat (which a persistent wind frequently blew off) offered little protection. When clouds rolled in for a few days, I was grateful.
Cattle make frequent appearances along, and on, the path and walkers are advised to give them a wide berth —especially if calves are present. During my first encounter, a small herd was laying on the path. I circled around them and barely drew a glance. On another occasion, emerging from a stretch of tall hedging, I was confronted by a small herd staring curiously at me. Again, I skirted around them but when I turned for a farewell glance I found the entire group had followed me. My yelp sent them skittering backwards and I hot-footed it to the other side of the field.
The guidebook described my initial leg between St. Ives and Zennor as one of the toughest on the entire trail due to frequent climbs and “rocky sections.” It was a good introduction to what lay ahead as big rocks lay across the trail and formed uneven natural staircases making ascents and descents slow for a senior hiker with poor balance, even with poles. Despite the dry weather, the trail occasionally turned into a stream making me wonder about walking it in the rain.
Zennor was a short walk inland. Apart from a few homes and farms, it’s home to 12th century St. Senara Church (containing the carved, Medieval “Mermaid Chair” commemorating a local parishioner lured away by the siren song of a mermaid in the nearby cove) and Tinner’s Arms, a 13th century pub. Its courtyard is a popular destination for walkers and day trippers.
While travelling mainly in solitude across the headlands, it’s easy to feel far from civilization but Zennor is just a short car or bus ride from St. Ives.
Among those sharing a pint and a picnic table with me were a couple from Maine, one of whom had studied cougar habitat on Vancouver Island in the 70s. Finding connections when you least expect them is one of the joys of trail walking.
While Zennor was probably the smallest stop along the walk, coastal Cadgwith wasn’t much bigger with its pocket-sized harbour and colourful fishing boats. Its commercial core is a pub/inn over 300 years old, an adjacent café serving up crab from the fisherman across the road and an ice cream shop. The latter are pretty ubiquitous along the path. If a beach has road access, it will have a café or food truck offering ice cream (the Moomaid of Zennor is a popular local brand). The Cornish love their ice cream almost as much as they love their dogs which go everywhere with their owners, including pubs.
In those unfortunate places where the local pub has closed, B and B operators offered either cooked dinners (in Porthallow) or Cornish pasties from the warming oven (in Porthcurno). These pasties are full meals with a braided, curved crust to serve as a handle — a leftover from the times when a pasty was a portable miner’s meal with a savoury filling at one end and a sweet one in the other.
Meal-size pasties weren’t the only attraction at Portcurno. It has a lovely beach and the carved-out-of-a-cliff Minack Theatre is just a steep, rocky staircase climb away from the cove.
But this tiny valley was once the hub of world-wide communications and its incongruously but aptly named Museum of Global Communications explains why. The cove was the landing point for the first international telegraph cable connecting Britain to India in 1870 and, suddenly, the delivery of messages was cut from weeks to minutes.
Competition loomed when Guglielmo Marconi sent a morse code message to North America in 1902 from above the cliffs of nearby Poldhu Cove (also along the path).
Eventually the two technologies merged, creating the Cable and Wireless Limited in 1934. By the Second World War, Porthcurno was a vital hub for Allied communications with 14 cables coming ashore. To make the operation less vulnerable to attack, workers tunnelled into a cliff and moved all operations underground. Following the war, Cable and Wireless trained engineers from all over the world and maintained a college in the Porthcurno valley until 1993.
The excellent museum occupies this former institution and visitors can also tour the underground bunker and don a hard hat to access its 120-step emergency escape stairwell chopped through solid granite. Even after a day of sometimes strenuous walking, climbing regular size stairs with a railing seemed a cinch.
Remnants of the Second World War are elsewhere along the trail. Walkers can take short spur trails to explore old gun turrets and along my final walk into Falmouth the path passed by Trebah Beach where American troops assembled for the D-Day landing.
I intended to walk my entire route but with a couple of days to go the wind hit with such force it was impossible to stand up going over a stile. Even on level ground it was difficult to maintain my balance. I detoured inland before rejoining the path under calmer conditions but with a muddier and slipperier trail.
Walking into Coverack at 2 pm with five miles to go until my next stop with rain threatening, I decided there was no shame in calling a cab. The driver, a retired teacher, said quite a few walkers seem to call a cab at this point, advised against walking on the increasingly narrow roads and delivered me to my guest house in Porthallow. Just before delivering me to my guest house in Porthallow, he stopped along the waterfront, climbed up on a bench and waved his phone around to catch a signal before tapping my credit card for the fare. While all the accommodations had wi-fi, signals can be more elusive along the trail.
I did walk the final two easier legs and felt quite triumphant strolling into Falmouth after one last encounter with curious cows standing on the trail and an almost abrupt transition from farmland to the port city’s waterfront condos and hotels.
Walking portions of the South West Coast Path does require a good fitness level and comfort with climbing up and down rocky paths but no specialized equipment — apart from sturdy shoes (waterproof is best!) and hiking poles (although not all walkers use them) — is required. If the weather turns or fatigue hits, many of the Coast Path villages (or ones within walking distance) are served by local buses but service can be infrequent.
With over 1,000 kilometres to explore, walkers can choose their area and select from multiple companies that plan itineraries. Or you can be like the couple inThe Salt Pathand head out on your own. Just be wary of the cows.
•There are many companies offering self-guided walking tours along the Coast Path. Some have set itineraries, some can customize. A quick internet search offers up multiple options, including the one I used, Encounter Walking Holidays..
•Travelling to Cornwall by train is easy. Many of the larger towns along the path have direct routes from London. Some require a short transfer on a spur line to reach towns like St. Ives.
• Accommodation in many of the smaller towns is very limited. Advance booking is advised. Usually the larger centres are the only destinations offering hotel-like accommodation but all the places I booked were clean, friendly, and served up excellent breakfasts.
• Be prepared for all kinds of weather. I carried rain gear no matter what the forecast.
• British pubs and restaurants all offer vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free options. Even the smallest B and Bs were able to accommodate menu preferences if alerted in advance.