Sue and I are answering the siren call of the Southwest Coast Path for the fifth time. This walk, from Padstow to St. Ives in Cornwall, will put us just over half of the 630 mile total distance. And our merry band continues to grow: we’re joined this time by the three-time veterans Cindy and Gary H., the two-time veterans Patti and David B., and the path rookies Pravan and Rory W.!
After some alarming news out of Newark airport (antiquated equipment, far too few air traffic controllers), we switched from our usual morning flight on United to a night flight out of JFK aboard Virgin Atlantic.
A series of trains brought us to JFK, and we’re now at the gate ready to board.
We could easily become fans of Virgin Atlantic. Yesterday evening, we had dinner and a glass of wine at the American Express lounge, and after a moment of regret at scheduling a flight so late in the night (departure was 11:30 PM), we were soon aboard our flight to London. By using a few miles, we had spent less on premium economy seats than we had on economy seats with United. And I have to say that the seats were exceptionally comfortable for me. No seat actually fits my wife, unfortunately.
We both managed to sleep a bit more than four hours, and were awakened to a decent breakfast. Heathrow remains Heathrow, and we ended up walking huge distances from the gate to border control and then to the Heathrow Express, but Border Control itself is absolutely painless with a quick passport and photo scan and you’re through.
Our hotel, the Prince Akatoki, occupies a number of townhouses in northern Mayfair.
The hotel feels very Japanese the moment you step through the door: simple and elegant with a very accommodating staff.
Our room wasn’t ready so we popped into a French cafe around the corner for a coffee and a very small bite and then walk through southern Marleybone. It was a gorgeous late spring day in London. The streets here are full of shops that manage to be quaint and expensive at the same time. Here is a ladies haberdashery.
The area has many private gardens in squares; we were able to sneak into the lovely gardens at Portman Square.
During our stroll we stumbled on a rather ornate arched entrance to a church.
You know us: can’t just walk by an interesting-looking church. And it turns out that St. James Spanish Place is interesting indeed, and especially for its history. For centuries after the reformation, Catholic worship was forbidden in England; communicants could worship only in chapels attached to embassies from Catholic lands. The Spanish embassy was located on Spanish Place, a cul-de-sac off George Street in Marylebone, and a chapel was built in 1791. Behind the unassuming entry portal is an impressive Neo-gothic church.
The walk then took us past the Wallace Collection, which we visited when we lived in Bayswater, and on to the tangle of little alleyways in southern Marylebone.
By the time we returned to the hotel, our room was ready, and we were ready for a nap! After a restorative ninety minute snooze, we took a long walk down Regent Street and into Piccadilly.
We were very disappointed to find that Hatchards, the UK’s oldest bookseller, was closed for a special event, so we were unable to watch Ariel’s novel Bad Nature fly off the shelves.
After a dip into Fortnum & Mason to restock some tea lovers of our acquaintance, we headed for our early table at Noble Rot, a restaurant recommended by our foodie nephew Peter and his wife Courtney; it has a great wine list and, it turns out, superb food.
We were tucked into the lovely window table at the upper right of this photo.
We shared the Mangalitza and Foie Gras Pate en Croute accompanied by a lovely English sparkling wine from Dorset (Lanchester Estate). We then had the sea bass for two, really one of the best fish dishes we’ve ever had. The restaurant’s wine list is extraordinary, but the best thing is the selection of wines by the glass. I had a tasting portion of a 2023 Keller Kirchspiel grand cru from Rheinhessen; it was interesting to taste this infant wine now, but its future is all ahead of it. Sue, on the other hand, had a fully mature and absolutely beautiful 2010 Saint-Joseph Blanc “Les Oliviers” by Gonon. We finished with an apricot tart accompanied by a 2010 Fritz Haag Brauneberger Juffer “Sonnenuhr” Auslese. The staff couldn’t have been better: friendly, knowledgeable, wonderful.
When we returned to our room, we found a delightful Japanese surprise: yakutas for each of us, which took us back to our stay at a Ryokan in Takayama, Japan with our friends Connie and Vladimir B.
As our friend Tun Tun Ko used to say when asked how it was going as he led a dozen bewildered Americans through the permanent culture shock that is Burma: “so far, so good!”
After a quick croissant and coffee at our local French cafe, we headed for the District Line, which brought us to the little train station a couple of blocks from the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. This would be our fourth visit over the years, but there is always something new: the place is enormous.
We started by strolling between one of the ponds and the Palm House.
The Palm House is not just impressive, but important in the history of architecture. It was built by architect Decius Burton and the iron maker Richard Turner between 1844 and 1848; it was the first large-scale structural use of cast iron and glass. It predates the Crystal Palace built in 1851 for the Great Exhibition, which is usually credited with being the first important glass and iron structure. (Author’s note: some of the detail here is cribbed from the post on our previous visit, in 2022)
Here is the pond.
Kew’s Rose Garden is extraordinary.
It sits just behind the Palm House.
While Sue was picking roses to emulate in her garden, I took in an interesting installation a few meters away. The tree below is the ancient Lucombe Oak, first noted in 1760. The screen beside it is a collaboration between a team of botanists and an artist’s collective; it is a digital representation of the inner life of the tree through the seasons.
Next was a walk along the borders on the Great Broad Path; they contain 300 varieties and more than 30,000 plants. Sue was especially happy here, since she is rather suspicious of extra color in a graden, and these b0rders are all shades of green. We were constantly reminded of the labor required by a garden as large and complex as this one.
Lunch consisted of some fabulous ice cream from Hackney Gelato sold just outside the Orangerie.
We had never visited Kew Palace, the smallest of the royal palaces. Built in 1631, it is best known as the summer residence of George III (1738-1820) and Queen Charlotte (1744-1818). In case you’ve forgotten, George was quite a guy. His reign spanned the French and American Revolutions and the Napoleonic Wars, and took in the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution. Despite, or perhaps because of, his lifelong struggles with mental illness, he and Charlotte had fifteen children, with three of them going on to succeed him as monarch.
The Queen’s Garden behind the Palace is a lovely example of a formal garden.
We had a long talk with the family in the foreground, Londoners originally from Jamaica. Their son, probably about 11, was an inexhaustible compendium on the royal palaces and the royals in general. I told him that he could make lots of money as a tour guide!
The gardens also include this gazebo on a magnificent mount of roses.
Some families seem to spend the entire day on the vast lawns; they share it with the many flights that take off and land from Heathrow.
We then walked along the riverside path through the Oak Collection; who knew there were so many varieties? The path ends at the Syon Overview, which looks across the River Thames to Syon House, the west London residence of the Dukes of Northumberland. It was designed and built by Robert Adam in 1760. Here you see it with ducks in the foreground. The wags among you might infer my relative respect for the aristocracy and for wildlife by the scale of the two objects.
The path then led down through a similarly varied Pine Collection before joining the Boathouse Walk which runs along the lake in this end of the gardens.
In preparation for the cliffwalking to come, we strode purposefully up the 170 steps to the Treetop Walkway, which leads the visitor in a broad circle above the…treetops.
The views really are very fine, and especially those down onto the Temperate House, another work by Decius Burton and Richard Turner.
The house contains specimens from just about every continent; the interior is lush and very warm!
Back in London, we did a bit of shopping for the grandchildren before returning to the hotel for a bit of pre-dinner recovery.
The whole crew met at one of our favorite gastropubs, The Pig and Butcher in Islington.
Here’s the merry band, gathered together for the first time.
In chronological order, I met David B. in 1963 and his wife Patti in college; I met Rory W. in 1968 and his wife Pravan when they were married in 1974;and we’ve known Cindy and Gary H. since 1987, when our daughters attended elementary school together. There’s another common bond, though: they’ve all been to Burma with us!
It was a joyous evening, and the food and drink kept things happy. We shared lots of vegetable starters (OK, and a couple of Scotch Eggs too. Most of the table ordered Halibut, which Sue described as wonderful. David and I shared a trencherman’s portion of Hogget. For those of you who, like us, are not devotees of British gastronomy, a hogged is a sheep aged between one to two years. Opting for hogget means the sheep have had the time to mature at pasture, and it shows, as the meat has a greater depth of flavour. Vegetarians, brace yourselves:
We rode a red bus home with Cindy and Gary, well fortified for our trip to Cornwall.
We met the crew at Paddington and were soon aboard our train bound for Cornwall.
Six of us were in a clump around two tables, with conversation flowing back and forth…until we all took a snooze. We were at our destination, Bodmin Parkway, in less than four hours. The bus service to Padstow didn’t coordinate particularly well with the train, so we hired a van that packed all eight of us in. This would become a principle mode of transport for us: we found eight-person vans up and down the coast.
Our lodging for the night was at The Old Custom House, an inn right on the harbor. During our walks in Cornwall, we’ve stayed at a number of inns owned by the St Austell Brewery, and they’re reliably attractive and comfortable.
We have a lovely, light filled corner room with views out onto Padstow Harbor and Padstow’s massive estuary.
Window One:
Window Two:
After getting settled a bit we gathered in the really atmospheric pub for a half pint before setting off on a preliminary reconnaissance of our route tomorrow. I believe it was here that Gary first ordered a Cornish cider…and his choice took hold!
The views out over the estuary are lovely. There is very considerable tidal variance, making it tricky for walkers on the Coast Path coming from the north. There is a ferry at low and at high tide, but the former isn’t reliable, and some walkers add several miles to their day by walking right around.
For a small town, Padstow was very lively today; it was a school holiday in England, and the town was pretty full. We poked our noses into a few shops and the little bookseller who didn’t, to our astonishment, have copies of Bad Nature. They did have signed copies of The Salt Path, though. Surprise, surprise.
Diner was at the Jetty, the restaurant of the Harbour Hotel, a rather grand edifice that sits on a bluff above the town.
Dinner was excellent; most of us had stone bass; Sue and I shared a duck and squid chili salad to start and sticky toffee pudding to end. There’s always a slight nervousness before we actually start walking, and tonight was no exception!
Padstow to Harlyn Bay, 8 miles, Saturday, May 31, 2025
After a cooked breakfast (mercifully enough, The Old Custom House serves half of the full English, although they call it a “child’s English”), here’s the whole crew ready to take on the path.
The path was crowded with walkers: a few long distance types, but lots of day walkers and especially dog walkers. At least there were more people than we were used to seeing. The path leaves Padstow at this cross, a memorial to the fallen in World War I.
As the path rose and fell along the Camel Estuary that leads to Padstow, we passed the Doom Bar, a massive sand bank that crosses the entire bay at low tide. The Doom Bar has been the ruin of countless ships…and given its name to the best-known lager in these parts. The tide was in, so we couldn’t see the bar today.
We were soon walking behind Harbour Cove, the first of several magnificent beaches along the path today.
The horticulturalists among us were absolutely delighted: we seemed to be walking at the height of wildflower season.
Just beyond the beach is the tiny settlement at Hawkers Cove, with holiday cottages to die for!
There was a nice tea room just off the path, but our full stomachs resisted the temptation, and we climbed on past.
The path then led on to Stepper Point at the head of the long Camel Estuary that we had been following.
As we turned around Stepper Point, the Daymark Tower, a navigational aid built in 1830, came into view.
The wind off the sea had really picked up, and we either tied down or took off our hats. From the tower, we could see back down the other side of the point all the way to Padstow.
After the climb up to the tower, we enjoyed mile after mile of sensational cliffwalking, with broad panoramas of verdant fields, dramatic cliffs, and gorgeous coves.
The ancient farm walls are a never-ending source of wonder.
We passed by enormous fields of barley.
Did I mention that fully half the group belonged to “Team Spyder,” which means they purchased a significant proportion of their outdoor clothing at Costco?
We passed by a number of ancient farmsteads as we walked.
After a good bit of walking along these fields, we came to a farm gate with a particularly complex lock. We wished that we had a really good builder like Nathaniel along, but were very glad to have an Expedition Engineer, and, after a few fails, Gary had it unlocked. Rory was the caboose at this point and I said, jokingly, let’s close the gate and see if Rory can get through. At which point Pravan, his loving wife, marched back to the gate and locked it. With this result:
Luckily, Patti had the chance to confirm her well-deserved reputation as a cow whisperer; we passed through this herd without so much as a moo.
And Sue and I got to demonstrate the proper technique at a kissing gate.
During the entire day, there was only one steep descent into a creekbed followed by a sharp rise back onto the clifftops. We hardly knew we were on the Southwest Coast Path! But all good things have to come to an end.
As we descended, we met a lovely family that ran a nearby farm, and Patti and I stopped for a long chat. They’re tenant farmers, with 200 ewes, 100 head of cattle, and 50 hogs. And oh yes, two border collies (and a terrier), which is why we stopped to talk. We think Viv and Iggles would have loved the dogs.
As we approached Trevone Beach, we encountered some dramatic scenery.
And some happy hikers!
As we descended toward Trevone, we found an enormous hole. An entire field had collapsed above a sea cave.
At the edge of the hole, which had precipitous drops to the bottom, we found this enigmatic but no less melancholy memorial.
And here is Trevone Beach itself.
David had jackrabbited ahead, but the seven laggards stopped for something restorative at a beach cafe.
We were now close to our goal. The path brought us through a few more fields above a rocky coast.
We soon emerged above Harlyn Beach…extraordinary even for an Arizonan indifferent to beaches.
The full extent of this enormous beach will be revealed below. Meanwhile, we made our way up through some stunning vacation homes above the beach and on to our very swish hotel for the next two nights, The Pig at Harlyn Bay.
The hotel occupies the manor house of the Hellyar family; the building that now houses The Pig at Harlyn Bay was built in the fifteenth century. It has been remodeled and occupied by different families over the centuries, with some elements dating back to the medieval, Jacobean, and Georgian periods. The current owners have done a terrific job of maintaining the rustic character of the property. It has a lovely terrace that gives onto a sloping lawn with chairs and tables.
Beyond the lawn is an extensive kitchen garden.
Our room was in the second story of an outbuilding; it had fieldstone walls and ancient beams: tons of character. After getting settled, Pravan, Rory, Sue, and I walked back down to the beach. This little video conveys some sense of the vast extent of the fine golden sand. We could really imagine Alex racing along the sand in pursuit of something elusive!
And here are two friends contemplating the infinite.
We headed back to the hotel, where we had drinks on the terrace with Cindy and Gary. Gary and I are becoming decided fans of the light, dry ciders from Cornwall. He had apple and I had pear…wonderfully refreshing after a day on the path.
Dinner went from joyous to raucous when Gary and David, aided here and there by Patti, launched into a series of traditional Irish songs. The food was awfully good, and we drank well because the wine list was very fairly priced: a Bourgogne Blanc from Jean-Claude Boisset and an Etna Rosso from one of my favorite produces, I Custodi. Here are the ghostly remains of our meal.
Harlyn Bay to Mowgan Porth, 12.13 miles, Sunday, June 1, 2025
Not to pull any punches: this was probably the most spectacular coastline we’ve walked in our more than 300 miles along the coast path.
As we left Harlyn Bay, the skies were grey and the wind was fierce. But Harlyn Bay was still gorgeous.
Hats tied below your chin weather!
We were walking up the southern side of the bay, heading for Trevose Head. The tide was in, and the great beach was a fraction of its former self.
As we started out around Trevose Head, we saw the lifeboat station that had been moved from Padstow because of its more reliable availability in crisis: dangerous work for brave men.
This is just a small preview of the remarkable coastline to come.
The path ran through some lovely fields bordered by old stone walls.
You soon come to a narrow neck with the sea on both sides: the path leads right around Trevose Head and then back to a place no more than 10 minutes from where you’re standing.
No shortcuts for us! We headed onward toward Trevose Head and soon its lighthouse came into view. As we learned, it can be seen from many miles up and down the coast.
From the head the path descends gently, passing through an abandoned quarry, to the great twinned beaches of Booby’s Bay and Constantine Bay.
It is at this point that the walk became really interesting. The very high winds, with gusts around 40 MPH, was whipping the sea into a frenzy around the rocky coast.
As we turned toward the twinned bays, the sea was in full fury.
We had a lovely walk along the beaches, watching the kite surfers.
Pravan captured the real action!
This shot looks back on the two beaches, giving a good sense of their length. You can just see the lighthouse and Trevose Head in the far distance.
As we left the beach, we saw an absolutely idyllic cottage.
The path now rose onto the low cliffs, treating us to easy walking and spectacular views of the rugged coast. The path wound crazily in and out as we strode above a succession of coves: Warren, Pepper and Fox.
Here I am approaching the Minnow Islands.
And here are the islands themselves.
Cove after cove provided dramatic viewing.
All too soon we found ourselves descending into the tiny village of Porthcothan. We were making very good time with the moderately easy walking: more than two miles an hour, even with frequent photo stops.
We sought refuge on a picnic table provided by the Porthcothan stores.
We all had a coffee, while some of us indulged in the luscious Cornish ice cream: I had rhubarb / clotted cream. We were soon rising back onto the cliffs. We were continually amazed at the sheer number of incredible beaches on this coastline. Porthcothan has a very long beach that is protected by headlands on either side.
We rose onto Park Head, one of the very few National Trust properties through which we had passed. This is the view looking back up the coast from Park Head.
Passing Park Head, we got our first view of the Bedruthan Steps, the most famous feature of this stretch of coastline. The steps are seastacks and small islands arranged in a memorable pattern. The name Bedruthan Steps is said to be taken from a mythological giant called Bedruthan, who used the rocks (stacks) on the beach as stepping stones, and seems to be a late-19th-century invention for Victorian tourists.
And here are a couple of views as we passed above them. Each of the stacks has a name and from north to south they are Queen Bess, Samaritan Island, Redcove Island, Pendarves Island, and Carnewas Island.
After this steep climb–really the only one of the entire walk–we enjoyed more cliffwalking as we rounded Terrance Point.
The little village of Mowgan Porth soon came into view, and we descended steeply on a series of sandy stairs, an insult to weary knees! The slopes above the lovely beach are studded with stunning modernist homes, including one belonging to the TV chef Rick Stein’s late father.
This was yet another enormous beach with what David estimated at a 7 foot tidal variation. Our taxi van was picking us up at The Merrymoor Inn, and we settled in for a cold drink to wait. We had so far avoided the rain that had been forecast, but we sat down on the terrace with our drinks, the heavens opened and we scurried inside. We had a very pleasant conversation with a man, born in Edinburgh but now situated in the Midlands, and his son.
After the usual terrifying ride on the tiny Cornish roads, we landed back at The Pig. David shared some more photos of this really unusual joint.
After a quick cleanup, it was on to dinner at the hotel’s second dining space, the Lobster Shed. A lovely facility in a field with open sides and roof, it has a less formal menu. We ate lots of fish (including a starter of Montalbano’s favorite, red mullet) and celebrated our continued existence by sharing a magnum of English bubbly.
Mawgan Porth to Newquay, 8 miles, Monday, June 2, 2025
Note to my readers: I’ve gotten some comments on the color variation between images. These pages contain images from four generations of iPhone sensors and lenses and my little Leica crop-sensor camera; some are jpegs and some are RAW images; and they’re processed in both Apple photos and Adobe Lightroom. By the time WordPress imports them into the blog, it’s anybody’s guess as to how they’ll look!
Now on to the walking. Breakfast at Driftwood Spars deserves a comment, if only for their wonderful bacon! Our van driver from the first day, Paulo, picked us up at 9:00 AM and dropped us back in Mowgan Porth, and we launched up the very sharp climb back onto the cliffs, passing by the mouth of the bay that leads to the beach.
We were soon able to see most of today’s walk. That’s Newquay on the far right; Finstral Beach, our actual destination, is hidden behind a headland.
This stretch of cliff, called Bre Pen, is owned by the National Trust.
The view back beyond Mawgan Porth gives a sense of how many headlands we had crossed.
We were soon looking across Beacon Cove at the next headland, Griffin Point.
The path leads far back inland, rounding Beacon Cove, before walking along the cliffs to Griffin Point itself. The locals had thoughtfully provided some sheep for local color.
We then walked up, sometimes steeply, to climb the cliffs above Watergate Bay.
Watergate Bay itself is stunning. We were watching it at high tide, which hid most of the beach.
Looking down at the start of the bay from Stem Point, the surf was fierce.
The fun couldn’t last forever, though. As we walked along, we saw the first signs of the rather dense resort development near Newquay.
Hidden from view in a deep cleft in the picture above is the settlement of Watergate Bay, with several hotels, beach bars, and restaurants. The great beaches on Cornwall’s north coast come at a cost: fewer quaint fishing villages, more development.
The path rises above the bay, gradually, to the top of the cliffs again, with fine views back along Watergate Bay.
Looking south from the clifftop, we got a very good sense of what was to come. Newquay and its suburbs occupy a stunning site, with cliffs and headlands like those we had been walking on. But the sprawl came as a shock.
Which brings us to our title: Cornwall Old and New.
The cliffs began to peter out, and we were soon on a sidewalk snaking down a hill amid resort hotels to the beach at the suburb of Porth. Nice beach…teeming with people. We did note one curiosity, however.
This was either the shortest man in Cornwall or…?
The path remained tarmac as we ascended into some residential areas. There was one last beach spread out below us with the peculiar name of Lusty Glaze.
The remainder of the walk was forgettable: right down Newquay’s High Street with chain shops mixed with tourist shops. It did allow us to purchase tooth paste, though!
Our hotel lay in an area far to the west of the center. Fistral Beach is reputed to be the best surfing beach in the UK, with fifteen foot waves in the winter. The geography is interesting; Fistral Beach sits between two pincers of a peninsula. Fistral Beach runs up the “vertical” pincer toward a narrow headland. The “horizontal’ pincer is bounded on the south by the Gannel River (which we will have to ferry across in two days time). And our hotel, the Fistral Beach, occupies a position right at the end of the beach, with marvelous views of the waves and surfers.
The hotel itself is modern and rather characterless (at least compared to The Pig, which had oozed character), but extremely comfortable.
Our room is nice, but its main pleasure is the view out the window onto the beach.
We walked on a sand path above Fistral Beach toward our dinner reservation at a restaurant called RenMor, which sits inside an enormous red brick grand hotel at the end of the headland.
This is the view back down the beach toward our hotel.
The restaurant is modern and very pleasant. And the food is innovative; there is clearly an actual chef at work. I had a bracing wild garlic soup with a crispy cod cheek on the side to start; Rory had a beautiful spring vegetable salad.
Pravan had a remarkable gurnard (a meaty fish not unlike moonfish) bouillabaise, while several people had sea bass bourgignone; the one disappointment was a lack of cheese in the kitchen: they had a port and stilton “affogato” on the menu, with stilton ice cream and a shot of ruby port! But our treacle tarte made up for it!
This was the best meal on the walk so far, and we waddled home above the beach well contented.
We’re doing something we’ve never done on these walks: not walking! We aren’t quite halfway, but Newquay seemed best suited to a day of lolling about.
I wrote that this morning in anticipation of a day of lolling about. Which of course turned out otherwise.
While three of the women did an hour of yoga–memories of the same crew doing Tai Chi on the sidewalk in front of our hotel in Mandalay came immediately to mind– the men plus Sue walked across our peninsula to the lovely Fern Pit Cafe.
We were joined by what google tells us is a Eurasion Jackdaw.
The cafe sits high above the gorge-like valley through which the Gannel River runs to the sea.
I had read that the village of Crantock, which sits high above the river on the other bank, was a lovely traditional Cornish village. It was off the path, so we decided to have a look-see today. We had a nice cup of coffee on the terrace waiting for the yoga aficionados to join us. Reunited, we hopped down the steep pathway to the river, where the ferryman was waiting to take us across. Here’s the path.
Once across the river, we crossed the dunes to a car park and lane that led up to the village itself. The vegetation in this sheltered spot is jungle-like.
What remarkable cottages these were!
I suppose “cat on a hot thatched roof” just doesn’t have the same ring.
As we approached the center of the village, we found this:
Apart from its roundness, the garden really wasn’t much. But it did make for a nice backdrop.
It takes all kinds on a trip like this.
The village center is, predictably, several pubs. We looked longingly at this one as we passed by toward the village’s cultural attraction.
Saint Carantock, the village church, was founded in the fifth century as a Celtic oratory by Saint Carantock himself. The present church dates from Norman times; it is mentioned in the Domesday Book (1086).
The church has been much rebuilt over the centuries, but has retained its original shape. It underwent a very extensive interior renovation in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, replacing much of the woodwork and all of the windows. This font dates from the 12th century.
The rood screen is early twentieth century.
The churchyard is full of interest as well, starting with this medieval sarcophagus.
Behind the church, under a gabled roof supported by granite columns, is Crantock’s seventeenth century stocks, and a vivid account of their last use.
The entrance to the parish close is wonderful as well. As the parishioner enters, she sees this (not sure whether feminine pronouns are still allowed in America, but I’m an old fashioned guy):
For those like me deprived of a proper education in Latin, the lintel reads “”My people shall dwell in the beauty of peace and in a wealthy place,” a citation from the Book of Isaiah in the Hebrew Scriptures.
On leaving, the parishioner sees this:
It reads “My beloved has gone down into his garden to the bed of spices” from the Song of Solomon. So you get money coming in and sex coming out. Not bad.
So who can resist a wonderful pub twice? We couldn’t. The BLT’s were almost as good as the Cold River Cider, rapidly becoming our favorite.
And somebody obviously liked their soup.
Is there an eatery or drinkery on earth as wonderful as an old English pub?
Thus fortified, we took the long way home, walking out onto the Coast Path and along the dunes before returning to the beach. Leisurely days call for leisurely conversations.
The tide was out, so we were able to sample the other means of crossing the river: the low tide bridge.
Once we had labored up the stairs to the cafe, we decided to walk along the Coast Path all the way around the Pentire Headland. This is a view over Crantock Beach and the mouth of the Gannel River.
And now the tidal patterns, enhanced by cloud formations.
And a rare (for these pages at least) portrait of your author.
David caught this lovely image of children at surf school.
The headland rises sharply at its end, with sweeping views from its top. Here they come up the hill!
Hail the conquering heroes…or at least the two without their noses in their phones (she can probably be forgiven, since she was dealing with an urgent refugee issue).
This photo shows the headlands we had traversed in the last two days–if you blow it up, you will see the lighthouse on Trevose Head at the very far left. We walked around that lighthouse nearly twenty miles ago.
Dinner was a terrific place called The Fish House just down the hill from the Headland Hotel where we had eaten last night. Tiny, very simple (the interior looks something like someone’s idea of a crab shack), and warmly welcoming, the restaurant also gave us a memorable meal. The mussel and “hotshell” (mussels, clams, crab legs, tiger prawns, and scallops in a chile and garlic broth) appetizers were superb. Several people had mackerel, sea bass, or hake; David had an Indian Fish Curry while Gary and I had a Sri Lankan tiger prawn curry. Patti had Cod Tempura with a lime / chile dip.
Pravan got a kick out of three couples sharing sundaes like teenagers at a soda shop and made a little photo essay out of it.
And this is what Mike looks like when his wife eats too much of his sundae with Sticky Toffee Ice Cream, Sticky Toffee Sauce, meringue, and clotted cream.
So wow, that was a long blog post! So much for lolling about. I should change the title to “Rest” Day. We walked over seven miles. All but the Energizer Bunny, of course. Sue walked an extra two and a half so she could see the harbor!
Newquay to St. Agnes, 14 miles, Wednesday, June 4, 2025
To wit: I saw my first skylark above Perran Sands!
We started our day by crossing the low tide bridge over the Gannel once again.
We were soon walking through the dunes above Crantock Beach.
The path from here to Pentire Point West is a famous wildflower area; the hillsides are ablaze with red poppies and cornflowers. It is a National Trust Property called The Rushy Green.
You can see a vivid gash of poppies up the hill in this picture.
We have had forecasts of rain almost every day, and so far haven’t felt a drop. Rain was forecast this morning, and it had fallen overnight, but the worst we experienced was some cloudiness, as this view back across Crantock Beach shows.
As we rounded the point, we had our first view of the great cove and beach known alternately as Porth Joke and Polly Joke. The legs on this guy, however, are not a joke. We called him Strider.
This beautiful beach is unusually deserted because there is no car park nearby.
Because of the stream entering on the near side of the beach, we needed to walk far up the cove and cross over a little bridge.
And this is looking back down the beach.
As we climbed gradually on the far side toward Kelsey Head, we looked across the cove and saw our first seal. The view back from Kelsey Head wasn’t bad.
This was very pleasant cliffwalking; we were gradually approaching the beach at the hamlet of Holywell.
We were being surveilled as we walked.
We took advantage of the beach cafe at Holywell for a light bite and a few minutes off our feet. It was also a good opportunity to let Patti and David, who had stopped to deal with an urgent email, catch up to us.
Here are three desperados waiting for a train.
As we rose back onto the cliffs above Holywell Bay, we found ourselves walking around a huge British military reservation; we were pretty sure we heard the chattering of machine guns in the distance. This is the view back to Holywell.
You can see the military reservation on the left.
The cliffs at this point were enormously rugged.
We then walked far inland around the head of Hoblyn’s Cove; an isolated farmhouse sits on a promontory above the cove.
As we walked around toward Lugger Point, Sue got a chance to model her Tilley hat.
As we rounded the point, the vast reach of Perran Sands spread out before us; almost two miles long, the beach ends only at Perranporth.
Getting to the beach proved slightly tricky, though. The narrow path ran through a field of sea grasses with a sheer drop-off on the right. Not for anyone with vertigo!
It was actually quite beautiful…if you didn’t look down!
We did make it onto the beach alive.
It was a long old trudge through the sand, somewhat enlivened by the hang glider visible here.
At low tide, you can walk all the way to Perranporth along the strand; today, however, it would have entailed a 40-minute wait. We rose onto the cliffs again, this time in style, since there was an elaborate ramp leading to a car park above the beach. Here is the beach from the top.
After a bit more than ten miles, Perranporth hove into view. They were busy readying the beach for a concert, “Tunes in the Dunes.”
As we approached the Esplanade, we all agreed that a pasty was just the thing. We were directed by several long-term residents to Chapman’s Family Butchers for their award winning pies. And the things were indeed delectable!
I opted to miss the last three miles of the walk. So what follows is yet another guest blog provided by the estimable Mr. David Bradley!
We were energized whilst eating this marvelous Cornish delight. We took brief refuge on a park bench, complete with obligatory sharing with sea gulls & a small but sly tern (I think it was a tern).
Up another hill, past the pretty beach bay filled with walkers, beachgoers, surf school students & and workers setting up for a sizable rock & roll concert. I thought it might be part of the upcoming weekend Cornwall County Fayre—along with sheep judging & blue ribbon pasty competition.
Not for us. The path was for us. We were simply following our gear—transferred to the next hotel: Driftwood Spars. Onward!
Uphill one foot in front of another to find a myriad of pathways through 200 year old abandoned mine shafts and tailings. Very different landscape with multiple options for routes around & through. Somewhat dangerous in places with signage warning of subsidence & deep holes. Pravan & Rory on a low road-Gary, Cindy, Sue, Patti & David up higher picking our way around and through many colored soils and minerals from the tailings.
For us it was a somewhat stark and at the same time interesting landscape–enlivened by the late afternoon guesswork involved in finding the best trail. Per instructions we kept the ocean to our right and moved along as the scenery changed back to more of the ruggedly beautiful Cornwall Coast.
Many of these slopes were steep and reached down to the water—with and without stairs. The last section a mile outside of St Agnes was particularly challenging.
Late in the day every 1/10th of a mile seems so much longer..but that’s a topic for another time!
The trail takes you steeply down to the beach, where you find a couple of options back up (after boulder-hopping around the corner at beach level through a hopefully diminished tide).
Of course the group split, following both options.
Sue led Patti & Cindy up the hill on a safer route. David picked a different slippery slope requiring hands and feet to clamber up. Rory & Pravan followed him and passed him as if he was standing still (because he was standing still trying to catch his breath).
An old story.
We were now about 1/2 mile from the path to Driftwood Spars (thankfully on the north side of town). This last bit was downhill for the most part–around yet another beautiful crescent cove and beach with a surf school. And then we spied it: a craft beer garden populated by the comrade who had deserted us in Perranporth.
Our home away from home for the next two nights is a wonderful pub, The Driftwood Spars.
The Driftwood Spars is in a 17th century building ot immense character. It served over the years as a warehouse for the nearby tin mines and as a ships chandlery and sail makers loft before assuming the unique air of a rural Cornish pub. The old pub is built of Cornish slate and stone and huge ships timbers and spares, from which it gets its name. Behind the bar fireplace a wreckers tunnel runs through the hill to the beach. Can anyone say dog convention?
We had dinner in a wonderful loft on the second floor.
Dinner at st agnes Driftwood Spars
Although we were all starved after a long day, one look at the portions had us skipping starters and desserts. Several of us had gargantuan burgers with mountains of fries; but that wasn’t the biggest plate. That honor went to the fish and chips.
St. Agnes to Portreath, 10.6 miles, Thursday, June 5, 2025
After an excellent breakfast at the Driftwood Spars, we posed for our usual launch photo.
We then set out up a narrow lane toward the clifftops. This is the view looking out over Trevaunance Cove.
We were soon off the lane and ascending steeply to the clifftop.
Once up on the cliffs, the first head in view is Newdown, a National Trust property.
We were walking toward the long piece of coastline littered with abandoned tin and copper mines. These are mine shafts with protective covers.
We were now walking toward the much more formidable St. Agnes Head.
This is the coastline looking back past Trevaunance Cove. As you can see, we started under gray skies, with the occasional squall.
And now we’re looking southwest from St. Agnes Head itself.
As we rounded the rather tiny Tubby’s Head, the first full mining site, Wheal Coates, came into view.
These ghostly sites are deeply impressive.Wheal Coates was primarily a tin mine; it opened in 1802 and was closed in 1889 when the price of tin fell. The shafts ran deep under sea, making mining difficult until the introduction of steam equipment. If you’d like to know more about Cornish mining, there is a fuller account in a blog post from 2018.
Soon after leaving the mine site, we encountered our first challenge of the day: a long, steep, rocky scramble down into a cove known as Chapel Porth. There was no clear path down, and the crew chose several different routes.
At the beach, I took a photo of a potential lifeguard. One of the actual lifeguards from the Royal National Lifeboat Institution suggested Sue might need just a bit more training before joining. The Institution is, as a lifeboat service, more than 200 years old; they absorbed the national lifeguard service about forty years ago.
The path out of the cove is much more civilized than the descent: you walk fairly freely up the cove before turning back for a gradual ascent to the clifftops. Here is Gary nearing the top with Wheal Coates in the background.
Once we’d hauled ourselves up the cliff, we had a short walk to our first port of call, Porthtowan.
The path is extraordinarily inventive in finding ways to irritate the walker, and the descent into Porthtowan complied: the path was essentially a deep trench with vegetation on both sides. And in these parts, vegetation includes nettles and gorse.
Our reward waited down below: the Unicorn on the Beach was an excellent beach cafe.
I can recommend their grilled cheese; and you can ask Rory about the Cornish tacos. Like so many that we had seen, this was a broad, deep, lovely beach.
The mines were now coming thick and fast. We stopped briefly to explore yet another complex at Wheal Tye. Here are a few of the monuments.
Our cliffwalking was soon constrained by a large wife fence to our left, the boundary of a large military installation.
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This mysterious orb on the military reservation is visible for miles up and down the coast. No one we asked knew its purpose.
The fence didn’t detract too much from the marvelous coastal views.
And even the countryside abutting the reservation had some lovely moments.
Our rapid pace on the clifftop was rudely interrupted however, by this cove at Gullyn Rock. It had steps on both sides…and boy, do we hate steps!
As we approached Portreath, our goal for the day, we thought there was clear sailing ahead. Then the ground dropped away abruptly. When I saw this I muttered “Christ!” Rory’s expletive was much more colorful and inappropriate for a family blog.
The descent into Portreath involved a bit of road walking; we were soon along the harbor…which smelled absolutely pestilent.
We had been unable to find lodging in Portreath, so we were heading back to St. Agnes for a second night at the Driftwood Spars. We had been told that there was a bus. And so there was: it ran every two hours and took almost two hours to cover the eight miles we had just walked.
So we called a cab. While we were waiting, a few of the team went into a nearby cafe. And Rory had a cup of “loaded” hot chocolate with a year’s supply of cream and marshmallows.
Our cabbie was an exceptionally nice young woman who had grown up nearby.
When we returned to the Spars, we were joined in the bar by our good friends from Princeton Sandy T. and Hal F. Their group of five had been walking fir two days and then, after our rest day, one day behind us; I had profited in planning our trip from the itinerary they had gotten from a trip planner. It was wonderful to see them and exchange some tales from the path. And as an added bonus, I met their friend Thatcher, after whom one of their sons is named.
Dinner was at a really lovely joint in St. Agnes, The Petersville Inn. The food was terrific; many of us rated it among the best of the trip. And it had a lot of old-time character.
