Sue and I set out on our first walk on the Southwest Coast Path almost six years ago; we walked almost 100 miles around the end of Cornwall, from St. Ives to Coverack…and we thought we would be doing this every year until we had finished all 630 miles of the path.
A few things came between us and our plans: not just the pandemic and the odd health bump (torn achilles tendons are not conducive to long walks), but wonderful things like grandchildren and anniversary celebrations.
We did return to the path in 2022, when we walked the Jurassic Coast with our friends Cindy and Gary H. (we walked from Exmouth to Lulworth Cove on that walk), and again in 2023, when we finished the easternmost portion of the path, from Kimmeridge Bay to South Haven Beach, in part with our friend Andrew D.
So now, in 2024, we’re back at it, with Cindy and Gary again and our friends Patti and David B. (experienced Arizona hikers but path “rookies”). We’ll walk along the eastern coast of Cornwall, from Falmouth to just short of Plymouth.
We’ll do that, that is, if United doesn’t cancel our 8:30 AM flight to London…which they did in November 2023!
Early start to make the day flight: out of the house at 5 AM, car park by six, and in the terminal by 6:30.
We had the best flight on United that we’ve had for a very long time. Comfortable seats, plenty of legroom and, best of all, we arrived a full hour early at Heathrow.
We are at our hotel by 9 PM and were joined in the checkin line by Patti and David. OK, s0 the Hilton London Paddington is a little wierd.
It was once a grand railway hotel, owned by the Great Western Railway. It is now a partially modernized hulk with large, rather awkward rooms. Comfortable enough and convenient, though.
We took the tube to Oxford Circus, and before we knew it we were sitting down for dinner at Dishoom. Braised, lamb, dal, and some naan-we were all well satisfied .
We walked out of the restaurant at about 11:20 PM and decided that it was time for a walk, since the night was still young. We walked to Picadilly Circus , then down Haymarket to Trafalgar Square and then back to Piccadilly for the tube .
Although we’ve had the occasional hiccup with the British rail system in the past, today’s journey was flawless. Our Great Western Railway train was very comfortable, and ran on time thoughout the long journey to Cornwall. We did have to change trains twice, one at Plymouth and again at Truro, but by shortly after 2 PM we were leaving the train in Falmouth.
The high street runs parallel to the large sheltered harbor; Sue and I made a quick stop to make good an act of idiocy on my part. In packing I had taken an old, battered puffy jacket from the closet. It was chilly on the plane and I retrieved the jacket from my travel pack…only to find that I had brought Sue’s jacket and not mine. It was a bit tight.
Buying an insulation layer in summer isn’t a bad idea: the local Mountain Warehouse offered a variety of fleeces at bargain basement prices. You’ll see my elegant 19-pound fleece in some of the pictures to follow.
The Greenbank Hotel is the oldest in Falmouth; it has been welcoming guests since 1785–including, at one point, Florence Nightingale.
This section of the harbor once provided anchorage for the mail packets that sailed between Falmouth and London.
We couldn’t find Patti and David, although they had a 20-minute head start. It turned out that they had taken a scenic route, up a steep hill and then precipitously downward on a flight of steps once they figured that they had gone the wrong way.
There is a nice pub, The Working Boat, attached to the hotel; we sampled some grilled calimari and mackerel pate along with our drinks.
Gary and Cindy had flown overnight from Los Angeles, then had a train delay, but arrived in time to lead us to a drink at the Cornwall Royal Yacht Club just down the hill from our hotel. Gary and Cindy and David and Patti know each other from one of our trips to Burma…where else do you make friends?
We had a table booked across town at a seafood joint, but, out of deference to the sleepless among us, we opted to eat at the hotel…which proved to be a great decision. The view across the harbor spectacular, and we feasted on delicious fish of all kinds, superb mussels, good wine, and even a glass of an excellent Cornish sparkling wine. Pleasant conversation, with lots of catching up.
Falmouth to Portscathow, 8.7 miles, Wednesday, June 12, 2014
We started the day with an excellent breakfast at the hotel; the kitchen is to be recommended!
After a bit of scurrying about to find an ATM, er, Cash Point, and get some water for Sue, we were aboard the ferry across the harbor to Saint Mawes by 9:15. We have many, many pictures of Gary over the years, but very few with a smile. Gary: “Smiling is overrated.” Here he is making up for lost time.
The sheltered harbor is enormous, and reputed to be the second deepest harbor in the world (after Rio de Janeiro).
The ferry to Saint Mawes weaves its way through the millions of dollars worth of sailboats.
Dominating part of the view is a huge Royal Navy training ship.
Around a point lies the lovely village of Saint Mawes, guarded by a fortification constructed by Henry VIII. We think our grandchildren would be thrilled to see a real castle!
After disembarking from the ferry in Saint Mawes, you board a tiny “ferry” for Place; it holds 11 passengers.
Place turns out to be not much of a place: just this mansion called “Place House.”
Just up the hill behind Place House is the lovely old thirteenth century church of St. Anthony in Rosalind,
From the church the path rises onto the cliffs of the Roseland Peninsula, passing this tree which gives you some idea of the force of the prevailing winds in these parts.
As the path hugs the edge of the peninsula, the open sea–or rather the English Channel–gradually comes into view.
The color of the water at many places is simply stunning.
The lighthouse visible at the end of peninsula stands at St. Anthony’s Head. This has always been a treacherous part of the coast, with frequent shipwrecks. Nathaniel and Alex could probably build a pretty good version of this lighthouse!
After the head, we turned east; the cliffs on the peninsula are thick with foxglove.
This was the gentlest day Sue and I had experienced on the path; most of the section consists of gently rolling cliff walking. The cliffs are cut with very few streams (which make for steep descents to sea level and ascents back onto the cliffs); this combe was an exception.
With glorious weather–low sixties but surprisingly warm in the sun–the miles flew by. Here are a couple of happy hikers.
We passed a number of inviting beaches, inviting that is if you have a wetsuit: water temperatures hover around 60•.
A couple of miles from our destination, the village of Portscathow, we met some people doing a short circuit hike; they recommended the Thirstea Co. tearoom, just minutes off the path. A cream tea sounded just right. But none of us had seen David for at least a mile. We called. We texted. We ran ahead, hoping to find him. All to no avail. So no cream tea for us (every walk has a running joke, and ribbing David will be one of ours). On we went.
As we approached Portscathow, the path passed through a number of thick hedgerows.
Portscathow is a tiny, lovely Cornish village…and its pub, the Plume of Feathers, is even nicer.
This is a proper pub, with all of its eighteenth century character intact.
That’s the publican’s enormous Bassett Hound, Walter, blocking the entrance. The boss and his whole crew are exceptional. We’ve never been made to feel so welcome! We had a light lunch and then got cleaned up before our tour of the town…which consisted of a visit to the little grocery store for lunch provisions followed by a stroll down the the beach with Cindy.
The food was really good: most of us had the catch of the day, “stone bass,” a local white fish with firm white flesh; others chowed down on mussels or scampi. As we ate, we were serenaded by a men’s choir singing sea chantys.
Much of the discussion at dinner revolved around tomorrow’s walk; some forecasts are predicting really bad weather, with heavy rain and strong winds. Stay tuned.
Portscathow to Portloe, 9.3 miles; 18 miles so far, Thursday, June 13, 2024
We all survived the toughest day of walking any of us can remember: intermittently driving rain, much of it horizontal, and strong wind, with gusts around 50 miles an hour. Here, as an appetizer, a couple of videos courtesy of Sue.
We got a late start: the Plume of Feathers starts breakfast at 8:30, and it took us a while to ingest the piles of food brought to the table. They mercifully offer a “mini” breakfast, a variation on the “Full Cornish.” The mini “only” has an egg, a rasher of bacon, a sausage, something called Cornish Pudding, which turns out to be sausage made from the hog instead of the sow (who knew there was a difference?), grilled veggies, hash browns, and a huge slab of excellent sourdough toast. The full breakfast doubles that.
When we went to check out, the young woman behind the counter said that the boss had left her a note: “Take good care of the Yanks; they’re great!’
There was wind and light rain as we left the village.
The early part of the walk rolled along above a series of beaches that were being pounded with surf today, and then up onto some low cliffs.
This is Porthbean Beach, with Portscatho in the distance.
Even in this weather, a couple of the beach cafes remained open…with no customers.
We were wet but the wind wasn’t too bad, and the walking easy. As we walked, the views onto Nare Head, our first major goal for the day, began to open up.
Two large hotels came into sight. The first, the Beach Hotel, is abandoned. Once we passed it, the wind began to get considerably stronger. We had initially thought that we would stop for some refreshment–and shelter!–at the next one, the very posh Nare Hotel, but we were afraid that the weather would get even worse throughout the day, so we pushed on.
It was clear that we would need to climb a high ridge, descend into a combe, and then climb steeply before we reached Nare Head; luckily, some hedgerows gave us some shelter from the wind as we ascended toward the first ridge.
A lot of love goes into the making and maintenance of so long a trail.
Here is the path up to Nare Head from the combe.
By the time we rose out of the denser vegetation and onto the field that led to the head, the wind was blowing us all over and sometimes off the path.
Here’s what the crew looked like on the final climb up to the head!
David and Gary went out to the very tip of Nare Head to have a look while the rest of us started down. We were glad to begin the descent since we were in the lee of the summit ridge.
This was beautiful country, even in the wind and the rain. The path runs through an incredible stand of foxglove.
As we descended, the next cliff, Blouth Point came into view.
This was an unusually tough climb–and a remarkable piece of trail making. The trail first descended into a gorgeous combe.
It then rose over a hillock, and descended into a second combe before rising, often steeply, through a dense fern forest. The climb up was steep, only the second time in our 250 miles on the path that we encountered switchbacks.
From the top of Blouth Point the path descends all the way to the rocks at the shore before climbing, less steeply, through the National Trust holding called Broom Parc. Much of this was sheltered walking through thick stands of gorse, but as Patti and David crested the cliff, Patti was afraid she was going to be blown down. The wind was fierce and unrelenting. As the rest of us came up to them, a stile stood in our way, and both Gary and I thought we were going to be blown down from the top of the stile.
We made a good decision to avoid the next cliff, Manare Point. The wind would simply have been too dangerous on an open headland. We headed away from the shore and across a series of fields; sheltered from the worst of the wind, we descended gradually until our next port of call, Portloe, came into view.
We walked into the Lugger Hotel and immediately made the reception area into a lake. Seven hours later, we’re still working on getting our gear dry for tomorrow’s walk.
It had been a challenging, strenuous, but ultimately rewarding day, the kind that lives long in memory. Speaking only for myself, I’d say it was one of the great, exhilarating walks: experiencing nature at its seasonal fiercest and most alien.
We lazed around our very comfortable hotel in the afternoon; David and I switched from beer to whisky in tribute to the conditions. Dinner was excellent, with local mussels, sea bass, and lamb. And even a nice Rheinhessen Riesling Trocken!
Portloe and Mevagissey, 13.2 miles; 31.2 so far, Friday, June 14, 2024
We started what would be a very long day with a very early, but excellent breakfast at the Lugger Hotel. Here’s the team smiling like they didn’t know what they were in for.
We were soon underway, rising onto the cliff that hems in Portloe from the east.
The first three miles of today’s walk were pretty tough. Rather than rise all the way up onto the cliff, the trail presented us with a seemingly endless series of sharp ascents and twisting, rocky descents.
The sea was, as always, spectacular.
The headland on the far right is called Dodman’s Point; it was our first goal, lying a bit more than halfway along our walk. We didn’t know it, but it would become our reference point for most of the rest of the walk, visible from very fr to the north.
Near the end of the roller coaster, the twin villages of East and West Portland come into view.
We chatted with a nice fellow out walking his dog; he assured us that the path smoothed out from here on in, but “of course it still goes up and down.”
And sure enough, we soon found ourselves indulging in some rather pleasant walking.
As we emerged from the woods, Caerhays Castle came into view.
Not really a castle, as it turns out, but rather a castellated country house built for the Trevallion family by the famous Regency architect John Nash (Marble Arch; Regent Street; Buckingham Palace) from 1807-1810. The castle overlooks Porthluney Cove and its beach; a nice beach cafe gave us a chance for a cup of tea after our morning’s walk.
The path then led, pleasantly, through a series of fields and pastures.
Then came our cow trouble. A big herd was blocking the path. Patti took a high road, and one cow took a liking to her and trotted along behind…putting a little pop in Patti’s step. We decided the low road was better, although a large number of young steers kept an eye on us. Viv, Iggy, Nathaniel, Alex, grandma wants you to know that she led the way through the cows!
This is a view back at the country through which we had just passed.
We had a good bit of cliff walking before we reached Dolman’s Point: three big cliffs, each one bounded by wooded stream valleys. Which meant climbing the cliff and descending into the combes. The biggest of these was Greeb Point, visible below.
Patti was just happy to crest another cliff!
Not far below our friendly cows we passed above Hemick Beach.
The path above the beach leading to the right brings the walker to Dodman Point. It was 2:30, and there was some difference of opinion as to how far from Megavissey we actually were. We decided to follow the path straight up the field, cutting off the walk to Dodman Point and saving about a mile. After some field walking, we found ourselves on a small paved road passing just above the Coast Path and heading straight for the lovely village of Gorran Haven.
We entered Gorran Haven along the incredibly steep street called Foxhole Lane. At the bottom we had a choice of ice cream joints.
Clotted cream with fudge chunks was pretty good!
Just as we reached the highest point in Gorran Haven, the skies opened again. We were climbing through fields above Great Perhaver Beach, and at first the rain wasn’t a problem. But as we approached Pabyer Point, the wind suddenly began howling, the temperature dropped precipitously, and the horizontal rain turned to horizontal hail. Gary was actually blown down. We went as fast as we could around the point, hoping to get in the lee. And just as we did the wind and rain let up. Here’s Sue trying to hold her hat on!
We passed three lovely houses on Chapel Point.
From there we made our fairly easy way into Portmellon, a suburb of Mevagissey, across more fields and farm roads. With Portmellon Harbor behind us, we ascended steeply on narrow streets. At the crest, a lovely couple we had chatted with on the path saw us and stopped, reminding us to descend into Megavissey via a narrow park that plunges down the hill. It avoids at least some of a narrow, dangerous road.
Mevagissey is a lovely place. Yes, there are signs of mass tourism here and there, but it remains essentially a Cornish fishing village.
We were staying at The Wheelhouse on the harbor, which offers rooms next to a restaurant. The rooms were tiny, and our gear was soaked again, but we all managed to dry everything out. And all the rooms had beautiful views out onto the harbor and beyond that to the sea.
After the discussions of how long it would take us to get to Megavissey, we had placed a bet. David and Patti were pessimistic, Sue, Gary, and I optimistic. I had said 4:30, Gary 4:45…and Gary won by one minute. But David had lost–badly–and had to buy drinks. We repaired to the extremely atmospheric Fountain Inn, one of the oldest pubs on this part of the coast.
The low ceilings were something of a hazard, but the beer and wine and a bit of whisky were terrific.
We had an excellent dinner, with more sea bass and some great seafood chowder at a place called the Sharkfin, right on the harbor.
The night was interesting. We had all cranked up our radiators, trying to dry shoes, socks, packs, you name it. So in order to sleep, we had to have the windows pretty wide open. Which meant that we were awakened repeatedly by the many gulls that inhabit Megavissey harbor. No one would call the sea gull’s cry a serenade!
Mevagissey to Charlestown, 9.9 miles, 41.1 so far, June 15, 2024
Mevagissey was pretty much shut down in the early morning; we fetched coffee, pastys, and pastries from a little standup bakery and ate them in the drizzle by the harbor. Much better than it sounds! And we finally found a cash machine that accepted furrin’ cards.
After a little trouble finding the way out of town, we rose steeply on quaint streets until we found a (long) series of stairs taking us up onto a cliff.
The miles to the next village, Pentawen, were only moderately difficult: good paths that nonetheless went up and down some pretty large cliffs. Here is a view back to Mevagissey and Portmellon.
Here, too, we made some bovine acquaintances.
We reached what must once have been a lovely little village, Pentawen, but it has been disfigured with an enormous holiday caravan park. We walked alongside the caravans for quite a while, and then made our way through the village itself.
As we rose out of Pentawen onto the first cliff to the east, the fun really started. The views opened all the way to Black Head at the end of this great bay.
This is what the next few miles looked like…and they are the toughest miles we have done yet.
The cliffs you see here aren’t the highest we’ve climbed, but they are some of the narrowest, which means that you have a steep climb up with almost no cliff walking on top, followed by an equally steep descent. It looks something like this:
And this.
Not to say we weren’t having fun.
Or that the landscape wasn’t gorgeous: it was.
The combes that flowed down to the sea between the cliffs were exceptionally beautiful.
But there were five big cliffs between Pentawen and Black Head, the furthest point to the right in the image below.
By the time we reached Black Head, even the fittest among us had had a lot of energy sapped. The views back west were inspiring, though.
The path turned north at a monument to the Cornish poet and historian A.L. Rowse.
As we turned north, we entered the Ropehaven Nature Reserve, with some beautiful walking through dense woodland above the sea. At the end of the reserve, David, ahead of the group as always, followed a path that plunged steeply down toward the water before climbing just as steeply up the hill.
The rest of us missed that particular bundle of thrills as we ascended gradually to a road that we followed for a mile or so. It was horribly narrow–Sue almost had her toes taken off by a passing van.
The path isn’t terribly well marked hereabouts, and we were forced to make a series of guesses as we walked alongside and then across large fields…hoping that the farmer didn’t have a shotgun.
In the far distance you see the large town of St. Austell, and down by the water its suburb Charlestown, our goal for the day.
Charlestown began to seem tantalizingly close to walkers with aching legs.
But the path threw up its usual assortment of diversions. We walked steeply down to Porthpean Beach, seen here in its little cove.
At the end of the seawall to the right are a long series of steps leading up and over yet another cliff. Atop the cliff we found a very long traverse of the headland that lies between Porthpean and Charlestown. There were lovely views, though, of the path we had just walked from Black Head.
And there was some comic relief as well.
The owners called these guys wire haired dachshunds. News to us.
A steep descent brought us to the harbor in Charlestown.
And then to our lodging, the Rashleigh Arms.
We were famished after our exertions, and sat down for a bite right away, joined soon by Patti and David and a bit later by Gary and Cindy. The Rashleigh Arms had recently been named “Best Pub in the UK,” and, while it was OK, it would have come third in the “Best Pub on our Walk” competition.
We had seen a bent-over older gent bussing tables; when he picked up our dishes, I asked him about a peculiar pyramid overlooking St. Austell. He told us it was sand extruded from the drying process as they made china clay…and he told us a very great deal more! He sat down at our table, ordered himself an ale, and began to regale us with stories of his life in the merchant marine, his success as a “semi-professional” singer, dancer, choreographer, and producer, and his love for Cornwall. Peter was an amiable, eccentric, and above all lonely old guy who was tolerated with varying degrees of empathy by the pub staff.
Sue and I made our excuses after 20 minutes of Peter’s monologue and saw our room for the first time. It was in a building just down the hill toward the harbor, and it was lovely, with an old fashioned four poster bed and a lovely view of the length of the harbor.
Dinner was good; a highlight was a steak, beef shin, and ale pie. The service, though, was glacial even for Cornwall. Our young, charming, and highly naive server (“are strawberries white inside in America?”) admitted that the pub had lost half its staff.
Charlestown to Fowey, 12.9 miles, 54 miles so far, Sunday, June 16, 2024
Breakfast service at the Rashleigh Arms was almost as slow as dinner service, but the food was decent.
We were soon climbing out of the harbor; as we crested the hill, we found ourselves walking along a golf course.
The weather was changeable: we found ourselves putting on and taking off our rain gear more than we would have liked.
Just past the golf course lies an enormous china clay plant; and here we see the contradictions of capitalism. I somehow doubt that the golfers work at the factory.
We had a long, flat road walk through the town of Par and around the enormous factory complex.
We finally entered some pleasant woods and a nature preserve along the shore. Par Sands seemed a nice beach, and we stopped at the beach cafe for a cup of tea.
Once past the beach, the path rose gently onto the long peninsula that would take us to Gibben Point. This is the point from early in the walk.
After some easy cliff walking, the path led us down sharply into the little village of Polkerris: little more than some beach amenities and a few houses.
We had a light bite at Sam’s on the Beach (sardines, fish soup, pizza) and watched two young men try to learn how to ride motorized foils (‘flying surfboards’ that allow the rider to ride above the waves).
The path led up sharply from the village.
But we were soon striding along above the sea again, with magnificent views back over the stages we had just walked. Here is a panorama of the great bay that reaches all the way back to Dodman’s Point.
The 1832 seaman’s beacon on Gribben Head soon came into view.
It was painted with these bold red stripes to distinguish Gribben Head from St. Anthony’s (our first day of hiking) and Dodman’s.
David, as we learned later, found a trail that went to the end of the head; the rest of us stayed on the Coast Path which led, at first, down broad lawns toward Fowey.
By this point we had walked more than nine miles; easy, rolling miles, but still a long day. So the last three into Fowey seemed very long. This is the view ahead from below the beacon.
We were finally approaching Fowey when someone told us we “had” to see Catherine’s Castle, a fortification built in the time of Henry VIII to guard this important harbor. Here is the castle and a modern gatekeeper.
There were good views of Fowey from the castle.
And across the harbor lies the village of Polruan, where we will pick up the Coast Path tomorrow after a short ferry ride.
We had seen some really lovely towns and villages–Falmouth, Portscathow, Mevagissey–but Fowey really stands out for its site and the beauty of its architecture.
The shops enticed the women, but we plodded on toward our hotel, The Old Quay House. Which proved to be lovely, with a nice bar and lounge and very comfortable rooms with harbor views.
Dinner was at Sam’s Fowey, which offered a huge array seafood. Sue and I shared a “feast,” with mussels, calamari, shrimp, and sardines. The highlight, though, was Patti’s red mullet in a Thai chili sauce. Exceeded only by the exceptional bread pudding!
Fowey to Talland Bay, 8.9 miles, 62.9 so far, Monday, June 17, 2024
The day started well, with a good breakfast at the hotel (although the hotel staff needed some computer training; our bills were a mess). The little ferry across the harbor to Polruan is charming.
We were lucky to get aboard: capacity is 11 and we were the last to make it. Once in Polruan we walked up the high street, which is for once aptly named: it leads steeply to the top of the hill.
Once back on the path, the initial mile or so was fairly easy, with some cliff walking and moderate climbs. And we had brilliant weather: bright sun, puffy clouds, great visibility.
But this stage is supposed to be the most strenuous on the east coast of Cornwall and we began to see some challenges ahead as we walked.
The path leads past the gorgeous Lantic Bay and its twinned beaches; at the far end comes the first tough climb, up and over Pencarrow Head.
Along about here we stopped to eat lunch; there are no amenities anywhere on this section. Soon after we all sat down, Gary jumped up and began hopping about with considerable animation. We had chosen the perfect lunch spot on top of an anthill. A change of venue allowed us to eat in peace!
Back on the path…
As soon as we began to descend on the eastern side of the head, we found ourselves in a jungle; the path was overgrown with gorse, tall grass, and not a few thistles and nettles.
The very large church of a very small village soon came into view; we met a Dutch couple carrying a four-month old planning to walk to Polruan over these steep paths. We hope they made it!
This is the view of the next two cliffs, with Lanivet Bay below. The first one–West Coombe–wasn’t too bad, since the trail slabbed along the contours below the top (not easy, with many sharp ups and downs, but not too bad!). The hard work began on the second cliff, East Coombe, where the path leads over 170 steps to the top and 60 more steps coming down.
Here we are on West Coombe.
This is the view back as we climbed along West Coombe.
Welcome to East Coombe, Cindy and Gary!
Here I am starting the next climb, with a mere 120 steps; the descent from East Coombe is behind me.
I realize that I’ve emphasized the challenge of walking this section of the path, which does a disservice to the real reward here, the incredible beauty of one of the wildest sections of coast in Cornwall. We walked through huge slopes of wildflowers as the waves roared below. Both Daphne du Maurier (Rebecca) and Kenneth Graham (The Wind in the Willows) lived nearby, walked this coast, and found inspiration from this massive dose of natural grandeur.
Our legs finally got a bit of relief as the path stayed high for a while after the last climb.
But just where you lose sight of the path in the photo above, the path drops away beneath your feet with a precipitous descent followed by an equally sharp ascent. This is Cindy at the top.
Cindy and I descending.
And Patti and Dave watching us struggle up and down.
We have by now walked more than 300 miles on the Southwest Coast Path, and this is by far the most dangerous section we’ve encountered. There is real explosure just to the right of the path, with drops of several hundred feet; and the path itself is treacherous, with dried grass lying downhill, just waiting to take your feet out from under you. Both David and I took tumbles, luckily at spots further from the edge. Not suited for children…or dogs!
Cindy, Gary, and I took a breather just where you see Patti and David above. We all averred that we felt pretty good, all things considered. Then came the last two miles into Polperro, and that good feeling was shattered. The path struggled along the coast, with endless series of rises and drops.
At long last we rounded a bend and found the charming harbor of Polperro below us.
The four knee-afflicted called it a day…or rather, we called a cab. And Sue and Gary carried on to our hotel, which sits on a bluff above Talland Bay. Cindy, Patti, David, and I had a refreshing beer at a terrific pub on the harbor called the Blue Peter, and then met our cab in the upper village.
A few minutes later we were pulling into the drive of the Talland Bay Hotel, a very eccentric but very comfortable country hotel with fabulous gardens running down toward the water.
Reunited, the party indulged in our second favorite activity after walking.
The owner’s taste can best be described as eclectic.
I would describe the decor as Alice in Wonderland meets Africa.
We did have a very nice evening meal and felt well cared for.
Talland Bay, Looe, and Plymouth, 7.5 miles, 70.4 total for the walk. Tuesday June 18, 2024
We went separate ways, briefly, after the typical filling British breakfast. David had injured his leg before the start of the trip, and in typical Gonzo Bradley fashion, he had tried to walk it off…for 70-odd miles. So discretion finally overcame valor, and Patti and David cabbed it to Looe.
The remaining ambulatory patients returned to the path. A very steep grassy path leads from the hotel gardens down to the bay and our oh so familiar trail.
The walk to Looe was pretty short–just over four miles–and exceptionally pleasant. We stopped to chat with a number of walkers, patted their dogs, and cooed at their babies; we were in no hurry!
There were a few sharp climbs, but they were short.
We were in pretty good spirits.
The path rolled along, giving us nice views and remaining kind to our knees.
As we approached Looe, we saw some kayakers far below playing in a rock garden.
Just before reaching Looe we arrived at the village of Hannafore, where we found a wonderful beach cafe and indulged in pastys, chili, pulled pork, and delicious Cornish ice cream.
Looe is divided into two parts by a tidal river that serves as its harbor.
Near the mouth of a river is a peculiar structure they call a banjo pier.
Near the town center, a Victorian bridge joins the two towns.
And once across that bridge, we hopped on a bus bound for Liskeard and a rail connection to Plymouth….and our walk was over!
Or so I thought. It was about a 30 minute walk to our hotel, and Sue, with less than five miles in her legs, wouldn’t think of a public conveyance. So we were treated to the exceptionally unattractive eastern side of Plymouth, little more than a series of parking garages and modern office buildings. There were a few remnants of former times, like the once-grand Duke of Cornwall Hotel.
After a wrong turn or two, we reached our destination, the Moxey Plymouth.
Quant, huh? But it turned out to be just fine: cheap, friendly staff, small but well designed room. We had a drink in the bar, which, in best millennial style, is open 24/7!
We then had the best dinner of the trip at a place called Fletcher’s.
I had found the place because it is listed with Michelin as a “bib gourmand,” good food at fair prices. And the food was far better than merely good: superb duck liver terrine, lamb loin or slow-roasted pork belly, and one of the best desserts in a very long time, a raspberry soufflé with creme anglaise. Wonderful end of hike meal among dear friends and fellow adventurers!
