21 April 2026

Distance on Coast Path: 14.2km; ascent: 104m

Total distance: 17.6km; ascent: 104m

Walking time: 4h 03′

Total time: 5h 12′

Overnight: Self-catering, Plymouth

It seemed to me that the section of the Coast Path which twists its way along the waterfront through urban Plymouth deserved to be treated differently, so I organised a short visit to complete this and the next section over a couple of days. Thus I set off from my one-room self-catering apartment near Plymouth Hoe carrying a very light rucksack and wearing trainers instead of boots, to walk to the slip where the ferry from Cremyll had dropped me back in October last year.

A little over five hours later, almost at my walk’s end at Mount Batten, my head was full of the contrasts I’d seen, my phone’s photo gallery showing a screenful of pictures I’d taken.

When I finally sat down to write an account of the day I didn’t know how best to do it. To describe everything would need a whole booklet. In fact someone has done just that, and I recommend that anyone who wants to follow the Coast Path through Plymouth should visit the Tourist Office at Sutton Harbour (near the Mayflower Steps) and pick up a free copy of ‘Plymouth’s Waterfront Walkway’, a thirty-page booklet with detailed information on the many interesting things along the way. You can also download it from the link above, but it’s good to have the paper version with you as you go. I wish I’d had it with me on my own walk, but I only found it afterwards! So what follows is a string of impressions in truncated note form of what I came across on the way.

Admiral’s Hard. That’s what the slipway for the ferry is called. Down Cremyll Street – glimpses of the water – a relic of old machinery. Ducking down a side entrance for a view of Royal William Yard. Past a pub called “The V O T” which turns out to be “The Victualling Office Tavern”, a clue to what’s to come. Decrepit garages and storerooms fronting directly onto the street. The dilapidated and faded rear entrance to the Durnford Hotel – is it still operating?

Old and new

Royal William Yard

Through the entrance gate to Royal William Yard. This place is huge! I hadn’t imagined it like this. Solid stone buildings, tall chimneys, fading lettering above doorways. “Bakery”. “Cooperage”. This is how the Royal Navy was kept supplied with food and drink (‘victualled’) in Victorian times. A massive operation. Some buildings converted to fashionable waterside apartments. Evidence of attempts to attract commercial trade – Nando’s, Wagamama – but I’m not convinced.

Cooperage

By a door under an archway, a wooden post with a yellow top and an SWCP waycorn. The headquarters of the SWCP Association. They seem surprised when I walk in to say ‘Hello’. They’ve only just moved in so haven’t got used to drop-in visitors yet. I leave the Yard by the four flights of new stairs cantilevered onto the Yard’s defensive wall.

Through a small park and into Durnford Street which has fine Victorian houses painted in Wedgwood colours, and quotations from Arthur Conan Doyle cast in iron and set into the pavement. At the far end the road is closed even to walkers. The diversion takes me down Stonehouse Street, all single-storey sheds: tool hire, car body shops, car spares, tyres new and part-worn, MoT While-U-Wait, garage door installation. Incongruously, Devon Hair & Beauty Supplies.

Back on the official route looking down at the Brittany Ferries terminal then following the promenades and road beneath West Hoe and The Hoe itself, past the closed and deserted art deco Tinside Lido and the Royal Citadel for a coffee stop close to the Mount Batten ferry pier.

The Barbican and Sutton Harbour, Plymouth’s original harbour. American tourists disappointed with the very low-key Mayflower Steps – pavement plaque, small arch, two flagpoles with Union and US flags.

By Sutton Harbour

Over Sutton Harbour’s lock gates to the National Marine Aquarium. Built in the late 1990s to an unremarkable design on a rather cramped site. Paid entry, so I just look round the shop and find only tourist tat.

A transition point. No more tourists and coach parties but a succession of once-separate localities. Low functional buildings and houses from Victorian times and earlier mixed with modern heavy industry. Breakwater Hill – an old road now blocked to traffic leads from Coxside to Cattedown, emerging at a huge waste processing plant served by big tipper lorries. The road is covered in dust, the pavement blocked or non-existent. A very large ship is being loaded with scrap. Bricked up old warehouses and the backs of newer corrugated buildings. At the end, The Passage House pub looks out of place and not very inviting, though it is open. More car workshops. “Quality Used Cars”.

Coast Path at T R 2

A little further, a modern building which looks like the headquarters of a medium-sized accountancy firm has “T R 2” in solid stone sculpted outside. I later learn it’s the Production and Learning Centre of Plymouth’s Theatre Royal. It’s next to a cement works and opposite the storage tanks of a bulk fuel depot. Past a large scrap metal dealers – “Trade and Public Welcome”, “Cars Motorbikes Small Vans” – I follow a pavement alongside a busy road to traffic lights at the junction with the A379. Turning right the Laira Bridge takes me across the River Plym, here known as Cattewater. Over the bridge another vast shed: “Bridgestone Exhausts Tyres Batteries”.

Crossing the River Plym (Cattewater)

Still on the main road, another dusty and forlorn pub, The Morley Arms. A petrol station. A modern glass-fronted showroom “Plymouth Marine” sells shiny expensive-looking jet-skis and outboard motors. On the other side of the road is a retail park, “Sugar Mill”. I’m now in Oreston, the next old locality. Still on the main road a long breeze-block wall about head-height and with rough, stained grey rendering separates the road from a straight creek with moored boats – Pomphlett Lake. A series of poems with the words cut out of iron strips is fixed to the wall: one laments the wall separating it and the reader from the water beyond.

Turning right across the end of the creek and passing a stone rhinoceros standing in long grass by the side of the path, I turn right again to follow the opposite side of the creek. I can see now that as well as the moored boats Pomphlett Lake is also a boat graveyard. The derelict hulks are not the last ones I’ll see on this visit.

Derelict Hulk

I follow the Coast Path through Oreston, Hooe and Turnchapel, now merged together but each still separately identifiable with its old fishermans’ cottages and one or more pubs. I feel I’m following half-forgotten paths which once ran along quaysides but are now cut off from the water by security fencing and razor wire to protect the expensive yachts in the yards behind. There’s new building too, almost exclusively modern waterside apartments, not ugly or oppressive, just bland: the kind you would see in stock photos in Getty Images.

Finally I approach Mount Batten peninsula. There’s a lot of construction going on here and it’s not obvious where the Path goes. I adopt my most confident demeanour and walk through the expensive boatyards. One, Plymouth Yacht Haven, is an aircraft hangar-sized shed with an open front revealing several large and expensive yachts jacked up undercover like a millionaire’s version of a Kwik-Fit tyre and brake shop.

The jetty for the ferry back to Sutton Harbour is fenced off but the temporary alternative is only another 100 metres along the peninsula. I have time in hand so I walk past the Hotel Mountbatten to the end, then along the wide breakwater which runs about 300 metres out to a small observation tower. The strong wind which has been blowing all day carries me along but I have to fight it on the way back.*

The ferry journey back to Sutton Harbour and The Barbican takes about ten minutes. The small boat weaves a course through moored boats of all types and sizes and past a commercial bunkerage depot which displays the price of marine diesel in the same way as your local petrol station advertises unleaded petrol.

In conclusion, an interesting day and very different from any other day on the Coast Path, varying from the historic to the derelict via the industrial. Notably there has been nothing newly built of any interest. The centre of Plymouth is undergoing a major reconfiguration and redevelopment but none of that reaches the waterfront.

* Mount Batten has an interesting history including its time as RAF Mount Batten and its association with T.E.Lawrence (‘of Arabia’). The ‘Plymouth’s Waterfront Walkway’ booklet has a section about it, and Wikipedia has an article with links to more details.

1 October 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 21.0km; ascent: 297m

Total distance: 22.0km; ascent: 351m

Walking time: 5h 15′

Total time: 6h 59′

Overnight: Copthorne Hotel, Plymouth

I woke in the night around 3.00 and took more paracetamol, then slept until my alarm at 7.15. Sitting tentatively upright on the edge of the bed I took stock; I decided I felt quite a bit better than yesterday though still not 100% well. But I should be able to walk to Plymouth – my last day in Cornwall and the last of this visit.

My B&B hosts Ian and Lorraine had been out when I arrived. In messages we’d exchanged they said I should let myself in, so the first time we met was in the morning. They were very tolerant about me calling out ‘Hello!’ at the bottom of the stairs when there was no sign of breakfast at five past eight – apparently somewhere in the booking details it said that breakfast was at half past.

Ian offered to drive me back to Portwrinkle to pick up the Coast Path. When I was ready to leave I was surprised to find him waiting outside behind the wheel of a rather ancient black taxi. I sat in the back as he drove up the hill to the Finnygook Inn then down another narrow lane towards the coast. We passed the two German women heading the same way. Ian pulled up at the side of the lane with no houses in sight. “Here you are”, he announced, “the footpath’s just here.” I saw a wooden coast path sign leaning at an angle and pointing through the hedge into a field. I thanked him, grabbed my rucksack, and pushed through the hedge into the field behind as he drove away. I’d skipped past Portwrinkle without seeing any of it.

Once up on the low cliffs it was easy going past Whitsand Bay golf club, and I soon arrived at the secure gate at the entrance to the Tregantle Firing Ranges. I wasn’t surprised when the two Germans caught me up there – this time we introduced ourselves: they were Lucy and Edith, Lucy being the one with the better English. None of us had checked beforehand, but no red flags were flying (there was one tied to the gate) and the gate wasn’t padlocked so we were confident we could take the path through the ranges.

I’d seen Tregantle Fort on the map but hadn’t expected such a solid and imposing structure, nor that it was still in use. It was built between 1859 and 1865; according to Wikipedia it “is one of several forts surrounding Plymouth that were built as a result of a decision in Lord Palmerston’s premiership to deter the French from attacking naval bases on the Channel coast” (see here for more). The three of us took photos but I lingered longer and Lucy and Edith left several minutes before me.

Tregantle Fort

Beyond the fort at the edge of the ranges a security gate opens onto a public road. But inside the gate a tempting well-kept gravel path runs parallel to the road, and I followed it downhill. Before long it twisted away from the road then straightened out again, but I sensed something wasn’t quite right. A quick check on my tracker confirmed that if I carried on I’d end up on the beach with no way of continuing, so I turned round looking for a narrow path I’d passed not long before which seemed to head back towards the road – this was confirmed by a dog-walker who was coming down the path as I reached it.

The Path now followed the public road for more than four kilometres, sometimes on the road itself, sometimes alongside. I hoped I might find a coffee stop in Freathy – no luck – or maybe the Whitsand Bay Holiday Park – no luck again, very ‘Private – Keep Out’.

On the sloping cliffs below the road odd single-storey houses were dotted randomly, some seemingly well-built, some no more than shacks. Beyond the holiday park the Coast Path dived off the road into this strange area. The houses were all different, each in its own plot, irregularly spaced and angled though mostly facing in the general direction of the sea. No-one was about: the whole area was deserted, though obviously inhabited. Were they all second homes and holiday lets or were some permanent homes? I couldn’t tell. Until the narrow path widened into a driveable track as it neared the road again, most didn’t seem to have access for vehicles. It was very strange.

Rame Head and St Michael’s chapel (14th C)

The Path met the road at a junction and immediately left it again to follow the coast and the cliffs – still easy going – out to Rame Head, a significant landmark on the Channel coast. Just inland from the path is a car park and a Coast Watch station: although the official Coast Path cuts across the neck of the headland I opted to climb the short distance to the medieval chapel which stands on the cone-shaped point, silhouetted against silver clouds in a mid-day blue sky.

On the way back from the chapel I saw Lucy and Edith leaving on the path. I had wondered why I hadn’t seen them ahead of me on the road earlier, and had an idea what might have happened. They were too far away to greet, and anyway it was now half past twelve and I felt like a rest and something to eat. I would really have liked a coffee too – there had been no opportunity to get one since breakfast.

View back along the coast from Rame Head

St Michael’s Chapel and view towards Plymouth Sound.

It was just after 1 o’clock when I set off again. It’s an easy path, wide enough for groups to walk together, heading first east then north before it reaches the village of Cawsand. But it’s also rather featureless and quickly becomes a dull four-kilometre schlep. A Royal Navy ship silently edged into view from Plymouth Sound; it barely seemed to be moving as it manoeuvred apparently purposelessly in the open water. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that somewhere on that ship there was someone scanning me with sensors sharp enough to read the logo on my sunglasses.

There are two things to note about Cawsand. Getting there signals that you’ve almost reached Plymouth – it’s  on Plymouth Sound rather than the open sea; there’s even a ferry to Plymouth. But even better, it’s the first place with a café since leaving Portwrinkle. The Shop In The Square sold me an americano and a packet of crisps and I sat outside on their tiny terrace to enjoy them.

I wasn’t paying attention when I heard “Hello!”. It was Lucy, who’d just come up the short passage to the shore. She and Edith had taken their coffees down to the harbour; she’d come back for a refill. If I’d like to join them I’d find Edith down there. So we sat chatting in the sun drinking our coffees and sharing crisps, and I confirmed my guess that they too had followed that path from the fort but hadn’t realised the mistake until they got to the beach, where anyway they’d taken a bit of a break – which is how they came to be behind me at Rame Head despite leaving the fort before me.

After a good break, and remembering there was a ferry to catch, we prepared to set off. They went in search of a toilet, I worked my way through the streets of Cawsand and its conjoined twin Kingsand soon to reach a gate marking the entrance to Mount Edgcumbe Country Park. A diversion sign which had been in place for at least two years (it was in the 2023 SWCP guide book) led uphill into mixed woodland. Waymarks disappeared but I kept on a broad track which contoured above a curious circular structure on the sea shore marked on the map as Fort Picklecombe. It looked more like a folly than a fort.

At the point where the diverted path should have turned downhill a newer diversion notice barred the way, a fallen tree apparently blocking the path. I carried on, getting less and less confident about finding the way as the path I was taking forked and other paths led off on either side. There were no waymarks, and I started cursing the Country Park for its lack of consideration. Getting more frustrated by the minute I ended up navigating by map and tracker through a maze of paths and tracks, though of course not every path was shown on the map. At one point I dropped down across an open field to join a driveable track and followed it on a twisting route past signs for the park’s National Camellia Collection. I was definitely not in the mood for that, nor the formal garden, nor the Orangery. I was glad at last to reach the exit gate and walk the last few hundred metres to the ferry quay.

“See you at the ferry”, Lucy, Edith and I had said to each other as we parted in Cawsand, and I was sorry not to see them there. I had a quarter of an hour’s wait for the next ferry at 4.30, but with the problems finding the way through Edgcumbe I realised they could be ahead of me or behind so I never got to say goodbye and wish them well for the rest of their journey. The ferry arrived and I stepped aboard, ending my walk in Cornwall.

Coda: Feeling tired, I got off the ferry, walked up a short bleak road and found a bus stop right by. A bus came along with “City Centre” on its destination sign. I got on. In the centre I walked through building works where Armada Way was being pedestrianised and found my hotel. In the early evening, feeling lightheaded, I went for a disappointing meal in a not-very-Greek Greek restaurant, walked back to the hotel and went to bed. Next morning the short walk to the station felt like a big effort. I slept much of the way on the train, getting home mid-afternoon. By six o’clock I felt really ill – so short of breath I could hardly manage the stairs. It was the start of a cough and cold that lasted more than two weeks. Having cut short two days ago I was lucky that I’d been able to walk the full Portwrinkle – Plymouth section without any trouble.

30 September 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 17.0km; ascent: 417m

Total distance: 18.3km; ascent: 417m

Walking time: 4h 37′

Total time: 6h 22′

Overnight: Sheviock Barton B&B

I woke up soon after 2am with a seriously sore throat. Not just a niggle; one of those “Uh-oh! What am I in for now?” sore throats. Only half awake, I stumbled around to find my paracetamol and water bottle, gulped down two tablets, and thankfully dropped back off to sleep before too long.

My throat was feeling just as bad when I woke with the alarm at 7.10. I was thrown for a moment when I looked out of the window and couldn’t see anything. “What is the matter?” I thought, before I realised it was thick fog outside. I took more paracetamol before going down for breakfast.

With a coffee in front of me I assessed the situation. I didn’t feel great, but on the other hand I didn’t feel so ill that I couldn’t walk. There were several places along the route where I could pick up a bus; none of the bus routes ran the whole way along the coast, but it did give me some options. The first place of any size would be Looe; I reckoned I could make it that far, and depending on time and how I felt I could decide my next options there. And so I left the Crumplehorn Inn at 9.10 and Polperro at 9.30.

With my level of awareness down to about 75% I didn’t take in much of the Coast path from Polperro to Looe, but then the SWCP guidebook doesn’t have much to say about it either. Porthallow and Talland Bay came and went and by 11.00 I had reached the road at Hannafore which leads into the centre of Looe.

There is one thing I do remember however: I had paused at a path junction where a ‘Public Footpath’ sign pointed straight ahead on a clear grass path across a field, and a ‘Coast Path’ sign forked off to the right down to the bottom of the field. Keen to make as little effort as possible I was looking at the map to see if straight ahead was an easier option when two women, fit-looking with walking poles and day rucksacks caught me up. Greetings exchanged, the choice of path discussed, then general chat revealed they were from Germany and were walking the whole of the Coast Path from Minehead to Poole in one visit with accommodation and luggage transport arranged by one of the companies that does that sort of thing. One of them did all the talking, the other obviously spoke little English but smiled and nodded along as her companion translated. I did find out they were staying that night in the Finnygook Inn in Crafthole where I was booked for an evening meal. They chose the official route downhill while I carried straight on. They passed me again before Looe, going at a strong pace as I plodded uphill.

Approaching Looe along Looe River

The Looe River separates West Looe and East Looe, and although not generally known as ‘the Cornish Budapest’, the two sides have slightly different vibes and differentiate themselves enough to have separate coats of arms. Pragmatically, the arms for the complete town combine the two ‘per pale’ (split vertically).

Dragging my feet and in need of a coffee break I walked along the river through West Looe, crossed the bridge (nothing like Budapest’s), turned back down the river through East Looe, bought a coffee and a pastry in Pier One and sat outside to look at the map and consider what to do next. It was about 11.30.

The next two coastal villages were Millendreath and Seaton. The latter was about six and a half kilometres away, but crucially was on the route of the 75 bus which I needed to get to my B&B at the end of the day. Although I didn’t feel great I decided I could walk that far and think again when I got there.

Teabag Bentley

It was 12.15 when I left Looe, soon passing through an area of expensive properties above Plaidy beach. One of them was the home of The Cornish Coffee Company (they sell tea as well).

After a 1 o’clock lunch break at Millendreath I reached Seaton at around 2.15. It’s a nondescript place with an odd row of new detached houses, each different, but looking like they were built of Lego.

I sat on a wall by the beach – sitting seemed a worthwhile thing to be doing. Downderry was only just over two kilometres away first along the sea wall and then the beach (tide permitting). I checked the tide times – the tide was falling. Another two kilometres? OK.

By the time I reached Downderry I’d had enough. My planned destination – Portwrinkle – was only another five kilometres but it was five kilometres too far. I took a footpath from the beach to the coast road, found the bus stop (it had a bench!) and settled down to a long wait for the bus.

I hadn’t been able to find an affordable overnight stay in Portwrinkle (another place I’d never heard of) and to reach my B&B in Sheviock on foot from there would take about an hour. My original plan had been to get the bus to the B&B, walk the kilometre back uphill to the Finnygook Inn at Crafthole for a meal – I’d booked for 7.00 – and walk back down the hill. This now didn’t seem like such a good idea. Instead, I got off the bus at the Finnygook about 5.30 and ordered my meal soon after 6.00. I had seabass, and it was very good!

The two German women I’d met earlier came in for their meal while I was eating; we waved to each other. When I was ready to leave I went over to their table, keeping a safe distance in case I was infectious, and we chatted for a few minutes, parting with “probably see you tomorrow”. It was dusk as I set off down the narrow lane, and within a few minutes it was dark enough to get my torch out. Luckily there wasn’t any traffic. Arriving in the small village without much idea of where to find my overnight stay I was lucky to catch the sign in my torchlight after only a few minutes. It was now 7.45 in the evening; I took paracetamol and went straight to bed.

Updated 7 May 2026

Downderry – Portwrinkle (reversed)

22 April 2026

Distance on Coast Path: 5.1km; ascent: 179m

Total distance: 7.9km; ascent: 179m

Walking time: 1h 47′

Total time: 2h 22′

On a three-day visit to Plymouth I planned to fill in the gap I left last year between Downderry and Portwrinkle when I wasn’t feeling very well (see above). I took the bus from Plymouth city centre which goes on the ferry between Devonport and Torpoint. This should have connected with a second bus to take me to Downderry to continue the walk to Portwrinkle but delays on the ferry service meant I missed the connection. I quickly devised Plan B, which was to stay on the bus I was already on and take it to the nearest point on the stretch of the Coast Path I was aiming for. That point turned out to be a road junction close to Tregantle Fort. From there I could walk west to Portwrinkle – a distance of about 3km – and then continue to Downderry to wait for the bus back to Torpoint. I would walk the missing section in the reverse direction.

Portwrinkle

There’s not much to say about this short section other than to recognise I made a wise decision not to attempt it when I was feeling poorly. It has many more ups and downs than the earlier part of that day: I think I would have given up on what would have been the long slow grind up from Downderry. Otherwise it was Coast Path as usual, with the bonus of fine weather, blue sky, dry paths and tracks and the easterly wind – still strong after the gales of the previous days – blowing me along as I headed west.

Plan accomplished, I settled down to wait at the same bus stop in Downderry where I had waited last time, and like last time the bus appeared only 15 minutes late to take me back to Torpoint and the Plymouth ferry.

29 September 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 21.4km; ascent: 640m

Total distance: 23.3km; ascent: 640m

Walking time: 6h 15”

Total time: 8h 20′

Overnight: The Crumplehorn Inn, Polperro

Self-catering meant I could get off to an early start, so after breakfast of a pot of Instant Porridge I was away by 8 o’clock, heading for Par Sands. The footpath to the coast crosses a road obviously connected to the port and the mineral workings, but it’s an empty road. At the gate either side I found a temporary notice announcing an injunction against some named, presumably local, people forbidding them to access the road beyond the path crossing and any of the surrounding private land. This was peculiar, but more understandable when I realised the road is an unusual private road – a haul road – for hauling china clay from the driers (‘drys’) at Par Docks to Fowey. It was a railway line until 1968 and much of the route runs through a tunnel.

It was a bright, clear and chilly morning with the sun still low in the sky ahead of me as I walked past the holiday development. The sun reflected off the heavy dew on the mown grass at the side of the road; it shone bright silver.

Back on the low cliffs at the far end of the Sands the deep thrum of the dryers at the docks carried across the bay. Only a few people were about, mostly dogwalkers on the sands. A quarter of an hour later I was surprised to drop down into a tiny village I had hardly noticed on the map – Polkerris – which has a pub and a food shack, both still closed this early in the day.

The daymark on Gribbin Head

The west-facing coast was still frequently in shade as I headed towards Gribbin Head, the next significant feature on today’s route. It’s dominated by a brightly-painted red and white tower built as a ‘daymark’ for shipping. I heard voices before I could see the people at the tower. It was a family from Birmingham, Alabama – Mum, Dad and three children whose ages I guessed to be about 7,5 and a few months – who had walked up from a carpark at the end of a road a little further along the coast.

From the tower I took a last look back at St Austell bay, and forwards to “Rame Head off Plymouth” (‘Spanish Ladies’ again). Turning the corner, the Path, now in bright sunshine under a clear sky, sloped easily downhill across fields. I had just reached the gate at the foot of the second field when I heard running footsteps behind. The two older children, boy and girl, came to a halt and announced laughing breathlessly, “We’ve left Mum and Dad behind!”

On the far side of the small bay just ahead the mica in the slabs of the low cliffs reflected the sun like a mirror. I took a photo but it doesn’t capture the effect well. I stopped on Polridmouth beach for a short break.

Looking towards Fowey from below Gribbin Head

Gribbin Head and tower from Polridmouth beach

On the Fowey – Polruan ferry

The whole of the stretch from Gribbin Head to Fowey was splendidly lazy – easy going, mostly open, in clear bright sunshine and a pleasant temperature. I didn’t see much of Fowey as I needed to take the ferry which crosses the River Fowey to Polruan on the opposite bank. I followed the road through the town to the upper ferry landing; the boat was at the quay and passengers were boarding. I joined them and we set off, docking five minutes later at Polruan.

Polruan was much quieter and less commercial than Fowey, with steep streets leading away from the river. I bought a flapjack in a convenience store but didn’t find a café open so I had coffee in The Russell Inn on West Street where although the time was getting near 1 o’clock, for most of the time I was the only customer.

The afternoon’s walk from Polruan to Polperro was much tougher than the morning had been, with the path twisting up and down steep cliffs and thicker vegetation for much of the way. Twice I opted for an ‘haute route’ variant, following a back road for a while which kept to more level higher ground, and again taking the higher ground approaching Polperro. When I could see the sea it was almost flat calm and there was hardly any wind.

Along the way I met two people who paused to chat. The first was a fit-looking young man, possibly in his late twenties, resting by a gate with a large rucksack on the ground. He was heading west. I asked if he was walking the Coast Path. “Yes, and no”, he said. He explained he was walking from Dover to Land’s End – he said he lived in London but just felt he needed to get away and be by the sea. I asked what he would do when he reached Land’s End. He said he didn’t know – he hadn’t decided – and thought he might just keep going along the coast. He didn’t think he could cope with going back to London. I wished him well.

Not long after, another young man, this time I thought in his late teens or early twenties, came towards me wearing a bright yellow top. I smiled and said hello but he walked by without speaking. He was followed a short distance behind by a woman also wearing a yellow top. She did return my greeting and told me the young man was her son who is autistic and non-verbal. He most of all likes to be outside walking so the two of them had come for a holiday. They were staying locally and doing different stretches of the Coast Path each day. Her son was now some way ahead so she hurried after him while I walked on, feeling grateful not to have to cope with the complications of their lives.

Polperro harbour

I reached Polperro around 4.00pm. It’s a small fishing village with narrow streets and a harbour – an attractive place which although popular didn’t seem overwhelmed. I had a brief look around before heading up the only road out of the centre to get to my overnight stay at The Crumplehorn Inn, and old mill and farmhouse converted into a pub and hotel on the edge of the village.

27 September 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 16.5km; ascent: 489m

Total distance: 17.6km; ascent: 489m

Walking time: 5h 12′

Total time: 4h 46′

Overnight: AirBnB, Par

Sunrise

When I pulled back the bedroom curtains at about 7.15 I was delighted with a view of the sunrise, bright orange behind the fronds of a large palm tree. Sadly it didn’t last long (red sky in the morning?) and the rest of the day was dull and grey.

After breakfast I set off steeply downhill on the road into Mevagissey, a large village with a harbour, art galleries and craft shops. It was still early and I wanted to get going so I didn’t explore beyond the centre, though I did buy a flapjack for later.

The morning was a typical Coast Path morning – regular ups and downs, a mixture of cliffs, woods and fields, beaches and coves. I confess I took a shortcut to avoid the headland of Black Head with its rifle range and iron age fort, and pressed on to Porthpean where an inviting bench on a grassy knoll overlooking the beach gave me somewhere to sit and have an early lunch.

The Coast Path continues along a scruffy low sea wall (the SWCP guidebook calls it “the promenade”) at the top of Porthpean beach before taking a recently-built staircase with an ugly handrail of steel tubing to the top of the cliff.

The next place along the coast was Charlestown, which I was keen to reach for several reasons. I’d never heard of it; it had a very different name from the other Cornish harbour villages I’d passed through; I hoped to find somewhere for a coffee; I’d read it was a location for the Poldark TV series (which I’d never watched), and there were sometimes tall ships in the harbour. Descending past an old gun battery I came down to the village to find a row of shops and houses; an empty dock behind closed lock gates; stalls on both sides of the dock quay selling tourist stuff, food and drink; a derelict hulk resting on the mud at the bottom of the dock, and some large brick buildings on the opposite side. But no tall ships.

Derelict hulk in Charlestown dock.

I found a coffee place called “Short & Strong” where I sat inside and read the Wikipedia article about the village. Originally a tiny port where pilchards were processed, a man called Charles Rashleigh (yes, that Charles) developed the port and the village behind for the onward shipping of copper from nearby mines. The Wikipedia article has much more, including the gun battery and tales of embezzlement and bankruptcy.

Once back on the cliffs I came to a recent development of large houses where the path ran on the seaward side of a very expensive-looking fence high enough to stop passers-by seeing into the properties. The fence ran for the best part of a kilometre before the path opened up into a field which in turn led to the start of what might well be the longest and narrowest golf course in the country, Carlyon Bay Golf Club. Only a few hundred metres at its widest, and often much less, the course extends more than 2 kilometres along the coast. The Path follows the seaward edge of the course, sometimes on the course itself, otherwise on the outside of a low hedge. Each return to the course came with a warning sign about the danger from golf balls.

The golf course came to an abrupt end at a small beach called Spit Point. Ahead, large and bulky old buildings marked the entrance to the town of Par; the Path turned sharp left into a narrow tarmac footpath between high mesh fences. The land between the path and the buildings was overgrown; the whole place seemed run-down and semi-derelict although there was also the sound of heavy engines and machinery. Following the enclosed path through several sharp turns, alongside railway tracks and under bridges I eventually emerged onto a road close to the entrance to Par Docks. Although obviously still in use the dock entrance was both forbidding and forlorn: it didn’t need a sign to say “Keep Out! Go away!”

No longer true to its name the Coast Path headed along the road, under another railway bridge and past a pub, then turned right under yet another railway bridge and onto a residential road with houses on both sides. My AirBnB was in a self-contained and comfortable small annexe to one of these houses, so right on the Path.

Rest Day in Par

28 September 2025

Par is a strange place. It doesn’t seem to have a town centre as such, only occasional shops and services dotted intermittently along the residential streets. But there was a Co-op at the end of my street, and a pub – The Welcome Home Inn – almost opposite my AirBnB where I had a good meal the first night (for my second night I microwaved a takeaway from the Co-op).

Par is also a stop on the main Great Western Railway line to Penzance. Why is it there, especially when it’s only a couple of miles further to St Austell? One reason is that it’s where the branch line to Newquay on the north coast begins. But the other reason lies in Par’s history. Those unwelcoming and forbidding great buildings, and the docks themselves, were at one time the centre of the china clay processing and shipping industry and before that, in the early 19th century, copper was big business. The great buildings were where the raw china clay from the mines inland was dried before being shipped out.

Unlike nearby Fowey, [Par] cannot accommodate large ocean-going ships. The harbour is operated by the French mineral extraction company Imerys. Today china clay is piped to the harbour in slurry form; most is dried in large sheds before exporting either from Par or Fowey, the two being linked by a private road. One berth at Par can also load clay slurry into coasting vessels. The harbour also has a rail link that is used to carry away dried clay loaded in rail vans. A major reduction in china clay operations, announced on 4 July 2006, included proposals to close Par to commercial shipping and to close some of the clay dryers. The closures took effect in 2007.

Source: Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Par,_Cornwall

I spent my rest day – Sunday – wandering around Par and failing to catch a bus into St Austell. Par Sands turned out to be one of the less attractive beaches in Cornwall; a beach backed by a flat area of dune grass and scrub with a large holiday development of mobile homes behind. But I did find the small bridge half hidden in the undergrowth at the side of the car park at the far end of the Sands where the Coast Path continues on the next leg eastwards.

26 September 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 18.1km; ascent: 529m

Total distance: 19.0km; ascent: 535m

Walking time: 5h 12′

Total time: 7h 23′

Overnight: Tremarne Hotel

How is it, I wondered, that I’ve known a verse and chorus from the sea shanty “Spanish Ladies” since I was a child? Was it reading all the Arthur Ransome books? But then how would I know the tune? Was it a theme or a signature tune in a radio programme I listened to? I just don’t know. But the verse I know lists the landmarks a sailor would see sailing up the English Channel: “The first land we sighted was called The Dodman | Next Rame Head off Plymouth, Start, Portland and Wight” (it goes on from there). And today — today I would finally visit The Dodman, a name I’ve known all those years!

With the song in my head I left Jen’s B&B and walked back down the hill into Portloe, picking up the Coast Path and climbing steeply onto the cliffs. The SWCP Guide Book isn’t exaggerating when it classes this section as “strenuous”: I certainly found it tough as far as The Dodman. But that was still some way off.

Caerhays Castle

Following the Path as it went in and out, up and down along the cliffs the theme for the day became evident: butterflies, particularly white butterflies. For most of the day one or more would be fluttering along or across the path keeping me company.

The first inhabited place I came to was West Portholland, separated from its sibling East Portholland by half a kilometre’s road walking along a low cliff. Another couple of kilometres brought me to Porthlune Cove, where there’s a car park and a café. The car park is at the entrance to Caerhays Castle, an incongruous battlemented country house built in 1808 on the site of a much earlier manor house. Wikipedia has more about it. The house and gardens were closed for the season but the café was open and doing a fair amount of business with people in cars, one other walker and me. The sun was shining and I sat lazily sipping my coffee.

But Dodman Point was still the best part of an hour away so I eventually got myself going again – through the estate fields away from the castle, a small wood, then more ups and downs along the cliffs before finally approaching the headland on a path across windswept gorse-covered heath.

The cross at Dodman Point

I hadn’t expected anything particularly different about this headland; I didn’t even know at the time that it is the highest headland on the south coast of Cornwall. So the giant granite cross took me by surprise as it came into view. Several people were sitting on the steps of the plinth but they didn’t seem particularly chatty.

Earlier maps show the headland as ‘The Deadman’ or ‘Deadman Point’, and it has been the site of many shipwrecks over the centuries. The cross was erected by the vicar of Caerhays parish and serves both as a Christian monument (there are pious words on a plaque at the base) and a landmark for shipping. This article has what seems to be a fairly authoritative discussion about the name and the cross.

I set off again a little tentatively, but the bleeding didn’t return and I soon forgot about it. Chapel Point came and went, and then there were dog-walkers on the Path as it crossed the final fields towards Portmellon and Mevagissey. The late afternoon drinkers outside The Rising Sun at Portmellon Cove stared in silence as I walked by.

My hotel was on the high ground before Mevagissey so I didn’t see the village this day. The hotel did supply me with a comfortable room, a whole box of complimentary Toffifee, a not complimentary G&T in a comfortable lounge and a good evening meal. I was relieved the next morning to see I hadn’t left any blood on the pillow.

25 September 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 22.7km; ascent: 331m

Total distance: 23.4km; ascent: 375m

Walking time: 5h 52′

Total time: 7h 52′

Overnight: Jen’s B&B, Portloe

Logistics: By train to Truro, route 50 bus to St Mawes, overnight at Ship & Castle.

Place Ferry ready for boarding

To start the next section of the Coast Path I reached St Mawes not by ferry from Falmouth but by bus from Truro – a long roundabout journey through the attractive and isolated Roseland Peninsula. The harbour jetty was a few steps from my overnight hotel: I found the small hut which was the combined office, storeroom and operations centre of the other ferry, the Place ferry (yes, it goes to a place called Place). A notice on the hut confirmed what I’d read earlier, that the first ferry would leave at 9.15 in the morning.

It was sunny and still a bit chilly as I was first to arrive on the quayside at 9.00, but I needn’t have worried about missing the boat: only three other passengers had turned up by the time we were called aboard for the five minute trip to the far side of the Percuil River. I scrambled off the jetty and onto the Coast Path, and started my tracker ready for the day’s walk.

Lighthouse, St Anthony’s Head

The Path goes behind the impressive but very private-looking Place House and passes the church of St Anthony before heading out to the lighthouse on St Anthony’s Head. A kilometre further, and five kilometres into the walk, you have almost closed a loop and are only a few hundred metres from where you started.

The next hour or so was on one of the easiest sections of the Path so far. Open green fields with gentle gradients gave clear views of the coastline and sea. The sun was shining, the air was warming, and there was the lightest of breezes. It occurred to me that this was probably what most of the people who had read “The Salt Path” and who set off enthusiastically from Minehead imagined it would be like before they faced the reality of the rugged and often strenuous Path with its endless series of steep climbs and descents.

Silver light at Porthcurnick Beach

An hour later at Porthcurnick Beach, the far end of Portscatho’s bay, I looked back to take a photo. The early autumn sun was reflected off the sea as it had been all morning, not in a narrow path of sunlight but in a broad sweep of silver. This silver sunlight became a theme of this section of my Coast Path walk and never failed to keep my spirits high.

The second part of the day’s walk was much tougher, with plenty of ups and downs as far as Nare Head, with the off-puttingly named Tregagle’s Hole being particularly vicious. The terrain didn’t get much easier for the rest of the way to Portloe – another small fishing village tucked out of sight until you’re on top of it. A steep descent to the road and a tiring slog up the road on the far side finally got me to my B&B as the light started to fade.

Portloe in early evening light

Jen’s B&B, and Jen herself, were welcoming and friendly. Jen, now widowed, was born in Portloe and had lived there all her life; the fourth generation of her family to live in the village.

As dusk fell I walked back down the hill to The Ship for a meal. The only other option would have been The Lugger, an up-market hotel whose guests who are willing to pay far more for food and accommodation than I am. Jen had warned me that The Ship’s food offer was limited as in less than two weeks’ time it was being closed by the St Austell Brewery: the locals are hoping to keep it going as a Community Pub, and I hope they’re successful. After failing to finish my large portion of fish and chips I trudged back up the hill in the dark and was soon in bed.

12 June 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 15.7km; ascent: 254m

Total distance: 19.1km; ascent: 328m

Walking time: 4h 17′

Total time: 5h 33′

Overnight: Self-catering, Falmouth

Logistics: To start: 35 bus Falmouth – Helford Passage Turn Finish: walk back

The weather forecast was damp and gloomy for my last day of this section, although possibly drier and brighter in the afternoon. It was overcast in Falmouth with moderate drizzle as I had breakfast, and I had visions of pushing my way through soaking undergrowth and getting wet from above and below. It called for Plan B.

Plan B was to spend the morning walking the section of the Path that goes round Falmouth’s Pendennis Point and through the town centre, then get the bus to Helford Passage and walk from there to Falmouth in the afternoon, hoping the weather would have cleared by then.

Falmouth docks

I chose to walk the ‘wrong’ way from the town to Pendennis Point so had the sea on my left for once. The Path goes above Falmouth’s commercial docks, the most industrial experience of the whole Coast Path so far. A cruise ship docked further towards the town centre showed another side of Falmouth which had changed since the last time I was there some twenty years before.

Rounding the Point (no views) I continued as far as Gyllyngvase Beach before heading back into the centre to catch the bus. There was no confusion with the timetable this time, and I was duly dropped at the Helford Passage turn to walk the short kilometre downhill to the Ferryboat Inn and the ferry landing stage.

Immediately after leaving the harbour the Coast Path crosses two popular gardens, first the privately-owned Trebah and then the National Trust’s Glendurgan. Their main entrances are both on the bus route, which explains the surge of people mostly of retirement age who got on my bus yesterday afternoon. Trebah is remembered for its role in the Second World War: the assault on Omaha Beach in Normandy was launched from Polgwidden Beach at the foot of Trebah Garden [Wikipedia]. While the National Trust’s gardens are open down to the beach and can be accessed from the Coast Path (possibly unofficially – I didn’t check), the private trust that runs Trebah has gone to some trouble and expense to keep out hoi polloi with high wooden fences, a wooden staircase and a bridge preventing grimy walkers from getting to the private beach.

Durgan beach (open to the public)

The weather had improved by now and the rest of the walk was a real pleasure. I walked through open fields, along low cliffs mostly on broad non-overgrown paths, sometimes through shady woodland, all with minimum ups and downs. Enough cloud occasionally passed over to form a slight grey mist but it was mostly sunny with light winds. I rounded Rosemullion Head and sat in the sunshine with a cup of tea and a scone at the café on Maenporth beach.

The Beach House, Swanpool

From Maenporth to Swanpool was even easier – a recently upgraded gravel path wide and smooth enough for buggies and wheelchairs with wider tyres. I took a picture of Swanpool’s Beach House restaurant: I have good memories of it from twenty years ago when it was The Three Mackerel. It looked much the same, though I think it’s been extended a bit.

From Swanpool it’s less than a kilometre to Gyllyngvase Beach where I’d finished earlier. I was glad I’d followed Plan B – it had been a nice walk to finish this section of the path. I treated myself to an expensive steak that evening to celebrate.

11 June 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 17.0km; ascent: 280m

Total distance: 17.8km; ascent: 345m

Walking time: 4h 18′

Total time: 5h 47′

Overnight: Self-catering, Falmouth

Logistics: To start: 36 bus Helston – Coverack. Finish: 35 bus Helford Passage Turn – Falmouth

Two older men with the nut-brown skin of seasoned outdoorsmen got off the bus at the Coverack car park at the same time as me. We exchanged greetings and established we were all heading for Helford. I set off before them on the gentle climb onto the cliffs but a few minutes later they overtook me at a fast pace and disappeared. I didn’t see them again.

After gaining a little height the Path immediately drops again to sea level and continues along a flat littoral which is the site of a second-century Romano-British salt works. Explanatory boards outline the process, and also how the unusual beach system was formed.

The littoral outside Coverack

Staying at sea level the Path passes between a large quarry and the shoreline. The quarry is modern, with concrete structures, safety fencing and warning signs but not currently operational. At the next cove, Godrevy Cove, the Path is forced inland to avoid a second quarry on Manacle Point. It then drops into the hamlet of Porthousestock before heading inland again across fields and along farm tracks and roads to reach the next hamlet of Porthallow.

The half-way monument

Porthallow! Why single out this tiny place from all the other little fishing coves along the coast? Because, dear reader, it is the Official Halfway Point of the South West Coast Path! Reaching it is a glass half full, half empty moment. Coming from Minehead it means you’ve walked half the 630 miles of the Coast Path! But then you’ve only walked half; you’ve still got the same distance to do before you reach the end in Poole, Dorset.

“Porthallow has a pub, toilets and seasonal refreshments”, says the guidebook, so I’d planned on a taking a short snack break at this important spot. But the pub was closed, I didn’t need the toilets, and the only sign of seasonal refreshments was a notice directing potential customers back up the hill they’d just walked down to The Fat Apple farm café which they’d passed ten minutes before. No chance!

But I did want a photo. A young woman who had been looking at the monument left just as I arrived but while I paused for a drink and a piece of malt loaf a couple arrived and stood by the monument. They accepted my offer to take a picture of the two of them and in return they took one of me. They set off again almost immediately; I followed a few minutes later.

While I was planning today’s walk my route-setting apps were determined to lead me away from Nare Head where the coastline turns west at the entrance to the Helford River estuary. It turned out there was a problem – a bridge over a stream below Lestowder had collapsed and the Coast Path was diverted. So after fighting my way through more overgrowth as far as Nare Cove I turned inland and followed footpaths to rejoin the Coast Path just before Gillan and the next excitement of the day.

The Gillan Creek flows into the Helford estuary not far from Helford village. If the tide is high an occasional ferry may be available, otherwise walkers have to take a diversion of about three kilometres to a bridge followed by a road walk back on the far side. But at low tide (the guidebook says) it’s possible to cross the Creek on foot. Checking the tide tables earlier that morning I saw I was in luck and I’d be at the crossing right at low water or just after. There are apparently stepping stones but they’re not recommended because they’re too slippery, and anyway I didn’t see them.

The directions to the best crossing point aren’t clear, but the path I was following out of Gillan village petered out on the foreshore of the creek. The church of St Anthony on the far side is roughly the point to aim for. Looking across I saw the young woman I’d seen earlier in Porthallow; she waved and indicated it was OK to cross to where she was, about 200 metres away. So it was boots and socks off, footbeds out of boots, boots back on, trousers rolled up, walking poles deployed, and across the sand and shingle to the first braid of the river.

The first part was shallow. I thought I might make the whole crossing without getting water in my boots, but reaching the main channel it was just deep enough to overtop them. Otherwise the crossing went without any problem and I headed for the slipway near the church to dry my feet (yet another use for a Buff) and get my socks and boots back on.

While I was getting ready to set off the couple I’d met at the Porthallow monument appeared on the far bank, paused for a few minutes, then crossed. Reaching me, they were curious how I’d got ahead of them. They had kept to the Coast Path and I had leapfrogged them when I took the inland diversion. Of course, they found the broken bridge had been replaced so my diversion wasn’t necessary. I came across them again a little while later having lunch on a bench overlooking the Helford estuary.

From there it was only about four kilometres to Helford village and the unavoidable ferry to Helford Passage across the estuary – unavoidable because there are no footpaths following the estuary to the nearest crossing at Gweek, nor on the far side where even longer diversions would be needed to cross two more inlets: all of this would have to be walked on roads.

The ferry works ‘on demand’ from its base on the far bank by the Ferryboat Inn. To summon it you open a large folded iron signal on a fixed pole to show a bright orange disk. Joined once more by the Porthallow couple, another couple and two cyclists we opened up the disk and watched as the little ferry set off towards us across the water.

The ferry arrives!

The crossing only takes a few minutes. My Coast Path friends of the day were staying in Helford Passage (and complaining about the cost!), while I had a walk of nearly a kilometre uphill to get the bus to my new base in Falmouth. I reached the turn with ten minutes to spare, or so I thought, but no bus arrived. Checking the timetable yet again I found that the online version and the one on the bus stop disagreed: if there had been a bus it would have gone about ten minutes before I arrived. I had no option but to wait an hour for the next one, but did eventually get to my AirBnB around 5.30.

10 June 2025

Distance on Coast Path: 16.4km; ascent: 330m

Total distance: 17.4km; ascent: 330m

Walking time: 4h 31′

Total time: 6h 05′

Overnight: Self-catering, Helston

Logistics: To start: 34 bus Helston – Lizard. Finish: Taxi Coverack – Helston

Lloyd’s Signal Station

After buying a hot pasty for lunch at the pasty shop opposite the bus stop in Lizard village I retraced yesterday’s path to rejoin the Coast Path just below the Housel Bay Hotel. Once clear of the hotel grounds a bright white building with decorative battlements comes into view. It has “LLOYD’S SIGNAL STATION” painted in large black letters on the side. On the far side a modern addition seems to show that it’s now a private house.

Just a little further at Bass Point is another Lookout Point staffed by the Coastwatch volunteers I first came across in May last year on the way out of Boscastle. It was the first Coastwatch station in the country to be opened. The man on duty greeted me from the first floor observation window and we chatted for several minutes before I moved on.

The (alleged) Devil’s Frying Pan

From here onwards the Path winds and twists along the cliffs with drops into several coves; here on the sheltered side of the Lizard peninsula it was mostly badly overgrown. Just before the fishing hamlet of Cadgwith is another collapsed cave; this one with the unlikely name of “The Devil’s Frying Pan”. I say ‘unlikely’ because I just don’t believe local people ever referred to such features in this way; the names seem to me more like invented myths.

Coming into the Cadgwith the Path follows a delightful route through the gardens of houses on the slopes above the harbour which at this time of year were in full and colourful bloom. I was charmed by the little place – still a working fishing cove, even having its own shop selling fish, shellfish, crab and lobster. I was very tempted by the crab sandwiches, but the still-warm pasty I was carrying on the outside of my rucksack to avoid it melting the chocolate bar I had in reserve would have been wasted.

Lobster Wraps!

Cadgwith Cove

The rest of the day was much like the first part – overgrown paths, occasional woodland, gradually getting more stony underfoot making progress even slower. I realised I had no chance of reaching Coverack in time to catch the only bus of the afternoon but was happy enough knowing I could get a taxi back to Helston. It stayed mostly sunny and dry apart from a little drizzle along the way just before Kennack Sands where I stopped for lunch. The steep valley at Downas Cove had one of the Coast Path’s dreaded staircases on the far side which was particularly challenging quite late in the day.

Just before Coverack is a section – Chynhalls Cliff – of which the guidebook says the Path

goes amongst the natural rock outcrops which can be slippery in wet weather being continually rocky, steep and with significant steps and abrupt changes in level. A difficult section in fine weather and much worse in wet wintry weather.

Good news! You can avoid all this by staying above the cliff and following a level footpath to a point just above Coverack where it rejoins the Coast Path. I was tired by now, so it was an easy choice.

Coverack has one major fault: the only pub is by the harbour as you enter the village from the Path. The bus stop and car park are at the far end over half a kilometre away. By the time I’d realised this I had reached the car park/bus stop and the thought of trudging back and then back again was too much. But I had a phone signal so I called for a taxi^* and settled down for what turned out to be only about half an hour’s wait.

* Taxi service: Telstar Taxis (based at Goonhilly Downs) 01326 221007