south west coast path

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Your goal

When weather conditions are unfavourable and curtains of rain push over the Atlantic to the coastline, the South West Coast Path is probably at it's best. If you don't find pleasure in the rain slashing your face, head for the next pub and cheer up, this or the other day the wind will blow the clouds apart and reveal a clear sky. Once the sun shines it can be very pleasant.

No boredom

And for a long, long time, if you wish, because it is Britains longest path. It stretches for 613 miles all along the coast of Somerset, Devon, Cornwall, back to Devon and finally Dorset. It starts in Minehead in the North and the hasty walkers will arrive in Poole Harbour about a month later.

I met many of those 25-miles-a-day guys. "Keep going", the sea seems to say. For my part, walking 121 miles in seven days, starting in Minehead and ending in Bude, is all right.

Virtual try-out

Have a look at the home page of the South West Way Association, and plan your route ahead.

Phil Andrews walked about half the path. He describes the stretch between St. Ives and Falmouth, 99 miles, and has dotted his page with photos. A boring description (just plain text) of the path is found at the LDWA site

Difficulties

The path goes up and down, up and down and totalling a day's descents and climbs will produce an alpine figure. Nevertheless it is not a hard path. Any fit person will make it. Pubs and villages are nearby, even if the rugged cliffs give you the impression of remoteness.

Since it can get quit crowded, and erosion is a serious problem, the steeper climbs and descents are fortified with wooden stairs. Not convenient for walking, in my opinion.

You can't miss the path, except maybe in the larger villages. Some stretches are not accessible and differ from the maps and guides.

Nap and norture

Take your tent with you if you like to stay in the wild. In case of unforeseen hardship B&B is around the corner. Starving on this stretch of coastline is ridiculous.

Finding your way

I used the National Trust Guide. It comes in four volumes, Minehead - Padstow, Padstow - Falmouth, Falmouth - Exmouth and Exmouth - Poole. The 1:25.000 maps are in colour, so carrying separate maps is not necessary, more so since the waymarking is very good. Many other guides, books, leaflets and even videos are available at the site of the South West Way Association.

Getting there and away

From London Paddington take a train to Plymouth and Penzance. Bus links will bring you to most of the villages along the coast. Ask for the leaflet "Great Western Bus Links" or call 0345 - 484950. For instance: I left London Paddington at 15:35 and arrived in Taunton at 17:22. The bus left for Minehead at 18:15 and arrived at 19:20. Busses head for Minehead, Bude, Padstow, Penzance, Porthleven, Fowey. More information: Cornwall online.

From Minehead in Somerset to Bude in Cornwall

And now for my own record. Three sunny and windy days in May 1998 where followed by three stormy and wet days.

In Bude, the seventh day, sun and crowds appeared again.


Minehead to Lynmouth/Lynton Minehead looked desolate when I arrived in the evening of the 30th of april. I smelled the sea and heard the surf and birds and had an urgent need to turn away from the challenge and enter the first pub, the Red Lion that marks the start of the South West Coast Path. A pint and a chat at the bar gave me the courage to walk out and straight up the first hill. Three quarters of an hour later I put up the tent on a flat outcrop above the sea.
	Next morning, the weather had changed completely. It was a bright day. The path went inland over green meadows bordered with flowering gorse and avoided the sea. Just before Bossington the path met the ocean, but it immediately turned inward again because a breach in the shingle ridge makes the coast trail inaccessible. Later, someone told me he crossed the breach barefooted. In the little harbour of Porlock Weir I got a headache of all the whitewashed houses in the bright sunlight. At this point - I had a fine view onto the sea, nipped my coffee and discussed the height of the water in the public house during the last flood - the challenge turned into an invitation (this always happens at some spot during a walk, don't you think so?).
Hours of fine walking later I decided to camp along the path on the edge of a cliff looking down to Lynmouth. In the nearby Exmoor Sandpiper Inn I asked for permission to camp - a useless thing to do. Later, when the tent stood and the night fell, I met Frank and Roger who explained me the local customs like paying the chicken before eating it, gathering the cutlery yourself in a dark corner, and they later took me to an even better pub inland. The discussion focused on differences between Dutch and Germans, The various positions were proven with reference to John Cleese ("don't mention the war") and the involvement of most of the other customers. I had to refuse my fourth pint and even then had a rather restless night in the tent, fearing it could fall down the cliffs any moment.
Lynmouth to Combe Martin This stretch of the trail neatly follows the coastline. Because of a Bank Holiday and the marvellous weather, I shared the hills and views with many other walkers. Some rock formations, like Castel Rock, towered over the sea. Later in the afternoon the other people mysteriously disappeared as if they sank into the ground.
I climbed the slopes of the Great Hangman (328 meters) in solitude and descended towards Combe Martin. The village in sight, I put up my tent.
	Combe Martin to Baggy Point Combe Martin is okay, but what is the sense of this huge caravan park above the village, please? The hotel where I sat down for a cup of coffee was very clean indeed. The cup was placed on the French-polished table and smoothly skated to the other side, over the edge, on the ground. While waiting for another cup, I looked back through binoculars at the coastline where I came from. I spotted the slopes of the Little Hangman where the wind almost blew away my tent last night.
The path went through woods where the trees where leafless still and bluebells and wild garlic took advantage. Further on, I had to follow a road but after a small natural harbour the path rounded some hills, only to hit the road again. This way, I descended into Hele. Tip: the Hele petrol station super market is open on Sundays and sells everything you need.		$Ilfracombe$
Not far beyond Hele, round the corner, Ilfracombe appeared, a reasonably sized resort with golf course, gaming halls, broad avenues and a very nice harbour. Suddenly, the sun peeped through and everywhere the crowds popped up.
	The crowds - not only walking, but also swimming, cycling, rowing and surfing - stayed all the way to Lee - fine spot - and Woolacombe where I was adopted by a medium sized group of walkers. Still later in the afternoon, I crossed the long stretch of beach till Putsborough in a steady pace - IMHO - focussing on a small building in the distance. Even then I was caught up by two 25-miles-a-day guys - one female actually - who wanted to make it till Croyde Bay tonight so they would be able to catch the train in this and that, then and there etcetera… Wearing light sport shoes, carrying no more then eight kilos on their backs, they left me much impressed.
By the way, the English approach to walking is quit individualistic. Let's compare it to the French. The French will all wear the same clothes and invariably walk in family-like groups eating hot boiled eggs on mountain passes. There is no way, however, to predict the ways and habits of the English in this respect. The other day a man came along who looked like a Christmas tree because he was hung with maps, utensils and modern clothing attributes around his neck and back. He asked me the exact time to walk a particular stretch.
Baggy Point - somewhere between Barnstaple and Instow This dreary day I got fixated on having a cup of coffee but somehow I missed the opportunities. After baggy Point and Croyde Bay the estuaries of the River Taw presented a flat walk for the rest of the day. First there was this terrible golf course for more than an hour. It took ages to reach Braunton. From there on, the trail followed a disused railway. Hours later - I had given up the idea of a cup of coffee - Heanton Court appeared, popular with bicyclists. My taste for coffee was over, but a pint felt good. The village of Barnstaple, at the bottom of the Taw Estuary, is the turning point. Here, a bridge crosses the river and the West Coast walker turns westward along the southern bank. This flat stretch of the West Coast Path is not appreciated by everyone. Many choose to take a bus from Braunton to Westward Ho! (See map).
	Halfway Barnstaple and Instow to Buck's Mill Walking along a disused railway means walking in a straight line for miles. I spotted a walker ahead of me about half an hour away. In Instow we met. Waiting for the ferry to bring us to Appledore a third guy joined us. The ferryman did not come, so we took a bus around the River Torridge. When we arrived in Appledore, the ferryman was pushing his boat into the river, hours too late for us.
Leaning on wind and rain I tried to keep up with Peter and Amos, focussing on the far end of the beach where Westward Ho! appeared. A strange town, Westward Ho!, with its gambling halls and smoky fat fast food restaurants mismatching with the dull weather. Derelict beach houses spoiled the best places of town, the grasslands near the beach.
I gave up trying to keep up with the two other walkers and continued alone, along the abandoned coastline. It was a fine stretch, for hours.
		Buck's Mill to Marsland Mouth The trail between Westward Ho! and the "evergreen" Clovelly is well known for its remote woods. Clovelly, of course, is not the kind of village we walkers like. Nevertheless, have a look at the old quay, the Lions Hotel and the fishing equipment around the little harbour.
From here on the country was wild. Going up and down became more strenuous. Hills were abruptly cut in half and unsuspecting streams made a sudden drop into the salt water. It happened to be very windy. Sometimes, when losing my balance, I had to choose between the cliff edge right and the barbed wire left. Raven and fulmar were tumbling in the turbulence resulting from the pressure on the cliffs. They were often very close to me, but maybe the mist brought distances closer by. It rained when I hit Hartland point. Half an hour later, I dropped into the old hotel at Hartland Quay.
	The rain ceased when I continued for another couple of hours. On the border of Devon and Cornwall, I met Michelle and her dog Snowy. She used a book, written by a guy who walked the trail together with his dog, as her guide. Good camping spot here, amidst the bluebells. Snowy was not much of a wild animal: on the one hand he did not cease to bark at me, but on the other, he preferred to crawl into Michelle's tent to avoid the open air during the night.
Marsland Mouth to Bude There were no woods from Hartland Point onwards. Rolling pastures and fields lined the coast. This stretch was quit strenuous. The hills climbed high and frequently dropped to sea level, only to rise again instantly.
It was pleasant to have some sun again. People appeared in no time like mushrooms in autumn, so I had chats on many occasions. In the south, the hills flattened a bit and far away Bude came into sight. In the north, on the steep slopes of a hill, I saw through my binoculars Snowy chasing the sheep and Michelle shouting at him. The nearer I came to Bude, the more crowded the path became.