The ‘Forgotten Section’ of the South West Coast Path: The Quiet Pleasures of South East Cornwall | Walking holidays
AAt the end of the Downderi sands and slate, there is a mass of rocks and then a long beach extending eastward in the distance at the foot of the cliffs. Sitting on the rocks is a man with five ferocious dogs that immediately started roaming around me and my partner Sophie. His wet nose touches my bare leg.
Every long-distance flight has these crucial moments. the South West Coast Path She has a lot. Should we stay on the beach or head into the abyss? What does the tide do? More importantly, will these dogs bite my ass? It’s happened to me once before.
“Nice dogs.”
The man shrugs his shoulders. “They’re fine.”
That’s what was sorted next.
“Is there a way up the cliff, away from that beach?”
“See the rock?” It refers to the farthest distance where the head protrudes. “Just before that, look for the blue rope. It’s a stampede.” He’s looking at us, like the Poldark director evaluating the extras for an exhausting fight scene with Aidan Turner. “You have to manage things. The tides will go out.” He gives a sly smile. “Nice day for that.”
We thank him and set off. I think every journey has its own turning points, especially when you venture from the safe haven of a guidebook and OS map into the uncharted waters of local knowledge. Boots crunch against the wood panels, and I wonder why he’s smiling like that. Have we been deceived?
I first came to the South West Coast Path as a teenager in 1978 when I heard on the radio that the entire 630-mile route was open. It was the statistics that captured my imagination: he climbed four times the height of Everest, boarded 13 ferries, climbed 436 stairs, and crossed 4,000 milestones. At a rate of one mark every 250 metres, on a road where the sea is always on one side. I told my skeptical parents that there was no way I was going to get lost.
I traveled with a schoolmate to Plymouth where we immediately got lost and spent a miserable night in a concrete tunnel. The next day, having reached Penzance, we began to drive west and reached Land’s End. It was less than heroic, but over the subsequent years I got a lot of the way, maybe most of it. However, I did not return to Plymouth. Bad memories. Now I discovered that the road west of the city is considered the “forgotten” and least visited part. This makes me curious.
A quick look at the map shows how modern roads and railway lines to Cornwall from Plymouth bypass a large peninsula of land, archerwhich consists of the English Channel, Plymouth Sound, and the Lihr and Tamar Rivers. Before motorways and trains were built, travelers heading to Cornwall usually crossed the River Ramie. They would take to the city’s docks and paddle across the Hamoise River, as this stretch of the Tamar is known, weaving undoubtedly through a chaotic crowd of sloops, schooners, carts and schooners. In 1811, one such traveler was the artist J.M. W. Turner, who crossed the ferry himself, then set off wandering around the coast carrying six empty sketchbooks, lots of pencils and a fishing rod. He was commissioned to contribute to one of the first tour guides, Stunning views of the south coast of England. We are on the same path, but in the opposite direction.
Back at the beach at Downderry, and after checking tide times on my phone, we decided to trust the blue rope. At the point where the cliff leaves only a few feet of plank, we discover why the helpful dog owner is smiling. There is a naked man standing in the shallow water.
British nature often seems to depict big-bellied middle-aged men gazing out to sea like goose-pocketed Gormley statues. I later found out that Battern Cliffs is an unofficial nudist beach.
Along the way, passing a couple more semi-gormleys, we find the blue rope and set off through a wonderful and beautiful forest of oak trees. The plant life on this walk is a never-ending delight: from the minute details of ferns and sedges to the huge columns of giant snake spores and this gravelly forest. Buried in the shade, we find the ruins of a Victorian folly, St Germans Hut, and reconnect with the coastal path, wandering in the sunshine along the peaks all the way to Portwrinkle.
When Turner came here, Cornwall was not the tourist trap it is today. Only a few years before his arrival, the once “picturesque” seer, the Reverend William Gilpin, had condemned the county as “without a single beauty to recommend it.” Other nobles were equally scathing: “brooding evil” and “hideous and wicked” were among the kind comments. However, Turner led the vanguard in the reappraisal, filling his notebooks with quick sketches that brilliantly captured the spirit of the land.
After a night at a friendly B&B in Chevyok (the owners take us to their favorite pub, Rod and line At Tideford), we rejoin the course at Whitsand Golf Course. Shortly thereafter, we encountered the biggest vexing problem on the South West Coast Course that Turner had never had to deal with: the Ministry of Defence. Red flags are flying over Tregantle Down and we are forced to use the road. I know the Russians are about to invade and we need to prepare, but surely they will be repelled when they see our coastal submarines?
Despite the mod, the next section up to and around Rame Head is one of the best kept secret sandy coves and ends along Plymouth Sound in the pretty village of Cawsand. This place has a fine seafood restaurant, GulfAnd some good bars. (And there too Summer ferry for foot passengers To Plymouth if you want to skip ahead.)
We spend the night nearby, then walk through the 865-acre shaded area Mount Edgecombe Country garden. The gardens are full Camellia varietiesBut I just missed the flowers, unfortunately. I think I will get there in May.
When we emerge on the Tamar River, we pick up Krimmel foot phrase Across the Strait to Plymouth. If I still have bitter memories of that night in the concrete tunnel in 1978, they are quickly dissipating. Activate Royal William Yard It is now home to a brewery, cafes and art studios. The sun is shining and there are warships maneuvering in the sound. We wander in shovel Huge crowds gathered during the summer of 1815 to watch a pot-bellied middle-aged man gaze out to sea from the deck of another warship, the ancient 74-gun HMS Bellerophon. Its cargo was Emperor Napoleon which was captured here before being shipped to St. Helena. The crowds chanted, sparking anger in some quarters.
We wander down to Lido refurbished And discover a group of steps and terraces. The sea is full of people swimming to two floating platforms. I swam every day on this walk and would do so again. I must admit that Plymouth and this forgotten slice of Cornwall have completely redeemed themselves.
The trip is provided by travelwhich has six nights Walking tour South East Coast of Cornwall with breakfasts, luggage transfers and route maps from £1,035