April 11, 1990: Port Isaac to Padstow

Harold again failed to get what he ordered for breakfast, ending up with juice (which Tosh drank) instead of the desired cornflakes. We had been offered an 8:30 service however, and that is why we were able to begin our walk on Wednesday, April 11, at 9:35 again. Again I expected an easier walk than on days previous, but there was an extra mile – eleven instead of the ten we had done on the previous two days – and there was the additional complication of a ferry crossing at the end of the day.

Our landlady assured me that the ferry ran until 8:30 but the guidebooks said otherwise so I called the ferry office at 9:00 to confirm all this. A secretary, who had to relay my every question to someone who actually knew the answers, informed me that the last crossing to Padstow was at 5:30. I would therefore have to keep a close eye on the clock so that we didn’t get stranded in Rock, a very long taxi ride from our ultimate destination.

The skies were overcast at first, but there was a good deal of brightness about and we had partially sunny skies most of the morning. Tosh stopped at the newsagent on the road for her paper fix and we then descended into Port Isaac proper, a wonderful, charming old town perched on its hill above the harbor below – and, in a later era, known to millions of TV viewers as the Port Wenn – whose local medical man was none other than Doc Martin himself.  It would have been nice to linger longer among the locals, who were bustling about on their visits to the baker and the butcher, but we had to cross a bridge and climb past a number of hotels in order to reach open ground on Lobber Point.

We circled this promontory easily, passing a young boy exercising his dogs. We then descended into Pine Haven, where I could see we had our work cut out for us in getting up the opposite side. Never mind, I reasoned, when we got to the top it would be a straight shot along easy farm tracks to Portquin. We struggled upward ­– but there was no turn off onto any track. Instead the coast path headed out for Varley Head, rising and falling on an obviously new portion of the route, superbly engineered to take advantage of the proximity to the cliffside – but involving much more up and down. Eventually I realized that we were not going to reach any farm track and that the easy journey to Portquin had been replaced by a marathon of endurance, the route twisting and turning on itself, rising and falling, in short, involving three times the energy and time I had expected.

At one point I counted over 100 steps (which had been hacked out of the rock) needed to get up one height – and an almost equal number of descending steps to get round the next inlet. The views were magnificent but I was growing more desperate for some glimpse of the way ahead. Instead we had to continue on the roller coaster around Kellan Head as well. I lost the Lees, who needed to catch their breath on this endurance test. At last, when we had come round to the Lundy Bay side and Rumps Point and The Mouls were prominent in the distance, they caught up with me.

I wanted to wait until we got to Portquin before having a snack but Tosh was already too hungry so we had one rest here and another in ten minutes as we descended to the little hamlet that, for once, offered no refreshment whatsoever. Nevertheless I ate my prawn sandwich here while an amateur painter was watercoloring the bay below us. Tosh got somebody to refill canteens.

I had figured out by this time that there was no way we could walk all the way around the Pentire peninsula and still get to Rock by 5:30. A road snaking out of Portquin could have been taken straight south, but I was reluctant to leave the coast just yet, even though I knew we would have to clip off the peninsula – as we had done twice before with similar headlands on the day we walked from Ilfracombe to Croyde.

We continued therefore on the path, walking up the road just a bit and turning off to pass Doyden Castle, a folly, on our right. There were dozens of daytrippers about as we cleared this busy area and headed up a gentle hill to reach Trevan Point. I was keeping a very close eye on the Ordnance Survey map now because I knew that we had only a few more inlets to go before seeking a path up to the height on our left. We passed a grotto at Epphaven Cove, cleared the next sighting of the ocean and pressed forward, behind low cliffs that prevented us from seeing the sea. An anxious Tosh kept nominating side paths on our left but I persevered until we had reached the area of Lundy Hole, where there was a last glimpse down to the sea below.

On our left there was a well-used footpath heading uphill, following a little wooded combe that was itself very pleasant and we now used it, forsaking the official path at last. At the top was the road to New Polzeath. Some trippers we had encountered earlier in our travels were just starting down as we hit tarmac and headed west.

It was chilly up top and very grey. Off to the south we could see mist covering the low hills and I continued to expect moisture before long. We passed several lonely farms on a road that didn’t have too much traffic. The farmers were trying to get conifers started in tubes but it looked like wind was the great enemy of tree life up here. After passing a new block of flats we began a winding descent into New Polzeath. Already we could see the coast path entering the town on the north side.

I called to the Lees that I had spotted some loos but they waved me forward because they had found the Atlantic pub. When I joined them it turned out that they had only found the pub owner on his ladder; he would open for business tomorrow. He did give some advice on cutting a corner by walking across Hayle Bay at low tide but only Tosh wanted to do this. Harold didn’t want to walk on the sand and I still had hopes that we might find an open pub if we kept to the road. So we split up, Tosh heading directly for a promised chip shop and Harold and I walking through a housing estate and onto the highway where, to our disappointment, the next licensed premises was also closed.

We met up with Tosh at the fast food emporium. There was seating inside so we plumped down at a rear table and watched all of England attempt to perpetuate the holiday mood by sitting in their cars in the sandy parking lot outside. I headed across the street to use the loo and when I returned Harold was already near the front of a long queue waiting to give his food order. I had another fifteen minutes working my way to the front so that I could order a cheeseburger and chips from the jolly, if overworked proprietor. I returned to our table with a funny tasting cola and found the Lees deep into fish and chips.

Tosh tried to find the loos, following our directions, but got lost. We chided her about this until we discovered that since we had visited them local youths had reversed the direction of the toilet sign. In the chip shop there was another friendly cat making the rounds; it was missing an entire leg. At the next table they had ordered pasties and chips times eight and it was some time before number twenty-seven, my cheeseburger, was called out. Tosh got me an orange drink to supplement my coke.

We were at table for quite a while (so much for fast food) but our earlier shortcut permitted this. At last we got back to our feet and pulled our packs on. I unwrapped a crushed Kit-Kat as we reached the main road and Tosh had a hissy fit because a few shards of silver paper flew off to join the rest of the litter.

I was quite pleased that we were, in fact, still able to keep quite close to the sea, which was producing a beautiful surf, and then along the Camel estuary as we left Polzeath behind –and followed a track known as the Greenaway. Tosh liked the houses overlooking the water but she objected to one chap who was using some sort of chemical spray on his lawn. There had been a few drops of mist but still no real moisture. There was a whistling cold wind and I stopped to put on hat, mittens, and coat. Harold took a picture of me in this garb, the only photographic evidence that proves I was on this trip.

By the time we had rounded Trebatherick Point, getting good glimpses of Padstow now, the wind had died down and in the Daymer Bay car park I took everything off again when I used the loo. Our route took us along the sand as we headed toward Brae Hill. There were large numbers of people about and several dozen of them were participating in a game of rounders on the beach.

We chose to keep to the level estuary side of the hill, avoiding the last black arrow of the trip, walking on a sandy path that put us out into a series of dunes. The sun returned here and in the hollows it was suddenly quite hot. What a change in just an hour!

There were quite a few coast path arrows around, useful because there were so many paths running below the nearby golf course. At last we rounded the last hill and could look down on the ferry, just taking off with its passengers from Ferry Point. It was 4:00 and after another ten-mile day we had reached Rock, the end of our walk.

It was fun following the route of the coast path as it headed back to sea on the other side (though we would have to wait for another trip to use it.) We also watched the ferry as it crossed the Camel and turned into Padstow Harbor. It wasn’t long before it was heading back our way. In the meantime it had gotten windy and chilly again. Nevertheless we had just completed four days of walking without a single drop of rain – we were very lucky. A thin gangplank was plopped ashore and one of the ferrymen helped everybody off the boat and then a waiting crowd back up. We sat next to a family that included seven freckled-faced children.

The journey couldn’t have lasted much more than five minutes but it was an exhilarating way to end a walk. The boat in front of ours at quayside was unloading giant crabs. We decided to walk around Padstow Harbor and get a fix on the departure point for the next day’s bus. This, we discovered after quite a long walk, would be from the former railway station, now the local council offices. Tosh asked a little old lady for directions to The Old Ship, our hotel. It could not be seen from the front but was hidden nearby. By this time it was well past 5:00.

We checked in. We had to climb two flights of stairs to gain access to rooms under sloping ceilings. My room had a giant mirror on the bed and no towel (although the bath mat served just as well), but it did have a shower in it. First I decided to wander about a bit, but the shops were all closing so I returned to my room to clean up.

Our host, a jolly redhead with a beer belly and a walrus mustache, was uncertain when the bar staff would be ready for business but they were certainly ready when we went down for drinks at 7:00. I called Dorothy for the last time. A young girl and a sour man with his tie tucked into his pants were serving tonight, she drinks and he opinions. He didn’t like any politicians, wanted capital punishment restored (especially for poufs), and wasn’t going to pay his poll tax. Tosh was offended by most of this so, after two gins, we decided to find the dining room.

This long hall, meeting place for the local Lions Club, was being used for the first time this year and it was quite chilly. We had soup to start with, then Harold had chicken kiev and I had scampi and chips. The radio had been left on and to accompany our meal there was a clinical discussion on how best to dress festering wounds. Finally I asked the waitress if she could turn it off but she had an even better idea, the greatest hits of Nat King Cole on the tape deck. For dessert I had a cold crepe.

We returned to the bar for some Baileys and a few more opinions and went to bed at 10:00.

The next morning we reassembled at 9:00 but this late start meant that we would have to miss the 9:30 bus and wait around for the 10:45. I didn’t mind too much because it gave me time to walk around the town, which I found to be very interesting, and buy some chocolate covered coffee flavored fudge. The Lees were each wandering around on their own as well.

We met up at 10:15, paid our bill, and walked up to the council offices. We were early but the bus was late and I was beginning to fret about making our 11:55 train. We asked the driver if he wanted to stow our packs beneath the bus and he said no, it was too much work ­– and besides he was so late he didn’t even plan to stop for passengers. This he did, however, as we headed first for Wadebridge – where there was a good deal of traffic in the vicinity of the John Betjeman Centre, and then Bodmin.

Bodmin Parkway station, which we reached with plenty of time, was not near any village. It was beautifully situated in the middle of a woods, with long open platforms, a new disabled toilet – which we were all invited to use – and a buffet on stilts. A BR announcement suggested that passengers for London might want to wait for the 12:25 so we decided to give the little two-car local a miss and return to the buffet.

We were served by a pensive fat man who agreed to make us sandwiches on his little fry pan – although this caused him to use his last six slices of bread. Tosh had a bacon sandwich and Harold and I had fried egg sandwiches. What a throwback to the past this little place was. Locals came in to question why there even was a 12:25 (this not being a Friday) and swap bits of gossip. The cook stared off into space most of the time, finally swooping down on our table to collect an unsold Today which someone had left there. He stuck it back in his supply of papers even though it had some of my fried egg on the front page.

We boarded the 12:25 and easily found seats but our tickets weren’t valid for this White Saver Day because BR had decided to begin the weekend holiday on Thursday this week –­ and we each had to pay an extra twelve pounds. This transaction took about ten minutes. We passed through Plymouth and Exeter and all seemed well for a 4:46 arrival but we started to slow down after Reading and eventually we were told that there was a signals failure at Paddington and that we would be “seriously delayed.” The Lees had one bit of luck however. The train stopped unexpectedly in Ealing Broadway and they quickly snatched their packs and left me to finish my journey in the company of some kids planning their weekend in the big city.

We were about forty-five minutes late, but I wasn’t too perturbed. However there was a huge crush of waiting people at the station and I had to fight through this crowd in order to get to the tube. Two stops later I was back in Maida Vale and eagerly awaiting my reunion with Dorothy and Toby.

To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:

Day 17: Padstow to Treyarnon Bay