Newquay to Perranporth - walking the South West Coast Path

Newquay Beach

I had been advised by a couple of people I had met not to stop in Newquay. However it seemed only fair to give the place a chance so I had a mooch around this morning. This if course had nothing to do with putting off walking today – although my feet were still very sore and it was blisteringly hot at eight o’clock this morning. On the upside though, several pints of Old Empire had ensured I had slept soundly all night long.

Newquay Harbour

I didn’t dislike Newquay. Sure the main street was a bit hectic and no doubt Monday morning was preferable to Saturday night in the town but there was a nice old town feeling about it too, and the area around the harbour was buzzing, with nice beach cafes and seafood stalls.  I traced a route around the harbour wall and then climbed up steps to the Huer’s Hut, a white stone building that looked Moorish rather than Cornish.  'Huer' is Old French from the verb meaning to shout; the Huer would be the person charged with looking out for the shoals of pilchard as they came into the bay, when they would shout to alert the local fishermen. The pilchard shoals used to be enormous but now they have completely disappeared.

Huer's Hut, Newquay

The route headed out to Towan Head, past the old lifeboat station, with marvellous views of Newquay’s beaches before doubling back towards the 'World Famous Fistral Beach'. The tide was right out leaving a huge expanse of sand. Down at the water the lifeguards were trying to keep the surfers and body-boarders between the red and yellow flags with repeated announcements on the megaphone. The far side of Fistral Beach is obviously the posh end of Newquay, with up-market hotels and apartment blocks. The road headed to Pentire Point East, where the path ran alongside between road and sea. I sat down on the grass to examine the damage. 

Fistral Beach

I was busy concentrating when a voice behind me said ‘everything ok?’

‘Oh yes, fine,’ I said.

He looked at me, bare foot in my lap – needle in one hand and a plaster in the other. ‘Ah, doing some running repairs,’ he said. ‘I have to do that every morning. It’s getting ridiculous.’ He introduced himself as Ross. He was walking the coast path in aid of Help for Heroes. This was obvious in any event as he was carrying an enormous flag with Help for Heroes written on it. I recognised it; at various  times over the previous couple of days I had seen the flag bobbing along some distance in front of me and wondered who was carrying it. Ross was doing the walk in one go, and at a much faster rate than I was managing. He told me he had left Minehead on 22 June, three weeks after I had left, and he intended to complete the whole route in seven and a half weeks. If you want to support him you can make a donation here.

Fern Pit Cafe

Ross pressed on and after I had applied some plasters I got up and followed him along to the end of  Pentire Point East, the site of an ancient Bronze age burial site, passing the rather fancy looking Lewinnick Lodge en route. Although it looked very nice I had somewhere else in mind. The Fern Pit Cafe has been operating for over a hundred years on the cliff above the River Gannel. They also run a ferry across the river to Crantock Beach at high tide, at a charge of £1.20. At low tide a small bridge allows one to cross free of charge. I was not sure whether I wanted the tide to be in for the fun of boating across the river, or out to save the £1.20 charge. First, though, I stopped for some cheesy chips and more tea. I was now completely over compensating for the inadequate calorie intake of the previous day - I had walked less than five miles and had already consumed two croissants, two bananas, a bacon and egg roll and now the cheesy chips.

Bed of River Gannel

Steps down to river

Lobster shop below cafe

Bridge over Gannel

When I got to the bottom of the steps below the cafe the tide was out and so I crossed on the bridge and then walked across the sandy riverbed to the beach. From here the path climbed up into high dunes. No breeze found its way down into them and the temperature was searing. I was drenched in sweat as I staggered across the sand. Around the headland of West Pentire I came to another small beach. I could resist it no longer. I headed down onto it, put on my spare shorts and t-shirt and headed into the deliciously cold sea. I got out again sharpish - it was bloody freezing in there! For the next half an hour I paddled in and out, wimpishly going just a few inches farther in each time. It did the trick and cooled me off beautifully. It was worth getting sand into all of my gear for that half an hour of bliss. I decided to wear my wet clothes for the next section in an effort to keep cool. The land hereon is owned by the Ministry of Defence and was lined with serious fencing and plenty of signs warning of all sorts of dire repercussions if one strayed off the path, including death from unexploded ordnance. Better not get lost here then!

By now I knew I was in trouble. My shoes were not expensive ones and had worn so thin I could feel the stones of the path through the soles. Every step was painful. I had taken seven hours to walk as many miles, what with all the stops I had taken. I was now sitting for a few moments on every single bench I passed. Perranporth was in sight though, and I couldn't really stop here on MOD land anyway. The final three miles were a long trudge across Perran Sands Beach. The end farthest from the town is apparently a nudist beach and I staggered past men lying in the sun with full tackle out getting an all over tan, with me staring fixedly ahead as I walked past. The tide had just turned to go out and tiny sandflies were active, swirling round my ankles as I walked, my feet sinking into the sand with every step. Occasionally I saw large dead jellyfish on the beach and the tide line was strewn with debris. It was a relief to get to the far end and climb the slope for the final mile through more dunes to the town beach at Perranporth a much cleaner affair. 

Perran Sands Beach

I walked up the road back in the direction I had just come in search of the campsite marked on my map. Thankfully it was not too long a walk. I could find no-one to ask so I pitched up anyway. I couldn't have walked any farther anyway. On the way to find a toilet block I spotted a sign saying 'bar'. Sure enough, the campsite had its own small bar and although there was no draught beer, the bottled stuff was welcome. I talked to a couple of other customers in the bar - 'oh what lovely weather you've got for your walk!' they exclaimed when I told them I was walking the South West Coast Path.

'It's NOT lovely - it's too effing HOT' I wanted to shout, but didn't.

That night I was awoken after a couple of fitful hours by excrutiating pains in my feet and legs, every now and again I cried out with pain. (I've no idea what the other campers thought but the next morning they all gave me a wide berth.) I promised my feet I would make them go no farther. 'Tomorrow, feet,' I told them, 'even if you have stopped hurting, we will catch the bus home. I promise. I can't put you through any more.' It was a beautifully clear night and as the pain was not letting me sleep, I lay there with my head outside of the tent. The Milky Way was clearly visible and every now and again a shooting star whizzed across the sky. It was beautiful to watch. I tried not to feel too disappointed - after all, since leaving Minehead I had walked 200 miles in just over a month,a distance far greater than I had ever walked before. I had hoped to reach Land's End, but what with the heat and my feet, I had had enough. I wanted to enjoy this path not hate every mile of it. I would catch the bus back to Padstow and collect my car and go home. The next section to Land's End would have to wait for another day.

Distance: 12.5 miles

Total Distance: 202.5 miles

Accommodation Ranking: 6/10

Accomodation cost: £11.00