The last day of our walk around the Cornish Coastal Path threatened rain and, for the first time on our journey, we started out wearing cagoules.

Although what rain we did get was very light, the cagoules were good protection against the stiff wind. We had been promised 20-25mph winds (Force 5) but up on the cliffs it was more like a Force 6 and, if not a headwind, was generally a stiff beat to windward. Thankfully the wind was on-shore which was reassuring at times.

Leaving Bude was easy going over some rolling downland and we made good progress towards the first coombe at Sandymouth which has been colonised by a small NT (closed) cafe. On the horizon in front of us was the constant presence of the white domes of GCHQ. It was high tide and the rocky beaches were covered in breaking waves.

Sandymouth set the flavour of the day for  it was a stiff descent and climb on the other side. From here to the border we encountered half a dozen such coombes, some of which had a shale path, some those irritatingly tall steps and some which had the decency to follow the contours on a long zig-zag. From Sandymouth, we noted Duckpool (Coombe), Stanbury Mouth, Tidna Shute, Litter mouth, Westcott and finally Cornakey (see chart below).

Only one of them was really lung-bursting in the manner of Beany cliff, leading you on to a false summit and then presenting you with as much again. We were thankful that we were not doing them at the height of summer and were even grateful for the cooling wind. Do not attempt this if you suffer vertigo, however, as you will find yourself apparently close to the edge at times.

The landscape changed accordingly, with the downs giving way to gorse and rough ground, apparently untouched by farming and tended by occasional horses or sheep.

GCHQ was well-protected, not only by wire and large signs warning ‘No photography’ and ‘This is a Prohibited Place’, but also by Coombes. Given the secrecy, we were amused later to see road signs to ‘GCHQ’.

We met few people, just a few individuals, and could enjoy the solitude and environment. The same flora as the previous day prevailed with the addition of what might have been a bee orchid and some candytuft.

We knew we were in for two extra delights on the walk: Hawker’s Hut and Morwenstow church. Had we been braver, we might have searched the cliffs for St Morwenna’s well.

The story of the eccentric Robert Hawker is well known but there is still something wonderful about finding and sitting in his hut, preserved in its lonely location. Is it part of British eccentricity that a place like this can not only exist but survive and be preserved?

He is said to have written some of his poetry in his hut. Not having any with us, we had to think on him and could only declaim it on our return, chosen for its reference to spring and the violets that had accompanied us on the path.

We see them not – we cannot hear
The music of their wing –
Yet know we that they sojourn near,
The Angels of the spring!

They glide along this lovely ground
When the first violet grows;
Their graceful hands have just unbound
The zone of yonder rose.

I gather it for thy dear breast,
From stain and shadow free:
That which an Angel’s touch hath blest
Is meet, my love, for thee!

We found the grave slab of his wife Charlotte in Morwenstow church which is a couple of fields from the path. It is highly recommended for its Norman remains and a simply lovely ancient font.

The end felt within reach but there still three coombes lying in wait for us, thankfully not as testing as some of the earlier ones.

We reached the border after 8 miles (map) or 12 miles (gps) and four hours of walking. We had ‘gained’ 1915ft which explained why people found this a particularly tough section.

The border itself consisted of a small bridge with a dull post each side, one saying ‘Devon’ and the other ‘Cornwall’. Being more conscious of its image, Cornwall had also added a decent ‘Cornwall/Kernow sign’.

We celebrated with some lunch, avoiding pasties and cream teas for fear of having to decide whether we should be crimping them at the side or the top, and exactly where to put the cream and jam.

The ‘other place’ did not look that different from what we had been walking through.

This was, at the same time, the end of our adventure and the beginning of our next one for we ‘turned right’ and followed the tracks up the small valley and through a nature reserve to Gooseham Mill. We were heading for Plymouth and will be making our way across to the river Tamar and down its length to complete a circuit of Cornwall.

Bude harbour

Leaving Bude

GCHQ looms

Lundy in the distance

GCHQ

A bee orchid?

Tidna shute

Another useful stile

Tidna shute looking south

Morwenstow

Hawker’s hut

The view that inspired Hawker

One coombe too many?

The path does not follow the sloping path but goes straight down the point

Looking north to Hartland Point

A very scaly dragon

Marsland mouth

Yay! The border

Yay! The border

We had two more sections of the Cornish Coastal path to complete and spotted a gap in our diaries which coincided with a dry spell. So we headed northwards to the outer reaches of the county to pick up where we left off at Crackington Haven.

People spoke in hushed tones when we told them we still had this stretch to walk. The book called it ‘strenuous’.

The rise out of Crackington was long and steady. We soon found ourselves on some soft undulating downland which belied the dire warnings and only reached ‘moderate’ because of the occasional valley.

Passing Castle Point we could see St Gennys church tucked into a fold of the hill. Below us, the sea was relatively calm, turning over gently against the jagged rock formations that run out to sea. This is not an area of sandy beaches. The cliffs were a geologist’s delight with great folds and ridges demonstrating the earth’s power to torture rock into new shapes.

In the previous few weeks, spring had made a real effort and, in the lovely sunshine, we were the beneficiaries. Plants were bursting out all around us. There were great clumps of fragrant wild garlic, bluebells and primroses in the sheltered valleys while the cliff tops were covered in brightly coloured violets, willow and blackthorn blossom, gorse, thrift, and even campion.

We were brought up slightly short at Chipman Point where we found two worried walkers admitting they had ‘wimped out’ of descending some very sheer steps. ‘Lose your footing and you will be dead’ they said as we set off downwards. We had experienced worse but it was good to get to the bottom. If the wild horses could do it then so could we.

The path was not one for people with vertigo but that is true of much of the coastal path in this area. With the views and the vegetation, walking was a joy.

Bynorth mouth looked nasty on the map but turned out to be a lovely wooded valley with the path following the slope up the valley through a small and primrose copse, before taking us across the stream and back up to the heights the other side. This was an exception for the path makers generally seem to prefer a direct down and up route. Zig-zags must be infra dig.

After a restorative cup of coffee, we passed Millook which had a charm of its own, and rose once again to Penhair cliff with little problem.

We noted, with distaste one of those nasty planning decisions in a piece of building work going on in Great Wanson. A modern building was being constructed four-square in the valley, selfishly dominating the sea view.

Onwards to Widemouth bay which was a completely different prospect from the solitude we had experienced over the last hours. On a Sunday, the beach was covered with people: rugby tots, lifeguards, kite flyers, packs of dogs and simple walkers enjoying the sunshine.

We eventually settled on a prounciation of ‘Widmuth’ in contrast to ‘Bid-e-ford’ or ‘Wade-bridge’ – such Anglo Saxon names – but were unimpressed by the sprawling cheap architecture which clusters around the small patch of sand, the first that we had seen for some time. It is not surprising that we had crossed the boundary of the AONB as we entered the beach.

From here, and after some lunch, the going was very easy all the way into Bude, along rolling sandy cliffs. The book describes this as ‘easy’.

Bude is tucked behind a protective headland and appears as a sprawling mass on houses. We walked along the headland and admired the expanse of sandy beach exposed at low tide, overlooked by a C19 Storm Tower designed to like the temple of the four winds.

A short distance over the canal lock and past the sea pool took us to Crooklets beach and a welcome reward of an ice cream.

We had walked 10 miles according to the map, 11.4 according to the gps, with a gain of 1367ft in exactly 4 hours. One more stretch to go.

There was something vaguely familiar about Bude where we spent the night. Then we saw John Betjeman’s description of it as ‘an East Anglian resort facing the wrong way’. The houses were the same period; there was a game of cricket taking place; the golf course was in the middle of the town; there were bathing huts and polite ice cream shops and cafes; people were walking in the same aimless way, sheltering from the wind; and the houses were late Victorian/Edwardian with wide spaces between them. This was Cornwall’s Aldeburgh, developed at a time when the railways, now long gone in both cases, had brought tourists to the new seaside holiday spots.

The thing Aldeburgh had not experienced was the handiwork of a local builder in creating quite the most bizarre-looking Methodist church.

Crackington Haven

St Gennys

A useful stile

Lower Tresmorn (after)

Lower Tresmorn (after)

Blackthorn

Violets

Millook

Wanson mouth

Widemouth bay

Bude

Bude

Bude: the Storm Tower

Bude

Bude harbour

Bude

Bude: the Methodist church

The Lizard village is a confusing place. All roads converge on a large car park from which the signs suggest that the coast path can be reached by three out of the four compass points. When we left the Lizard heading north, we left by that road. When we left heading east, we left by another path. All of which adds up to a ‘minor navigational error’ which meant that we had not walked a distance of about quarter of a mile: the missing link.

A sunny spring day encouraged us out to complete the missing section so that our arrival at the Devon border could genuinely signify the end of the walk. We did not want a short section to be hanging over us.

This was not our longest walk but it certainly blew the cobwebs away and it was good to be back on the tough Lizard cliffs and within reach of the sea. On the other hand, falling during the Easter holidays, it was busy with people every few yards: very different from the remote northern cliffs we have been walking recently. It was almost standing room only by the NT shop.

We ignored the crowds and walked on to Housel Bay so that we could feel justified in having walked rather further than the mandatory minimum. We passed a helpful sign (see gallery) which suggested that our feelings about the Lizard village were well-grounded.

Satisfied, we headed off to re-visit Mullion and St Keverne churches.

The missing link

Towards Kynance Cove

Housel Bay

A helpful sign