little improvements – 7 Aug, 2018
Day 5 Land’s End to John O’Groats – Newquay to Harlyn
Distance: 25km
Cumulative distance: 118km
As spectacular as this coastal walk is proving to be, the one downside is the lack of accommodation available within touching distance of the path itself. On the Camino in Spain, for example, or other long-distance hikes around the world, accommodation is quite often part and parcel of the trail…think albergues in Spain or even adequately spaced pubs in different parts of the UK. On this trail though, at the end of a day’s walking, I need to cart myself off trail, sometimes a couple of kilometres, to find the nearest campground. As you can imagine, this can be very taxing after a full day’s walking, particularly since you know everything you’re doing is extra to the trail, and will need to be made up again in the morning. And so it was the case at the end of a pretty gruelling day five, but I shall get to that a bit further on.
After showering last night with some shower gel someone had left behind in the hostel (these things make me super excited these days), and doing all of my laundry, I demolished my free breakfast, handed over the book I’d just finished to one of the girls working at the hostel, and set off to continue the walk. I walked through Newquay, and saw a brilliant house which was perched on a massive rock that protruded from the beach, linked by a bridge to the mainland. It was road walking for a few miles until I picked the trail back up near a place that offered football golf (looked kinda cool). Further down the path I passed what looked like a giant circus, a series of large blue tents and trucks. There wasn’t a person in sight though so I’m not too sure what that was all about. It certainly was unsightly against the backdrop of the cliffs. Another long beach emerged and this time I didn’t need to walk on the sand, or over the top of dunes. There was a narrow path at the top of the cliff high above the beach! It took a bit of climbing up to, but once I was up there it was worth it, and the miles came thick and fast.
Mawgan Porth came and went, another heaving beach full of tourists who were taking full advantage of the waves breaking a good few hundred metres off shore. Newquay was already looking a long way back which was another morale-boosting sign of progress, and the coastline stretched majestically forth in both directions. For a moment it felt like I had it all to myself, until I came across another cluster of tourists. You can always tell when this is coming up, because there will be a carpark marked on a map. This one was for the incredible rock formations at Bedruth, which resemble a series of stepping stones said to have once been used by a giant. I dodged past the much better smelling visitors and amateur photographers and charged on to Porthcothan where I had initially intended to spend the night. I was feeling pretty good though and still had plenty of miles to give so I grabbed a smoothie and kept going. Once again the path went straight across the beach, so I took it as quickly as I could. I always wonder what the revelers think when they see me, they all decked out in their swimming gear and relaxing in the sand under the sun and me in full hiking kit with a chunky back pack walking horizontally to the shore. Anyway soon I was looking down at them all again, and I went around Trevose Head rather than cutting it off, and was rewarded with more cracking views in both directions. By now I’d started to see a couple of huge holes in the ground, surrounded entirely by land but with wide ocean pools far below. Some of these were 20 plus metres across and the drop was quite severe. They all appeared to be linked by a series of caves.
I came into Mother Ivey’s Bay and had located two possible campgrounds on the map, although they were both a little way off course and as it turned out rather difficult to access. The problem with a lot of these places and you walk in and see rows and rows of caravans and motor homes, but there’s never any sign of reception. As a general rule, the reception building in these places are usually as far away from the trail as possible. In any event I finally worked my way around to a reception building after strolling through the stereotypical example of what you would expect from Caravan Club, as so often referenced by my namesake (playing Jay) in the Inbetweeners. Plenty of caravans all lined up, a clubhouse, signs every saying this is Caravan Club certified, and you won’t be allowed in the clubhouse without your membership card, and all this kind of gibber. Anyway I fronted at reception, was given a strange look as if to say who or what has just walked in the door here, and told that I could camp there if I was willing to give them a two-night commitment, and 28 British pounds. I hurriedly took my leave and walked down the road to the next site I’d spotted on the map. The young lady at reception told me it would cost 23 pounds (!!) to pitch my tent on their hallowed turf for the night, and when I enquired as to what I would get exactly for my 23 pounds was told “Oh, just your pitch”. She offered to show me the site as if that would hasten my decision making process but I was out of there before it came to that.
So then, back to the coast path having burned a good couple of unnecessary kilometres in unsuccessfully finding somewhere to sleep that night. Almost immediately I found a suitable site for a wild camp, but it was at the top of a sheer cliff and a little exposed and I felt like pressing on a little anyway. Further down I investigated another possible site which was lower down from the path, but it looked like a bit of a toilet so I moved on from there too. A quick look at my map showed another campsite a little bit further inland just past Harlyn Bay so I decided to push for that, although it meant another solid kilometre and a bit off trail and walking up a road. I mustered all of my resolve to walk past an inviting looking pub and after a few twists and turns found a sign that said “Camping” with an arrow pointing into a field and a few phone numbers. I rang one, spoke to a Cornish fella and he told me to pitch up and that he’d be around in a little while. I got chatting to a couple of the other campers in the field, and one lady told me it was only 7.50 a night here after I shocked her with the pricing system they were running further down the coast. Eventually the Cornish fella showed up, a 75 year old with a mouthful of jumbled teeth and a heart of gold, who would only take five pounds given there was just one of me. We had a bit of a chat about the area, and whatever else and he left me to it. Sanity restored.
