‘I Want to tell you something. “I have a stage four brain tumour and I do not know how much time I have left.” When fellow walker Peter utters these words to me at the Minack theatre in Porthcurno on Cornwall’s south coast, I half think he might be reading lines for a new play. Behind him, the waves are dancing, while mist swirls on the wind as though spooling from a smoke machine.
It had only been an hour since I first met him and his wife, Michelle, as we all took shelter from the freezing wind in a hut at nearby Gwennap Head. I had asked why they were walking the South West Coast Path – the 630-mile (1,014km) trail that weaves its way from the seaside town of Minehead in Somerset around to Poole harbour in Dorset, via the windswept headlands, secluded coves and beaches of Devon and Cornwall.
They said that it sounded like a great idea, and they would like to complete it one day. Peter added, “If we can find the time.” I said goodbye without fully understanding his words.
Many people have different interpretations of this coastal path. It is believed that this coastal path has existed since the 17th century. Smugglers first created it, and then coastguards were determined to catch them. Since it was opened as a National Trail in 1978, it has been trodden by countless hikers looking for a challenge.
Back in 2012, I visited it for the first time as part of my “extreme sleeping challenge”, camping high above the waves in a bivvy bag on the southernmost point of mainland Britain, Lizard Point, something I wrote about in my book Extreme Sleeps.
Raynor Winn read my book in a strange turn of events just before her and her husband Moth lost their farm family in 2013. After a failed business deal, they were left temporarily homeless. Moth was diagnosed with terminal neurodegenerative disease in the same week as the walker.
They decided to stay in their hotel room, as they had nowhere else to go. simply walk the coastal path The trail is their home. Their story is told by Raynor’s memoir The Salt PathThe book, which sold more than 2 million copies in the world, has been adapted to a film with Gillian Anderson and Jason Isaacs. It is due for release in May.
“It feels bizarre,” says Raynor – or Ray, as she likes to be called – when I call to congratulate her on the film. “We visited Valley of Rocks [a dramatic stretch of coast on the northern edge of Exmoor] and I hadn’t been back there since we walked through it with our rucksacks. To go back and see our faces in what was a very difficult, vulnerable time in our journey brought back feelings I had not felt in recent years.
When I asked Ray what part of the route she liked the best, she said it was the stretch between Zennor and the Minack Theatre in Cornwall. It was a turning-point for us, because we were standing at Land’s End during an incredible storm. There was no one there but us, the Atlantic and the waves breaking over this headland.
“We could have given in, but then we realized how much this path gave us back, how many years of life.” And I visit it often because I always seem to find some way of making sense of things there.”
I understand what she’s saying. The path is where I once wandered to come to terms with losing my mum, and again when I lost a dear friend. And now, in the middle of a relationship breakdown, Ray’s words have inspired me to take the Night Riviera sleeper train to Penzance, hail a cab, and hit the trail at the Tinners Arms in Zennor – the spot where, in the book, Ray and Moth arrive bedraggled after being caught in a storm.
I wander out on to the rough path to see the sun struggling to break through the clouds. The wind whips through my hair as the waves crash beneath the cliffs. This landscape embodies my inner emotional storm. It’s March, so the early spring palette of russet and earthy khaki is only occasionally broken up with a splash of colour from the bright yellow gorse flowers or clusters of purple dog violets.
At the spur of Gurnard’s Head, I meet my first fellow walker – Reid from Lancaster. Reid from Lancaster is on the second day of a three month journey to John o’Groats. His goal is to raise money for the British Heart Foundation and remember his grandmother and father who both died in the last two year. “To be honest, I don’t know what to do with my life, so following a trail seems like a good idea,” he says, before walking on.
Not everyone that I meet is walking for an emotional reason. Fiona and Derek from Brighton – who I happen upon before reaching the first of many remnants of the mining industry on a stretch known as the Tin Coast – are retired. They decided after Covid to try to complete the trail, undertaking sections when they could, staying in people’s homes as pet-sitters to save on the cost of B&Bs.
John and Jane from Holsworthy, Devon, are standing near Porthmeor Cove. The path took them 10 weekends to complete, but they continue to walk it. While navigating my way through a herd of wild ponies at Treen, I chat to Myriam, from Germany, who has two months free between jobs so decided to walk the Cornish section. At Portheras Cove, I leave the trail to sit on the white sand beach, watching the impossibly blue sea.
In The Salt Path, it is here that a woman tells Ray and Moth they have become “salted” – meaning they are for ever connected to this path due to their time spent treading it.
The route is lined with a few ruined engine houses, each with a distinctive Cornish chimney. I am temporarily sharing the trail with schoolchildren from the area who are guided by teachers. I will my tired legs up to the ruins of iron age Kenidjack Castle and finally spot Cape Cornwall – the promontory that, until 200 years ago, was believed to be farther south-west than Land’s End.
The wind begins to change and I head to rest at the only place close to the trail – Cape Cornwall Club – where the luxury of a hot tub awaits, followed by a cold beer with a view of a blistering sunset over the point where the Irish Sea meets the Atlantic Ocean.
On my second day, I walk with only my thoughts in the beginning. With each step, the clouds start to lift. By the time the sun emerges, I have surrendered to the power of the trail, where everything is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. Sally and Hugh, a retired couple from Kent, bring me back into the here and now when they tell me they have been ticking off sections of the path since they spent their honeymoon here in 1986. As they proudly display their love, I am unable to do the same. I focus on the surfers that bob like croutons on a blue soup.
I am on my way forward, and I observe the tourists who pay for their souvenir photos. I also turn to face a bitter easterly breeze. Finally, I reach Gwennap, where I meet Peter and Michelle, who are walking, like Moth, with the shadow of uncertainty lingering ahead. Unexpectedly, my entire situation is put into perspective. I know I can carry on no matter what.
When I ask Ray how Moth is now, 12 years after their epic walk, she says: “It’s been hard and difficult, but he’s still here and he’s still fighting through every day. He’s out walking right now. And that’s all you can hope for, isn’t it? That you can get up in the morning and go for a walk.”
Visit our website for more information southwestcoastpath.org.uk. Phoebe Smith’s latest book, Wayfarer: Love, Loss and Life on Britain’s Pilgrim Paths, is published by HarperNorth at £10.99. To Support the Guardian go to guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply
