Saturday 03rd June 2000 - Day One, Newbury, Plymouth, Newquay, Crantock Next

On this stage of the walk around the South West Coast Path, I was going to pick up again at Newquay then walk down to St.Ives and possibly Lands End. The journey down by train involved a change at Exeter so that I could get the train to Plymouth. I had been looking forward to this stretch because it would pass the River Exe and places that I cycled through last year to see the eclipse.

Sure enough the train passed through Starcross and under the railway bridge that I heaved my dead weight bike over a few months previously, and the campsite near Newton Abbot where the trains thundered past and mosquitoes enjoyed a lavish dinner (me). In many places the railway went through tunnels cut through the red sandstone rock that had been blasted and carved by the weather from the sea.

The forecasts had promised good weather. Over the east side of England three air masses were battling in out with heavy rain predicted, but the West Country was forecast dry with light cloud. It's funny how often they get it wrong. Plymouth was shrouded in thick mist and a heavy drizzle fell. I bought a pastie and coke for lunch, then put on my cagoule and the 'shower cap' that I improvised at Minehead the prevous year onto the rucksack. The first thing to do was find the bus station and for once my usual good sense of direction completely failed me; it took several minutes to get my bearings.

I walked through the wet precincts where shoppers gripped umbrellas, or stooped and shuffled along in wet anoracks keeping near to the buildings, and dodged in and out of steamy shops. The taller buildings were topped by the mist. Plymouth centre is well served by maps in its precinct and following them I took a right, a left, under the road where I found the bus station with no difficulty. And there, at the bus station, nestling under the concrete flyover was the type of greasy spoon emporia I love. It was whimsically called something like 'Country Kitchen', but it did all day breakfasts with tea or coffee for £2-75. What a bargain; I was sold.

Today I had a migraine, I get them occasionally, and it was one of the more painful ones. I sat in the resturant writing my log thus far with a thumping pain in the left side of my neck and head and nodding off as I sat. Still, nobody was in a rush which was just as well because neither was I, there was a four hour wait for the bus. Busses came and went and I noticed that quite a few of the double deckers had repairs to the top left sides. I guess Plymouth must have a low bridge or maybe the bus garage has a low entrance on the left. I guess the coach drivers occasionally forgot what they were doing at critical moments. After an hour and a half I felt obliged to buy another pot of tea. Then a small bus came in with its horn stuck on. The noise only stopped when the bus parked up and the driver turned the engine off. A quarter of an hour later after the driver had had some tea, he started it up again and left, horn blaring down the road. It was bizzare.

At a quarter past four I went out and waited for the number 330 to Newquay. The rain had stopped and the sun even made a brave appearance. The coach eventually arrived a quarter of an hour late, and didn't make up for lost time. We left Plymouth over the Tamar road bridge (1961) which runs parallel to the Isambard Kingdom Brunel bridge (1859). I felt a bit off colour as the coach careered along winding and slightly roller coaster roads to Newquay. On the coach I chatted to an old bloke next to me who had dropped his glasses case but we couldn't see it. He was from Nottingham and was spending a couple of weeks at a hotel in St.Ives. He had always wanted to visit Cornwall and was amazed at the amount of open space. We eventually arrived at Newquay bus station and I got off then collected my rucksack from the underneath luggage compartment.

I was a little bit at a loss as to where to start but back tracked up the road and found my bearings at 'The Tram Way' and resumed the path there. It was clearly Saturday evening as groups of young men were making their way to the pubs and clubs, and bouncers were on all the doors. Finding your way through Newquay is not easy for path walkers, luckily I still had my map that I drew two years previously. At the north of Newquay it reverted to a path and at the top of a rise I stopped by the Huers Hut, a listed building, to have a bite to eat as the sun lowered amongst heavy clouds. The Huer's job in days of old was to look for the tell tale red colour of the sea as shoals of pilchards entered the bay and direct the local fishing fleet to the right spot. Around the north of Newquay the path is not as well marked as it could be and at the most northerly point a kind chap getting into a car pointed me in the right direction as I looked a bit lost wondering which way to go.

The path is then the lower of two which go between the golf links and Fistral beach where waves rolled in and surfers bobbed about. At the far end of the beach was an information sign about the path and the many opportunities that the walker has to cross The Gannel, a wide body of water cutting down under the south of Newquay. I wanted to cross the Gannel before I stopped for the night. If I accomplished that then I would have made a good start on my walk. Of the three options available it was unlikely the ferry was running because it was too late, but the first footbridge that is usable at other than high tide should be OK although I didn't know what the state of the tide was. I took directions and wandered off through the streets. My estimation of the tide was wrong and the stone steps of this crossing point dissappeared into several feet of water so it was up to the top footbridge that only becomes covered at spring tides. This involved a walk up the side of the Gannel and by a main road.

The bridge was above water level although not long previously it had been submerged judging by the seaweed, rushes and sticks that were deposited and caught on it. Clearly a spring tide was subsiding. The path here is a bridleway and I followed the shoreline then a turning off to the left. At this junction a permissive path went off to the right and continued to follow the line of the Gannel closely. It wasn't on the map but I took a gamble to save time walking and get back to the first crossing point. The path turned out to be good as far as it went, if a little muddy in places, before then dropping back onto the sandy shores of the Gannel. It was hard walking on wet sand and I stayed close to the edge as my feet started to sink further than an inch or so into the sand. The path seemed popular however with a number of foot and paw prints, and as I walked on thousands of sand shrimps jumped about my feet.

On the far bank I could see the yellow diamond marking the power cable between shores that also showed where the first footbridge was. As I approached the sand got softer and in one or two places my feet were sinking two or three inches. As I approached the corner where the footbridge should have been I couldn't see a way up and my feet were still sinking deeper. By this stage I was beginning to feel a bit nervous. I could imagine the headline in the Newquay Gazette (or whatever the local paper is), 'Gannel quicksand claims another walker victim', but I kept on going and to my relief around the corner were some broad steps up off the sand.

After the steps was a path and a ford. One way was to a private cottage, the other up the hill to the path. Near the top of the hill was a footpath on the right but no mention of the coast path so I went on a bit further and stopped at a bench. Looking at the map showed that this footpath was almost certainly the coast path, however it was getting late and I needed somewhere to stay. I took the footpath as the map showed that it passed close to some camping sites. It went through woods, fields, then next to the Gannel where I could see the ferry port. A little further on and past some houses was a track that went back inland to Crantock. I hadn't been able to get uphill to the sites, so into Crantock I went. Even at the late hour with the sun set and darkness falling there were a couple of craft shops open.

In the centre of Crantock the roads are a little confusing, but a helpful map shows the shops and camp site spread out around the village. I walked up the hill and at a bend in the road turned left into the Quarryfield Caravan and Camping Park (Tel: 01637 872792/830338). The owner emerged from a bungalow (reception was shut), showed me where I could pitch and said that I could settle up the £2.40 in the morning. I set up the tent next to a couple of cyclists, had a drink, crawled into my sleeping bag and quickly fell asleep.

Next Page Day two, 04th June 00, Crantock to Perranporth.

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