South West Coast Path – UK 2025
Inspired by the controversial book (and movie) The Salt Path, New Plymouth’s Nic and Lynne Johnson decided to see for themselves what this coastal trail along the South West of the United Kingdom had to offer.
After contacting a few tour companies giving their details; age, projected fitness levels, daily distances, bed and breakfast choices, excess baggage courier, etc, Macs Adventures based in Scotland, were the only ones able to make it happen with such a short lead-in time.
“Once confirmed we hit the local tracks, up and down, across, and all around mountain and town, getting our bodies trail fit,” says Lynne.
We landed in Heathrow — minus our bags!
Past experience forewarned us it’s always a good idea to have some buffer time to cover any such event. We used this time pounding the pavements of London, maintaining fitness, sightseeing and recovering from ‘cattle class’ jet lag, and our crucial gear finally rejoined us.
A train/bus combo transported us to Minehead, a coastal town on the south bank of the Bristol Channel where the trailhead begins. After checking into our hotel we strolled up the main street, passing by the local cinema. Billboards caught our eye…The Salt Path, SCREENING NOW! We’d just seen it before leaving home, debating if it was a good idea in case it spoilt the surprise, but it only fuelled our desire. Wandering on to the pub for dinner, the locals were abuzz with their newfound fame, some talking of the small parts they’d done.
Our start date was 3 June 2025. With a bellyful of Full English Breakfast (FEB), the first of many, we donned waterproof jackets, hoisted on our daypacks, and enthusiastically headed out into the grey drizzle. It was only a short, flat walk along the foreshore to the official start point … and that was the last of any terrain that could be described as ‘flat’ for a very long time!
There was no easing oneself into the steep climbs and toe-numbing descents, and today we got all four seasons thrown at us… rain, wind, sun, cold one minute, hot the next…a great test for us and our gear, with numerous stops and starts to add or subtract clothing. Scenery changed rapidly too. Up through lush forests lined with stone walls, hollyhocks, wild rhododendron and ferns, then down over crop fields to meet the rocky, bunker-clad foreshore of Porlock. The sun shining brightly now, lured us into the dunes for a snack and a snooze.
The height of the English summer was imminent, and we’d been wondering just how popular the trail would be. We encountered a few fellow foreigners for a quick chat, language permitting, then moved on. Occasionally we would leap frog people going at a similar pace and same direction. Nights would occasionally find us in the same roost, so we could swap more notes over drinks and dinner. The first such fellow adventurers were a friendly couple from Wiltshire. They were the ones to enlighten us that our goal to complete the SWCP in one hit was not common, amazed at our ambitious goal. Apparently most people choose more achievable, bitesize sections, then set about completing it over several summers. That option hadn’t entered our heads, home being so far away we just thought we’d knock it off in one visit. Unlike the ‘old’ couple from the book, (most likely younger than us in reality), who completed it in two stints, self-supported, heavy packs and freedom camping in a tent. So this should be a doddle for us … yeah right!
The first week was brutal.
The initial challenge each morning was just getting upright and mobile.
Start times varied, determined by the individual hosts’ schedule. Ever-present screeching gulls often woke us around 4am but breakfast was never served before eight. Four days in, stiff and sore, we could see the next stretch from Coombe Martin was going to be a rugged 28 kilometres. With another FEB under the belt, clutching walking poles, we set out on the roller coaster, knee grinding, ten hour slog. Stunning scenery followed us the whole way, traversing headlands adorned with lighthouses, sprawling caravan parks and remote holiday homes. Instead of stepping it out we sauntered, trying to soak it all in. But more ‘time in the saddle’ always meant a compromise at the end. Around 6pm we finally spied Woolacombe in the distance. We’d reached what we dubbed the “four kilometre danger zone”… the last stretch when you are bone weary and hanging out to finish. Imagine our dismay when we rocked up outside our camp for the night, a luxurious towering ‘castle’, with hot tubs, saunas, spas, the works! With no time to make use of any of such luxuries, we made a beeline for the restaurant, just in time for last orders. Then it was a quick soak in the bathtub whilst scrubbing the socks and undies.
There were unavoidably longer days, mainly due to distances between villages, or available accommodation. Sometimes the actual k’s were unachievable , in which case a taxi would meet us at a designated time and place. If we got lucky, we had the pleasure of a cold beer in a pub while awaiting pick-up, but other times saw us running to make the rendezvous. We’d then be ferried onward or back to our lodgings, and next morning returned to where we left the trail…no shortcuts allowed!
We cam across a young guy and his handsome Italian Wolfhound. They were on a pilgrimage to raise funds for this unique breed of rescue dog. Their pace was much faster but they stopped frequently to preen the dogs coat so we kept catching up. Curiosity eventually got the better of us so we asked why the constant brush stops? “ Oh I’m removing the ticks that love to hop on in the wooded areas and burrow in for the ride.” Yikes! These pesky wee mites apparently desire animal and human alike, so the well-heeded advice of nightly shower checks most definitely saved us future discomfort.
Day 9 we arrived in Clovelly. Steep, narrow, cobbled lanes wind their way down through the village to a walled harbour, full of charming old fishing boats. There’s no vehicle access so everything is brought in or out on sleds, an intriguing sight. Also a nostalgic place, as we had visited here briefly in 1979 during our first big OE, four-up in a dodgy campervan. This stay was yet another unique experience in a ‘Fawlty Towers’ kind of way.
On reaching Devon we were ‘finding our groove’, and the new-normal daily routine was getting slightly easier. Our pace seemed conducive, giving us time to soak up all the incredible scenery, take in the myriad of historic points of interest, and stop for loads of photos. Common lunch stops were just a banana or muesli bar. Previous hearsay of enticing cafes were often too far off trail, or non-existent out on the barren cliff tops. The smaller villages didn’t always cater for hungry trampers, so there was no hesitation if we did stumble upon one, happy to forgo our fruit and bars for a scrumptious Devonshire tea. The locals have this ongoing debate as to which order you load the jam and cream onto the scone. We’re a jam first family, but after many tests we can say that their legendary, delectably delicious, clotted cream stays put either way!
“Where have you come from, and where to?” was always the curious question when meeting others. We only came across two other couples attempting the whole trail. The first was an Aussie couple who had made it to Plymouth the previous summer, when a broken hip forced a retreat. They were back this year, hoping to complete the final stage. The second were two very sweaty young guys, half our age, all-but running at twice our pace. Their target was 30 days, but slowed for a brief chat as they’d spotted the small kiwi flags sewn to our packs. Having loved their time exploring NZ, they were interested in our goal to complete it all in 59days, with only five rest days. Doesn’t pay to overthink some decisions!
Onward to the Cornish Riveria, rugged moorland, dotted withderelict tin mines and their towering chimney stacks plus famous fishing villages full of ‘thatchies’. Also the heart of some extraordinary surf beaches and with sea temperatures finally starting to rise, we braved a few more dips in the ocean to cool off along the way.
Day 27 we were anticipating the promised beauty and drama of Lands End. We’ll have to take their word for it, as the whole area was enveloped in thick fog. Not that we were grumbling, because the UK was experiencing one of its best summers ever. In fact, we only had one full day of rain, plus the occasional shower, the whole time. Even the locals couldn’t believe our luck, one guy commenting that if we’d chosen the year before it would have been a whole different ballgame…, mud, slush and continual rain! Can’t imagine the state of our feet had that been the case. (Only four blisters in total – unfortunately all mine).
Day 40 and now facing east back towards Dorset, we were on the home stretch. It was our fourth rest day, to be spent in our namesake port town of Plymouth, having arrived the day before via the Cawsands ferry, a legitimate and necessary part of the trail. By now we had recognised ‘rest days’ were never going to be just that….feet up and resting! The larger towns provided the best opportunity to stock up supplies, replace worn shoes, and of course check out the local attractions. These days we inevitably ended up walking longer distances than trail days.
To pinpoint the major highlights of this adventure is impossible This country’s extraordinary history is endless, steeped in stories of pirates, smugglers, kings and queens and war-torn shores.
The coast path was first formed for coastguard patrollers to keep unwelcome folk out. Therefore it is often wild, overgrown with gorse, bracken, stinging nettle (early identification of this weed recommended). It’s also lined with blackberry bushes, and there doesn’t appear to be any type of spraying program used in these parts. We observed and tested the small fruit daily, wishing them to ripen from green to red to jet black, and as we neared the end of our journey were rewarded with delicious mouthfuls of these fresh salt-covered treats. Navigation was a huge job. Even though we had an excellent phone app, it was sometimes hard to decipher exactly where on earth we were. The ‘acorn’ marker posts pointing out the official route would frequently disappear, or the trail was often re-routed due to massive coastal erosion.
The final days had us scaling huge limestone cliffs and through rifle ranges. If the flags were flying however, it meant practice was is in progress, and a hellish road detour was required. Luck was on our side so we made it through the ‘shortcut’ to Knoll Beach, kicking up the white sand with joy, and diving into the briny for a final swim.
We almost forgot the finale photo at the monument and had to race back, just as the ferry docked to cross the inlet to Poole Harbour.
We felt disorientated waking up on the morning it was all over, no longer having to dress in the same old smelly scrubs and head out on trail. The places we’d laid our heads were diverse, from seasoned pubs, quaint cottages, and majestic castles, the hosts all exceptionally friendly and knowledgeable. Meals were often hit and miss, pub food just what you’d expect, but very occasionally we were treated to the finest of cuisine. To the seagull that stole my Cornish pastie right out of my hand in St.Ives….you’re welcome to it — you’ve obviously not tasted New Zealand mince and cheese pies!
We crossed the finish line on 31 August, achieving just over 1000 kilometres and around 30,000 metres of elevation (what some compare to climbing Everest four times). As active relaxants, the question from most of our friends was not whether we would make it (well me anyway) but if we were still talking to each other at the end?
You can’t always walk side by side, the track is generally less than a metre wide. Long parts of a day were spent alone in your thoughts, walking at your own pace. We always had each other’s backs though, sometimes wishing we actually had someone else’s younger, stronger, one!
It was a one-off, spur of the moment, never to be repeated experience — but only because there are too many other adventures to explore! If you’re thinking of trying it, we highly recommend it.
We wonder what this month’s Book Club selection will have in store?
We stayed healthy the whole way, and in the first week we certainly questioned our decision, and if we were capable of this distance. Due to the rush start, once again didn’t take much notice of distances, gaps between rest days etc, just trusted the tour company to get it right for us. So it was a bit of a shock when we finally realised the first rest day was Day 16, in Padstow.
As time went on and we pushed thru the muscle pain, it just felt like another great day, with nothing else to do but go walking and enjoying whatever sights we came across. As we got fitter and stronger, we thought the finish line was definitely possible, and really started to enjoy every moment.
There was only one day in St Ives, when I tweaked my lower back, and wondered how this would affect the day. I popped a slow release Voltaren and carried on.
The husband of the couple in the book, had quite a debilitating disease apparently, and they say all the walking really improved his condition. We also feel that our bodies got stronger over the two months, and previous joint niggles etc actually did disappear. Theres seems a lot of merit in the saying ‘use it or lose it’.