The Restorative Powers of Hiking

The South West Coast Path is ranked “the world’s happiest walk”. It’s an historic, 630-mile route around the extreme southwest peninsula of Britain, based on the steps trodden around cliffs and coves by generations of coastguards (and likely their neolithic ancestors, too). It’s typically broken up into eight approximately week-long sections (although you can tailor it to whatever suits your pace), and I’ve just completed the first week with my husband. It was a challenge—we walked for up to nine hours a day—but one of my most regenerative and, yes, joyful, experiences.

I spent many childhood summers on the north coast of Cornwall near St Ives, which is on the route. Every day we’d see hikers making their way along the narrow paths across the sand dunes and I promised myself I’d walk it some day.

(The Path is likely to get more attention this year with the release of The Salt Path, starring Gillian Anderson and Jason Isaacs. Based on a 2018 memoir of the same name, the movie tells the story of a couple who embark on the journey in one go, after facing some devastating life changes.)

Spence and I set off from the town of Minehead by the celebration statue that marks the start of the trail, arriving at Westward Ho! (yes, the exclamation point is part of its name!) six days and around 100 miles (and admittedly wobbly legs and a few blisters) later.

We hiked dramatic, craggy cliffs and beautiful long, golden, sandy beaches. (I sometimes think that the UK would have the busiest beaches in the world if only the temperature were a few degrees higher.) We passed heather and bright yellow gorse bushes and, since our hike was in April, banks of spring flowers: primroses, daffodils, wild garlic, and bluebells. We were frequently distracted by loud, chatty birdsong.

We trudged up and down valleys and around remote headlands—often with a day’s elevation change of about 3,000 feet.

The Path took us through moors and marshland, at one point encountering a natural amphitheater in a gulley. A passing hiker, Cesar, who we’d seen coming down the path opposite us for the last ten minutes or so, told us he’d been listening to our (thankfully benign) conversation, such was the acoustics. As we crossed paths and went in the other direction, we continued to converse across the heather until Cesar was barely a speck in the distance.

We stayed in old coaching inns, traditional bed and breakfasts, and restored 18th-century townhouses. We satisfied our craving for our favorite British classics, Cornish pasties and fish and chips, as well as eating fabulous tapas and Thai. There’s nothing like exercising hard all day to help you enjoy your dinner.

The trip had its own superlatives. A short segue off the route took us to the smallest parish church in England, which is only accessible by foot. (As we left, a man in his eighties was conducting a tai chi lesson on the Path.) And a few hours later, we circled a grand country house perched right on the cliffs—we were baffled as to how people got there. Google later confirmed access was via the longest driveway in England.

It was certainly exhausting at times.

Our last two days, in particular, were strenuous. On day five (of six) we had to cover an extra 5 1/2 miles to make up a climb around a headland that had been part of the previous day’s route. We’d had to abandon that stretch of the coast—poetically named Morte Point, reached via “dangerous rocks”—due to torrential rain and dangerous, misty conditions (somewhat inevitable in the UK in spring). We are both completionists, and felt compelled to finish the journey in order, if humanly possible.

Day six was the longest of our itinerary, at 26 miles—and over 50,000 steps. We barely made it, collapsing straight into our dinner reservation at 7.30pm.

I’m sure after that we vowed we’d set a slower pace for the rest of the Path but, rather like childbirth, that memory seems to be fading. We are already embarking on ambitious plans to finish the remaining 500 plus miles.

I’m looking forward to walking past my childhood play spots (about two weeks more to go) and my husband to passing right by the house he lived in at university (during the final week)—and, of course, to arriving at the end.

Only one million—hopefully meditative—steps to go!