It’s a real joy waking up when you are staying right on the coast path, no bus to catch, and your car waiting for you at your destination. We’ve slept well on the double bottom bunk bed in our private ensuite room at the Treyarnon Youth Hostel. Last night’s burger and chips were excellent and our clothes have almost dried in the drying room (shame the room wasn’t vented, it was more like a steam room) . They even serve a cooked breakfast here, but we have a long walk ahead of us and a deadline to get to our campsite on time so we head straight off.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, the sky is blue with just a few straggly clouds. Yesterday’s storm has performed its job and it’s a crisp clear summers day. We wander passed the benches, scattered along the cliff top, now quiet after the bustle of last night’s picnickers and sunset watchers. There is an occasional dog walker strolling alongside us on this very easy clifftop path. The sea, a mere four or five metres below, is gently breaking on the cliffs.

The path skirts around a small dwelling; sea beet leaves, yellow and white chamomile flowers and faded pink sea thrift cling to the stone wall and the pretty pink flowers of beach aster arch around the front gate.

Just ten minutes from the start of our walk and our boots are gently sinking into the smooth sand of Constantine Bay. It is idyllic – the white tipped waves gently rolling over themselves onto the golden sand. It’s before 8 o’ clock in the morning and it’s already indented with the shapes of human and canine feet. A huge snake-like tree branch draws us up the beach to get a closer inspection. The artistry of nature at its best.

Steep, tiny-treaded, wooden steps lead us back up to the low grassy cliff and round to Booby’s Bay. We stay on the cliff top, above the bay, watching a small fishing boat manoeuvring close to the rocky cliffs, gulls squalling as they circle the boat.

A landmark, noted on the map as Round Hole, is an enormous round hole! There is no fence and I cannot see the bottom, but it is very deep. Turning the corner at Trevose Head there’s a large flat area, possibly quarried. The lighthouse suddenly pops its head up on the headland. A few steps up and we can see the whole of the lighthouse and adjacent dwellings, its green painted doors and windows, characteristic of the Trinity House lighthouses.

It’s 8:30, we are an hour into a six or so hour walk and we stop for snacks on a bench. The sun is high in the sky already, the puffy clouds hanging in the distance ahead of us. Refreshed, we continue round Trevose Head, the skylarks singing their high-pitched song and a sparrow hawk magickly floating above the headland, the seagulls joining in every now and then with their squalling sound and swooping over the cliffs. We can see tucked below us the curved roof of the lifeboat station with its uninterrupted view over the bay.

We cross a small road and down a path at the edge of a field. Two plaques, seemingly randomly placed along the path state the place where Patrick Neville Rabey’s ashes are scattered and remember SPUD 1956-2009. The long floppy flower heads of Red Valerian, scrambling over the dry-stone wall along with wild carrot, grasses and the occasional splash of a red poppy. Butterflies fluttering through and bees busy capturing the pollen and nectar.

I’m a massive fan of art-deco architecture and I’ve found the house of my dreams sitting above Mother Ivey’s Bay. The rear aspect has a glass semi-circular window over several floors, housing a curved staircase, with a flat roof either side – a miniature De-La-Warr Pavilion (not far from home in Bexhill-on-Sea). We slowly amble passed then look back and admire the upstairs terrace with its white iron railings. Straight lines everywhere.

Large Tamarix bushes are sprouting from the top of a stone wall, trebling its height and creating a fabulous wind break, although not needed today. The path curves round the top of Mother Ivey’s Bay, passed a house with the most incredible long stone wall topped with Beach Aster.

We take the steps down to the beach, glistening in the sunshine where I dip my toes in the cold water. There are just two other couples on the beach and the most elegant rock sticking like a sharks fin out of the sand. I would have expected more people out and about seeing as there is a holiday park a stone’s throw above the bay?

My boots have, at last, dried out so I change into my dry socks. Bliss.

Lime green flowers of sea beet are sprouting out around an artistically positioned crumbling log at the edge of the beach. As we walk up the steep path back to the coast path more people are making their way down to the beach. I guess it is only half passed nine in the morning.

Steps take us beyond Mother Ivey’s Bay, where we continue along the gentle low grassy path towards Cataclews Point. Our sight now set upon the wide expanse of sand at Harlyn Bay with the low landscape behind dotted with houses, hedgerow and woodland.

The peace is broken by two fighter jets, effortlessly cruising from the sea and over the land feeling not far above our heads. They move slowly with the deepest noise you can imagine. As the aircraft noise diminishes the caw-ing of rook’s takes over the airwaves, from the field behind us.

I was hoping to walk the wide stretch of sandy beach at Harlyn Bay but there are no sensible paths down and I’m not inclined to scramble so we continue above the beach descending close to where the road meets the beach at Harlyn Bridge. There’s a large car park at this end of Harlyn Bay’s expansive beach, so there’s a fair few people about. A tractor has pulled a catering unit onto the sands and a lady is preparing for the day. We make for the Beach Box café set above the low dunes with its huge terrace bustling with people. The menu is tempting, very tempting, I opt for a smoothy called Recovery – red beets and ginger. It’s just my cup of tea – haha the only tea I drink in the mornings is fresh ginger!

We sit for a while and ponder on how relaxing, welcoming and beautiful it is here. But we are only half way through todays walk so continue through the car park to re-discover the coast path. We pass a wheat crop then a cabbage-type crop, rolls of fleece neatly stacked and wrapped with plastic, with windswept cypress trees in the distance.

Newtrain Bay, scattered with rocks, morphs into the sandy Trevone Bay, a neat looking village with a café and toilets (a fifty pence coin was needed to unlock the door). A trailer parked on the beach offers canoe-ing, paddle boarding and orienteering. It’s four squares on the map from here to Stepper Point, there are no trees, no shelter from the rain or sun. But in today’s weather it’s an easy going stroll with just one steep (ish) hill – steps down and a muddy drag up the other side.

A couple of guys in a large truck pull up ahead of us and herd the cows away from the cliff edge then appear to be putting up fences. A lovely spot to be working today.

Foxgloves join the wild carrot, poking their pink bobbing heads high above the grasses. Another small herd of chocolate brown cows really are perched on the next cliff top, I would hate them to be startled by anything. Is the grass really that much tastier on the precarious edge?

Our sights are now set on the chimney like structure on Stepper Point. But we are in need of a break so settle beside a stone wall for nuts, fruit and to rest our legs. The grey filaments of lichen, and the pretty pink star shaped flowers of English stonecrop Sedum anglicum cling to the wall. I’m not sure what the mustard-coloured plant is around the lichen but it adds to the beautiful tapestry of colour, form and texture.

The stone tower-like structure is complete and very handsome. Its interior is cool with a little window framing the view of the sea. I’m not sure of its purpose, but I like it.

Round the corner I pop a coin into a fire-extinguisher converted into a donation box outside the Coastwatch lookout station and just like one of those old fashioned artefacts I’ve seen in a museum where a bear lights up and talks in response to a coin, a gentleman appears out of the building. His first words are “At least It’s not a normal manic Monday”, on further questioning he tells us of a man on a boat who recently had a heart attack, sadly they weren’t able to save his life or the life of other holiday makers on the Doom Bar between Rock and Padstow. We carry on our walk with a renewed respect for the sea, Padstow almost in our sights.

The sea is out, exposing the expanse of sand which looks to almost join up with Daymer Bay on the Rock side of the Camel estuary.

Arriving in Hawkers Cove I cannot resist snapping a photo of an echium gone crazy, spiking out purple spires of flowers in all directions. So sad we can’t keep these alive through the winter back at home (the seedling plants I bought by the side of the road last year near St. Michael’s Mount succumbed to the snow).

Impressive building projects are under way to the former RNLI boat house called Mariner’s Friend and behind it a single-story dwelling under a curved green roof – wow. Great that the architect has provided interpretation giving the history and future of these buildings.

We finally find a way down to the beach where we add our footprints for a while before retreating back to the cliff path, a golden field of barley sweeping to the horizon beside us. Across the Camel estuary and its Doom Bar we can see the town of Polzeath perched by Daymer Bay and straggling up the low hillside, just a few boats pass by. A deep boom sounds up and echoes around us, one, two, three, maybe four times, we don’t see a flare but we do see the small Padstow lifeboat heading out to sea.

The path descends a little and for the first time today into woodland reaching over our heads. We pass a small, square, grey rendered structure, its door bricked up and covered in ivy, iron shutters slightly ajar over the window aperture. My pace speeds up.

It’s funny how the last mile of a long walk always feels the longest. Maybe the anticipation of arrival or maybe because you are holding back a bit because you don’t want the walk to be over? We know we are close to the civilisation of Padstow before we see the harbour, shops and cafes. We know because from passing just a handful of walkers every twenty minutes or so we are now surrounded by the bustle of holiday makers. Families, couples, all taking a stroll from the hubbub of the town, enjoying the view of the estuary. The benches, so many of them straddled along the hedge line and around the war memorial. We are ready to flop on one but we resist. It’s now half passed one, we’ve had an incredible six-hour walking on one of the most beautiful stretches of coastline. The busy town now feels like it is creeping its strands of ivy over us. I try another Salted Caramel Ice cream from Stein’s Deli, just to check out how good it is, then we catch a bus to the top of town to find our car.

Tonight, we are sleeping under canvas, real canvas, for our first overnight in my new bell tent.