popping off to padstow

It is early in 2023.  When Dr G applies to visit Bullsmead Barracks, in person, before we ship out to Sablet for our 2023 spring visit (she is otherwise engaged so can’t ride shotgun to Sabbers this March), we accept with pleasure – of course. I enquire if she might be up for a coastal tramp in the few days she is to grace us with her presence, to which she responds in the positive, stating a preference for something estuarine – but would settle for beaches if that was on offer – and maybe do both.

Now, since MM and self started living out here in the South West, it is fair to say that there are two Cornish coastal communities that we have developed a particular soft spot for. These are Mousehole and Padstow: the runners up to these are probably Helford Passage and Fowey. 

Mousehole – because we decided to draw up the jolly old mutual contract whilst drying out in The Ship Inn, home of Star Gazey Pie, when MM and I had escaped to M’hole for a week during our getting-to-know-you period. Not resident at The Ship you understand but supping there: our first holiday let together is best forgotten, it was not, er, the height of luxury, exactly. 

Thereafter, through the ensuing years of conjugal affiliation, we rented or stayed in a whole series of Mousehole holiday lets — out of season, but also often at Christmas and in the company of friend Anne (and her generosity), the son-and-heir etc. 

It was after Mary and self had decided to amalgamate, as I said, in The Ship, way back in November 1985, that we motored back to Oxford via Padstow, to see if we could suss out an hotel there to meet our desire to take a day or two of leave in Cornwall, après signing on the dotted in the Oxford registry in January '86. We found Padstow was closed; almost deserted. We could see its charm through the veil of rain, but the hostelries were barred and shuttered. I don’t think we even managed a cuppa.  We made other arrangements for our forthcoming nuptials. 

In the early years of our Bullsmead residency we trekked down with friends to Padders, day return, to lunch at Rick Stein’s Seafood Restaurant (top flight fish-dining don't y'know) as one does; but it wasn’t until we drew a blank for Mousehole-at-Christmas one year early in this century, that we substituted Padstow for the first time, together with Anne and the family addition. The jolly was a success. 

Mousehole has been the business in no less than six gaffs, (I broke a tea pot in the last), eight visits –plus one we had to cancel when we were infuriatingly snowed in, back in Devon… Padstow has thus far rendered us but three rentals, all good, with one we booked twice… but rental charges may now have progressed beyond our means/ willingness to shell out, such is its honey-pot status these days. Retired folk and the like.And young trendies, damn and blast! We are but poor pensioners on fixed incomes and without further expectations… It is in season most of the time now so prices stay uppermost.  Even in term time… one could weep…

So I says to Mary, (or she says to me, it depends who is spinning this yarn) if Dr G wants estuarine exposure why don’t we take her to Padders where there is as fine an estuary as you could wish for (the Camel river debouches there)? She might not get much in the way of shoreline birds but at least we’ll be walking on sand rather than mud.

We decide that as we’ve not Padstowed since 2010 (a birthday jolly for my good self, including a snack at the aformentioned Seafood Restaurant) we will do it and stay over! Mind you, not in a rented gaff this time, or any of the hotels that serve honey-pot-Padstow these days, but a cheap and cheerful sojourn up the road at the Travelodge in nearby Wadebridge! It’s a corker-of-a-plan and Dr G gives the green light so that’s what we do. And like in 2010 and 2007, this may be considered a birthday jolly even though we anticipate the joyous occasion by a day to avoid the week-end and the approaching half term holiday invasion.

We pile in the family tumbril bright and early on the Thursday morning (it is raining) and we are all present and correct in Padstow in time to check out MM’s anticipated breakfast venue for the morrow… not quite up to her or our expectations… and to discover my preferred fish-and-chip café is closed for a refurb… but the Rick Stein coffee-shop has a vacant stool or two and so we simply drink coffee, eat sausage rolls, pains-aux-raisins, bagels etc., foregoing more substantial fare so that we can get the estuary walk underway in the glorious blue sky weather just now anointing the Cornish North Coast.

It scores. Warm almost. Oft repeated over the intervening, this walk is always fresh and invigorating. Thankfully Padstow is not busy and the way to Stepper Point soon clears of the dog walkers and most other foot path amblers.

Only my very closest associates may be vaguely aware that I suffer some challenges (generally in silence) from a long standing (my whole life seemingly) back complaint. As they will readily attest, I am not one to complain, stiff upper lip and all that… I only mention the affliction In this context because I am rather pleased to be able to address the trek to Stepper (and beyond) with only moderate discomfort. It doesn’t spoil my day much, so hopefully it doesn’t spoil my companions’ day either… but once at the Stepper Tower I am grateful to be able to bask awhile on a disused concrete platform adjacent to the tower, prior to trekking westward in the general direction of the distant Trevose Head.  Dr G sees fit to record our laying out…

Madame Melling is given to disregarding maps other than her trusty Michelin, especially when the map concerned has been accidentally left behind in the motor, by persons unknown: so makes her own ‘freelance’ way from the headland to encounter a road that looks like the one we need to make the return leg of our round. Self and Dr G stick to the cliff top and at Gunver Head I am anticipating the next, more interesting rocky littoral, complete with natural arches, blowholes and stacks, down to the sands of the bay ahead, when that blight of modern times, the mobile phone intervenes. Mary summons us down to the road she is on. I am, of course sans device, but unfortunately Dr G subscribes and carries her Smart cocked and ready. I am muttering a little as we reunite and turn back to Padstow.

Road walking. There is nothing like it to dampen the spirits and ditto if one's back is playing up to such an extent that one’s legs are attacked by pins-and-needles, fire, freeze, numbness, and a disinclination to tackle even light gradients efficiently. We’ve done this route before (thirteen years ago, and in reverse) so who needs the map? Someone sporting those damned walking poles so prevalent these days asks us if we are lost… NO, we chorus. Well we aren’t, are we, we know where we are going — but then we miss the turn off across the fields in Crugmeer, hidden as it is amongst agricultural buildings and sans fingerpost. 

In rather less sunny tempers we finally arrive in the Padstow suburbs; I manfully stride out to fetch the car to save further distress among the women folk. Reunited, we find a tea room on the harbour that is pleased to see us, drinking three pots of rosey-lee before we are asked to vacate the premises as the establishment is closing up. I note that they do breakfasts, and promise to return. (All this time we have been parking the wheels up in front of Prideaux Place so there is a fair amount of going up or down Duke Street and Fentonluna Road during our time in Padders…)

Thereafter we turn up for our booking at the Rick Stein Café, preceded by a limp round the backstreets of the town, plus the church in gathering gloom, and then resort to liquid restoratives in the cosy Golden Lion. I choose  Doom Bar, which if you don’t know, is an amber ale that seems to be rather thin these days, originating from the brewery across the river Camel, at Rock. I drink a pint of the stuff, so you don't have to: gnat's pee comes to mind…  Oh yes, The Doom Bar after which the ale is named  is the sand spit that partially blocks the Camel estuary mouth and upon which up to two hundred vessels have foundered, over the years, or so it is claimed.

We’ve eaten at the Rick Stein Café a handful of times before and found it most satisfactory. However >sigh< this time our dishes are all a bit tame. Service excellent etc. as per, but bland comestibles. Not café prices either I’m afraid: Dr G graciously picks up l’addition… I was absent at the reckoning, called away to facilitise.

All that remains of the day is to motor to Wadebridge, check in the Travelodge and crash out. Our rooms are fine, the hotel quiet but well patronised and we are soon slumbering.

We check out Wadebridge on the morrow for a breakfast venue. But even though it’s Cornwall it is also England. Not a chance seemingly. We arrive back at the Padstow harbour-side tea room (see left) and, last out yesterday, we are first in this morning. It's busy! Full English! Well I do – I can’t speak for my companions, they have something or other altogether less toxic no doubt, but I think we all put away a mug or two of rather good coffee (alright, Mary has milk) and I am granted a loyalty card with four stars on it upon departure. 

We have this morning decided upon a visit to Trevose Head, facilitated, when we finally get there, by Dr G’s membership of the NT, allowing us to park gratis near the lighthouse. Hitherto I would have scorned such convenience and walked right round the Heads of Dinas and Trevose, and back to the gateway starting point via field paths. But I am slightly the worse for wear back-wise today – although of course I keep my limitations strictly under my hat, as is my wont. The sea is more agitated than yesterday, the gathering clouds more threatening. 

Mary and your author have been up here twice before, along with the Son-and H, when you could hardly stand up straight for windy gusts and with the spume a-flying… It is a spot where one feels in contact with the North Atlantic, because dear reader you are, indeed you are.

Access to the Padstow lifeboat station (it faces east on the Polventon Bay) is strictement interdit due to the locked access gate. Falling rocks are given as the reason for this restriction, so Dr G must content herself with the view from above. Why, I can remember visiting this LBS when it didn’t have that fancy roof, but made do with a pitched construction… It is situated here so that it can function in all tidal conditions, safely outside the aforementioned Doom Bar: prior to this construction it was at Hawker's Cove, where launches were seriously constrained by the tides. 

By the time we tear ourselves away a drizzle has commenced. We are back at the car before we have sustained too much dampness, but once again we have failed to take in the blow holes and striations that punctuate the western flank of this headland. But it is raining and visibility is compromised so we call it a day. 

In the absence of decent F&C (I draw the line at Rick Stein’s Fish and Chips, back in Padstein, good though they be, well they need to be, the excessive prices charged thereat) we decide to make a run for the border and try our luck at the peculiarly named, vast and rambling Strawberry Fields Farm Shop Café just outside Lifton, advertising itself as a Real Working Farm Shop which is reassuring. It takes quite a while for our order of tea and cakes to show, even though it has gone one o’clock, and there seem to be plenty of activity staff-wise. Eventually we go fetch our own…

From Strawberry Fields (I saw nothing resembling same) it is but an hour and a bit back to Bullsmead Towers. 

I get a birthday pint in The Grove the following day (the day, but no candle stuck in my round of ham-with-mustard-on-brown) and the day after that we return Dr G to Tiverton Parkway and civilisation. The verdict is, as far as I can tell from comments made by participants who answered my questionnaire, generally positive. 

Don’t be too dismissive of this ramble: its no worse than a private diary entry – True, you’ll never get the time you spent trawling this trivia back, but there is a lot of it about – time that is. For some at least >gulp<. You’d have just been kicking your heels anyway. Which this little event wasn’t: I liked it a lot. Thank you to all, at least we did leave some Steins unturned. 

Just a note on the images supplied herewith: upon return I surveyed my snap stock to confirm this or that, and as is often the case with revisits, I found repeated views and perspectives therein. Padstow harbourside has hardly changed although the vessels therein have, to a considerable degree. We also had longer time periods to explore on some of our previous visits, but the perambulation to Stepper shows up as standard fare, the must-do, unchanged and still a delight, I’ll have nothing said against it – but it can be muddy… you can't cut across the sands when the tides in, obvs. 

The main masthead view up top was snapped thirteen years previous to this visit, as was the annotated vista that ends this piece, to the very day!