North Cornwall Coastal Walk: Marsland Mouth to Newquay

Epic sea stacks, smugglers’ coves, and crashing Atlantic waves (Marsland Mouth to Newquay)

Suggested Walk: 3-4 Days

Route: Marsland Mouth → Bude → Port Isaac → Padstow → Newquay

Marsland Mouth – Bude

Iconic Venues: Bude The Barrel at Bude, Bude The Brendon Arms, Bude Rosies, Port Isaac The Golden Lion, Padstow The Golden Lion, Padstow The Old Custom House.

Morning at Marsland Mouth, where a clear stream cascades from woodland to a rocky beach on the Devon–Cornwall border​

We set off in the soft light with the cry of seabirds echoing in the deep Marsland Valley, a nature reserve once established by chocolate heir Christopher Cadbury. The valley feels enchanted – rare dormice hide in the hedgerows and the summer air dances with butterflies and dragonflies drawn by wildflowers​. Climbing up the first cliff, we pause to savor the view: rolling waves meeting dark, folded cliffs that speak to Cornwall’s ancient geology. It’s a wild, remote start, utterly untamed and exhilarating.

As we gain the heights, a sense of history accompanies us along the path. Notorious shipwrecks once plagued this shore – over 150 ships were lost on the jagged outcrops between Morwenstow and Bude​. High above the blue Atlantic, we stumble upon the Hawker’s Hut, an old driftwood cabin clinging to the cliffs. Here the eccentric Victorian vicar-poet Robert Stephen Hawker would sit meditating and writing, inspired by the ocean panorama; he even hosted guests like Tennyson in this tiny clifftop refuge​. The spirit of Hawker’s Cornwall feels alive as we imagine his lone figure gazing out to Lundy Island amid the pink thrift and sea campion.

From these heights the path dips and soars through wooded “combes” (valleys) and over headlands. We cross into Cornwall proper via a little wooden footbridge and tackle a series of steep ascents that test our legs. It’s said this stretch is among the toughest of the entire South West Coast Path​, but every hard-won summit rewards us with stunning views – perhaps none more so than Higher Sharpnose Point, a narrow fin of rock pointing out to sea like a dragon’s back. In the salty breeze, we spot kestrels hovering and hear the distant thunder of waterfalls hidden in fern-filled gullies. There’s a profound solitude on these cliffs; only the crash of waves far below and the wind in the heather accompany our footsteps.

By late afternoon, the landscape gentler now, we descend toward the seaside town of Bude. Golden sand stretches out at Summerleaze Beach, and surfers dot the waves. Tucked into the cliffs is the famous Bude Sea Pool, a part-natural tidal lido created in 1930 that still offers safe saltwater swimming to all​. 

After the day’s exertions, Bude feels welcoming and civilized – neat rows of Victorian and pastel houses, beach huts, and the smell of fish and chips in the air. We stroll along the historic canal basin and find a cozy pub to unwind. Sipping a well-earned Cornish ale, we watch the sky glow over the ocean and the last surfers ride “the long wave on the thundering shores of Bude” as Tennyson once wrote​. Our first day ends in contentment, lulled by the sound of distant breakers.

Bude – Boscastle

The tidal pool at Bude’s Summerleaze Beach fills with each high tide, a popular spot for an invigorating morning swim​.

Dawn in Bude brings a rosy light to the dunes. We set off after a quick breakfast by the harbor, the coastal path leading us up and away from town. Soon we’re high above Widemouth Bay, admiring its long curve of sand and the early-bird surfers already out carving the waves. South of Widemouth, the terrain grows wilder once more. The cliffs here are Cornwall’s giants – we traverse above High Cliff, the highest sheer-drop cliff in England’s southwest at an awe-inspiring 735 feet​. Standing at the cliff’s edge (a safe distance back!), we feel like tiny specks between sea and sky. Far below, the tide has withdrawn to reveal rocky shores where gulls wheel and cry.

We press on, the path winding through wind-bent gorse and heather. At a secluded cove called Crackington Haven, we scramble down to the pebbly beach for a brief rest. There’s a quaint café by the strand where we grab a Cornish pasty and steaming tea, enjoying a few moments with our boots off, watching children rock-pooling. Here the cliffs loom in layered hues of slate; the drama of the coastline is inescapable. Locals tell us these stratified cliffs are unique – unlike most of Cornwall’s slate and granite, Bude’s cliffs are sandstone, buckled and twisted by ancient earth movements.​

We can literally see Earth’s history in their contorted folds.

With renewed energy, we tackle the afternoon’s miles. The trail climbs through flower-strewn meadows alive with butterflies, then descends into the sheltered Valency Valley as we approach Boscastle. Arriving from above, Boscastle is breathtaking – a tiny whitewashed fishing village nestled at the mouth of a narrow, wooded inlet. We follow the path down into the village past old stone cottages and bee-buzzing gardens. The natural harbor here is very small, just a slender channel where boats bob behind a stout breakwater, protected from Atlantic swells by dark headlands. Boscastle’s tranquility belies its dramatic recent history as the site of a devastating flash flood in 2004, but today you’d hardly guess it – the village has been beautifully restored and retains its postcard charm.

Boscastle invites exploration. We wander the quaint lanes, discovering local art galleries and a medieval stone bridge. A must-see is the quirky Museum of Witchcraft and Magic, home to one of the world’s largest collections of folk magic and occult artefacts.​

​

Peeking inside, we find cabinets of curious spells and charms – a testament to Cornwall’s mystical folklore. As dusk falls, we settle into the Cobweb Inn, a centuries-old pub once used by sailors and smugglers. Its low-beamed interior is full of character (and named for the cobwebs that once festooned its walls), and tonight it’s filled with laughter and the aroma of hearty stew. Over a pint of local ale and a plate of fresh fish, we reflect on the day’s wonders. The Cobweb’s convivial atmosphere is the perfect antidote to the wild cliffs – a snug haven for weary walkers. Boscastle’s magic has worked its charm on us​

, and we drift to sleep to the murmur of the river, feeling utterly at peace.

Boscastle – Tintagel – Port Isaac – Padstow

The modern footbridge at Tintagel Castle spans a chasm to reunite the ruins on the mainland with those on Tintagel Island.​

We wake to a misty morning in Boscastle, the valley sprinkled with dew. Climbing out of the village, the path leads us along high cliffs once again. A short trek brings us to Tintagel, steeped in Arthurian legend. The ruins of Tintagel Castle soon come into view, perched dramatically on a rugged headland surrounded by crashing waves. We cross the spectacular new footbridge that now links the mainland to Tintagel Island – a slender span over a yawning gulf.​

Stepping onto the crag where the castle’s fragmented walls stand, we are transported back in time. According to myth, this is the very site where King Arthur was conceived by Uther Pendragon’s enchantment. Fact or fable, the atmosphere is undeniably magical. We explore the crumbling ramparts and gaze out at the endless sea, imagining Merlin wandering below in the echoing sea cave known as Merlin’s Cave (accessible at low tide on the golden beach far beneath us). A striking bronze statue called Gallos – an 8-foot tall figure of a king shrouded in cloak – stands overlooking the cliffs​. Face to face with this enigmatic sculpture, we feel the pull of legend and landscape as one. Tintagel’s blend of myth and history is irresistible.

Reluctantly, we depart Tintagel and continue south, the coastline gentler for a stretch. The path winds through a patchwork of fields atop the cliffs. By midday the sun has burned off the morning haze. We stop in a tiny hamlet for a classic Cornish cream tea (debating the proper jam-then-cream order, as one must!). Afterwards, the trail leads us past Trebarwith Strand, where surfers enjoy glassy waves below towering slate cliffs. It’s a scene of raw beauty – sea stacks rising from the water, and a lone gull riding the breeze at eye level with us.

By late afternoon, we glimpse the rooftops of Port Isaac, tucked in a steep-sided cove. As we descend into this picture-perfect fishing village, it feels familiar – indeed, Port Isaac doubles as “Portwenn” in the Doc Martin TV series.​

Narrow lanes wind between whitewashed cottages; they are so tight that we have to walk single file. Fishing nets and lobster pots adorn doorways, and the briny scent of the ocean wafts through town. Down on the Platt (the harbor slipway), children are crabbing and a group of locals burst into a spontaneous sea shanty – Port Isaac is home to the Fisherman’s Friends shanty singers, famous for their hearty Cornish songs.​

​

We can’t help but pause and listen, feeling like we’ve stepped into a bygone era.

Hungry after a long day’s trek, we treat ourselves to a seafood feast. Port Isaac may be small, but it’s a renowned foodie haven. We manage to get a table at Nathan Outlaw’s Fish Kitchen, a tiny harborside restaurant. The setting is intimate – a former fisherman's cottage – and the dishes are exquisite: fresh-off-the-boat crab, scallops and hake prepared with modern flair.​

Dining on local catch while overlooking the harbor as twilight falls is an experience to savor. With contented hearts and full bellies, we decide to push on the last few miles to Padstow under the stars (a taxi or bus transfer spares our legs the final marathon stretch, allowing us to arrive in good time).

Entering Padstow at night is magical – the moonlit harbor is lined with bobbing fishing boats and the smell of salt and seaweed mixes with the mouthwatering aroma of vinegar on hot chips. Padstow is a charming working port that has also become Cornwall’s culinary capital​, largely thanks to chef Rick Stein’s famous restaurants. We stroll past his flagship Seafood Restaurant and note its lively buzz even at this hour. Our lodging for the night, a cozy inn near the quayside, welcomes us in. Before turning in, we take a quiet walk on the harbor wall. The estuary waters reflect the twinkling lights of town. This ancient port – in use since at least the Bronze Age – feels very much alive tonight​.

We toast our journey so far with a pint of local Doom Bar ale, named after the treacherous sandbar at the Camel Estuary’s mouth which has wrecked many a ship​. Never has a day’s walk held so much variety: from Arthurian castles to gourmet delights. Sleep comes easy in Padstow, with the cries of curlews across the estuary lulling us to dreams.

Padstow – Newquay

Our final day dawns bright and blue in Padstow. After indulging in a classic Cornish breakfast (and perhaps a quick stop at a bakery for a warm steak pasty “for the road”), we set out along the Camel Estuary. The morning light is golden on the water, and sailboats drift lazily by. Rather than follow the long inland loop of the estuary, we hop on the little foot ferry from Padstow to Rock, skipping us across to the opposite shore. Back on the coast path, we climb up toward Stepper Point and the open Atlantic once more. This section of trail is part of a protected Heritage Coast, rich in wildflowers and expansive views.​

The ocean sparkles to our right, and to our left sandy dunes and heathland stretch out. It’s quieter here – we share the path with dog walkers and the occasional birdwatcher scanning for peregrine falcons that nest in the crags.

Rounding Trevose Head, we pass the gleaming white Trevose Lighthouse, which has stood guard since 1847. The scent of gorse and sea spray is invigorating. Below us lie the broad bays of Constantine and Harlyn, beloved by surfers and families alike. We descend to cross a series of beaches separated by low headlands. Each cove has its character: one filled with gentle waves and surfers, the next a secluded inlet where we spot grey seals bobbing their heads curiously above the surf. By midday, we’ve reached Porthcothan and reward ourselves with cones of Cornish ice cream from a tiny van in the car park – clotted cream ice cream is a must-try delight.

The grand finale of our trek is approaching: the famed Bedruthan Steps. As we arrive at Carnewas, the vista opens up to one of Cornwall’s most iconic scenes. Towering sea stacks march across the beach below like giant sentinels. According to local legend, these massive rock pillars were stepping stones used by the giant Bedruthan to traverse the bay​.

It’s low tide, so the full expanse of golden sand is revealed, and each monolithic stack casts a long shadow. We carefully follow the marked path to a clifftop viewpoint. The sight is spectacular - vivid turquoise tide pools at the bases of the stacks mirror the cloudless sky. In spring this whole clifftop is carpeted with pink thrift and purple heather​

, but even in late summer the rugged beauty is mesmerizing. We sit for a while, legs dangling over the edge of the low cliff wall, simply soaking in the grandeur of Bedruthan Steps. It’s a place that makes you feel both insignificant and deeply connected to nature’s artistry.

Reluctantly, we leave Bedruthan’s magic and continue towards Newquay, now only a few miles away. The coastline softens into rolling sand dunes as we pass Watergate Bay, a two-mile stretch of sand where colourful kitesurfers dance with the wind. Newquay’s outskirts soon greet us with the sight of hotels and holiday parks atop the cliffs. Before long we’re standing above Fistral Beach, Newquay’s legendary surf spot, watching in awe as wetsuit-clad surfers carve up world-class Atlantic breakers.​

The energy is palpable – this town lives and breathes surfing. We descend to Fistral’s wide sands, our boots making prints alongside countless surfboard tails and bare feet. It’s late afternoon and the beach is alive: seasoned pros shredding waves out back, beginners taking lessons closer to shore, kids splashing in the shallows. The backdrop of Newquay is a mix of Victorian villas and modern surf shops, a town reinvented from its fishing-port past into Cornwall’s surf capital.

To celebrate the end of our journey, we head to Lewinnick Lodge, a cliffside restaurant pub perched on Pentire Point just beyond town. From its terrace, we gaze out at panoramic ocean views as the sun begins to dip low.​

Over a platter of fresh mussels and a glass of crisp white wine, we reflect on the past days’ adventures. The lodge’s atmosphere is elegant yet relaxed – surfers with salty hair mix with visitors like us recounting their travels. We even spot a pod of dolphins playing in the waves below, prompting the whole terrace to cheer in delight​

. As dusk falls, we wander back into Newquay and down to Fistral Beach one more time. The sky is a blaze of oranges and pinks. We sit on the sand, backs against a driftwood log, and watch the sun melt into the horizon. The iconic silhouette of Towan Head frames one side of the bay, and the last surfers are coming in, silhouetted against the colorful sky.

In this moment, with the sound of the surf and cries of distant gulls, our North Cornwall coastal odyssey ends as romantically as it began. Four days ago, we stood on the wild threshold of Cornwall at Marsland Mouth; now we have walked the edge of the world (or so it feels) to lively Newquay. We have stood on towering cliffs and in ancient ruins, discovered secret coves and charming harbours, and tasted the salt on our lips and the warmth of Cornish hospitality. Cornwall’s dramatic coastline has embraced us at every turn with its beauty and legend. As the first stars blink into the night sky above Newquay, we know these memories – much like the coastline itself – will remain etched in our hearts forever.

Get In Touch

Enjoy the walk? We’re creating a special South West Coast Path merch collection, paying tribute to the iconic venues that make the journey unforgettable. Did we miss a must-do iconic venue or experience? Let us know! 

Do you want to feature your venue on Iconic Merch or become a partner, with your very own merch? Reach out here!