My last day with my sister Karen as my walking companion (before I set off across Dartmoor and Exmoor on my own) was a day of serendipity. At many points along the way, things worked out perfectly, but could have been more complicated if we’d come ten minutes later.

After a nice but light breakfast (Karen has embraced the vegetarian-ish version of the English breakfast, with a poached or scrambled egg, mushrooms and tomato, skipping the bacon and sausage; I’ve had my fill of eggs and needed a break, so I started with just bacon and toast) we walked down the hill from the B&B to the shore at Porthallow, where, I know you will be shocked to learn, the path climbed up a cliff immediately.

It was a bit unclear from our quick scan of the beach whether to take a handy staircase or go further down the beach to windy little dirt path. Fortunately, a man on the beach saw our puzzling it out and said “Take the stairs.” And off we went. He was the first of our path guides who just happened to be where we needed them.

The path in this stretch is more intimate than the north- and west-facing coast of the first few days, or the huge cliffs between Land’s End and The Lizard. On the eastern-facing side of the Lizard Peninsula, there is more greenery, more high shrub fences between which the path winds up and down with occasional punctuating eruptions into broad open fields with stunning views.

Not to harp on it, but one theme of this trip might well be called the United Kingdom’s payback for all the sunny dry walking trips I’ve done. The forecast was very threatening, and both Karen and I had independently been investigating and considering opt-out points, much harder to do for the first twelve miles of the day, but still possible at certain moments if we were once again feeling like the squishing of water in our boots was not going to be fun anymore.

But in fact the morning, while brisk and windy, did not hold much rain, and we moved along at a bracing clip (well, for someone in the last stages of nursing a twisted ankle, it was bracing–I was still finding it hard to place my foot right if walking across a hillside with my left foot landing higher than my right, which, of course, is a lot of the trail here because we are going counterclockwise around the coast, with the water always on our right).

The often hedge-enclosed walking was challenging because the recent rains have left mud on the path, squidgy, thick mud that lies in a thin slick over hard ground so you are never quite sure which step is going to leave your boot sucking into mud and which will be more like sliding across mud. But there were lovely peaceful stretches where it evened out, and overall, walking poles make it much easier to navigate the slippery bits.

The day’s biggest timing issue was two ferry crossings we needed to make before the tide got too low. Both were places that could either have us braving some insane walk across rocky river beds that could be who knows how deep even at low tide, or going miles out of the way. We’d checked out the tides (okay, Karen had checked it) so we knew we needed to make the first little ferry crossing by noon-ish if we were going to make both of them.

Much well-paced walking later,came around a spit of land and saw this spectacular full rainbow.

And within five minutes, it was gone. Timing, my friends.

Just a few minutes later, we got to crossing number one, where you flip a sign to show orange to alert the ferryman across the river, or you call their telephone. Doubting that the orange sign was really being watched for, we called, and a kid of around 20 came over and told us we were lucky, because he was getting ready to leave and we could have been out of luck.

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More rambling back up (if you get to water level on this path, you know you are about to go up for either a short fast hard climb or a long slow less-hard climb (I will not call it easy– the uphill is always a workout) brought us around more thrillingly beautiful landscape, which I am sure you can see is different, more cozy, than the vast scapes of the earlier part of the trip. Also, we were moving through areas where we’d see houses, not near the trail but up on the hillsides and nestled in valleys.

After a lovely but long walk through a wooded section across some private estate, the owners of which wanted to be very sure that walkers understood to stay to the coast path and not take any of the paths leading up into the woods and onto PRIVATE LAND, we got to the Helford Passage, where missing the boat (which would stop running around 2:30) would mean disaster and either 10 or 12 extra miles of walking or figuring out buses or something.

We’d made it in plenty of time, around 12:30, and once again called for the ferry. Our pilot regaled us on the seven or eight minute crossing with a report of how there was a big celebration the night before, and he and his mates had drunk in a pub over there (points west up the river) then at the pub over there (points to the south shore of the river), then landing up at the pub up ahead at 8:30 to get dinner, and not getting home until after midnight. So, a hung over pilot. But also one who, upon hearing Karen is from Pittsburgh, knew the Steelers right away. Chicago gets me gangster jokes, but Pittsburgh gets a sports team identification? We do have sport in Chicago, folks…

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After the ferry ride, we were once again looking up roads and paths, wondering which way to go (directions in both our guides can be fiendishly unhelpful at the exact moment when you’d think there would be very specific instructions, like right after getting off a ferry at a dock). We aimed up the most sensible option road and there, another guardian angel confirmed we were on the right path and should just walk up to that turn up ahead.

More rambling ensued. From Helford all the way into Falmouth, we started encountering more and more people out for day hikes (it was Saturday, after all), and so there was a lot of hello and afternoon and cheers. In a wooded patch with a set of wooden stairs set in the hill, we ran into two guys in their twenties, who went beyond the usual hello for a brief trail chat–another person going straight from “I’m from Pittsburgh” to “The Steelers.”–and after we explained what we were now finishing up, St. Ives to Falmouth, they gave us advice on three possible pub choices in Falmouth. Karen later said that when the engaged us in conversation she at first thought they were going to try to sell us pot, a concern I find charming, since it never occurred to me. Trailside chats like this aren’t as common when the trail is this crowded, but walking alone I have had chats lasting up to five minutes with strangers going the other way on walking paths. I love this aspect of it: the random encounter.

We soldiered on, and made a lot of decisions that amounted to ‘go left’ or ‘go right,’ ‘go the uphill way’ or ‘go the downhill way.’ About 40 yards after one of these snap decisions (we went uphill instead of down), we ran into two ladies, I’d say in their sixties, who stopped to chat because Karen and one of them had the exact same walking poles. This conveniently led to the revelation from them that we’d taken the wrong option, and if we’d gone up the hill and through a gate, we’d end up going to some random village that we had no intention of visiting. We retraced our steps with them to the fork, only mildly offended when they lumped us with them in remarking that at our age we all need poles or the knees won’t tolerate it. Well, I do have a grey beard, and let’s assume that being with me makes Karen look older, since everyone seems to assume, reasonably enough, that we are husband and wife rather than brother and sister. Brother and sister walking together?!? That wouldn’t work in my family, as one person remarked.

Gradually, Falmouth came into view, but there were a series of beachy little communities to pass through (or, really skirt around on the beach) before trail’s end. We stopped for a blessed fizzy beverage (ah, caffeine to liven me up) at a little seaside shack by a beach now mostly populated with families staring at the cold water and feeling the cool breeze and wondering why they booked a Cornwall vacation in September.

A bit more up and down and another little beach, this one with an inland lake that must have once drained tidally, called Swanpool.

A bit more up was followed by a bit more down, and we arrived along a long seaside road and wide sidewalk that melted into Falmouth proper. We were both exhausted (though estimates on how far we walked today vary, we’re claiming at least 15 miles–one guide says 18, Karen’s Fitbit says some absurd number like 13.7, and my feet say 114), so we decided to bypass the willfully perverse little .75 mile extension of going out to see Castle Pendennis. Instead, we cut off that little peninsula and went over the hill to find our final resting place. As you can see from the look on my face, it sort of felt like a final final resting place, though we were both also exhilarated. Our boots were muddy, our feet were soaked and wrinkled, our leg muscles were singing, and our hearts were filled with a mix of bedazzlement (what did we just do?) and weariness (can I actually nap in the shower?)

After retiring to our separate rooms for cleaning up (including trying to get layers of mud off the boots, we regrouped for a walk down the street to look at dinner options and a celebratory drink. We took the advice of our young non-pot-dealing trail friends and went to The Front, a nice funky pub where, as if to reassure me, there was Van Morrison playing. It is heard to convey to Americans what incredible sway Van the Man still has in pubs all over the British Isles. Your likelihood of hearing “And It Stoned Me” goes up 350% when you enter a small pub anywhere in Ireland or the United Kingdom. Fact.

Sunday, when I am actually writing this, is a travel day for me, getting from Falmouth to Plymouth by bus, then to the little seaside town of Wembury by taxi. Monday morning, I start my solo walk across the moors. I’ll enjoy the solitude and time for reflection, but I’ll also cherish the time spent walking with Karen.

More to come from the Two Moors Way.