I’ll never forget the drive down to Cornwall – a proper British road trip with lashings of rain and a cheeky diversion courtesy of my sat-nav deciding to send us on a scenic route through some narrow lanes that made me question my life choices. We’d left early from Bristol, buzzing with that holiday anticipation, dreaming of coastal paths and pasties, only for a sudden downpour to turn the A30 into a sloshy nightmare. By the time we arrived at our contemporary pad in St Minver Lowlands, nestled amid a patchwork of green fields, we were soaked but grinning like idiots. First impressions? Spot on. It’s the perfect setup for a big-group getaway – spacious, modern, and just a stone’s throw from Polzeath’s golden sands. We dumped the bags, cracked open a few tins, and planned our first hike.

Next morning, the sun cracked through, so we legged it to Polzeath for a surf-watch-and-stroll combo. The beach was buzzing with beginners wiping out on the waves, and we joined the South West Coast Path heading towards Pentire Headland. What a belter – rugged cliffs dropping to the sea, gorse buzzing with bees, and halfway round, we spotted a pod of dolphins arcing through the waves. Pure magic. We picnicked on the headland, wind whipping our hair, feeling like we’d cracked the code to proper relaxation. Port Quin’s sheltered cove beckoned next, less than a mile and a half away – a sneaky descent down a steep path to pebbly sands where seals lounged about, eyeing us suspiciously. The walk back up was a lung-buster, mind, but worth every gasp.

Then the weather turned, as it does in Cornwall. Grey skies rolled in overnight, and day two was a proper mizzle-fest. Undeterred, we wrapped up in waterproofs and hit the Coast Path again from Polzeath, this time dodging puddles the size of lakes. The mist shrouded the headland, turning seals into shadowy blobs and dolphins into wishful thinking, but there’s something atmospheric about trudging along in the drizzle – like you’re in a moody film. We veered inland a bit when the path got too sloppy, ending up at a hidden valley with wild ponies eyeing our soggy sandwiches. Laugh-out-loud moment: my mate slipped arse-over-tit into a bog, emerging like a mud monster. We howled, helped him up, and carried on.

By day three, the rain had proper set in, lashing sideways. Plans for Port Isaac’s harbour (just five miles off) got binned – no way were we traipsing rock pools in a gale. Instead, we adapted with a shorter loop around Pentire, hoods up, chatting rubbish to stay sane. The sea was wild, crashing like thunder, and we found a smugglers’ cove tucked away, perfect for sheltering with flasks of tea. It forced a bit of self-reflection, that did – sat there in the wet, I realised I’m a fair-weather walker at heart, but these soggy adventures build character. Chuck in a ferry hop from nearby Rock across to Padstow for pasties another drier day, and you’ve got the lot.

Cornwall’s Coast Path is a beast, weather or no, and our St Minver stay nailed it – hikes that shifted with the skies, but always epic. Can’t wait to go back.