Day 10 - The dynamic finish line

The last day of the hike—one of the most difficult days to write. Not because it is an emotional day, but because it's been four months and I could only find literally four lines in my notes. Two of them were about Swathi and her mother, partially day 9 related. 3rd line was likely an inaccurate data. "The bottle" line is likely a note about a specific, hilarious evening where Chetan consumed half a bottle of Malibu aided by his nose as a practical workshop. So I needed to remember what actually happened during my last 20km trek to Padstow by looking at photos repeatedly.

The logistics were another big puzzle. I was glad that we tried to solve it after finishing a bottle of wine. It was, for all practical purposes, an NP-complete problem. For every complex problem, there is always a simple solution, but completely wrong. But with timing on my side, I could rally people behind my smart simple solution. I would start walking solo from Port Isaac, and the others would drive to Rock, park the car, and walk backwards. Some thought it is difficult, I corrected saying it is actually walking straight, but from the opposite direction. We would meet in the middle, merge into a single unit, and everyone would walk back together and finish as a group.

Swathi had to leave early because her son was returning from his trip. That constraint essentially meant I might not be able to reach Padstow, even though I heavily advertised it everywhere. This required a passenger ferry journey from Rock and a final 1km walk in Padstow. I didn’t want to commit to anything that might fail under time pressure, so I declared, "Let's keep the finish line dynamic based on how the day goes."

Kishor was prompt as always with his taxi service and dropped me at Port Isaac; there was no confusion with the car park this time. I started my last day in style.

Even though the last day was supposed to be short, the physical intensity of it wasn't. I was aiming for 20km and 700m of elevation. Most of the elevation gain was concentrated in the first ten kilometers. As I started climbing up and down the steep slate ravines, I understood very clearly why I had taken an oath never to drink alone—an oath that usually made my evenings extremely complicated as I searched for company. The toll of the previous night was very visible in my body: I was struggling, dehydrated, and sweating in a light rain. The oath existed for exactly this reason. I had twisted it completely in the previous evening, giving company to everyone in turn, and the cliffs were now paying back with their invoice.

We had celebrated our previous New Year in Germany. I needed a free place to stay, so got myself an invitation to join Divya's sister's birthday at her home. Divya couldn’t say no, so decided to compensate it by creating unexpected entertainment. She prepared the last drink from her own hand even though I was completely fine and standing on my own two legs. That last drink did something unexpected as she expected —it erased 30 minutes of what happened afterward completely from my memory. Nothing dramatic happened, other than me explaining the deep meanings of Kannada songs in English. What can you expect from inherently good human beings, even when completely out of control. But it made me deeply afraid, Ashwini was recording every second in her persistent memory. So I decided not to be the person drinking the most. Last night, I was in theory not breaking the rule. When I was giving company to Kishor, I wasn’t exceeding him. Same when I was drinking with Swathi and Pooja. However, I forgot that I had to sum things up and consider them as individuals. Small technical mistake, but the impact was clear. Today’s hike became physically one of the most challenging due to purely genuine man made mathematical mistakes.

The worst thing with setting your own target is, you have no one else to blame. After an hour and a half of walking, I met the same camper I had encountered after the thunderstorm — relaxing and having tea near the path. He was on course to complete the full coastal path, big bagpack on his back including tent, food and a travel stove. He would refill the gas canisters weekly along the way. The bag was apparently 38 pounds, he also used stones, none of which I could relate easily. But talking to him gave me renewed confidence that I could also try SWCP once camping on the way. We had shared genuine fear on a Cornish cliff the day earlier. Sharing the tea-break small talk in the sunshine, I realised I would remember him for a long time even though I forgot his name.

Thirty minutes later, I came across some of the most stunning landscapes of the entire week: The Rumps and Pentire Point. I sat there for longer than I intended, knowing this was the last of the raw, turbulent Atlantic before the terrain softened into flat sandy beaches. Ten days of coastline had educated my eyes to a particular kind of dramatic — the folded slate, the dark water, the wind doing its indifferent thing. I would miss being able to see it properly. I took the photos knowing they wouldn't capture it. They never do.

I had originally hoped to meet the family here and walk back together, but they hadn't even reached Rock yet. Ashwini had accidentally put a laundry washing tablet into the dishwasher, and it had blown soapy foam all over the kitchen. They had Kishor—the only man on earth who has fallen in love with a dishwasher more than his wife—but even for him, it wasn't an easy fix. I was secretly delighted; I rarely get the luxury of seeing Ashwini make a domestic mistake, especially in the cleaning department. The quality analyst had taken a rare holiday. I noted it carefully even though I can’t really reference it for any practical business purposes.

I became extremely relaxed and slowed my pace. I crossed Polzeath Beach, famous for its surfing, where I watched a massive crowd taking lessons and braving the waves. Past Polzeath, I reached Daymer Bay. It was a long, sweeping stretch of coastline with extensive sand dunes and miles of wet sand. My OS Maps navigation was instructing me to scale a small inland peak, but there was no clear path up—just a clean, flat walking path along the beach. It was time to meet the search party, and I prayed they wouldn't rigidly follow my incorrect GPS track.

Luckily they weren’t. We met on the path and blocked the walkway for five full minutes, celebrating the final leg of the journey. We headed back down to the beach. Whenever Swathi is in beach, she forgets things. I thought I would remind her about her son coming back from trip, but maintained patience since all kids were having fun, playing with random peoples dogs. After ensuring enough photos were clicked, we began the final 45-minute march along the sand toward Rock.

The official South West Coast Path route from Rock to Padstow requires taking the passenger ferry across the Camel Estuary. I was in two minds. Swathi’s family had a hard deadline which was even harder now. I could still cross to Padstow as planned and have Pooja pick me up there later. I looked at the ferries lining the jetty. I looked at the group. Ten days of walking had taught me something about knowing when a thing is finished. 

I was never completely a rock, so called it done in Rock.

The physical walk was done. The finish line moved to wherever I was standing. Pooja wasn’t quite convinced that it was the correct decision. As always, I genuinely disagreed with her.

I sent Ashwini ahead in Kishor's car and loaded into Pooja's car with the three kids so everyone could travel comfortably. It was indeed comfortable for 45 minutes—until there was a sudden, violent thud from the tyre. The dashboard immediately lit up with an engine warning light that looked uncomfortably serious. She pulled off the A-road into a parking bay. It was Pooja’s first breakdown, so despite my presence, she was understandably concerned. She made the smart tactical decision to ignore my mechanical advice, called Chetan directly to verify, and then dialed the recovery service.

The breakdown truck arrived 90 minutes later and loaded both the car and all five of us onto it. Sitting high up in the cab of a massive recovery rig was a surprisingly novel experience for the kids. Our driver turned out to be a retired film stunt driver who had spent 20 years doing high-stress vehicle action sequences in cinema before retiring with eight stents in his heart. As we rode home, he casually regaled us with stories of doing stunt driving alongside Kareena Kapoor on the set of Ra.One. It took much longer to get back to the home, but the stories made it an absolute upgrade over a standard drive.

Epilogue: Off the Cliff

Looking back, I had walked 300km with an elevation gain of 10km in ten days — technically nine, considering the late start on Day 1 and the early finish on the last. The elevation was more than climbing Everest. Despite that, it wasn't really a test of physical endurance. Legs are simple machinery — give them something to drink, ignore their complaints, and they will carry you over any cliff you point them toward.

The real test was the space between the physical effort and the mind. Eight days of absolute quiet solitude does something to the internal architecture that is difficult to explain and impossible to replicate. You start a long walk thinking you are stepping onto the path to conquer a landscape or prove a point to yourself. Somewhere around Day 5, on a featureless tarmac trail, watching couples hold hands, you remember the landscape was never the point.

You finish it sitting in the back of a breakdown truck, listening to a retired stunt driver with eight stents in his heart talk about Kareena Kapoor. You see kids unbothered about everything as long as they can continue to talk non stop about their anime stories. That is when you realise that the best stories don't end as you have planned. They end where they end. The path goes to Padstow, You stop in Rock, The stunt driver takes you home.

That's more than enough of a story, even more difficult to write down than the actual hike itself. I started writing it purely for myself, with zero external expectations. That's not entirely true — I am a real human after all, with the same vanity as anyone else. But somewhere along the way I learned to hold expectations the way I hold the hair on my head. Still there, still mine, but I've made my peace with losing them without much protest.