Having walked some 4,000 coastal miles across England, Scotland and Wales, I remain intrigued by the islands. The Scilly Isles offer 33 miles of walking, and the Isle of Man is 100 miles. Recently, I walked the coastlines of the Channel Islands, the Crown Dependencies that lie just a short distance from the French coast. I bought a map of Jersey and was kindly given two Cicerone guides by Paddy Dillon. This is where I learned of The Channel Island Way, some 113 miles of coastal walking around Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, Sark and Herm – islands with unique character that belong to the bailiwicks of Jersey or Guernsey (Channel Island Governance needs a degree course of its own).
It took a bit of planning to walk them all over 10 days in May, with particular challenges posed by ferry times, campsites and weather conditions. I decided to catch the train from London to Portsmouth and start in St Peter Port on Guernsey, which arrived before 6 AM. After breakfast at the White Rock Cafe in the harbour, I made a quick decision to catch the 7:30 AM school-run ferry to Herm and get started. It is only 6 km, but it packs a punch, with gorgeous white-sand beaches and coastal cliffs that rise above the seaward islets, and vicious-looking rocks that are a feature of these islands. The tidal range is in the order of 10 to 13 metres, so tidal races and strong currents drain and fill the tidal zone with such urgency that you blink and the tideline can be several hundred metres closer or further away, depending on the ebb and flow.
Being on Herm at this hour was a good move (note that this service doesn’t run in the school holidays), as I had the island to myself. The northern dunes framed the sandy beaches, which are probably very busy in the summer, but for now my only companion is a marsh harrier, pouncing on some unfortunate creature in the interior reed beds. The views to Sark open up as you turn from the stone obelisk and climb the cliffside paths, past beach cafés waiting for the summer. The paths are good, lined with an impressive collection of exotic flowers, some native but mostly invasive, such as the giant echiums in full bloom. Observing the numerous islands (some private and exclusively inhabited), I hope to see a puffin or two, but can only see their guillemot cousins. The return ferry is a short wait, arriving with a contingent of Chelsea Pensioners and Gurkhas, on a visit in preparation for Liberation Day on the 9th May.
Arriving back in St Peter Port, I am chuffed to have ticked off one island and set out to walk Guernsey anti-clockwise, so as to arrive at the campsite near Vale Church, which is happy to receive a walk-up backpacker for three nights: a base for the remainder of Guernsey and a day trip to Sark. Accommodation can be expensive in the Channel Islands, and this is perhaps the most important consideration. Bus services are excellent, efficient, and easy to organise (see the buses.gg app). This allows me to return to the campsite with ease and walk further should I choose to do so. I am tired after a restless overnight ferry journey in a reclining seat, and I sleep well after a good 25km on Herm and along the east coast of Guernsey.
I return to the northern shoreline by bus and try to settle into my usual rhythm along the bays and coastal headlands, peppered with an astonishing array of coastal defences from the Georgian, Victorian, and WWII periods. The local granite and modern concrete make these formidable structures a defining feature of the Channel Islands. I recognise the Martello towers: one built within a fort, known locally as the ‘cup and saucer’, and the ‘loophole towers’ built in 1778, designed to defend a bay with musket rifles. During the German occupation, range-finding towers and frightening bunkers and gun positions were built into the cliffs and coastline to house machine guns and coastal defence gunnery with considerably greater destructive power.
After an indulgent lunch at The Imperial Hotel, I enter the rugged south-west and walk the sequence of the MP3, MP4 and MP5 observation towers, then catch a bus into town to connect with a service to the campsite. There is a bit of climbing on a coastline that reminds me of Cornwall around Land’s End, complete with the offshore Hanois Lighthouse, similar to Longships. This is very pleasant walking, with good paths and excellent views south. I drop inland at Prévôte to catch a bus into town and connect to the campsite, a route I reverse 2 days later to continue into tougher sections with quite a few descents into ‘petit ports’, necessitating climbs again on the level path, which now traces its way around ever increasingly expensive homes. I turn the corner at Jerbourg and can hear the festivities on the harbour front, as Guernsey celebrates 81 years of Liberation from the occupying forces of WWII. It has been a tough day, but I stopped at the Pinnacle needle, a liberation sculpture, which has cast a precise shadow over the day’s events, written on the adjacent wall.
To avoid the complexities of ferries on this important day, I interrupted my Guernsey walk with a day trip to Sark. The ferry crossing on a stunning day was very pleasant, calling at a harbour clinging to the cliff face. All manner of tractors and trailers were waiting to move passengers and cargo from an earlier ferry. They chugged up the steep hill into The Village as I turned left and began a circuit of the island along the best coastal paths I could find. Immediately, I entered a very pleasant woodland where the scent of spring flowers and joyful bird song filled the air. I took the ‘Hog’s Back’ ridgeline path to a poignant memorial to Operation Basalt, the Commando reconnaissance raid in 1942, and took a peek at Sark Henge, a circle of field posts forming an art installation nearby.
A sequence of paths, often unsigned, leads to The Avenue, the island’s backbone road, which connects to the famous La Coupée bridge linking the southern island. Simple coastal loops offer wonderful cliff scenery and meet at a lovely café, where I can refuel before returning to the road to explore coastal paths with views west to Brecqhou, privately tenanted by the descendants of the Barclay Brothers. The paths are quiet until they meet one of the gravel roads, where you can expect to see the local horse-drawn ‘taxi’ plodding along steadily, in no particular hurry.
I make my way to the northern extent and rest a while near a rock with a Buddha carving, before the gentle walk back to the ferry café, having left the interior for another day. I descend to meet an artist, chalking an image of the quiet engine MT 344 Torpedo Boat that carried the Commandos across the Channel. We have a long chat with a local who explains the ins and outs of fishing and the invasion of octopus in the warmer waters, which are gorging on scallops and lobsters.
Back on Guernsey, I finish my final day by walking into St Peter Port along quite challenging paths. I rest often, as my booked ferry to Alderney leaves later that evening. It is a rough crossing on an unexpectedly small boat (12 passengers), but it offers views over many deadly rocks and islets that seem to pop up from nowhere. Gannets have colonies on a few islets, notably Ortac and the pair of rocks near the western cliffs. Another romantic lighthouse at The Casquets can be seen to the north, and the ferrymen recount endless tales of shipwrecks. Luckily, the chippy is open when I arrive late that evening, and I am offered a lift to the campsite, where I am allowed to stay in the camper’s room, given the appalling overnight weather forecast. Tomorrow’s ferry service is cancelled, so I stay 2 nights. It is an opportunity to rest, as the 12 miles around the island shouldn’t take more than 5 hours. The storm has yet to blow through, so I start the next day with the intent to explore the nearby beaches, but that turns into a full circumnavigation.
Alderney has been described as a delightful island that successive generations have tried to turn into a battleship. It has been of such strategic importance since Roman times, and the quarries have been dug deep to build impressive castles and coastal defences, not to mention a huge breakwater built to shelter a navy. The coastal path is marked with ceramic directional stones that are numbered and lettered. If you note them all, you reveal the names of local nature residents on a wonderful map that is available, together with a comprehensive island guide. I can learn about lighthouses, forts, causeways, and quite a bit of coastal art, most notably Andy Goldsworthy’s three-tonne rammed-earth spheres, made of clay and designed to disintegrate over time. I found 2 of the 11, constructed in 2011. The others deposit their hidden contents, some in the form of seeds that germinate on the original site, revealing new meaning. Other ‘wombles’ can be seen, which I later learn refer to their creator, Elisabeth Beresford, who lived on the island.
The following day, the weather improves, and I lazily explore the interior, visiting ‘The Odeon’ (a German observation tower), a Roman fort (where archaeologists are uncovering new evidence of Neolithic occupation), and the local museum, where evidence of the WWII occupation clarifies its use as a concentration camp. Alderney holds many dark secrets, and the display of weaponry is chilling. The islanders were evacuated during the war, and it took many months to clean up before they returned, only to find their houses and possessions ransacked by the German occupiers, forgotten by their own country as the Allies marched towards Berlin. Alderney is fascinating, and I will return to explore it further.
The afternoon ferry brought me back to St Peter Port, where I needed a local hotel to catch the 7 AM ferry to Jersey. The seas were calm, and the crossing soon reached the coastline, steering around the island to St Helier, where I could trace the cliff paths I would soon walk. The beaches were huge, and favourable tides would mean long, low-tide walks across the bays. I turned to walk anticlockwise and got into my stride after first contemplating a swim at the stunning Art Deco Lido pool.
Food wasn’t a problem, as many superb cafés lined the promenades. It was easy beach walking to La Rocque Harbour and then north to Mont Orgueil Castle. The wealth of the island oozed out of every pore. Large marinas, expensive property, and exclusive restaurants took advantage of the coastal geography. Perhaps not a place to swim, for the tidal currents are lethal. It did not take long to find my campsite near Rozel after walking past my destination and catching one of the buses (91/92) that circle the islands in both directions. Easy bays and light roads gave way to more serious, rugged paths, often through woodlands, where I was certain I heard a nightingale in full song. I had to face a strong westerly wind the following day, but that added to the drama, as the sun did its best to break through squalls and showers that threatened to soak me.
I sheltered at Bonne Nuit and fuelled up with a hearty breakfast before continuing towards Grève de Lecq for lunch at the superb Colleens Cafe. My walking poles were put to good use on the rugged path, though I often tripped over the nail-covered wooden steps, with nails exposed as the wood rots. It was a surprisingly tiring day, and I was happy to arrive at a campsite with a perfect backpackers enclosure that protected my tent from the wind. It would be my last night, as I planned to walk the 32km+ to St. Helier and catch the evening ferry to Portsmouth.
Walking around the headland towards Grosnez Castle, I enter a landscape littered with gun emplacements and observation towers, with views towards Guernsey. The coast remains similar to Cornwall, with pink granite cuboid cliffs and aquamarine seas. The only difference is the tidal range, for I have timed my arrival at St Ouen for a long, low-tide walk. At first, it looks as if my feet will get wet in the draining channels and wave-formed surface, but the depth is minimal, and I can easily weave a path, choosing to head towards low tide (which is quite a distance) or keep the sea wall in sight. You can easily gauge how deep the sea would be by the steep angle to the coastal seawall, which looks quite formidable. The El Tico café is a perfect brunch stop, and I am beginning to appreciate the quality of the food on offer. I walk on towards La Corbière Lighthouse, pleased with my progress as I head east. St Brelade’s Bay is easily crossed, and I ascend again into the cliff paths to find yet more gun emplacements, before arriving in St Aubin, with a ‘little gem’ of a café. Ahead of me lies the last long stretch of beach into St Helier, where I time my arrival perfectly, as the rising tide extinguishes the last firm sands.
I seek out museums and galleries, and am taken by surprise by a busy French farmers’ market. By chance, I am interviewed by BBC Jersey, who also produce a piece about my walk, although I doubt it will be aired. I have just enough time to visit the maritime museum, where I find the Occupation Tapestry, created by local artists and weavers to tell the story of five years of occupation. It is exquisite in detail and quite moving – an enduring reminder, that I am sure will last for some considerable time, of the consequences of war. It seems a fitting finish to a journey along The Channel Island Way, where I record some 120 miles of island coastline that is quite different from my experiences in the UK. These islands are like a blend of the Isle of Wight and the Scilly Isles, but with a tremendous heritage and French/English customs. I am sure they will be busy in the peak summer months, but my decision to walk them in May seems perfect.
Highly recommended, but planning is needed to secure affordable accommodation. I would avoid the holiday months, when the locals, French tourists and many from the UK must add a good 50,000 to the total population of 170,000. Strategic use of buses on the main islands can make for very relaxed walking at any pace you choose.