After a rather fitful night, I finally woke in my tent outside Penzance Youth Hostel and shuffled halfway out of my sleeping bag to unzip the tent flaps and light my gas stove for my morning coffee. This was it then – the start of my epic adventure! I certainly didn’t feel ready, but who really does?

I researched bus times to Land’s End, but the earliest bus I could find didn’t get there until lunchtime, which felt rather late. After a more extensive search, I found an obscure timetable that suggested an earlier bus, but I didn’t have much confidence it would actually exist. Luckily, it did, and we were soon rattling along the narrow, winding lanes to the theme park that is Land’s End.

I had decided to film my journey and spent a few awkward minutes introducing the challenge to my phone camera before setting off to find the famous signpost. I wanted to splash out on a photo to mark the occasion, but to my delight, I was told they are free for people raising money for charity. However, this posed a dilemma as the photo was presented in a lovely informative booklet that would never survive the next thirty days stuffed in my rucksack. Maybe I could post it home?

I set off along the rugged cliffs of Land’s End, the surprisingly turquoise waters of the Atlantic Ocean churning below and the sharp tang of salt in the air. This stretch of the coast is breathtakingly stunning, and as I descended to Sennen Cove to turn inland, I felt a pang of regret at leaving the coast path.

This regret intensified as I discovered that once away from the coast, the footpaths are not well-maintained, and I soon gave up trying to negotiate them, opting to follow quiet roads instead. Arriving at St Buryan, I spotted a post office, so I bought a board-backed envelope to post my certificate home. More road walking took me to Newlynn, and its pretty harbour, where I threaded my way uphill to the Youth Hostel. I didn’t feel tired, but of course, I had only been carrying a light pack!

The following morning, I packed away early and set off downhill to rejoin the coast path, which runs along the bay separating Penzance from Marazion. This was an easy stretch, St Michael’s Mount hazy in the distance as I passed several driftwood sculptures.

Shortly after walking through Marazion, I turned away from the Coast Path for good, taking the opportunity to dry my tent while enjoying a vegetarian pasty from a café. The rest of the day was spent walking along a variety of roads, some quiet but others much busier. As I passed through several small but picturesque villages, my eyes eagerly scanned the horizon for a pub or a café, somewhere, anywhere I could stop to rest, but unfortunately, I found very little.

I discovered that Cornish roads don’t have verges. They are lined with high walls or banks, which are covered in vegetation, and when I encountered a car, I would spread myself against the bank to take up as little space as possible while they impatiently inched past.

These high walls hid most of the views, and so all I had to focus on was the grey ribbon of tarmac stretching away into the distance.

As the hours wore on, I felt increasingly weary, and my thoughts turned to where I might sleep that night. I spent some time studying the map. There appeared to be very few rights of way, and those that existed did not look promising for a wild camp, but eventually I noticed an old tin mine on Porkellis Moor, one of the many old mines that litter the Cornish countryside. This looked as likely a spot as any, and I headed towards it.

I nervously approached my first wild camp on the trail, again beset by doubts. Would I find a suitable spot to pitch my tent? Would there be people there? Would I be discovered and moved on by an irate landowner? Fortunately, there were plenty of grassy areas in between the tumble-down stone ruins. I pitch my tent facing an old chimney poking gauntly out of the brambles, scrabbling for large stones to put over my pegs to stop them from being ripped out of the sandy soil by the fresh breeze.

As the daylight faded, I relaxed, reasoning that there was less chance of people being out in the dark. I boiled water to heat a dehydrated meal, then tried to drift off to sleep, listening to the wind stirring the trees and the odd haunting cry of a hunting owl.

My first proper day on the trail was behind me, and I had found a place to camp, so I felt surprisingly good.