How Jersey Reinvented Itself as the Ultimate Hiking Island

Years ago, my grandparents vacationed annually in Jersey, always staying at the same hotel. They were among many Brits who flocked to the largest Channel Island for its VAT-free shopping and inexpensive alcohol.

In the 1970s, Jersey's airport was among the busiest in Europe. The 1980s TV show "Bergerac" showcased its picturesque crime scenes, drawing even more visitors.

Now? "Bergerac" is set for a revival in 2025, and so is Jersey. The island has shed its budget holiday image and is focusing on its stunning coastline. Launching later in 2024, the new Tidal Trail will be Jersey's answer to Ireland's Wild Atlantic Way, promoting itineraries that encourage deeper exploration of its coastal beauty and nearby attractions, including oyster-bed walks, tower tours, and geological adventures.

With curiosity about what my grandparents might have overlooked, I set off to explore Jersey.

Conveniently, there’s already a coastal footpath that accesses all its caves, coves, and nooks. Walking around an entire island is immensely satisfying.

Jersey measures just 9 miles (14.5km) by 5 miles (8km), and the trail is only 48 miles (77km) long, making it fairly easy to complete. The annual Island Walk sees fundraisers tackle it in one go; this year’s winner finished in under 7.5 hours.

It sounded like the perfect way to see the place. But why rush?

I allowed four days and arrived in St Helier at 9:30 a.m. by overnight ferry, ready to start walking immediately. Heading anti-clockwise, I quickly left behind the “big city” – a third of Jersey’s 103,000 residents live in the capital – and strolled along the Havre des Pas promenade.

I paused for a flat white at the Good Egg Beach Cafe while the sky brightened from dreary gray to hopeful silver. By the time I reached Samarès Manor, my first detour, it was a brilliant blue that persisted throughout my stay.

Samarès would have been delightful in any weather. The manor, seat of the Seigneur de Samarès, boasts glorious Botanic Gardens filled with fragrant herbs, heritage apples, and Oriental exotics. Volunteers were pruning roses in the formal garden, but I preferred the wildflower meadow, alive with wild carrots, selfheal, and spotted medick, attracting butterflies and bees.

After visiting Samarès, I rejoined the coast at Green Island Beach, spending the next few miles at the mercy of the tide. Jersey's massive tides reveal an enormous rocky shoreline teeming with marine life.

When the tide was in, I stuck to the road. I alternated between these options as the waves permitted and as long as my legs could handle walking on sand and shingle.

The south-east is Jersey’s most developed area, dotted with military fortifications. Since the 18th century, strategically located Jersey became the most heavily defended part of the British Isles.

Towers are scattered around the island, many repurposed by the Nazis during World War II, some now private homes or holiday rentals. On the golden curve of Grouville Bay, Fort Henry’s remains are nestled within a golf course, flanked by German bunkers.

Mont Orgueil Castle, at the end of the bay, predates them all, looming since the 13th century. I added to my day’s mileage by climbing the 200-odd steps to the top, navigating secret rooms, spiral staircases, and fairytale turrets. The views were spectacular, with Normandy across the waves and boats and swimmers in the harbor below.

The rest of the day continued in this enjoyable manner: increasingly wild coast walking interspersed with intriguing sights – the 6,000-year-old Faldouët dolmen, a new mobile sauna at St Catherine’s Bay, and a castle folly at tiny Fliquet. By the time I reached Château la Chaire, my woodland-tucked home for the night, I was exhausted but not too tired to visit The Rozel pub for crab potatoes and local scallops.

The next day, I ventured along Jersey’s dramatic northern shore. Here, the 600-million-year-old granite cliffs are highest, the sandy bays least developed, and the path most thrilling as it winds along the coast amid foxgloves and bracken. It was the kind of walking that leaves you grinning until your cheeks hurt as much as your legs.

The smell of frying bacon led me down into Bouley Bay, where Mad Mary’s café was just opening. The owner was chatting with her first customer of the day. She had come to the island for walking, saying, “we’ve been here a week, it isn’t enough.” I figured I’d better keep moving.

I continued through Egypt woods and found the Wolf’s Lair, site of daring Allied Commando raids in 1943. I passed La Crête fort (now a holiday rental) and a stone commemorating four islanders who died trying to escape during the Nazi occupation. The sun shone, the breeze gusted, and the sea glittered.

In the early afternoon, I left the coast and followed one of Jersey’s leafy “green lanes,” where cyclists, horse riders, and pedestrians have priority, and the speed limit is 15mph. It led me to La Mare.

Established in 1972 around an 18th-century farmhouse, this estate produces wine, spirits, and ciders. I joined a tour through neat vines, past the alembic still, and into the tasting room. The Perquage rosé – “summer fruits, a hint of white peach” – was perfect for a warm afternoon, making me even more enchanted with the island with each sip.

“What’s not to love?” agreed Karen Jones, La Mare’s head of sales, who I met at the café. “Jersey’s safe, there’s little trouble, the beaches are amazing.”

They truly were – when visible. After a night at the charming La Croix Guest House, my third day’s walk took me to Plémont Bay, possibly the island’s best beach, accessible only via steep steps. Alas, high tide had swallowed the bay whole.

Further along, beyond Grosnez Castle’s ruins, St Ouen’s Bay provided all the sand. This three-mile beach makes up most of the west coast, with a different vibe altogether.

Potato fields sloped down to the sea wall, surfers rode the waves, and beach cafes provided echoes of the 1980s when this bay was pub-crawl central.

I circled St Ouen, down to La Corbière, where a lower tide allowed me to walk the causeway to the lighthouse on its rocky isle. Exploring Corbière’s Nazi Strongpoint was sobering. The Channel Islands were the most fortified part of Hitler’s “Atlantic Wall,” defences far exceeding the archipelago’s strategic importance.

It’s believed the officers stationed here exaggerated the island’s importance to avoid a posting to the Russian front. Gazing through the twisted metal of an old bunker, I could see why this was a preferable spot to spend the war.

I felt similarly at Longueville Manor. Dating back to the 14th century, this country house was commandeered by Nazi officers during the occupation.

They left it in disrepair, but it was soon bought by Sidney and Edith Lewis, who restored it and opened it as a hotel in 1949. Still run by the Lewis family, it’s now a five-star retreat. After completing my walk around the island’s southwest and back to St Helier, Longueville was my reward.

I dipped in the heated pool, strolled through the Victorian kitchen garden, and enjoyed dinner in a dining room paneled with wood from Spanish galleons. And I was in no rush to leave.