Excerpt:
Paul Theroux traced the British coastline in 1982 for his book “The Kingdom by the Sea.” This year he walked parts of the new King Charles III England Coast Path, a continuous route along the country’s seashore.

There’s a glorious Latin expression for the benefits of taking a hike — solvitur ambulando: “It is solved by walking.” Is something fuddled in your mind? Searching for an idea? Wishing for clear skies, fresh air and broad sunlit uplands? Then lace your boots, leave the house and set off alone, and chances are you’ll find the answer on the way. This remedy (attributed variously to Diogenes the Cynic and St. Augustine) is one that all true pilgrims know, and in many respects serious hikers are the modern embodiment of medieval pilgrims.

England now has the longest organized coastal footpath in the world for anyone wishing to test this maxim.

The path’s formal origin dates from 1935, when the British Ramblers Association dedicated itself to “removing barriers so everyone can enjoy walking in green spaces.” I was well aware of barriers when I decided in 1982 to travel the entire coast of Britain — on foot, on trains and buses — for my book, “The Kingdom by the Sea.” Long stretches of the coast were then forbidden to hikers; many beaches and shorelines were private; and there were fences, coils of barbed wire and walled-off farmland that prevented access. Now and then, a tetchy resident would wave me away with a forbidding finger. My circumambulation of the kingdom involved detours, improvisations bordering on fancy footwork and, in some cases, covert trespassing. All for the sight that lifts my soul when I’m next to the sea — a glimpse of infinity.

Now, as a coronation gift to the new king, the whole coast of England is open to hikers: 2,689 miles of continuous trails, inaugurated by Charles III himself in March as the King Charles III England Coast Path. Anyone who is physically able can sling on a backpack in the far northeastern town of Berwick-upon-Tweed and, following signposts, walk uninterruptedly south by the sea, rounding the bulge of the Forelands, following the southern coast to Cornwall, then heading north (skipping Wales) to the uppermost limit of the western path, ending close to the Scottish border near Gretna.

Studying the maps on the path’s website, I devised an itinerary that would allow a sampling of three portions of the path: one on the Isle of Wight, a stretch on the Yorkshire coast south from Whitby, and the northern path out of Dover. In other words, downland, meadowy headlands and the White Cliffs, along with towns and villages, and tussocks of grass on one side, and the immensity of sea on the other, treading a narrow trail in the late June sunshine…