Paul Ash discovers that the delights of the Cornish coast include kayaking. "Right then," says the ponytailed guide in his Cornish burr, "capsize the kayak."My girl and I stare at him for a few breaths. He gazes lugubriously back at us. We dutifully roll the plastic barge of a boat into the cold, glassy waters of Port Quin bay."It's so that you can practise gettin' back in," he says cheerfully.Since Richie Snell, our kayak instructor, could be a descendant of the same Cornishmen who smuggled rum and picked over the carcasses of floundering ships - and occasionally murdered the survivors - we do exactly as he tells us.story_article_left1Even this late in the summer, the water is breathtakingly cold. This is the Celtic Sea, after all, which never gets praised in tourist brochures for either its warmth or usability.Panting like labradors, we struggle back onto the kayak, the sting of salt on our skins. "Fresh, eh?" says Richie. "Right-o, let's go," as he dips his paddle into the sea.We came to Port Isaac on the north Cornish coast, seduced by scenes of the village - renamed Port Wen for the occasion - where Martin Clunes plays the irascible, blood-phobic surgeon who flees London to take up the position of village doctor in the TV series Doc Martin.Doc Martin wanted to get away from the sight of blood; we wanted a proper British seaside holiday - sea, sun, fish-and-chips and countryside rambles - and Port Isaac looked as if it would deliver.The village is still a working fishing harbour, with half a dozen small boats swinging with the tide and tugging on their warps like the dogs waiting outside the newsagent's up the road.mini_story_image_vright1The ambling tourists had not come for the boats, however, but rather to peer into the windows of Doc Martin's pretty cottage and buy fudge in the "pharmacy", where batty Mrs Tishell in her perpetual neck brace makes cow eyes at the doctor.People trudged up and down the steep, narrow lane from the harbour, grazing ice-cream cones and dodging the man who every day seemed to be trundling vats of beer downhill on his trolley, while in the upper part of the village, cars circled like hyenas as their bickering occupants looked for parking. Some, no doubt, had journeyed from afar to eat at Nathan Outlaw's eponymous and always-packed Michelin two-star restaurant down by the harbour.We had also come to Cornwall to eat. At the Golden Lion, we watched the boats between mouthfuls of fish & chips and Tribute ale. In Padstow, we eschewed Rick Stein for The Old Ship Inn, where we fell happily on the fish pies - smoked and unsmoked haddock on creamy mash and topped with a little square of pastry.At the farm stall, down the road from our rented cottage, we stocked up on pungent cheddar, pork chops, wine and gigantic free-range eggs and avoided eye contact with the cows looking at us through the hedgerows.When not eating or reading books or taking naps, we took long rambles along the cliffs on paths that tumble into tiny coves and lost bays where the sea batters the limestone cliffs and refreshes the rockpool with darting silver fish.Wherever we went, the sea was with us. It roared over the pebbles. We ate it in half a dozen pubs. Its smell followed us a mile inland to our cottage on a salt-laden breeze. It is no good to be so involved in the sea and not be on it. Cornish Coast Adventures fixed that."Lucky you caught us," says the girl when I phone. "We're just about to close for the winter."We meet Richie at 9am in Port Quin, which is little more than a boathouse and a straggle of stone cottages in a cleft in the hills.This will be Richie's last paddle of the season before he packs the kayaks away and runs away to South America to surf. The moment is slightly bittersweet as we paddle down the coast, picking our way along the base of the cliffs and feeling the ocean rise beneath us. Apart from a pair of hikers silhouetted against the ridgeline, and a man in a skiff ("Skate fisherman," says Richie), it seems we have the north Cornish coast to ourselves.full_story_image_hleft2We hop from bay to bay - in one, we paddle into the dark maw of a sea cave - before beaching the kayaks in a proper smugglers' cove, where mossy cliffs rear up from a sliver of sand and the mouth of another cave beckons from one end of the beach.We follow Richie into gloom. Time and water have hollowed out the limestone, scouring a hole clear through to the other side. The sea rushes in at ankle height."A good place to hide," says Richie. "When the tide's out, anyway."We launch once more onto a sea the colour of absinthe and splish-splosh slowly back to Port Quin. A pod of dolphins follows for a while before carving away to do other dolphin things.The coast shines greenly in the late summer sun, the sea drips from our paddles and happiness settles on us like sunshine. Sometimes, Doc, the sea and a kayak are all the medicine you need.sub_head_start Plan your trip sub_head_endWHERE TO STAY: Rent a cottage for a week. Cornwall Traditional Cottages lists hundreds of lovely houses, which sleep two or more people. Rates start in the mid-£200s (about R3 800) per week in the low season, rising to £600 (R11 200) in the high season.WHAT TO DO:Cornish Coast Adventures (e-mail sam@cornishcoastadventures.com) offers three-hour kayak trips from Port Quin and Port Isaac. Trips run in the summer and cost £40 (R730) per person, which includes boat and wetsuit hire and a qualified guide. For more, see visitcornwall.com.GETTING THERE: You really need a car to explore Cornwall properly. A cost-effective option is to take a train from London to Exeter and hire the car there - if you buy advanced-purchase train tickets and shop around for car deals, it should work out much cheaper than hiring a car in London. Abbeyford Cars in Exeter quoted us £130 (R2 400) for a week's hire, including VAT, unlimited miles and full insurance with a £750 (R14 000) excess...