The sky held a passing parade of gray clouds as I walked a narrow path at the edge of 300-foot cliffs fronting the Atlantic Ocean. The waves hit rhythmically against dark, abstract rocks.

This was North Cornwall, part of the West Country of England. I was walking the Southwest Way, the longest of the Official Long Distance paths in Great Britain, running 560-plus miles from Minehead in Somerset, down the west coast of Devon and Cornwall, around Land's End and Penwith peninsula, then east along the "English Riviera" before ending at Poole Harbor in Dorset.

I had come to Cornwall for several years each spring. Living in an urban environment, shaped by technology and electronic media; accepting perspectives and viewpoints not my own, had me wondering if I could get to know one foreign place intimately.

Walking is one way of self-discovery, for you proceed slowly, looking, accepting this world just as it appears. Cornwall is in some ways like places in the United States, but there they are arranged differently, the parts in unknown sequences. That was what I wanted to experience.

Cornwall is no better described than in "Vanishing Cornwall," first published in 1967 by the late novelist Daphne du Maurier. With love and feeling, formed in a lifetime of Cornish living, she describes the area's character. When I first read the book, it had such an effect on me -- coupled with the sensitive photographs by Christian du Maurier Browning, her son -- that I vowed someday to go to Cornwall.

It was in 1983, my first visit, that I walked with a friend from Penzance to St. Ives, a difficult section of 38 miles, staying at bed and breakfasts along the way, that my own love affair with this beautiful, mysterious area began.

After World War II a report called "National Parks of England," written by John Dower, made recommendations that included the setting up of "footpaths and bridleways with signposts, stiles, gates and bridges. . . ." Of the Cornish coast, he said, "I found long stretches of coastguards' path still plain on the ground . . . and I could see no reason why all shall not be linked up again with continuous public rights-of-way."

A National Parks Committee report in 1947 recommended "a coastal path by cliff, bay, dune, beach and estuary" be established, and a path passing through the counties of Somerset, Devon, Cornwall and Dorset was designated two years later. Officially called the Southwest Peninsula Coastal Path, it is commonly known as the Southwest Way.

But it has been in North Cornwall that I have walked, for here one discovers the basics of our natural world: sun and moon, earth and sky, wind and water, immense space and small places, light and darkness, soft and hard, growth and decay, color and lack of it. Here are a wild beauty and peace difficult to imagine anywhere.

The ideal months to walk are May and June -- before the heat of summer, before the tourist crunch that develops in the towns and villages a walker passes through.

Parts of the Southwest Way are strenuous, others moderate or easy, with numerous ups and downs, but none too difficult for the beginning walker. The down places usually

have a stream, sliver-thin, running to the ocean, that is easy to cross. It is not necessary to have expensive hiking boots; I wear the low combination leather-rubber soled shoes from that famous outdoor outfitter in Maine.

A legendary Cornish truism is: "Wait 10 minutes, the weather will change." I have been caught in a violent hailstorm only five minutes after enjoying bright sunshine. Information as to the path's degree of difficulty and what will be seen along particular areas is available from the Southwest Way Association, including a listing of B&B;'s and small hotels that lie close to the Southwest Way and their costs. I have walked as little as three miles in one day and as many as 22 miles when a particular B&B; was filled.

But in the sense of serendipity, one experiences many delights in Cornwall: meeting walkers from foreign countries, B&B;'s whose owners make one feel as if their home is your own, the magnificent architectural ruins of mine engine houses, the experience of startling a flock of sheep as you rise a small hill.

Recently, although I had walked various sections of the Southwest Way in previous years, I chose to stay in one place for two weeks, where I had not walked but which would connect to places I had walked. This was done by renting a National Trust flat.

The National Trust is England's consummate steward of land, historic buildings and gardens that are endangered by sale, commercialism or development. As part of its programming, the trust makes available, to both members and non-members, rental of restored cottages, houses and the occasional "folly" in Cornwall and other areas.

Through the trust I was able to secure an apartment in Doyden House at Port Quin, north of Padstow. Port Quin is an abandoned fishing village fronting the Atlantic. Because I elected not to rent a car in Cornwall -- arriving by BritRail, bus and shank's mare -- I had made arrangements with the trust caretaker at Port Quin to lay in food, replenishing it as needed.

From the sitting room in the flat, I could look out on gentle fields, grazing sheep and cattle, an active sea and constantly changing skies, when I wasn't walking and exploring without shouldering the usual pack. The Southwest Way ran north and south directly in from of Doyden House. North, only a few miles away, was Port Isaac, the ultimate charming fishing village, lying between high cliffs.

By walking south I could reach Lundy Hole, a natural fault in the cliffs; continuing south was Polzeath, a small resort with a sandy beach. Farther on was the town of Padstow, gotten to by ferry across the Camel River. There was also St. Enodoc to see, a 14th century parish church that was buried in drifting sand for almost a hundred years. Here, Sir John Betjeman (1906- 1984), a former poet laureate of England, is buried.

Betjeman wrote eloquently about Cornwall, as in this passage in 1964: "The old and beautiful Cornwall is now mostly to be found on foot or in a small car by those skilled in using the one-inch Ordinance Survey map. It is a consolation that no one has yet discovered how to build houses on the sea."

Walking east from Port Quin up a steep hill road, one comes to Long Cross, a charming hotel and pub at the edge of the village of Trelights, and nearby St. Endellion, another lovely 14th century church. Betjeman said of St. Endellion: "The pinnacles of the granite church tower peep like a hare's ear over the hill crest and the churchyard has Georgian head stones inscribed with particularly good rhymes on them."

But the final quatrain on the Georgian ringers' rhyme inside the church tower is so good as to deserve quotation:

Let's all in Love and Friendship come

Whilst the shrill Treble calls to Thundering Tom

and since Bells are for modest Recreation

Let's rise and ring and fall to Admiration.

As one walks, everywhere wildflowers thrust themselves to be seen: sea pinks, herb robert, cranes bill, rock samphire, sea campion, field poppy, foxglove and so many more to look and puzzle as to their identity. When not walking, one could sit at cliff's edge listening to the music of crying gulls and guillemots, the rhythm of water rushing in and out, feeling a serenity unique at this outer edge of Cornwall.

In a treasured letter to me from Benton MacKaye, who first imagined and worked for establishing America's greatest walkway, the Appalachian Trail, he wrote: "The Trail was conceived as essentially a look-in the story of nature -- to stop and see and not to push and go. I hope the AT will never become a race track. But if so, I for one would vote to give the prize to the slowest traveller."

I do not know if Benton MacKaye knew of the Southwest Way, but if he did he would have said the same of this path, with its dramatic views, startling sense of space and historic purpose.

During a week's walk from Padstow south, I was stopped by a young Englishman near Portcothan, who with his wife and children had come over to the Southwest Way from a car park.

He wondered why someone would come 3,000 miles to walk there, asking, "Why aren't you in London having a good time?"

Noticing the embarrassment of his wife at the question, I replied:

"I'm here because this is what I want to do. I'm having a wonderful time."

I soon said goodbye, shouldered my pack, and went on.

At the bottom of the hill I turned around and waved. The family, less the father, waved back. He merely stared.

Daphne du Maurier died in 1989, at her home, Kilmarth, near Par. Having once been invited to stop at Kilmarth, and not ever having done so, made me sad at her death.

Her last book, "Enchanted Cornwall," published posthumously, is delightful recounting written in the spirit of Cornwall, and includes many selections from her novels, stories, autobiographical writings and diaries. And in that book, I found out that Dame Daphne and I shared the same birthday -- May 13. Here again was serendipity playing its role, as it had so many times in this lovely land.

If you go . . .

For a booklet describing "Cornish Holiday Cottages," let by the National Trust, write Anne Green, manager, Cornwall Holiday Cottages, the National Trust Regional Office, Lanhydrock Park, Bodmin, Cornwall, England PL30 4DE.

For information regarding membership in the U.S. branch of the National Trust write the Royal Oak Foundation Inc., Damaris Horan, Executive Director, 285 W. Broadway, Suite 400, New York, N.Y. 10013; telephone (212) 966-6565.

In Britain write Membership Department, the National Trust, P.O. Box 39, Bromley, Kent, England BR1 1NH; telephone 01-464-1111.

For information concerning membership and leaflets for walking sections of the Southwest Way write Mrs. M. MacLeod, membership secretary, Southwest Way Association, Orchard Drive/Kings Kerwell, Newton Abbot, Devon, England TQ12 5DG.

Robert Wirth