Fisherman’s Trail Day 2: Porto Covo to Vila Nova de Milfontes Through Epic Sand

The Fisherman’s Trail has a dirty little secret nobody warns you about. It’s not the elevation changes or the distance that gets you – it’s the sand. Miles and miles of deep, energy-sucking sand that turns a scenic coastal hike into a battle of wills. But here’s the thing: those views make every trudging step worth it.

Morning Chaos: The Great Passport Hunt

Our Porto Covo hotel room had zero airflow – no fan, windows that didn’t really open, just a still-air porch that did nothing. My 6 AM alarm went off, we rolled out by 7, but didn’t hit the trail until 8 because I managed to lose my passport in my own luggage.

Spent 30 minutes tearing through every pocket, every compartment, getting that special kind of travel panic where you imagine yourself stuck in Portugal forever. Found it buried in my wire bag with all my computer cords. How it got there? No clue. But that’s travel for you.

We’d booked a luggage transfer service – genius move for multi-day hikes where hotels shuttle your main bag to the next stop. My sister had her pack ready like the seasoned traveler she is. Just one catch: no electronics allowed in transferred bags (theft risk), so my laptop and tablet went into my day pack. That heavy machine plus water turned my pack into a 15-pound anchor I’d carry for the next 20 kilometers.

Legendary Breakfast, Heavy Decisions

The hotel breakfast spread was absolutely stacked. Not your standard continental nonsense – proper cooked eggs, quality meats, fresh breads that would make a baker weep. As a vegetarian, those hams almost broke me. Almost.

I loaded up on fresh bread, oatmeal, grabbed some extra bread for the trail (rookie move not packing more snacks – everything in town was closed when we left). My sister was already positioned at the restaurant, properly fueled and ready.

Pro tip: When hiking the Rota Vicentina, stock up on trail snacks the night before. We learned this lesson the hard way.

The Trail Begins: Beauty Before the Beast

The first stretch out of Porto Covo lulled us into false confidence. Nice coastal paths, manageable terrain, dipping down into small coves, scrambling over some rocks. Standard coastal hiking stuff. We passed a group of 20-something Italian tourists in their 60s, all sporting gaiters on their boots.

Gaiters – those little fabric guards that keep sand out of your shoes. We’d see the wisdom of that gear choice very, very soon.

The coastline was stunning. You round a bend, drop into a tiny inlet, climb back up to clifftops with turquoise water below so clear you could count the rocks on the bottom. An old fort appeared in the distance, built maybe in the 13th century to guard this coast, standing on its own little island like something from a fantasy novel.

Enter the Sand: Where Joy Goes to Die

After that fort, everything changed. The trail turned into sand. Not packed beach sand you can walk on easily. Deep, loose, 4-inch sand that steals your momentum with every step. Your feet slip backward on climbs, slide sideways on traverses, sink deep on flats.

Two miles of this? Manageable. Four miles? Character building. But this went on for what felt like eternity. The spectacular views kept coming – dramatic cliffs, hidden beaches, rock formations carved by Atlantic storms – but the trudging turned appreciation into endurance.

We dipped inland through a pine grove where I’d hoped (based on reviews) the sand would end. Nope. More sand. Plus a new feature: toilet paper scattered along the trail where hikers had answered nature’s call.

Here’s some trail etiquette for you: pack it out or bury it properly. Don’t leave your used paper decorating the Portuguese coastline. It’s disrespectful and ruins the experience for everyone behind you.

Halfway Point: The Boardwalk Break

About 10-12 kilometers in (roughly halfway through this 20-kilometer stage), we hit a boardwalk near a swimming spot. Both of us were cooked. Watching families roll up in cars, stroll to the beach in their Sunday clothes while we sat there sand-blasted and exhausted – not gonna lie, I felt some type of way about that.

We emptied what felt like half of Portugal from our shoes, drained our water bottles, and pushed on. Should’ve packed more snacks. Should’ve had gaiters. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve – the hiker’s lament.

The Final Push: More Sand, More Pain, More Beauty

The second half delivered more of the same gorgeous punishment. Six more miles that felt like twelve. Every bend revealed another postcard view – cliffs dropping into impossible blue water, weird coastal plants you won’t see anywhere else, rock formations that looked hand-carved by giants.

But also sand. So much sand. Uphill sand that had you taking two steps to make one. Downhill sand that threatened to send you tumbling. Side-hill sand that worked muscles you forgot you had.

The truth about the Fisherman’s Trail that Instagram doesn’t show you: it’s beautiful, but it’s also a proper grind.

Salvation at Trail’s End

Finally, mercifully, we spotted a restaurant near the end of the coastal section. Ian with his neon green glasses was already there with his wife Martha. “Hey, we know you!” Perfect trail timing.

Cold Heineken never tasted so good. My sister went for a mixed drink. We swapped war stories with Ian and Martha – learned he’s a designer, she’s an artist, their kids are fashion designers doing interesting things. You really never know who you’ll meet on the trail.

Recharged but still facing 30-40 minutes more hiking, we pushed on together, chatting about everything except the sand. Eventually rolled into Vila Nova de Milfontes around 2:30 PM – about 6.5 hours of hiking including breaks.

Vila Nova de Milfontes: Recovery Mode

Our accommodation, Charm in the Center, was a small Airbnb-style spot with gate codes instead of keys. Modern, efficient, exactly what we needed. Bags tossed, shoes off, immediate priority: ocean swim to soothe destroyed muscles.

My sister wasn’t feeling it but came along anyway – that’s sibling solidarity. The beach here was more protected inlet than open ocean, not as dramatic as earlier spots. I waded in belly-deep while she claimed a spot at a beachside bar. The cold Atlantic worked its magic on my legs while she got started on the olives and mixed drinks.

Dinner Hunt: Third Time’s the Charm

Post-shower, the restaurant hunt began. Found a vegetarian place online – closed. Second choice – also closed. Welcome to small-town Portugal on shoulder season.

Finally stumbled onto a spot called Stress Free (perfect name after our day). Solid dinner – pasta for me, turkey and rice for my sister, bottle of excellent Portuguese white that would’ve cost triple back home.

Met an older German woman at the next table who’d hiked the same route. We bonded immediately over the sand situation. Two guys behind us who’d passed us in the final mile joined the conversation. The sand had traumatized us all equally. Nothing builds trail camaraderie like shared suffering.

Nightcap at the Shark Bar

Ended the night at Blue Azul, this bizarre shark-themed bar with a mannequin’s arm hanging from a shark’s mouth on the ceiling. Portugal’s coastal towns don’t do subtle when it comes to ocean themes.

One nightcap, quick chat with the bartender, then back to crash at the hotel. Tomorrow would bring Day 3 of the Rota Vicentina, and we needed every hour of sleep we could get.

The Reality Check

Porto Covo to Vila Nova de Milfontes: About 20 kilometers (12.4 miles) of stunning coastline and character-building sand. Start early (we left at 8 AM, arrived around 2:30 PM with breaks). Pack extra snacks. Consider gaiters seriously.

The sand will test you, but those clifftop views and hidden beaches make this one of the most spectacular sections of Portugal’s Fisherman’s Trail. Just don’t say nobody warned you about the sand.

Planning this hike? The luggage transfer service is worth every euro. Just remember: no electronics in transferred bags, and your day pack gets heavy fast when it’s carrying your entire digital life.