How about a summer trip to North-west Spain’s Costa da Morte - the Coast of Death? This dramatic squiggle of Atlantic coastline in Galicia makes a wonderful destination for superb seafood and view-tastic hiking - with no elevated risk of booking a one-way trip.

So what is the story behind its hair-raising name? The answer is the Costa’s history of terrible shipwrecks. From medieval times onwards, hundreds of galleons, fishing boats, warships, submarines - you name it - were were sunk or shattered along the coast’s barren, stormy cliffs and wind-raked dunes.

The cause was a treacherous spot at the rocky north-east of the Costa da Morte’s peninsula, where boats were forced to change tack in order to sail north or come in to port. Even a tiny error in calculations or failure of engineering while battling lashing rain or fog - of which the coast has plenty - could cause disaster.

English ships were hard hit, and sailors referred in hollow tones to Spain’s Coast of Death. A friend of Queen Victoria, the travel writer Annette Meakin, picked up on the name and popularised it, and the Spanish press ran with Costa da Morta.

One of the worst disasters struck in 1870 when the warship HMS Captain sailed into a gale and quickly capsized. Nearly 500 lives were lost - ‘some of the finest officers in the Navy’, said The Times newspaper, and memorials to the crew were placed in St Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster Abbey.

In 1890 the HMS Serpent, which was on its way to Sierra Leone, sailed too close to the shore and ran aground on ‘the Serpent’s Shallows’. Of 176 men on board, only three - those who had managed to find life jackets - were washed ashore alive as the ship’s lifeboats sunk underneath 10-metre waves. The remainder of the crew are remembered at the lace-making village of Camariñas in an area called the English Cemetery.

By the end of the 19th century, British pressure helped to bring about the building of a chain of lighthouses along the coast, and the situation eased - but the name remained.

So much for the sinister. Now the soggy. It rains. A lot. And the highest temperature in summer is usually around 23C - way lower than other parts of Spain, including other areas of Galicia.

And the good bits? Everything else. With danger removed, the atmosphere is wildly romantic with something of a mystical feel. Megalithic remains are scattered against a tranquil, misty-green backdrop. You’ll need a map to find them among remote churches and stone hamlets. Don’t pin your hopes on your sat nav, which struggles on unmarked country lanes. Local elders will do their best to help - but often speak in Galician only.

Summer festivals come with a strong Celtic vibe as Galician bagpipers (their instrument is known as gaita galega) and drummers march through town streets.

Beaches are mostly rustic and elemental, and great for claiming your own private space, but there are also bustling charmers. At Praia de Laxe, where calm, white sand meets the Anllóns river, lifeguards watch over families strolling between rock pools and prom-side restaurants.

Wherever you go on the Costa da Morte you’ll see hikers weighed down with towering backpacks. Many are pilgrims on the legendary Camino de Santiago pilgrim routes, plodding their way to the cathedral steps of Galicia’s capital, Santiago de Compostela. (The delicate scallop-shaped cakes you’ll find at baker’s represent the shells they collect en route.)

Afterwards, those with leftover energy head to lonely, eucalyptus-scented Cape Finisterre, where a popular ritual is to burn your hiking boots at the water’s edge. The Romans believed the peninsula’s tip marked the end of the earth and all beyond it was darkness and gloom. A springy green hillock by a granite lighthouse is the perfect place to view the vast, angry Atlantic through their eyes.

For shorter walks that anyone can enjoy, there are spectacular hiking trails that slink through dense oak forests and pass the shipwreck-preventing lighthouses before dipping down to authentic fishing villages such as Muxia, Laxe and Malpica. Here, in cheerful, traditional restaurants, you’ll get to sample some of Europe’s very best seafood.

Catches of the day are chalked up on blackboards outside bars and restaurants. The most prized are claw-like percebes - gooseneck barnacles. You’ll see them being harvested by shadowy figures that leap between wave-lashed rocks on early-morning bays, and high prices reflect the danger and dexterity involved.

But at very affordable prices you can share generous plates of pulpo á feira (Galicia’s trademark melt-in-the-mouth octopus flavoured with paprika and olive oil), gigantic steamed mussels, garlicky razor clams, cockles in fragrant broth and pyramids of baby clams. Add in a glass of albariño white wine and the bill still hovers at around €30 for two.

Despite its remote atmosphere, getting to the Costa da Morte is a straightforward 70-minute drive from Santiago de Compostela (which has an airport and car hire). Family-run hotels and chic agriturismos are the way to go. At the homeliest, you might wake to breakfasts of homemade bread, apricot jam and sausage and be met at the end of the day with a tot of queimada, a potent herb-laden nightcap made to keep witches at bay. Just to be on the safe side.