Day 73 – Pendeen to St Ives 10th July 2016
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Day 73 – Pendeen to St Ives 10th July 2016

Lolling on my bed in a very pleasant B&B, completely exhausted. I had heard that the Pendeen to St Ives stretch is the hardest on the whole South West coast path, and whilst I would not say it was harder than the murderous Mousehole to Lands End leg, it is certainly up there.

I took an early bus from Penzance to meet Jon and Stephen at their pub in Pendeen – the vey spot where Chris and I finished last year. We had arranged for the baggage people to collect our gear from there, and I am very thankful we did. Not sure I could have made it today with a big pack.

The weather was excellent all day. Plenty of sun to make the sea a wonderful turquoise, but also breezy enough to be the right temperature in a t-shirt.

The first point of interest was the Pendeen Watch lighthouse, a landmark which we could see behind for miles as we progressed north-east. IMG_0765For the first time, I now have the sun generally on my right arm with the sea on my left. So far, as I have walked clockwise I have had a burnt left arm, and a burnt right arm as I have walked anti-clockwise. There won’t be any much sun on the left side until I start west again along the coast of South Wales.

The path dipped and swooped, climbing up and dropping down. It was nowhere as steep as some of the parts of Devon, but it was always narrower and closer to the cliffs. At some angles, the wind was blowing off the land, which is quite disconcerting when there is a steep drop to the side.IMG_0798

As always in Cornwall, the path is very poorly sign posted, and although you might think it can’t be that difficult, there are often tracks and sheep-trods to confuse the unwary.

There are numerous old mine shafts and wheal houses still dotting the countryside. After last year’s trip to Geevor mine I could imagine the shafts going out a mile or so under the waves. A lot of the stone had the greens tinge of copper ore.IMG_0820

The various interpretations boards (none today) promise choughs and kittiwakes, but so far only herring gulls and ordinary crows have materialised.

We did, however see a kestrel from above, hovering golden in the sun-light, before it swooped down and grabbed a small creature.

We had toyed with the idea of turning inland at Zennor to go to the well-known Tinners’ Arms for lunch, but we were making such slow progress that we decided not to add the additional mile or so each way. I can normally take or leave lunch when walking, being quite happy with an apple and some chocolate, but today to was so strenuous (although only 14.6 miles) that I was really struggling by the end and chomping on my dark chocolate with no thought of anything but shovelling in energy. We eventually crawled into St Ives at about 6pm, found the nearest restaurant and stuffed our faces. We were on a terrace, and so cold from hunger and exhaustion that we sat huddled in our fleeces and extra blankets whilst people on the next able were in shorts and t-shirts.

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Day 72 Penzance to Mousehole 9th July 2016

Today is probably going to be the shortest day of the whole walk – a mere 3.3m from Penzance to Mousehole, where I started Day 69 last year.

The walk was simple – along the cob from Penzance to Newlyn. Newlyn was interesting: I enjoyed seeing a real working fishing port rather than the little ports that just seem to run pleasure craft. IMG_0704The warehouses were shabby, and the place does not seem to be very wealthy but there were dozens of ships crowded into the harbour and numerous fish wholesalers lining the streets.  I also came across another of the cycle way signposts – haven’t seen one of those for ages.IMG_0703

Just outside Mousehole there is a memorial garden to the volunteers of the Penlee Life Boat station. Closed now, it performed its last service in 1981, when the Solomon Browne set out in hurricane force winds and 50ft seas to help the Union Star. After initial reports that four men had been saved, contact with the station was dropped and both ships were lost with all hands. Eight men from Mousehole had been in the lifeboat, a very high number for such a tiny village, but within forty-eight hours sufficient volunteers had come forward to form a full crew. The replacement boat, the Mabel Alice, was stationed in Newlyn.IMG_0717

The weather was not much to write home about. The cloud stubbornly refused to lift and the west wind was quite strong.  I reached my destination by 10.45, and caught the bus back to Penzance. My original plan had been to return to Marazion to go into the castle at St Michael’s Mount, but my landlady informed me at breafast that it is closed on Saturdays.

I wish I had taken the chance to go around quickly yesterday. My second thought was the open air theatre at Mynack, which I missed last year through going inland, but the weather was so dull it hardly seemed worth the bother. In the end, I took a bus to Gwithian, a small town in North Cornwall where a branch of my family came from, before emigrating to South Wales in the 1840s. The churchyard was full of Hockins, Cocks, Andrewarthas and Pascoes, all cousins in the 99th degree. A swift bus ride back (First Kernow operate an excellent and comprehensive service) gave me time to go to the Penlee Gallery to look at an exhibition of sea painting.

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Day 71 – Porth Leven to Penzance 8 July 2016

IMG_0582Today was a perfect day to get me back in the swing of walking – not too hard, not too easy, ideal walking weather and the right sort of distance – just under 15 miles, plus nearly two to get to the start point.

I took the train to Penzance yesterday lunchtime, and it was no more than averagely late, getting in just before six. The weather was poor. It began to spit just as I was popping into a pub for supper, and by the time I came out it was of plastic trouser proportions. Last year the walk up to the youth hostel from the town centre seemed endless, even though Chris carried my bag, but this year the nearly two miles were no problem, especially as the rain eased off, although it was dreadfully muggy. It’s a good youth hostel (Castle Horneck) and despite being in a dorm with four others I got a good night’s sleep – no snorers, and although it was fiendishly hot, as they always are, I managed to grab the bunk by the window.

I was able to drop my bag off early at tonight’s B&B so was just walking with a day pack – so much better! The bus dropped me at Porth Leven where I finished day 68. The path climbs up the headland, but none of it was too steep, and the weather, which started poor with a low sea fret, cleared around eleven, to give a mix of sun and cloud. Absolutely ideal.IMG_0603

This is the start of the tin mining area and there are a number of old wheals dotting the landscapes. In our trip to Geevor mine last year, Chris and I found out all about the mines – absolutely fascinating. They were copper and tin, and many of the shafts can go more than a mile out under the sea. I cannot imagine how terrifying that must have been. If a mine collapsed inland you might have some hope of rescue, but not in these.

I reached the gorgeous Praa sands around 11.30 and had my first paddle. Icey! I stopped on beach cafe for coffee and a square of lemon drizzle cake that would have fed a family.

IMG_0631Another couple of hours of gentle up and down on a good path brought me in sight of St Michael’s Mount.  It can be seen for several miles before you actually reach the town of Marazion. It is a quite remarkable construction, inaccessible on its headland other than when the tide is low enough to reveal the causeway.

I didn’t have time to look at the castle before I needed either to turn back or miss the tide, so I shall go tomorrow afternoon – it should only take a couple of hours for me to go from Penzance to the point in Mousehole where I started day 69. Originally a monastery, a priory of the IMG_0688Norman abbey of Mont St Michel, it was captured by the Earl of Oxford in 1473 and held for Lancaster against the prevailing Yorkist dynasty for nearly six months. After the dissolution, it was held by the Crown until it was granted to Sir Robert Cecil, later Marquess of Salisbury. It was sold to the Bassets, a prominent Cornish family, who supported the King during the Civil War. It eventually came into the hands of another old Cornish family, the St Aubyns, who are still in residence, although the place is managed by the National Trust.

I walked a long way across the beach toward Penzance. I am not generally a fan of sand walking it is very hard on the legs, but this sand was firm. The last couple of miles into Penzance are on a cycle track parallel to the railway, so easy going. A very fine day indeed.

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I haven’t gone away!

For anyone who thought I might have given up – I am still here. It is hard to believe that a year has passed since my last walk, but in the meantime I have been busy with my new business www.tudortimes.co.uk and I am also writing a book. So weekends have been a bit hectic. Nevertheless I have managed to squeeze in 10 days back in Cornwall, this time in the company of friends Jon and Stephen. Jon is working on an end to end project and wanted to start from Land’s End. That works perfectly for me, because I can pick up the bits I missed last summer – Porth Leven to Mousehole on Friday and Saturday, and meet the others at the pub in Pendeen where Chris and I finished last year.

On the final day last year, instead of walking on from Pendeen, we spent the day at the Geevor tin-mine. The weather was absolutely appalling – quite different from the previous day, and my boots were slipperier than ever, so we thought the tin-mine would be a good option. And it was – absolutely fascinating. I highly recommend to anyone with the slightest interest in history, mining, industrial archaeology, industrial relations, systems, engineering, or just about anything.

Since then, no plans have actually come to anything, so I am absolutely delighted to be off again. I hope the weather is as good as last year!

The advantage to going with friends, is that we are clubbing together for a bag transport service. After the miseries of last year, I’ll welcome it, as it is fair to say fitness levels are slipping with the current very sedentary projects.

I’ve bought new boots too. I went for Zamerlan again because they are so comfortable. Just hoping that the first pair had faulty soles, rather then the whole design being poor. Fingers (and toes) crossed!

Train at 12.05 from Paddington tomorrow and a whole 10 days of Cornish Pasties and cream teas ahead.

Day 70 18th July 2015
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Day 70 18th July 2015

IMG_0075I am glad to say that I have discovered the cause of my low satisfaction level. My pack is too heavy. I am not sure what it weighs, probably about 9-10 kg, including its own weight and water. It is difficult to slim down more – I could perhaps lose one sweater and two very light weight tops, but not sure that would make a noticeable difference. It is less than 10% of my body weight.

Depressed by the screaming of my knees yesterday, and having heard that today would be rainy and the path steep, I decided to send the majority of my kit on to my next hotel.  Elegantly decanted into a black plastic bin liner, my dirty laundry and spare shoes travelled in state in their own taxi, rolling up at the front door of the Treloyan Manor Hotel as Chris and I toiled up the coast path. My only physical complaint today is the horse-fly bite I got above Portloe. It has swollen up into a hard yellow lump, the size of a 2 pound coin.IMG_0095

In fact, divested of my pack, I was practically dancing along the path. The weather turned out to be absolutely fabulous – hot, sunny, with the odd breeze.

Today’s route was fascinating. Through the old tin mining territory north of Land’s End. I was particularly interested because my grandfather’s grandparents and all their ancestors back into the mists of time came from the villages around here – Gwithean, Morvah, St Just and Camborne. I haven’t had time today to look, but next time I come, I will spend a few hours investigating the local church yards.

The mines looked very romantic, set in the green bracken, with the bright blue sky and the purple CornisIMG_0100h heather setting them off. Almost all of them closed around the turn of the 20th century, apart from Greevor, which only closed in the 1980s. We are planning to do the guided tour of it tomorrow morning. We met a very informative couple who told us all about the mines – apparently most of the mining took place in long latitudinal shafts that went as far as a mile or so under the sea. Apparently, when sinking parallel shafts, they did not allow for the fact that magnetic north changes over time, and major disasters were caused by new shafts running into old ones that were not being pumped.

I am sure that when they were being worked they looked dirty, ugly and dangerous, but now they are beautiful. This is also the area where the recent Poldark series was filmed. My ears pricked up at that, and I scanned the horizon for the gorgeous Ross Poldark, sadly, I have been informed he is off on another job.

We stopped at Cape Cornwall, which is about 5 miles north by east of Lands End. There was a natural swimming pool in the rocks that Chris took advantage of, plunging in entirely. I confined myself to dangling my feet in. It was cold, but fabulous. We then sat in the sun and had Cornish pasties and ice cream.

We walked as far as Pendeen. Chris set up his tent in a campsite there, and I hopped on a bus up to St Ives to join my black bin liner.

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Day 69 – Mousehole to Land’s End 18th July 2015

Last night, I was feeling pretty ropey. My feet are outrageously painful, although I’m not sure why. I don’t have any injuries, but my knees hurt and my feet are like balls of fire. I suggested to Chris that we get a bus to Land’s End, drop our bags and walk back and return by bus. This morning, however, things seemed better, so we took a bus to Mousehole (pro. MAW- zl). This will leave me with the Porthleven to Mousehole stretch to do, which is about 10 miles of mainly road. It seemed a bit mean to drag Chris all the way here just IMG_0038for road-bashing.

Mousehole is a delightful village. Much more real than some of the others, with proper fishing boats and actual residents, not just holiday homes. The sign posting of the route is as poor as ever.

The path is tough at this point. There is some scrambling round rocks at the end of the various headlands, I am glad to have done them in good weather – it was a beautiful day. It took a couple of hours to get the 2.5 miles to Lamorna, so we rewarded ourselves with coffee and cake. There was then another tough section, lots of exposed cliff, with suggestive names, such as Coffin Rock. IMG_0053We met various people coming towards us, including a Swedish couple, both 72 who do this section off the path every year. Startlingly, she was in a bikini. And only just in that. She was busy tucking herself into the top when she heard us coming. It is hard to imagine members of the Ramblers Association being quite so free and easy!

By the time we reached Porth Berth, another 5 miles, I was completely exhausted. I really don’t know what has got into me – I am never normally tired. I hope I am not sickening for something. As we rested, we chatted to some very fit looking ladies who said that the next sections were very up and down with some scrambles. I knew I couldn’t do it. We debated the merits of pub and taxi, then decided on a cross country route, flatter, across the fields. It took almost as long, as the path was frequently hidden under crops, which necessitated endless stops to look at the map but it was easier. Annoyingly, I left my large water bottle in the pub where we ate last night, so I only had a small bottle of water, which I had refilled at Lamorna. We took several false turns. Eventually, we arrived at Land’s End. IMG_0058The weather was still fabulous. We had a good meal, and Chris has gone off to his b & b (he’s come prepared to camp, but there are no pitches available. The receptionist here is fantastic. She found Chris a room , and has organised a taxi to collect my bag in the morning and ferry it to my hotel for tomorrow. I cannot contemplate walking with a full pack any more, especially as the forecast is for rain, which will make for slippery surfaces. My knees are shockingly painful as I go down steps. Hopefully, with just my wet weather gear, sweater, money and phone, I’ll be able to manage.IMG_0071

I am in the superb conservatory at the hotel, but it is already clouding over, and the sunset I was hoping for has not materialised. It is, nevertheless, rather a red-letter day, as I have reached the westernmost point in mainland Britain. I have now done the most easterly (Lowestoft), the south-eastern point (South Foreland),  and the most southerly (The Lizard the day before yesterday). Only the northern points to do – should be a doddle (!)

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Day 68 – The Lizard to Porthleven 17th July 2015

I slept in and caught the 9.41 bus back to The Lizard. Sitting up the top, I got chatting to two other walkers – an American lady, Elaine, who was doing day walks, and a chap who stays down here periodically with his partner and does a lot of local walks. He was a mine of information. He was going back to Kennack Sands where I had tea yesterday, but she was going to Porthleven, same as me. Elaine and I walked from the bus stop to Lizard point, but her speed was quite unmatchable for me. I am never fast, and with a back pack, am quite slow. She, however, despite probably being 15 to 20 years older than me, was a power walker. She took some pictures of me at Lizard Point, then hared off. I could see her striding over the track ahead for about an hour, then I lost her.IMG_9984

Today was absolutely glorious, weather-wise. The sky was blue, and there wasn’t much wind, just a nice breeze. Within an hour, despite having factor 50 on, I had to cover up my arms and legs. The walk was along stretches of a cliff top that was so flat it was like someone had taken a knife and just sliced through the land. From time to time, there was a steep up and down into a valley. IMG_0001Even the cows were docile. I negotiated a herd of them strewn across the path by leaping into the bracken to avoid getting between calf and mother, but all seemed well.

My mood improved exponentially from yesterday, until, then, in front of me, was a black bullock, right on the path. Pleasingly, there were people coming the other way, so I thought there would be no problem. Unfortunately, something about them upset the bullock, so he called to his mates, who appeared out of nowhere and trotted smartly towards the path. The oncoming man waved his arms about and the bullock moved off. Towards me. Great. I now had five of them facing me up the path. They then turned and began to climb the narrow path ahead, which I had to follow. The lady, who despite probably being well into her 60s was exceptionally good looking, offered to go with me up the path – exceptionally kind, too. The man just rolled his eyes. She hated them, too, she said. Especially after she had been followed and shoved by a herd of twenty of them – a story she told in nerve-racking detail as she accompanied me to the stile. I hasten to add that she was armed with a pair of walking poles – I did not send her unarmed back through the bullocks to join her toe-tapping husband.

I carried on, past Mullion Cove, to Poldhu, where I had a cream tea on the beach. Poldhu is the location of the first transatlantic wireless station, which transmitted a signal (repetition of the Morse code letter ‘s’) repeatedly on 12th December, 1901, reaching Marconi in Newfoundland.IMG_0025

The weather was beginning to turn. On then to Porthleven. It wasn’t especially hard going, although more up and down than in the morning. The map showed a long beach walk, but actually the path was above the sands, which was fortunate, as the tide was in and right up to the cliffs.

I could see black clouds and ominous rumbles of thunder cracked out to sea. A squall came over, and I dived for my waterproof, but it only lasted ten minutes.IMG_0036I reached the bus stop at Porthleven around 6pm, to see the 17.54 to Penzance trundle up the hill away from me. The sun had come out again, so I sat and waited for the next bus.IMG_0037 It came in time. The whole way to Penzance (some 25 mins) was punctuated by a large lady, with flowers festooning her hair, singing folk songs. The first few songs were great: the next, pretty pleasant. After the fifteenth repetition the other passengers were getting restive, but were all too polite to say a word. I fell into conversation with a young man whose accent was so thick, I barely understood a word (except for f…, which appeared with some frequency).

Chris met me at the bus station and kindly carried my pack up to the Youth Hostel, where I thought I had a room booked, only, unfortunately, I hadn’t. I had managed , which I must say was quite a feat of internet cock-up, to book a slot in the male dorm in the YMCA instead. Fortunately, the extremely helpful receptionist at the YHA managed to sort it out, and find me a berth, before I actually panicked. The room was the usual YHA offering – hotter than hell, but fairly low grade snoring this time.

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Day 67 – Porthallow to The Lizard 16th July 2015

I am sitting in the Angel Hotel, Helston. Suffice to say, that, had I been guessing, I wouldn’t have come up with that name.

I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been enjoying this trip as much as I usually do. I am not sure if it’s because I’ve tried to cover too much ground, or because the weather has been pretty miserable the last three days, or because my boots have lost their grip and I am worried about falling, or even that I’ve had one too many cow traumas…

Nevertheless, today was pretty good. I had an excellent breakfast, and only had to repack my rucksack twice as I remembered various important items such as ibuprofen and ball-of-the-foot pads were at the bottom.IMG_9950

I left around 8.20 and made good time to Porthoustock, and then Coverack, where I should have reached yesterday. The first bit was easy, and, had there been a possibility of accommodation at Porthoustock, I would have gone that far, but I am glad I didn’t attempt Coverack yesterday. Despite yesterday evening having been bright and sunny, it was mizzling again this morning and everything was slippery.

The terrain was easier than the first couple of days, although the path hugged the cliffs, and when the cloud lifted, I had some good views. There weren’t so many steep ups and downs, but my average pace was still only just 2 miles per hour. I met various walkers coming toward me, but no-one going my way – suggesting I am neither slower nor faster than most people. The coast had some interesting rock formations, including an archway. IMG_9966I reached Kennack Sands, a lovely silvery beach around 2.30 and had a very satisfactory Cornish pasty from the café. Much of this area of coast is National Trust land, and I was delighted to discover that the path is managed in this area for glow-worms. Apparently, they like long cover, so the grass is not cut back.IMG_9967

I was in two minds as to whether to press on all the way to the Lizard, or stop at the previous cove. In the event I did continue and by then I seem to have got more into my usual stride.  I covered 16 miles by 5pm, into the little settlement above the Lizard, just to see the bus to Helston sailing past me.

A rather tedious wait at the bus stop, then a white-knuckle ride through very narrow lanes, at top speed, I was sitting upstairs front and frequently had the urge to duck as we slammed into overhanging branches.

I had high hopes for Helston. It is the town that Mary Yelland comes from in Jamaica Inn and longs to return to, comparing its gentle greenness to the bleakness of Dartmoor. I guess it’s changed a bit since her day!

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Day 66 – Falmouth to Porthallow – 15 July 2015

I’m sitting in a spotlessly clean room in a pub in Porthallow, which is an unexpected stop.

When I looked at my route for today, my heart sank. Just under 23 miles. What was I thinking when I planned the itinerary? Even on the flat east Coast that distance is a bit too long, and here it is close to impossible. I studied the map and found a couple of short cuts, cutting out some walking inland along one of the rivers, so I decided that if I could lop off 3 or so miles, all might be well.

The day started out in light rain again, with all of the path surfaces greasy and slippery, necessitating careful walking. My knee is sporting a bruise in every colour of the rainbow, but I don’t seem to have sustained any real damage.

The path was easy to begin with. Gentle undulations around to Swanpool, and then Maenporth. I was making good time. Up from the bare 2 miles per hour of the first couple of days to the nearly 2.5, which I needed to cover to have any hope of reaching the YHA at Coverack before dark.IMG_9935

I was plugging along nicely, admiring the sea which was calmer than yesterday, and rather more visible as the low lying cloud of the last 3 days finally cleared. I was looking at the Cornish names and comparing them to Welsh to try to translate them. I decided that Nansidwell was probably the equivalent of Nantsantidwal, and that Carrickvoil must be the equivalent of Carregfoel. Plas for a big house seems to be the same, as is mor (sea) and tre/tref, meaning settlement or place belonging to…

As I was deep in these linguistic meditations, I looked ahead and saw a herd of cattle on the horizon. No problem, I thought, having just been through a field where they hadn’t batted an eyelid. This lot looked well away from the path, minding their own business. About 500 yards ahead of me was another walker, with three dogs, two terriers and a Labrador or similar. I hope he puts those on a lead, I thought, or the cattle may start taking an interest.

I hope this was not an example of the thoughts creating the reality, because, unfortunately, that is exactly what happened. The cattle, who were young bullocks again, saw the dogs and began to moo and balloo in very threatening tones, setting off the ones in the next field as well. They began to trot towards the path in a very determined fashion. The man with the dogs was fine, he had plenty of time to get through the field before they reached him. I, on the other hand hadn’t. They caught site of me and veered in my direction.

Fortunately, I had just come through a gap in the field, with a hedge to one side. I nipped behind it smartly. Once they lose sight of you, they lose interest, I fondly told myself. However they were still mooing and harrumphing, and I did not fancy drawing attention to myself. Depressed, I turned back and took a detour round, which I could have done without as it was on the road, always unpleasant. I made good time to the Helford River crossing, arriving just after 12.30 giving me an average of nearly 2.4 miles per hour.

As it happened, the tide was so far out that the ferry couldn’t cross before 1pm, so I had a very nice Cornish vanilla ice cream whilst I waited.IMG_9938 I was the first one over, as the ferryman would only take one small person to test the water. Arriving on the south side, in the pretty village of Helford, I had a choice.IMG_9944 I could walk on the official south west coast path along the banks of the Helford river, then turn inland to cross another stream at the ford if the tide were low, or if it were not, walk at least a mile in either direction along road to the bridge; alternatively, I could assume the ford would be impassable, and strike cross country for the bridge. I decided on the latter. The path was a delightful woodland saunter , at one point along a road where there signs advising drivers to beware of swans crossing! IMG_9946The rain had finally cleared, and it was brightening up, although very humid. I consulted my map again. Coverack still looked very far away. I made the decision to see if I could find accommodation in Porthallow. If I could, I would stay there. I arrived there around 3, having covered 12.7 miles. Sitting in front of the pub (Dewotty Pymp Heren) or the Five Pilchards in English, was a row of hikers hugging beers. They informed me that the landlord had just closed for the afternoon.

I really didn’t fancy another five miles to Coverack. Happily, there was a number on the front door for anyone looking for accommodation, so I called up, and the landlord returned to let me in. So here I am. I have spent some time working out how I can change the next few days. I really can’t do the distances I planned over this terrain. I’ll aim for the Lizard lighthouse tomorrow – around 15 miles.

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Day 65 – Portloe to Portscatho 14 July 2015

I can’t say today has been my most successful walking experience ever. The B&B Rachel and I stayed in last night was lovely – a huge Georgian house with beautifully proportioned rooms. It is a working farm so we woke at 5am to the sound of cattle.

We had arranged for Tony the Taxi to pick us up at 8.30 to drop me back at Portloe, IMG_9915and take Rachel on to St Mawes to get the ferry across to Falmouth. I was on a tight schedule to get to St Antony’s Head to take the Place Ferry to St Mawes – last one at 17.45 for last Fslmouth ferry at 18.00. Given our performance over the last few days, I needed to crack on.

The terrain as far as Portscatho, which was just over half way, looked similar to yesterday, with much easier walking thereafter. Total planned was about 13.5 miles, same as yesterday. I set off briskly enough. The usual lack of signposting nearly took me on “dangerous unfenced cliff-path” as several signs announced. Fortunately I spotted the coast path lurking behind a hillock, so I turned my back on “dangerous” and strode off confidently. The weather was poor. Endless mizzle – not wet enough for waterproofs but making the paths greasy and hiding the view. Tony the Taxi had told me to look out for a coffee shack, called the Hidden House around one of the headlands, but, sadly, it lived up to its name, so no morning coffee.IMG_9921

I met a chap coming west to east – obviously a coast path walker. We stopped and chatted – to be honest, after ten minutes, conscious of my schedule, I was twitching to get away. I’d just said good bye when he asked how I felt about cattle.

‘I’m a little chary of them’ I replied. I’ve had a couple of bad experiences.’

‘You can’t be a walker and not have a bad experience with them. That’s the main trouble with the Southern Uplands way…’, a further few minutes on his experiences there. ‘I had to make a big detour to avoid them.’

It suddenly dawned on me that he was talking about today. I snapped to attention.

‘Really? Where?’ He pointed the field out on the map.

‘You can detour here and here. There were mothers and calves.’

I expressed some doubt as to there being calves at this season, but he assured me that, unlike sheep, cows can calve at any time. I was not convinced that his knowledge of the reproductive habits of cattle was accurate, but that wasn’t really the point.

I considered the detour he pointed out. Hmm – a long way round. I decided to go to the field edge and investigate the relative location of cows and stiles.  As I was approaching the field, I saw two other people coming toward the suspect field, from the detour path. I broke into a run to head them off at the stile. If I went through on their coat tails, I should be fine. I raced up to them and began to follow. I apologised for stalking them and explained that I had been warned the cows in that field were a bit troublesome.

‘Yes’, said the lady, nodding vigorously. ‘I met them yesterday.’

Then the man said, in German, ‘Young steers’.

‘Young bulls’ he said, to me. We agreed they could be a bit too playful.

With three of us, however, there were no problems, and I dropped down into Roseland Bay.IMG_9922

Then came a very annoying lack of signage. Three paths and no signs. I picked the right one, decided after a few hundred yards that it was the wrong one, retraced my steps. Tried a second, which soon seemed wrong, as it went too far inland, returned to the junction and was scratching my head when two American cyclists appeared. They told me that there was an acorn sign a few hundred yards up. We agreed the signage was terrible.

I was now concerned about time, so began to hurry. This was a big mistake. The path was greasy and I went down head first, or rather knee first. I fell with some force and hurt my knee and ankle. Not seriously but enough to make myself very uncomfortable. I carried on, feeling very stiff. More signage issues. Three paths with no acorn. This time I made the wrong decision. Eventually, I emerged on a road above Portscatho. I limped along, crosser and crosser, wondering if I could get a bus as my knee throbbed painfully. I contemplated phone Tony the Taxi, but, no phone signal of course.

Just as I crawled into the village, I saw someone waving. Unbelievably, it was Tony Taxi himself, just emerging from a café. I leapt in to the car and he conveyed me quick smart to the ferry at St Mawes. IMG_9925Bless him, he didn’t even charge me. I took a very wet and windy trip across Falmouth Harbour. It is quite a sight – ferries, pleasure craft, yachts, all zooming in and out of Carrick Roads where the Fal, Kennal, Truro and a couple of smaller rivers converge. Apparently, Falmouth is the deepest harbour in Western Europe, and probably the third deepest in the world. IMG_9929On either side lie Henry VIII’s great fortresses at St Mawes Castle, and Pendennis Castle (one of the last royalist strongholds to fall in the Civil War.) There is some superb housing overlooking the harbour too. Heading towards my hotel, I tried to get new boots – the soles on mine have worn too much, I am not getting enough grip for the slippery surfaces. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any to fit. Maybe in Penzance.

I arrived at my hotel, to find it is closed until at least 4pm. So, I’ve decided on late lunch/early dinner, then rest all evening. Just had an excellent risotto. Can’t have fish and chips every day…