The most southerly point in the UK. Both the physical and true psychological turning point in our walk around Somerset, Dorset, Devon and Cornwall (I did describe Land’s End as the psychological turning point as the name implies that’s what it should be, but nature, as always has other ideas). We no longer look out over the vast, wild Atlantic Ocean towards North America but instead, we’re looking over the calmer waters of the mouth of the English Channel. The vertical granite cliffs and destructive crashing waves give way to large deep-water inlets that meander slowly inland and undulating grassy meadows that roll gently into the sea. The scenery is so sudden in its change and different in its beauty you have to look back over your shoulder to remind yourself of the remote and wild coastline that has been ours for the last 18 months.
We’re here for a week, which in itself is unusual. Andrew, Caroline and Lottie finished the section from Gunwalloe to Mullion Cove, which Carolynn and I did last July, so that’s where we caught up with them: Mullion Cove, the place of my childhood holidays. The caravan site is still there, although rather than being static caravans it’s now log cabins. The harbour area still looks the same… but there is something different about it! As adults, do we have a rose-tinted view of our childhood holidays, as it never rained and the sun always shone in every sense?
It had been three months since we’d been together on the SWCP and it had seemed strange to be walking the path without them in September, but to have the full team back together made me realise what good companions and walking partners they are. The first day saw us walk what appears to be the last section of the Wild Atlantic Coast; we turned at the Lizard to a softening of the scenery that was both unexpected and welcome. The sheer cliffs and the crashing waves were replaced by long inlets, estuaries and salt marshes. A welcome change, as the continuous ascent and descent of the North Cornwall coastal inlets appear to be history, replaced by long detours inland or where possible ferry rides across the inlets and estuaries.
Cadgwith, the endpoint of our first day’s walk is a working harbour. The small harbour was bustling as the local trawlers were beached and emptied of their day’s catch. And once again we managed to finish as all walks should, with a pint and food full of calories… lovely.
The following day was a day where Nature and I didn’t see eye to eye! At 56 years old I have only ever been stung by a wasp once. This day started by doubling that total. There are a number of upsides to nearly being bald, but it appears one of the downsides is that on brushing my follicly challenged head against a Fuchsia a wasp taking its last nectar of the season took exception to my walking by and, you guessed it, stung me! I wasn’t amused! Seagulls aren’t my favourite birds. I suppose they, like any other animal they will always go for the easy option. I found out when I lost an ice cream to one that swooped in from behind and took ALL the ice cream from the top of the cone! My understanding is that what goes in must come out…and while I was eating my lunch, today…well do I need to say anymore! The question I know you’re all dying to ask does ammonia ease wasp sting…NO.
Enough of my misfortunes, back to the walk. It was a day of more leisurely walking: although there were still many valleys, they were less steep and there was even less descent and ascent between each high point. Lunch was in the warmth and shelter of Coverack harbour and the afternoon walk was an amble to Porthoustock, a village blighted by a disused quarry. It had very little to redeem itself: a rather grey industrial village out of place and time. There are along the path many industrial sites, the old tin mines, working fishing harbours and tourist traps, but all of these industries fit in, both in time and place. The Quarry at Porthoustock though is a blot on the landscape, ready and waiting to be resurrected as and when profit dictates.
The day finished here with neither a refreshing drink nor a cream tea!
On the following day, we were joined by Kate and Merlot, her black Labrador. I think I’ve mentioned before, Kate is a glass half full girl, full of life and seems to bring an air of joy, which is so very infectious, so it’s always a pleasure to have her join us.
Today was when we reached the halfway point. Andrew, the intellectual one amongst us, said that it was around Porthoustock. Photographs were taken and we slapped each other on the back with congratulations and on we walked, through to Porthallow, Nare Point and the observation point. It was here that we were told that the actual halfway point was Porthallow… the observation officer said, “Did you not see the 10 foot high obelisk declaring that you have reached the halfway point of the South West Coast Path?” Well, it appears that all five of us missed it. Were we too busy talking or concentrating on navigating the hard to follow path? Actually, at least two of our group read the reverse side of the obelisk, which at no point mentioned that this was the halfway point… me, I just walked straight past it, concentrating on navigation, making sure that we didn’t get lost as the path markers were now becoming, quite frankly, very scarce! (Just a pathetic excuse… as the path markers are many and very easy to follow.) So we missed the halfway point; what difference did it make? It seems that it makes a big difference. 315 miles is a gigantic milestone, a distance none of us has ever walked before, so we decided to call on our way back for a proper photoshoot.
Today we also took our first ferry crossing whilst on the SWCP. It wasn’t the most luxurious of ferries. In fact, it wasn’t much bigger than a rowing boat and with five adults, two dogs and the Tillerman it was cosy if not a little precarious! This crossing across Gillan Creek did, however, save us 2.5 km and it was, of course, my expert timing and knowledge of the tides that saved us from that feet-aching extra 2.5 km! Ferries it seems, though, are a bit like buses, they all come at once and within another hour we were summoning another ferry to cross the Helford River. This crossing was essential as the detour if the ferry was missed was another full day’s walk!
After the Helford crossing, it’s just a pleasant stroll from one small cove to another as we head to Mawnan and the church we’ve been so close to, but separated from, by the Helford River for the last couple of hours. Our celebration drink was, I think, well deserved. A milestone for us all and a moment to be proud of. We’ve become quite an efficient group over the last couple of years. The morning routine has a military precision the army would envy and the evenings are without any sort of precision as we discuss where to eat; agreement, though, is always reached.
We’re here for a week on this trip rather than the usual four days, so instead of heading home, the following day we head for Falmouth. The day is a day of gentle walking through fields and over wooded clifftop paths until we hit the road that leads us to the imposing Pendennis Castle where just across the estuary lies St Anthony Head, our final destination. This is the part of the walk that I don’t enjoy, walking the streets of towns like Falmouth. They have their own sense of beauty but not for me. The industrial heart of these towns I find no beauty in, they are so different from the quaint coves and fishing harbours of the villages that are so common along the SWCP. However, they can’t be avoided and from here we have to take two ferries, one to St Mawes and cross the Percival River to Place House.
We finish the day at St Anthony’s Head and make our way back to Place House and the ferry back to St Mawes. At Place House, we stumbled across Ben Fogle’s family and two very lively black labradors as they headed back on the ferry to St Mawes. We backtracked to Falmouth and our car and as usual a well-deserved pint or two!
The final day was as yesterday a walk of gentle, rolling hills to Portscatho and the famous Hidden Hut: a cafe hidden in a cove just outside of Portscatho that serves alfresco evening meals three or four times a month until the end of October as well as every lunchtime. As we passed early afternoon it was packed full of trendy couples gossiping away in the late October sunshine. I have to admire the owners of this wooden hut who have managed to persuade people that sitting and eating alfresco style is both enjoyable and worth paying over the odds for, even with the unpredictable British weather, pesky flies and the 100m walk required to reach it (that alone is normally enough to put ‘Joe Public’ off)… but it’s extremely popular and very difficult to get a ticket for one of the ‘Feasts Nights’. Hey ho, maybe it’s me being a little cynical. Cynical or not, it’s very much a loved and sought-after place to eat.
The finish is Pendower Beach and for our final pint, we head back to Portscatho, before that long journey home. Our split is not the usual one, as Caroline and Kate head out for an unplanned (unprepared) week, whilst Andrew, Lottie and ourselves head off home.