Not too bad a night's sleep considering the lumpy ground and the fact I am using only a thin bedroll for sleeping on. Frank said he heard me shouting in the night which is a bit embarrassing but at least there was no-one else around to disturb. It's great having him along - for his company of course - but also he has brought a little burner, a mini-cafetiére and some ground coffee. Yesss! So instead of tepid water which is what I normally start the day with - we have a lovely cup of fresh ground coffee.
Before heading off we nip into the pub to thank the landlady for letting us camp in the field and stop for a quick chat. She tells us that the pub has been really busy - good news that this pub at least is doing well, so many are closing down or struggling to make ends meet. Finally we don our rucksacks and set off back down the hill to rejoin the coast path at Chapel Porth.
By now it was just before ten o'clock. The cafe was closed but judging by the number of people hanging around with expectant faces, we assumed it is about to open. Sure enough a couple of minutes later the shutters come up. We treat ourselves to another cup of coffee - this walk is becoming positively decadent - before agreeing we can put it off no longer and we finally leave Chapel Porth. The path led through more banks of beautiful heather and gorse before reaching the little cove at Porthtowan. By now I was feeling the effect of all the coffee and required yet another loo stop before climbing out of the little cove.
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| At Chapel Porth Cafe |
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| Covered mine shaft |
The next section was marred slightly by the interminable fence that accompanied us for some miles behind which was a slightly sinister looking black dome reminiscent of something from
The Prisoner. (I am not a number. I am a free man!) This is RRH (Remote Radar Head) Portreath, now used to detect incoming aircraft and missiles. Formerly this was
CDE Nancekuke, which in the Cold War was the prime centre for the manufacture of the nerve gas Sarin and therefore has not been
without controversy.
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| Me on the path - I'm under the backpack somewhere... |
Several closure signs reminded us just how 'dynamic' the coastline has been, especially recently, and just above Portreath we were diverted onto the road due to a recent fall. By now we were feeling peckish - which was lucky as Portreath has a superb bakery. I could not resist the Scotch egg - regular readers may recall I am a fan of Scotch eggs - I ate half and put the rest away for later - and accompanied it with a bacon slice while Frank had yet another Cornish pasty. We sat outside and put our feet up with a coffee for half an hour, enjoying the sunshine.
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| Lovely Scotch egg - but caused trouble later... |
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| Excellent gate for backpackers |
When we left the village we had a choice of paths - a steep path up to a headland on our right or a gentler path straight ahead which cut off the steep climb. A young lad and his parents coming the other way assured us that the path straight ahead was the better one. We thanked them but I hung around until they had walked on. 'You want to go up to the headland don't you?' said Frank.
I nodded. 'Yes. Sorry. I don't want to miss anything out you see.' I explained my theory that once I started taking shortcuts there would be no end to it, and next thing would be chopping off the end of the Lizard, or catching a bus round Plymouth. Frank looked non-plussed but gamely agreed we would go the steep way. It
was steep but gave us superb views at the top. I tried to convince Frank it was worth all the effort of lugging our rucksacks up here rather than taking the more civilised shortcut. He looked unconvinced.
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| Portreath |
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| The 'optional' climb |
The coast was dotted with small islands - pieces of land which had long since fallen into the sea, including 'Ralph's Cupboard' a dramatic collapsed sea cave which it is said was once been used by smugglers to store contraband. On past Samphire Island which was farmed for rock samphire to North Cliffs. These were the site of a major cliff collapse in 2011 which was filmed on camera by a
Cornwall council geologist and now has been watched by over two million people:
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| Ralph's Cupboard |
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| Samphire Island |
As we crossed the cliffs we came across a group of coastguards training their binoculars on an object in the water. We stopped for a nose and one of them told us they thought it was a life-raft in the water. The St Ives lifeboat had been summonsed. We hung around for a while but this rescue was clearly going to take some time so finally we walked on. Later I discovered the 'life raft' was not a raft at all but a
huge steel buoy, probably a ship's anchor buoy which had come adrift. Apparently it caused quite a stir when it was towed into St Ives.
Hell's Mouth is a dramatic cove with vertiginous cliffs, sadly also notorious locally as a suicide spot. The road passes close to the coastline here, and next to the road was a lovely little cafe where we stopped for a pot of tea and an ice-cream to fortify us for the last few miles round Godrevy Point to Gwithian. A few seals were bobbing in the sea at Fishing Cove, a known hang out for Atlantic grey seals and we watched them for a while before heading on round Navax Point to Godrevy where the lighthouse sits dramatically on a rock just offshore, warning shipping of the Stones reef which stretches out to St Ives. It was the sinking of the massive cargo ship the SS Nile, which ran aground on the reef in November 1854 and sank so quickly that all passengers and crew drowned and the ensuing outcry that led to the building of the lighthouse, finally built in 1859. Godrevy Lighthouse is famously said to have inspired Virginia Woolf's novel
To The Lighthouse. Although the story is set in the Hebrides, much of the description relates to St Ives and the area, where Woolf's spent much time holidaying during her childhood. Beyond lay the long beach which stretches around the bay to St Ives.
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| Frank at the trig point |
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| Godrevy Lighthouse |
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| Grabbing a drink |
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| Something rather disturbing about this photo - bit too hearty? |
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| Crossing the beach |
Our goal was the campsite at Gwithian. We decided to walk the beach rather than the dunes. This turned out to be less straightforward than it first appeared, and we had first to climb over large boulders and then remove our shoes and socks to cross the stream that crosses the beach.
Gwithian Farm Campsite was a challenge to find but we eventually took directions and made our way to it. It was a good site - large but carefully laid out with trees and shrubs. We were immediately welcomed, and although the site was fully booked for 'normal' campers i.e. ones with cars - Clair showed us to a separate area for hikers before taking off my camera to recharge it for me. By now, after all our rock climbing and river crossing we were ravenously hungry and we decided to set our tents up then immediately repair to the pub.
As I unpacked I found the remains of the scotch egg I had bought in Portreath. Despite the fact I was about to go out for a meal I immediately stuffed the yolk into my mouth whole. The next moment all hell broke lose. I came running out of the tent retching loudly and clutching my throat. Frank rushed over from his tent in alarm. 'Choking!' I gasped, 'I'm choking! I can't breathe!'
'I don't know what to do!' he shouted, panicking. Despite his protestations, and luckily for me, he did know. He whacked me on the back a couple of times and I shook my head still clutching my throat. He then put his arms round me and performed the Heimlich manoeuvre. I vomited egg down my shirt and over Mick's tent. By now various people had come over to see what the fuss was about. I was brought a chair and a towel. By now I was profoundly embarrassed.
'Sorry about that,' I muttered.
'The thing is,' said Frank, 'what were you doing eating egg?'
I was forced to confess to my greed. Frank kindly refrained from telling me that it had served me right.
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| Pub shop |
The Red River Inn was a fine pub the a good choice of beer. Now fully recovered from my choking episode, I tucked into a Red River burger with gusto accompanied by a pint of Skinner's Lushington and a couple from St Austell's and then a couple more. It was a fine evening and we went back to our tent replete and content.
Distance: 14.5 miles
Total Distance Walked So Far: 263 miles
Accommodation ranking: 8/10
Accommodation cost: £8.00
In the morning I anxiously checked with Frank whether he had heard me shouting in the night. If I had been yelling all night in addition to all the shouting which accompanied my choking fit I feared I may be asked never to return. Thankfully he said he had not heard a thing. We packed up and Frank brewed us a cup of coffee which we accompanied with a croissant freshly delivered to the campsite that morning. This was an excellent way to start the day and we set off in good spirits. After making our way over the dunes we set off along the beach.The dunes behind the beach here are known as the Towans, backing four miles of sand. Different sections have different names: there is Upton Towans, Gwithian Towans, Phillack Towans and the intriguingly named Mexico Towans, and part of the dunes for a Site of Special Scientific Interest.
The last section into St Ives took us along Hain Walk, a pleasant path flanked by the gardens of Treloyan Manor with exotic looking plants and flowers. Just above Porthminster Point was the Baulking House, another huer's hut used for spotting shoals of pilchards as they came into the bay. (The other one I came across was on the outskirts of Newquay, see here.)
