The roller coaster coast
Monday, 12 November 2018
It’s been a day of contrasts, from leaving the very comfie Lugger Hotel at Portloe (even the English breakfast was a bit posh, with only ONE egg), to the spartan comforts of the the Net Lofts, which is a basic B and B; from tiny Portloe, with two or three tiny boats, to Meva (as the locals call it), with its fishing fleet and working harbour (dating back two centuries).
The book (The Complete Guide to the South West Coast Path) leaves one in no doubt that this section is “strenuous”, and I’ve learned to be duly warned; but they weren’t kidding about the six hours or so. With a pack and all, the terrain quickly leaves you desperate for level paths. It’s not bad underfoot, but the rain has left everything pretty muddy and slippery on the downhill; and the wooded sections have an inch of fallen leaves, so the downhills are treacherous. It took 6 hours and 27 minutes to walk 23 km, and I can usually do that hopping on one leg. The reward was more stunning coastal scenery, which constantly changes with the geology and the weather; but I could have done without the vertical changes! The chart below is not what I usually think of as enjoyable!
I’m not sure I spotted Henry Davies house, but as I left the village I was left in no doubt about perils of being a coastguard in the days when it was more than emergency management (all the coastwatching is now volunteer, as in NSW). The rocks at the entrance of the cove are pretty scary.
Quite a lot of the walk was through Caerhays Estate, of which I was completely ignorant but which I thought was some big farm (high quality livestock everywhere including some very playful lambs), until I started to wonder why every square inch of even the remotest interest could be hired for weddings. Where was I? Nuptial Central. But of course: we were in a Tim Burton film set (Miss Peregrine’s Home for Unusual Children): Caerhays Castle!
It has an interesting history, but you can all use Wikipedia. What surely makes it a stately home is not just the crenellations – and the fact it was closed for the winter, like everything else in Cornwall – but pheasants (bloody pheasants – no, sorry, that’s another joke!). Strutting their noise stuffy, and even running at high speed across the fields. How does anyone miss the bastards? How can that be sport?
One of the things I loved about this walk has been the photos – the golden hour seems to last for ever and the unsettled weather give great sky effects. I’m only using my little camera and all you are seeing are jpegs, but this was shot almost without noticing it.
Gorran Haven was yet another tiny community, no longer supporting a fishing fleet but with two lovely beaches. I sat a drank tea (tea!) from the flask Paula had given me and calculated distance, because climbing Nare Head had cost me more time that I thought. It’s always an interesting point in the afternoon, working out the terrain versus the time before dark and the soreness in your legs. One doesn’t want to be a wimp, but this is also not the place to be walking in the dark, which happens at 5 pm at the moment.
I walked into Meva with plenty of time to spare and wandered down to The Fountain, the oldest pub in the village and probably 500 years old, with its low beams and locals. Someone is always up for a chat, and the barmaid had improbably spent 15 years in Western Australia. I’m sleeping 9 hours a night, and no wonder.
