Tag: Cornwall

North coast discoveries: Chapel Porth to St Agnes

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When my partner and I moved down to Cornwall, we stayed in a cottage on the outskirts of St Agnes for a few months while we desperately searched for a place to rent. It was a strange and difficult period in my life. My Grandma died that April and I sought solace in the rugged landscape, bracing winds and long walks along the coast path. Although we now live in Falmouth, St Agnes and the surrounding countryside will always be a special place for me.

Last Monday it was my partner’s birthday, so he booked the day off work and we drove up to the north coast for a peaceful wander away from the increasingly busy streets and beaches of Falmouth. I’ve often followed the path up onto the beacon or down along the cliff edge, past the much-photographed Wheal Coates engine houses. This time, however, we set off exploring a new route.

Following the stream from Chapel Porth beach up through the valley, the ground was blanketed with a rich tapestry of cow parsley, red campion, ferns, thorny bushes and grasses of various kinds. Though undoubtedly scratchy and a no-go for my shorts-clad legs, it looked invitingly soft.

The earth rose up either side of us, nestling us in the bosom of two small hills. Up ahead on the right the skeleton of an engine house was silhouetted against the dazzling blue sky, possibly the remains of Charlotte United Mine. Beyond that, a pimple of bare, exposed earth poked out through the green.

Trees cast dappled shadows across the path ahead, our sweaty bodies welcoming the shade after the roasting sun. It felt exciting to be discovering a new, hidden part of this area I thought I knew so well. How naïve to think I had seen all there was to see here.

In my mind the land surrounding St Agnes was open, rugged, scarred but beautiful, with very few trees. Here, however, was a completely different character: a pocket of lush green bordering the stream. Through a gap in the trees I saw giant leaves basking in the sun. Gunnera, I think. Past plants and random bric-a-brac for sale and an honesty box, blowing out flies that seemed determined to fly up our noses or into our mouths. Our feet padded across a carpet of fluffy catkins. Could these be white poplars overhead? I thought they didn’t drop their cotton-like seeds until late summer. Surely the start of June would be too early?

Beautiful red-roofed houses emerged through the trees up ahead, as the path led us past a family enjoying the sun in their garden. How the other half live. Oh to wake each morning to breakfast on the patio, nestled in amongst the woodland, far from the noise of traffic and human existence. One day I’ll write that triple figure bestselling novel. One day…

We re-emerged blinking into the sunlight, to join the familiar road that leads up from the village. The beacon beckoned, and we clambered up the hill, toes digging in to the dusty earth as we made our way up and over, then down the other side to the car. I felt as if we had returned from a brief spell in a different world. I had learnt the valuable lesson that, no matter how well you think you know a place, there is always more to explore.

A walk is always worth it

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A long read, written one blustery day two weeks ago…

I didn’t think I would go out today. Despite being shut inside all day, despite this being my one daily permitted chance to get outside during the lockdown, I didn’t fancy it. It was pelting it down out there. Blowing a hooley. I didn’t fancy getting wet.

Just before dinner the rain stopped. The wind blew the dark blanket of clouds on to the next unsuspecting town and left a large patch of heavenly blue. The sun shone down. I ate my dinner.

As I cleared away the dinner plates and rinsed then stacked them in the dishwasher I surveyed the situation outside once more. Iffy would be the word.

Sod it. I grabbed my coat, its pockets stuffed with hand sanitiser and tissues, had an obligatory pre-walk pee, then made for the door and the big wide world beyond.

It was cold. I definitely should have worn a scarf. I zipped my coat right up under my chin and set off up the hill at a pace that meant business.

But as I ducked under a branch and stomped into the first patch of woodland I felt something inside relax. I smiled up at the trees standing there in their usual spots. Hello old friends. The wind whipped their new leaves up into a frenzy. I glanced down at the twigs scattered about my feet and issued a silent prayer to the trees to wait until I’d passed from underneath before they released the next batch to the wind.

Further along, the path of earth and gravel became soft and squelchy underfoot. I tramped onwards, glad for a decent pair of boots. The robin and blackbird sang high above as I passed. The songthrush played its impressive vocal repertoire then paused when it noticed me standing there in breath-held awe. Listening to this bird’s vocal acrobatics never fails to fill me with delight.

I passed through patches of bluebells amongst the field maples, stopping to say hello to a man and his terrier from a safe 2-metre distance. I remembered my new naturalist app on my phone and opened it up, photographing different leaves here and there to see if I could add any new species to my ‘observations’ collection.

When I reached the Point the restless sea stretched out before me. I turned to face the castle up on the hill and my breath caught at the beauty of the sky on fire, its flames silhouetting the familiar keep.

Crossing to the lookout point to get a better shot, the full force of the wind rushed at me and nearly knocked me off my feet. I managed a few minutes of staring out at the waves in exhilaration before I bowed out, breathless and bedraggled, and turned for home.

I took the moat walk back, hoping the ditch would offer some shelter from the wind and approaching rain. Leaves of different shapes and sizes whirled around in the air, some landing at my feet, others being carried off up over the castle grounds. The moaning of the wind through Half Moon Battery made me quicken my pace a little.

Up on the road leading to the castle I said goodnight to the trees dancing either side of me as I walked down the hill. One last look at the sea, its rows of white-tipped waves rolling in, then I turned away and carried on down the street towards the flat.

There had been a brief spell of rain, a whole lot of wind, and, as with every walk I take around Pendennis Headland, a good dose of magic. A walk is always worth it.