New readers start here

Reader friends blessed with long attention spans may recall that I began this blog last autumn to chart my Great Adventure – my walk home from Land’s End – and they may be wondering about the distinctly unCornish directions my jaunts have taken ever since.

Well, wonder no more because here I am, back in the far west and all set to notch up a few more miles of the South West Coast Path. Thanks to the lovely N bringing me a memento from one of her trips (she knows I cannot resist a souvenir tea towel), we have a visual aid with which to orientate ourselves. Find Sennen Cove and we can take it from there.

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Thanks also to The Cornish Teatowel Company for their ingenuity.

On a sunny Sunday morning in June, I expected the Cove to be packed but instead it was practically deserted; indeed on the next door beach of Gwynver I spotted only one lifeguard, two surfers and one dog.IMG_9739 (2).JPG Do surfers keep late hours (it was getting on for midday – I keep late hours too) or was the tide going in the wrong direction?  Either way, rush there before everyone else discovers this beautiful spot.

Once the path had taken me off the beach, I settled into the rhythm of the trail. Gentle walking was interspersed with steep slopes up and down, wide easy paths were broken up by bits of rocky scrambling, even some seat of the pants stuff as my appalling sense of balance dictated frequent descentes sur derriere.

Exposed cliff tops contrasted with lush green valleys but at this time of year there were flowers everywhere. I have no idea what is growing in these fields below but isn’t the effect stunning? Any idea as to what it is?IMG_9782.JPG And what can the story be here? Something poignant, I feel, for it looks as though someone has carefully lain those cut flowers on the boulder in the streamIMG_9806

Gradually Sennen retreated into the distance as Cape Cornwall grew closer. As it did so the reminders of the landscape’s mining past began to appear.

At first they were mainly confined to the valleys where nature has almost succeeded in hiding them away (although I think that this walled construction up on the hill top is an entrance to a mine shaft – it certainly looks pretty deep).

This was to change, but not before I reached Cape Cornwall and finally turned the corner, away from Land’s End and on towards St Ives.IMG_9820 There’s not a huge amount to Cape Cornwall but what is there is rather charming. Have a read of this interesting blog post by a local writer who knows a lot about the place (https://cornishbirdblog.wordpress.com/2016/08/), admire these women having a dip in the tidal pool,IMG_9835.JPGand imagine my delight at the discovery of this timely homemade cake and tea trailer.IMG_9837Suitably refreshed (just tea for me, I never feel hungry when I’m walking, not even for cake. Odd that), I left Cape Cornwall behind and headed for Botallack. Now the scenery grew really industrial – remnants of old mine engine houses, chimneys and other edifices in all directions.IMG_9879The weather was closing in but, even if it had not done so, the landscape had really changed – no more human scale, dry stone walled farmers’ fields, here it was bleak and barren, despoiled by the copper and tin mining industry of the past.IMG_9877.JPG The Crowns engine houses clinging dramatically to the cliff are understandably magnets for photographers much more skilled than me.

Take my word for it that seeing the site in the gloomy damp brought home to me a little of the harshness of the lives once lived in this extraordinary place, a world away from the sunshine and the sandcastles, or even the swashbuckling and the sagas, of Cornwall as it is more often shown. What a fascinating place.

 

 

 

 

Swanning off to Swanage

The other day I had the chance of a lift down to Bournemouth for the day so I grabbed my stuff and jumped in. It wasn’t the town itself that was the attraction so much as what there is on the doorstep. As soon as I got there I hopped on a no 50 bus and headed west. I’ve had a soft spot for Bournemouth buses from when I knew the place thirty odd years ago. While other cities dressed their vehicles in dull, school uniform coloured liveries, Bournemouth buses were unashamedly yellow, making the holidayish moment last all year. Plus my banana bus was open topped and the website promised A bus journey you’ll never forget, route 50 takes you on a scenic trip through the stunning Sandbanks, on board the Sandbanks ferry and through the beautiful beaches and countryside that Purbeck is famous for. Not one to be missed! 

Excitement levels were high as the bus drew up and happily I managed to snaffle a seat on the top deck seat which, with typical British pragmatism with an eye to the climate, was only half open. (The front section being closed in as normal).

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Looking over to Brownsea Island

Luckily I had picked one of the few days when the sun blazed down and when an open top bus is just the only way to travel. I jumped off at Studland but not before tipping my hat to the starting point of the South West Coast Path at Shell Bay a couple of miles beforehand.

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Shell Bay – the start (or if you prefer, the end) of the South West Coast Path

Although I have no connections with this area, I do seem to have found myself in this neck of the woods quite often over the years. On my first Guide camp we were marched over the hills and down to the beach at Studland, stopping on the way to raid the post office stores for penny chews and the like. Later, on a Geography field trip, ice creams were snapped up.IMG_0048.JPG I was so happy to see that the Studland stores goes from strength to strength, even if – as I spotted when I poked my head around the door – it is not sweets but wine that is now in pole position on the shelves. Times change.

Studland is a charming little settlement, an estate village now owned by the National Trust, but it does seem to cater more for visitors than for any year round residents. Plenty of public loos and such a choice of refreshment opportunities that anyone who has just walked the 628 miles from the start of the South West Coast Path in Minehead could not be blamed for throwing in the towel and taking the last couple of miles as read.  Consequently I have no idea what this is about, other than it has been replaced in 1976.IMG_0055.JPG In a nearby thatched shelter – again, no idea – I spotted this complicated arrangement.

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Yes, but who does Seth love?

The plot of a novel right there.

Anyway, my plan was to walk up onto the cliffs and round the headland to Swanage – maybe five miles via the SWCP. I had forgotten just how tedious is the first bit which was busy with people returning from having slogged up to see Old Harry Rocks. But the grind is rewarded once you get there for they are a spectacular arrangement of sea stacks and collapsed arches, made more striking by the white of the chalk and – if you are lucky – the blue of sea and sky.IMG_0080.JPG It was – as I mentioned – a blisteringly hot day but somehow everyone was smiling happily as if to congratulate each other on having wound up in such a gorgeous spot on such a fine day. A woman pressed her binoculars on me so that I could see two chicks on a narrow ledge, half way down the cliff, while a man and his dog, resting just off the path, waved as I passed. I stepped off the way and perched on a tussock to eat my lunch gazing out to sea. Utter peace and contentment. The track up to the top of Ballard Down was a bit of a pull in the heat, but I took it slowly and eventually made the trig point and its views in all directions – out to sea, over Poole Harbour and Brownsea Island one way, and in the other direction over towards Swanage. IMG_0096I have a bizarre fondness for trig points. I love their uncompromising utilitarian solidity even if, I suspect, they have been specifically designed to prevent the likes of me from ever getting onto the top of one. Too high for a simple bounce and too narrow at the top to prevent my sailing straight over and crashing ignominiously to earth on the other side.IMG_0098.JPG From here it was downhill to Swanage, although not without passing through a curious area called Ballard Estate which, from what I can glean, was once a leftover First World War training ground but is now an estate of rebuilt bungalows with – it has to be said – an unwelcoming air.

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Is this is one of the original military huts?

Why not accept that a major long distance path passes through and signpost the way rather than leave walkers bumbling about? No matter, gravity soon had me on the sea front.

It is one of those unwritten laws that, for at least the last four decades, every school student of Geography in the Bristol area  (and probably further afield) will, at some point, find themselves on a field trip to Swanage.

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I spy a Geography field trip – can they have run out of jokes about poles and groynes yet?

And so I came to Swanage the first time and fell rather hard for both Geography and this town at the end of the line (where the line closed in 1972). Despite the name of the place having rather too many similarities with the word Sewage, I find it bizarrely appealing in its out of timeness.IMG_0143.JPG Turns out that, thanks to the untiring efforts of volunteers, just this week Swanage has been reconnected to the rest of the world via its resurrected steam railway. Bravo. And  – er – oops.

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This raises so many questions…

 

Come to Cwmdu

That’s what Cousin O’s note said. We’d talked about her walking group a few months earlier but so far all my best intentions of nipping over to Abergavenny to join in had come to naught. So that’s how I found myself sitting in the car park of the very spruce Cwmdu Village Hall, somewhere between Crickhowell and Talgarth. Listening to the rain drumming on the roof, I wondered what I had let myself in for, whilst on the Today programme John Humphreys, Nick Robinson and assorted others wondered what the country had let itself in for on the day after the election. I arrived early and so had rather too much thinking time. The longer I waited the more I quailed at the prospect of meeting these walkers who, as time ticked on, acquired yet more superhuman powers of speed and stamina in my feverish imagination. I should have been reassured by the gracious reaction of the woman who bowled up and who, in the face of my effusive greetings, said that she hadn’t come to go walking actually but rather to put her empties in the recycling bins. Eventually the Amazons of Abergavenny arrived, bang on time in a small fleet of cars (evidently highly organised as they’d shared lifts from closer to home) and a flurry of zipping of cagoules, extending of walking poles and leashing up of dogs.

Were they as fearsome as I had expected? Well, no. Of course they weren’t. In fact they turned out to be 16 of the nicest, most interesting women you could ever hope to meet, with three happy dogs. They welcomed me without fuss and the conversations began as soon as we fell into step. In fact so much chat was going on that it felt something of an interruption to stop to take photos or to look at the map so I have only a hazy notion of where we went. O was in the lead and knew the route so all we had to do was to follow her. She’d scoped out a nicely varied walk, following a lane up one side of the valley,

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The route took us along the track, through the yard of the white farmhouse and up onto Cefn Moel, the hill behind.

 

a track along the hill topIMG_9678 and then back across the fields via seldom used footpaths.IMG_9703 As the day went on, the weather perked up, and as the miles notched up, the breadth of expertise amongst the group emerged. My idle imaginings of this place making the perfect bolthole evaporated when someone pointed out that it was in fact a derelict chicken shed. IMG_9659Maybe not then.

Someone else, well versed in historic building methods, searched this ruin for signs of a former life as a longhouse.

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She was looking for the fireplace.

 

Up on the top, others named the hills and valleys which surrounded us and counted skylarks, while we all stopped to watch the red kite wheeling above us.

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Nice bit of canine photobombing

 

Had I asked I am sure that at least one person would have known whether this is a bronze age cairn, a drover’s waymarker or an artist’s installation and we all learned the translation of Cefn Moel (bare back – several women occupied that shaded area in the middle of the Venn diagram where the walking group intersects with the Welsh learners so every now and then a conversation would switch language.) IMG_9714Sharp eyed types spotted (and scoffed) wild strawberries and pointed out orchids amidst the bracken and O filled us in on the significance of historic sites.

The logistics of walking in a large group were new to me but, as you would expect, there was a well oiled procedure. The group spread out as people found their pace, so instructions to close the gate or to leave it open were shouted back along the line from person to person, a la Chinese Whispers.

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Looking over to the Black Mountains

 

Eventually there was a cry of no sheep and the dogs could be allowed to run free in the field. Given their head, lurchers can really move. Unfortunately what lurchers cannot do – or perhaps it was just these two – is to climb stiles. Despite the attention and advice of all these estimable women, not to mention sporting demonstrations of technique by the bearded collie in our party, neither dog could be persuaded to even attempt one and so they were carefully hefted across each time looking, it has to be said, more than a little pleased with themselves.

We ended up at a café in Cwmdu. Almost sharing a forecourt with some sort of garage workshop and by the side of the main road, it did not look too promising at first. Inside however the walls were plastered with many, many prize certificates from agricultural shows – both the local societies and the Royal Welsh. I’m guessing that they were for their baking rather than their bee keeping or show jumping, but I could be wrong as I didn’t like to peer. Anyway it made for a great ending to an excellent day for the tea was good and the team producing it clearly highly accomplished.

But it did leave me wondering –  is it me or is everyone in this part of the world is a multi skilled polymath? I need to come back to investigate.