As has been typical of recent days, the morning wind was slight but icy cold. I walked down into Porthtowan, although only 7:00 am already the surfers were in the sea (in their wetsuits) while an aerobics group were exercising on the beach. A few steep ascents and descents later and I was at Trevaunance Cove, a small settlement with a lone surfer off the beach. The climb out was through a little hillside park with steep sets of steps. There were plenty of remains of the tin mining industry. The juxtaposition of this old industry with its spoil heaps, next to tourist facilities I found amusing. Today there would be many protests if industrial mining was allowed by a tourist resort, but the chimneys and pump houses of these old mines are now visitor attractions romanticized in photographs and literature. Later as I walked along the cliff tops I found more recent remains, which appeared associated with a World War II airstrip and an older explosive plant.
Reaching Perranporth I tucked into a large, late breakfast at the Dolphin Café, egg, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, fried bread, baked beans, toast, typical English breakfast fare that you would never eat at home. With a heavy belly I walked up into the dunes. The many criss-crossing tracks made it difficult to know which was the coast path from the sparse waymarks. Some of guiding arrows were carved in blocks of rock, artistic maybe, but sometimes ambiguous. At a point soon after a holiday camp with lines of trailers, I determined from my GPS that the path moved down to the beach. Perranporth beach is a very long length of sand backed by dunes. Few people had reached the far end, where the coast path climbed over the cliffs onto the headland. Immediately on leaving the beach there was a pool, beneath an arch of rock. Very scenic, it looked like it was fed by water from an old mine working, its entrances now isolated behind metal grating.
On top of the headland, above crumbling cliffs, there was some kind of military installation. Waves were surging into caves in the sea below. Rounding the headlands, Holywell Bay came into view with a chance of a Cornish cream tea at the Gull Rocks bar. After more dunes and a couple of headlands the path followed the tidal River Gannel until it reached a low bridge, low enough that it could be mistaken for a boardwalk. Fortunately, I had caught a low tide as otherwise it would be covered by water and a lengthy detour would be needed. The wooden "bridge" led to the outer limits of Newquay. I decided against following the official route of the South West Coast Path around a headland and instead walked straight to Newquay harbour. Having pick up some shopping I viewed the main street of the town and then headed up the coast. The town and its suburbs seemed to continue for some distance but eventually I shook off the buildings and after Wintergate Bay found a cosy spot to camp in a narrow valley by the sea.
I ate my tea watching the waves beak against the rocks, the sea green and dangerous, creating bright white foam as it spent itself on the ledges below me. Later a man climbed above the nearby cliffs. He spent a long time there, maybe drilling a hole. Curious I walked up towards him, but the slope was too steep and the grass too slippery above the cliffs for my liking so I gave up and retreated to the warmth of my tent, reading my kindle until it was dark.
No comments:
Post a Comment