Heading to Home Country
I couldn’t find anywhere to lay my sleeping bag on Saturday night and wandered along the path in the semi-dark and then had to get my head lamp out. Eventually I plunged into the thick bracken and waded 5 yards from the path and laid down in my bag. The bracken was level but the land was sloping and all night I was slipping downhill. I got precious little sleep, or at least it felt like it. Judging the time between wakings by the position of the moon. The sea was crashing against the cliff just beyond the path and all was ok except for the sodding slope.
Set off early yesterday and the warm wind was blowing quite strongly. At Portholland the sea was bashing against the concrete defences.
Further on is Caerhays Castle, nestling in its own valley surrounded by fields, forests and pheasants.
It was a long slog again and much more climbing and falling than in recent times, eventually working round to Gorran Haven where I had a great ham salad and two pots of tea. Heavenly.
Cracking on I made it to Mevagissey, which is such a lovely little harbour plagued by tourists but a bit freer at this time of year.
I ended up yesterday afternoon at Pentewan Sands Holiday Park. I pitched Wilson, got a shower and the first person I spoke to was Sean Hancock from Wyvern. A Blade with a Blade tattoo on the right of his chest. Coincidence features so much in Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse novels and he handles it so elegantly. Another 12 miles under my belt and the shoulder hurts but has held up. Just take one day at a time Smithy. Aiming for just short of Fowey if I can make it tomorrow. Fleet of foot before the wind and rain of Autumn kicks in. Looe by Wednesday and Plymouth Friday.
Grinding out the miles singing into the warm breeze with moments of euphoria and periods of pain.
– Shiny shiny, shiny boots of leather.
– The needle tears a hole, that old familiar sting.
Velvets and Johnny Cash ( who was one of the few singers to get much better with age).
Blog you later.
Business End of the Season
When it gets to April and football results really matter it’s called the business end of the season. The rest has been entertainment (depending on who you support) but the back end of the season determines who goes up, stays up, stays down, goes down. The Business End. I’m not there yet but being on my own for the first time in more than two weeks I needed to get myself off to a good start. The route is to get a ferry to St Mawes from Falmouth and a further ferry from St Mawes to Place on the Roseland Peninsula. Andrew gave me a lift all the way round to Place before he set off for home – thanks mate. It saved me a few quid, which I spent on the car ferry we took. King Harry Ferry cut 20 miles off the road journey. Importantly I got to Place and found that the ferry from St Mawes wasn’t working. It saved me an eight mile detour – chaaaa! I met a like-minded geezer on the ferry.
Andrew quite liked him too!
The peninsula is definitely the most remote part of the path so far. Narrow lanes leading to a dead end. I’m still on it and I’ve covered 14 miles today. The last 2 miles were quite tough, up and down again, but I’m feeling fit, despite the rucksack being heavier than ever, or at least seeming so.
The scenery is beautiful as always, the weather is dry as always and for a long stretch the top of the cliffs were not much above sea level. It was quite strange walking on the edge of a field with the sea on the other side.
This is a photo of the peninsula from Falmouth, which I took yesterday.
And a photo of Falmouth harbour from the peninsula which I took today.
The harbour is the third biggest natural harbour in the world and Falmouth was the second busiest port in the British Empire at its peak. When I was a young man I worked in the docks industry, based in Bristol but working for all the ports in the south west for seven years. It was a great job and couldn’t have been more different than the steelworks that I’d left behind to seek fame and fortune down south west. This is a trip down memory lane as well as one of the greatest walking routes in the world. It’s hard – my left shoulder hurts a lot and I’ve had some more chafing today – but it’s great.
I envy the couples I pass en route. I wish my old lass didn’t have arthritis and could join me. That would be lovely.
I’m too late to walk to the nearest campsite two miles away. It’s going to be a dry night so I’m kip ping in my sleeping bag al fresco near the beach. Let’s see how well I sleep without Wilson to protect me!
Anyway I owe my Bristol Rovers mates a big thanks for their support so for Rob, Bavs and Chris here is a photo of the awesome fans of this fine club.
And here’s some Bristol City fans sat on somebody’s carpet.
Night night.
Time and Tide Wait for No Man
Coverack to Helford wasn’t a bad walk at all. Not too much hill and dale and surfaces comfortable for walking. Half way through the day we reached Halfway through the coastal path. 315 miles done, 315 to go and 65,000 feet climbed. So you start from Meadowhall in Sheffield and walk to Hyde Park in London, imagine that you climb Ben Nevis at Nottingham and Mount Everest at Leicester on the way and then you walk back, climbing Everest and Ben Nevis again and stop at Meadowhall. That’s the distance and the number of feet ascending I’ve done so far.
Before Helford is a two and a half mile circuit around a bay. If you catch it at low tide you can cross on stepping stones and save two miles. With camera quivering in hand I waited in eager anticipation of Andrew slipping into the water. Disappointingly he remained dry.
Andrew’s camera was quivering in hand waiting for me to fall but I’d taken off me boots and forded it to avoid the slippery stones.
Coming up through the woods by the sea we spotted a beautiful clump of flowers – anemones? These are they. Just stunning in their simplicity, colour and texture against the woodland floor.
We made it to Helford and went straight to the ferry across Helford River. Not running due to low tide! We looked like having to wait for nearly two hours. The path around the River was 14 miles long. Then in a moment of pure chance we heard a couple with Northern accents, Gill and Phil from Cheshire but definitely Phil was from South Yorkshire before his emigration west. It turned out they were driving past where we needed to be and we’re happy to give us a lift – we retraced our steps this morning to pick up where we left off but it’s been a lucky trip so far.
Last night we barbecued on site again, sweet corn from a field we raided and chicken legs which we bought. Another feast, listening to Richard Hawley with the Universe hovering over our heads.
This morning we regained Helford, at the north end of the ferry terminus, and pushed on to Falmouth. This is a shot of the coast just north of Helford Passage.
Andrew’s face has taken a bashing from the wind and sun. Cop this.
Mine is beautiful.
Before me and Andrew set off – Tuesday of last week – we loafed in St Ives and there were two buskers in suits on drums and guitar. I didn’t think they were loud enough so I joined them (as pictured below) and then an elderly hippy joined in too so we rocked the place with 60s songs.
I got a photo of the village idiot in Gweek. I know it’s not clever to have a laugh at the expense of unfortunates but look at the state of eee.
He’s going back tomorrow. I’ll miss the old bugger. We just tramp along as far as we have to go each day. Intellectually he’s good as well as knowing a lot. He can deduce accurately from what he sees and already knows. Ah well. Time is out of joint, oh cursed spite, that ever I was born to finish off this walk on my tod. To misquote the Greatest before Muhammad Ali.
See you Andyrew. Thanks for the company.
Summer eventually leaves and leaves begin to fall. That’s me that is. Good innit? Analogising Andrew’s departure to the passing of summer and the advent of autumn. In actual fact they’ve crept hand in hand. In the tree tunnels that occur on this walk the piles of leaves are growing whilst the wind is warm. There’s only one winner. Time and Tide wait for no man.
For Those in Peril on the Sea
A sunny day yesterday and an early start for our Day Off – driving up to Looe for the fishing trip. Beautiful day but windy and there was a strong swell. Andrew and myself are lucky that we don’t get seasick easily but there were some queasy looking people about. The skipper is the best – Steve Brenchley – so we were confident. On the way out we were sailing alongside an old navy submarine which trawled up and down all day.
We got into the mackerel but not to the extent of the massive shoals inshore. Later we dropped anchor to fish on the bottom with mackerel for bait but there were only a few pouting and hitting caught so most of our fun came from catching mackerel.
It was a very pleasant break and we barbecued eight mackerel for dinner, after setting up camp in Falmouth. A real feast!
Coverack to Helford today and it should be an interesting but tiring journey.
We’ll see. Catch you later playmates.
Some Days are Harder than Others
Down to the Lizard Point to pick up where I finished off this morning. Cloudless. Blue sea and pastel sky.
Back at Zennor we met Dutch Pete from Bolton. He’d lived in Holland for donkey’s years and spoke with a Lancashire-Dutch accent. He led us to a decent campsite and was very helpful. He comes to the Lands End area every September for four weeks. Loves it. He’s 69 and looks 63. He gave us some beer that was 11.8%. Friendly guy.
The Star in St Just gave us free drinks due to their strong links with the forces and my Help for Heroes shirt.
By the way – if anyone is thinking of donating;
bmycharity.com//bladegoeswest
Tune in, turn on and give baby give…..
This wonderful arch opened up just after Lizard.
For some reason it was hard going today, I couldn’t get my legs working right and my chest was a bit iffy, although it got better in the afternoon. Eventually we made the 11miles round to Coverack. Tomorrow is a rest day, we’re going fishing on a boat to catch fish on the sea with rods and we’ll eat the buggers too!!! So looking forward to it – not been out since last year and the forecast is good.
Yep, eventually made it to Coverack. A welcome sight appearing out of the distance.
I’ve not been there before and it’s little harbour was full of tiny working boats.
Steve, our skipper tomorrow, has a decent sized catamaran for deep sea fishing and he’s good; he’s the best I’ve been out with and Georgie and Antonia have caught some big fish off his boat, conger, pouting, whiting and mackerel. He spends April to October taking out fishing parties as many days as he can and then takes his missus to Thailand from November to March. Great life innit?
When we got to Coverack we pitched up at a nice local hotel for half an hour to drink cider in the sun. Lush.
Thursday and Friday we’re going to push on from Coverack to Helford and Falmouth.
I’ve just spoken to Maggie and Georgie and they’ve suggested that I stay down and do the path all in one go. They will get Juliet down to University. I’m sad I won’t be home but it makes sense. It helps me make progress in the warm weather, however long this lasts. It means that I’ll hopefully finish by the 9th October. Let’s not count my chickens. Lots of problems can arise and I must focus on the next walking day not the end of the path.
It means I’ll have only been home for 10 days in nearly four months. It makes sense but a break would have been good. And when Andrew goes home on Saturday I’m on my own for a month. I’ll see Ziva in Totnes hopefully when I’m passing but this will be a lonely stretch. Anyway I’ve got Wilson. He understands me.
Hey, have you seen this woman’s head growing out of my right shoulder? I think I need it cut off.
July in September
Wow, wow, wow!!! Weather in Cornwall doesn’t get better than this, and the scenery is of epic quality. Not seen a cloud all day but the haze has created this timeless, enclosed world where there isn’t anything beyond the haze-horizon.
We started at 9am from Porthleven and walked two miles down an empty beach and then up onto the cliff tops to Mullion. This shot is looking back to Porthleven.
It’s a different country down here to some extent and the Cornish flag flies throughout. There is also a feeling of being part of the Celtic brotherhood of Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Man and Brittany. The local here flies the Cornish and Breton flags. Mont St Michel/ St Michael’s Mount – it feels more Breton than Britain.
Still a lot of Germans but it’s apparently due to some German author writing books about this part of the world. Bloke in North Devon told me that there was a waterfall straight into the sea near Combe Martin and U Boats used to moor up there in the dark of night and fill up with water. They had a reunion in Combe Martin for U Boat crews in recent years. One was captured near Southampton during the war and the crew were searched. One of them was found to have a ticket for Combe Martin’s cinema in his pocket. Fact or fiction? Be a great story if fact.
You know that advert for Barclays with old geezers playing walking football? Me and Antonia met a bloke near Westward Ho! fishing for grey mullet and he turned out to be the guy who scores a goal towards the end of the ad.
By the way, those Leki walking poles the kids at SIG bought for my leaving present have been awesome and will be key to me finishing over the final 4 weeks. Jesus – 4 weeks. I’m home to see Jet off to university in Sheffield next Tuesday for a few days and then back for Part Two. Bring it on!
This is the view looking down towards the end of the Lizard and the second photo is me on the furthest south point of the UK Mainland.
Hard aren’t I? Tougher than those Commando trainees that’s for sure. Not watching this are they?
Night Night.
Me Again
Another incredibly beautiful day, starting out at 8am from Penzance and ending up at Porthleven, 14 miles and over 2000 feet climbing. The coast is superb, the vast chimneys of granite blocks packed together in fantastical shapes now beginning to interface with the compressed slate that runs up into Devon from here.
The morning was cool and cloudy and then the sun has come out for the afternoon. We legged it round to Marazion and the majestic St Michael’s Mount and onwards to Perranuthnoe in the early part of the day, taking advantage of the low temperature to eat up 6 miles of relatively flat but still tiring sand and cliff walks.
Here’s St Mickey’s in the morning.
We had the best breakfast in the world at Perranuthnoe on a terrace hanging over the beach with two huge pots of tea.
Then onwards up cliff and down to coves in the heat of the day until we finally arrived at Porthleven. The town is lovely, particularly on a Sunday when there’s raft racing and local wet-suited youths jumping off high points into the harbour. I know I’m getting old because I didn’t want to copy them!
This is a happy time when I’m doing good mileages in good, dry weather. But I’m still not half way. On my own with a wet arse and gale force winds battering my bivvy to Kingdom Come, smelling like a trout because I can’t get a site with a shower and aching like a geriatric ……. then my friends reality will bite and bite hard. That will separate the men from the boys.
Who wants to play at cowboys and Indians?
This path is so varied. One minute you’re climbing over boulders on a beach and the next you’re under a canopy of short trees which is like walking through a cave with elven orientation.
‘Certainly the children have seen them, in quiet places where the moss grows green’ – who else but the Incredible String Band. It’s the next few lines that worry me.
‘Coloured shells jangle together, the wind is cold and the year is old and the trees whisper together, and bent in the wind they lean’.
Bent in the wind I will lean too.
Oh for God’s sake Smithy think bloody positive.
I’m going to make it to Poole and walk past that monument at the finish line with my head held high. There – begone you darkened thoughts of doom and let there be light. And there was light. And the monster in my head was banished forever. Hurray!!!!
It Hurt Part Two
As I was saying before I pressed the wrong button and published the last blog, the last section is beyond belief. The rock formations, the sea where the Channel meets the Atlantic and the coves are proper world heritage standard and not crappy 100 year old mine workings that make some parts of this beautiful shire look like South Yorkshire after the pit closures and before any regeneration.
Lands End is a commercial centre now but we still did the tourist photo bit, without paying.
We met Susie and Pete again at Porthgwarra on the cliff tops with Pete scanning the coast and cliffs for rarities of the sea and skies. He’s a Twitcher and loves setting up his camera and binoculars for a session in beautiful environments. What a great hobby. Susie walks on the cliffs. Great hols.
Andrew and myself were looking out to sea just before Porthgwarra and saw a huge shape about a quarter of a mile to half a mile out. We couldn’t believe it was a whale and far too big for the biggest Basking Shark. It changed shape and eventually sank back into the ocean. A dense shoal of fish, so packed it looked like a single living being. There is a shoal of Mackerel that has moved in to the south coast and come into the shallow waters hunting whitebait. It stretches from here (Porthcurno) into Devon. A vast swathe of sealife.
I’m not halfway yet. I’ve done about 260 miles. I’ll check tonight. 370 to go. Jesus.
I didn’t check but it’s now Saturday afternoon and I’ve made it to Penzance today and that gives me 270 miles done and 360 to go. Better than that, Andrew hasn’t trodden in slurry today and my dangly bits are good as gold. No problem at all.
This area is blooming awesome. It’s sunny, the sea is very calm and the haze adds to the slightly unreal and delightfully distant feel about the whole coast. A tough 12 mile walk today though, up and down and rough walking on occasions. Six Royal Marine Commando trainees ran past us on the path yesterday carrying huge sandbags on their shoulders, being managed by three trainers. Not very tall but broad shoulders like heavyweight boxers and amazingly fit – that’s me and Andrew by the way. The Squaddies were pansies.
This is looking back west at Lamorna Cove. What a view.
And now looking forward, just round the corner and walking towards Mousehole the hazy bay of Penzance with St Michael’s Mount in the left hand background.
It’s a great experience whilst the weather’s ok but let’s see what the next five weeks bring.
Night
1. Porlock
2. Lynton
3. Hunters Inn
4. Coombe Martin
5. Woollacombe
6. Braunton
7. Bideford
8. Abbotsham
9. Hartland
10. Morwenstowe
11. Bude
12. Crackington Haven
13. Tintagel
14. Port Gaverne
15. Rock
16. Harlyn
17. Trevarrian
18. Perranporth
19. Portreath
20. Hayle
21. St Ives
22. Zennor
23. Cape Cornwall
24. Porthcurno
25. Penzance
It rained a bit this morning before we broke camp. I put my foot in my trainers and the right one was wet inside. I thought it had caught some rain as Wilson doesn’t give complete cover. However on taking off my trainer and looking inside I pulled out a substantial, squashed and leaking slug. Sock soup anyone?
It Hurt
Well we finished yesterday off at St Just and had an early, tired dinner and a decent night’s kip. Set off for Cape Cornwall at 8 this morning and it took Andrew less than 20 minutes to sink half way up his shins in slurry. For those unfamiliar with the term ‘slurry’ it means cow dung that farmers leave hanging around for some reason until it becomes liquid like dark treacle but it doesn’t smell like that. It smells like cow crap gone off. And so do Andrews’ feet.
Yesterday was a slog, and it was warm and sticky. I got bad chafing, it’s like an Italian Cook clinically grabbing hold of your dangly bits and using one of those industrial type Parmesan graters down both sides. It hurt. I put some antiseptic cream on when I got back to Wilson and that was painful too.
The stretch from St Ives to Zennor is one of the most difficult due to the obstacle course created by boulders strewn all over what would otherwise have been a path. But it is beautiful and the next section, Zennor to Cape Cornwall is just as tough, longer as well, but more beautiful in places with the exception of the tin mine workings which are splattered across lovely scenery like an industrial defecation. There are holes in the ground off the path that are not easily spotted and drop down hundreds of feet. This has given the coastline world heritage status. Stupid because it’s ugly.
Today’s walk was from Cape Cornwall to Porthcurno via Lands End. There are some amazing sections down to Lands End.
However beyond Lands End the scenery moves into a different league. Unbelievable some of it.
Proof
Elves are alive and well and living in remotest Cornwall, which isn’t remote at all.
My article made it into Sheffield Star on 5 August and it was alright.
Bloody paparazzi, I suppose they’ll eventually lose interest but they’ve been after me ever since the Ash Cloud incident. I’m a media magnet I guess but they do make life inconvenient on occasions.
We had a lovely weekend in Looe. Maggie went back on Tuesday and Andrew Mander joined me to continue the trek. On Monday we strolled round Fowey and ate lunch at Sarah Brewster’s favourite seafood place – Sams on the Beach at Polkerris.
Couldn’t resist this shot of the bakers.
SAMs is an unassuming converted life boathouse.
Walking round Fowey I wore my waterproof and Maggie pointed out that there was a slug on it! Been there since the night of the slugs the previous Thursday. He is no more.
Bloke in North Devon gave me and Antonia a lift to the campsite and told us that he’d lived in this wooded valley by the sea for 17 years and seen a full sized Panther on his back lawn three times in that period. The empty wine bottles in his footwell indicated that it might not be as big as suggested!
Danny from South Yorkshire on the St Ives campsite said his missus worked behind a bar and had been attacked in the pub. Her brother from New Zealand had brought over a Taser in his hold luggage for her to keep for self-defence. Apparently the brother had tried it on his own leg which had flown up in the air involuntarily like Michael Flattley on speed and he’d pooed himself. I found this very funny.
Anyway, setting off from Zennor soon for today’s slog. So back to the proof that elves are alive and well – scrawl down to the photograph below.
