April 6, 1992: Morvah to Sennen Cove
Pendeen Watch
Rain was splattering against the sliding balcony door of my room at the Pedn Olva Hotel when I arose on the morning of Monday, April 6th. I slowly went about my morning ablutions and descended the staircase at 8:00 for breakfast. Margie was there already and the Lees soon joined us. They were gloomy about the grey skies but Dorothy had given me a rather favorable weather report after watching the forecast on television last night and I had some confidence that the bright patches would eventually predominate. Nevertheless when we assembled for our cab ride back to Morvah at 9:15 we were decked out in raingear.
Once again there was a delay while Tosh went shopping for Harold’s milk. When we pulled away from the hotel our driver encountered a lot of traffic on the lonely coast road and our journey took twice as long as the previous day. I was sitting in the back seat and the petrol fumes and the curves were unsettling my scrambled eggs. I was glad when we pulled up behind Morvah church at 9:50. It was a later start than I wanted but I believed that today’s eleven miles would not be as strenuous as yesterday’s – even though we were carrying full packs again. There was no hint of rain so I stowed my cape in my pack, contenting myself with my rain paints only.
The grassy track down to the coast path was quite wet after the recent rain. Although skies were clearing rapidly the stertorous foghorn of the Pendeen Lighthouse was booming unnervingly close. Fortunately, after we had rounded Portheras Cove and gotten our first glimpse of this white pillar, the horn was turned off. It was sunny as we headed south on the tarmac access road. The official path actually abandons the coast here, going inland some distance and crossing a greasy channel before heading uphill on an easy gradient. At the top we received, in full, a view we had seen only in parts: the dramatic array of mining structures, mostly ruinous, that dominated the next few miles.
As we approached Geevor Mine I proposed we rest at an appropriate viewpoint. Here, after taking off my rain pants, I was able to congratulate Tosh on having completed 1000 miles of walking on British footpaths! She was thrilled and proud and after snacks and drinks she abandoned Harold and me, in her euphoria, to wander among the ruins searching for interesting rocks. I too kept a close eye on the gravel of the roadbed we now used to climb out of the mine’s valley – but I didn’t find anything interesting.
The maps were not particularly useful on the next section forward, a somewhat desolate plain with more stacks and ruins. In particular the placement of the Levant Mine on the Association’s map caused much confusion. We had walked
considerably farther than I had figured, guided by sporadic footpath signs, when I found myself floundering around in more ruins at what turned out to be the site of the old Crowns mine. I passed through a surviving archway near some chimneys (where arsenic had been distilled) and had a quiet pee. I waited some time for the others to follow me but they had disappeared. When I retraced my steps I discovered the reason for their sloth: Tosh had adopted an old person.
We follow Dick the Stick into Botallack
Dick the Stick, as we later learned he was called, was a retired miner out for a stroll down memory lane. He seemed keen to give us a tour and what he had to say was quite interesting. He demanded we guess his age, which turned out to be 84. He complained of lung problems and told us that he had long been receiving some form of compensation. “He’s going to lead us to a nice pub, he says,” Tosh told me. I had no idea what pub she was talking about but after a short though time-consuming shuffle in the company of the old gent we found ourselves outside the doors of the Queen’s Arms in Botallack – exactly where I wanted to be!
I offered to buy Dick a drink and he received a half of his favorite pint before going off to his dinner. The publican and his wife made us very welcome. So did bouncy black Lucky, the pub dog. He, however, was removed when a blind man with an Alsatian arrived a few minutes later. The Lees drank Flowers bitter while I had my usual pint and a second chance at scampi and chips. The pub was full of mining paraphernalia and photographs, all quite interesting. And to add to our enjoyment the publican had a tape of excellent swing music on his deck. We had arrived a 1:00 but there was still six and half miles to go so I was able to get our lot moving at 1:45. The pub lady gave us good directions for getting back to the footpath via a short cut down to the Wheal Edward chimneystack.
The weather had changed while we were inside; it was much windier and cooler out now and we were able to move forward without being tempted to stop. At the top of the hill there were several alternatives but I clung conservatively to the official descent into the Kenidiack valley. This was on tracks rather than paths and required some movement inland before we were able to continue seaward again and ford a stream. Our ascent followed another track, just outside the wall of a golf course. There were golfers about, fighting the gray skies and the wind, as we easily mounted the headland of Cape Cornwall. Someone had put up a sign on a gate offering creamed tea at a farm nearby (“as featured in BBC’s Poldark“).
Cape Cornwall
Cape Cornwall, England’s only “cape,” was an impressive snub-nosed peninsula with a smoke stack rising prominently from its hilltop. Our route came up to a closed hotel on the access road to the cape; we descended the latter, Tosh complaining because she could see a very steep bit of uphill we would have to turn our attentions to when we reached the bottom of some steps.
There was a long and steep ascent needed to surmount Carn Gloose and, to make matters worse, just as we reached the summit the rain started. There was a mad scramble to get on all our raingear. Other casual strollers were getting soaked in the drizzle and I suppose they envied us our gear. I lead us on an easy track through the gorse as we descended, again in an inland direction, into the valley of Porth Nanven.
Eventually we reached the tarmac road to the beach and headed seaward again. I spotted a footbridge after a while and crossed a farmyard and climbed a fence to reach it. This gave good access to a gently rising path that soon reached the coastal cliffs – but when Tosh caught up she complained that I hadn’t followed the official and much steeper ascent from the stream below.
There was steep climbing required to follow the narrow rocky pathway of the route as it rounded Gribba Point. The sun was out again and we had had endured no more than a ten-minute shower. Everyone, perspiring from the climb, was shedding layers. We had a nice rest at the highest point, using a bit of a shelter to get out of the wind. Then we descended gently to a stream in the Nanguldno Valley (I kept calling it the Nintendo Valley) and began another rocky stretch with some scrambling required as we made our way along the Nanjulian and Gurland Cliffs. I warned Tosh not to get too far ahead (she had announced that she was into her afternoon impatience mood) and told her to wait for the rest of us next to the red marker at Aire Point.
We had assembled here when Harold, bringing up the rear, was informed that here he too had just reached the 1000th mile of his walking career on British footpaths! Of course I had figured out all these statistics in London, where I discovered that each of the Lees had walked the same number of days in reaching their total, 98, and that – remarkably – they had done so in spite of the fact that Harold had walked with me on 16 days when Tosh had not been present and Tosh had walked on 16 days without her husband. Harold now received a round of applause from the rest of us and we climbed over the last of the rocks to reach the upper end of Whitesand Bay.
Sennen Cove could be seen at the other end of the surf. Two teenagers in black surfing suits were just finishing their day in the surging waves, their faces red with the cold. Tosh and Margie quite obviously wanted to abandon the men in order to reach our hotel as quickly as possible. I demurred, suggesting that as we had come this far together it would be nicer if we could all finish together but the impatient Tosh responded with, “We’ll see you there,” and she and Marge were off. I noticed however, that she was following coast path signs that called for an inland route, needed during periods of high tide. There was plenty of strand available for a more direct approach to our village, however, and after Tosh and Marge had disappeared around a corner I decided to let them suffer the consequences of their haste, waiting only for a trailing Harold – who now accompanied me on an easy march across the sands.
I kept an eye on the hillside to our left but found no evidence of the girls. I took a wicked delight in this and even more in the fact that when Harold and I arrived at 5:50 and were shown to our rooms at the Old Success Inn the ladies had still not been heard from. I agreed to help Harold hunt them up so we went back outside and here I spotted them, still loyal to the coast path, arriving somewhat shamefacedly after waiting for us at some corner we had never reached.
I had a shower and got cleaned up a bit and then I located the bar and had a gin and tonic, served by an attractive lady bar person in brown ringlets. Margie was drinking a glass of white wine. “Are you really from Massachusetts?” a blonde American girl asked me. She was referring to my Harvard sweatshirt but I revealed my true colors when I pulled this up to show off a new UCLA t-shirt. We chatted with her and her local boyfriend and then the Lees found us and we had more drinks.
Eventually we had some bar meals, with the poor bar person having to take quite a hike back to the kitchen for every course. I had fish and chips and Tosh and I experimented unsuccessfully with the bread pudding. Harold drank another glass of milk. What an eccentric pair! Tosh, for instance, was completing this trip in a pair of sleazy boots that had holes in their sides the size of a thumb.
The hotel people were saying that the local shop did not open until 10:00 and this was not a good omen because, again, I wanted to make a quick getaway the next day. Nevertheless we agreed to be down at breakfast at 8:00. I had a look at the weather forecast on my TV but I can’t say I was encouraged – sun and lightning both emerging from a dark cloud over Cornwall on the weather map.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: