Inch

The long spell of fine settled weather has brought out long distance walkers. One morning I stop to talk to a man who tells me that his name is Inch.
Inch is making for St Ives, and carrying everything he needs for life on the coast path.
The day before he had walked from coast to coast, and back again, along the old mineral tramway that runs from Portreath to Devoran. He had spent the night on the cliffs somewhere near Portreath, and been kept awake by the cold.
He tells me about a frosty night when a woman had taken pity on him and provided a duvet to keep him warm, and about walking in Ireland where the people were very hospitable. He remarks that he did not meet any Cornish in Portreath.
Blogging is a mystery to Inch, but when I explain what I am up to he is happy to pose for a photo. He says it is not the first time he has been asked to do this.