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.

Making the circuit

On another glorious day I make a complete circuit. Going clockwise from Bassetts Cove into Tehidy Woods, I follow the paths through the patches of sunlight amongst the trees to emerge in the tiny hamlet of Bell Lake. A timber chalet has been erected on the edge of the woods to serve teas during the summer months; I'm suprised the planners gave permission for that.
A few yards up the road I turn right through a small gate beside a stile to take the path up across the fields back to the cliffs. As I close the gate the coconut scent of the gorse in that warm and sheltered spot is overpowering.
In the fields a buzzard overhead is being mobbed by two crows. Eventually they give up, and leave the buzzard to spiral in peace - a dark shape, wings spread, against the pure blue of the sky.
On the path back along the cliffs to the Cove I meet John Elsey who is walking from Porthtowan to Hayle.
John lives inland at Perranwell now, but still walks the coast path regularly. His suntanned face framed by shining, wavey steel-grey hair shows that he likes being outdoors.

I am unable to help John with information about tide times. He starts off again on his way to Godrevy without knowing whether he will be able to take the easy route along the beach from there to Hayle, or whether he will have to stretch his calves and his lungs on the path through the undulating dunes.


Heather Hosking

Trevithick Day

A few entries ago I told of meeting George Wilson, secretary of the Trevithick Society, while out walking.

This morning I had forgotten that today is Camborne's annual celebration of the engineering genius of local boy, Richard Trevithick. I thought at first that the leisure centre was on fire when I arrived for my swim and saw a huge cloud billowing up from behind the building: then the steam engines came into view.



In the afternoon, I watched through a haze of smoke and steam as the procession of engines made their way down Trelawney Road, and then back up Tehidy Road - the Camborne Hill of the Cornish folk song.

Julia Goldsworthy, our local Liberal Democrat MP until a few weeks ago when the election was called, was sitting in a trailer behind the last engine, looking as if she was glad to take a rest from the campaign to be re-elected, although she did flash me a big smile.

Someone called out "Bet Gordon isn't doing this today."
"No. Poor him", Julia replied.

Heather Hosking

Swifts

I forgot to say that the swifts have arrived as well. As I walk along the coast path there is a flash of white and a bird zips skywards just off the edge of the cliff, then executes a quick flip to swoop low across my path and out over the field.

Granite

I have been trying to write an article about granite, but the phrases will not flow. I imagine the words, heavy and piled on top of each other, like the massive boulders at the summit of Cornwall's tors and carns.

I give up and go out into the sunshine.

At Bassetts Cove I hear the bleating of sheep, the call of a pheasant, and the endless susurration of the sea. On a sheltered hedge the first clump of Thrift is out, and there are green shoots breaking through in the ploughed field.

I meet two stylish blonde ladies. One, from nearby Illogan, is wearing a peach- coloured hoody. The other, who has come to care for her elderly father, is in a neat black track suit. They drive off in a Jag.

By the time I reach the granite gate post at the entrance to Tehidy Country park I am discovering the poetry in the landscape again - even in the stone.

In the woods the ground is covered with celandines, primroses and the blind spikes of bluebells. A grey and brown buzzard glides, at head height, through the moss-wrapped, sun-dappled trees.

Heather Hosking

Brilliant day

I was back at Godrevy today - walking through the sand dunes at the back of the beach that curves away towards Carbis Bay and St Ives. The colours were so perfect that only cliches could do them justice: blue sea, blue sky, wispy white clouds, smooth beige sand, white foam-tipped waves.
In one of my classes at Uni College Falmouth a tutor showed a slide to illustrate a point being made. It was a picture of a cove in Cornwall and the sea was invitingly blue. "The sea doesn't look like that very often," the tutor said. I don't agree - nor, I think, did John Miller.

Heather Hosking

Wheatears

They're back, and if you look hard enough you'll see there's one in this picture. Sorry -it's the best I could do.

Heather Hosking