Charlestown to Mevagissey 12th September 2022

As ever, we are back to where we finished the previous day’s walk, although on these occasions the second visit always feels strangely different from the first.  It is now late morning, having parked the car at Mevagissey in a large car park.  The bus then pottered around all the villages picking up little old ladies going shopping in St Austell, before finally dropping us off at its terminus – Asda.  This is very convenient for a bit of light shopping and the mandatory visit to the toilets, before the one and a half mile walk along busy urban roads down to Charlestown harbour.

We potter around enjoying the time to take in the ambiance of the harbour and various other visitor attractions.  The harbour was used as a location for the 2015 Poldark TV series.  I confess I never saw any of it – I’m still in love with Angharad Reese from the 1975 version.  The harbour is impressive and looks unchanged for 200 years (of course it may have had non-Poldark additions removed for the TV series).

“Charlestown Harbour – a location used for the Poldark TV series (2015 version)”

“Entrance to Charlestown Harbour, St Austell Bay and Gribbin Head”

A sign directs us to the South West Coast Path, but on following it we find our way blocked by a piece of Heras fencing.  Unsure what to do next we backtrack and find no indication as to where the alternative route might be.  Checking on the Internet, the closure is confirmed – apparently due to a cliff fall.  We are provided with an alternative route, which alas involves back-tracking to where the bus dropped us, before following a minor road up a steep hill past Duporth – a rather exclusive looking modern development on the site of a former holiday camp.  They apparently have gated access to an exclusive bit of beach.  I now suspect foul play.  Is it possible that someone dynamited the cliffs to prevent public access along the SWCP, just to preserve their privacy?  Fact can be stranger than fiction!

Eventually we rejoin the South West Coast Path, but not without difficulty.  The signage here is very poor.  Someone seems to have gone out of their way to make walking this section of the SWCP difficult – yet again!  

In the middle of a patch of woodland at Carrickowel Point we find a strange concrete tower.  This was an observation tower during World War 2 when St Austell Bay was used for bombing practice.  

I can’t resist the urge to climb it and scan St Austell Bay.  

“The mystery concrete tower at Carrickowel Point – built in WW2 for observing bombing practice in St Austell Bay”

No sign of bombers but some interesting lines of floats a few hundred metres offshore.  Apparently these have caused quite a stir with local fishermen, from nearby Mevagissey.  Questions have even been asked ‘in the house’ by their local MP.  It seems they are mussel nets, which were originally due to be located near Fowey, only for the lofty commodores of Royal Fowey Yacht Club to object to them.  So DEFRA granted a licence for them to be placed in St Austell Bay, without consultation with local fishermen.  The fracas is indicative of how decisions are made in Cornwall and underline the ‘them and us’ feelings within the county.  Cornwall – you are not alone!

From the observation tower we find our way down to Porthpean Beach by way of some steep, narrow steps, although once again we are taking it on trust that we are following the correct route, since way-marking is obvious in its absence.  Relieved at finally finding ourselves on the right track we pause to exchange views with another elderly couple coming from the other direction.  It seems they too are confused by the lack of signage, whilst heading in the opposite direction.

“The view south to Porthpean Beach from the tower.”

As we stretch sinews climbing up from the bay we are hailed by a couple in their 60s sprawled on a bench and warning us. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you.  We started walking and decided against it.” A quick look at their footwear convinced me they were not serious walkers.

I suspect most people visiting the Cornish coast have never walked more than a mile in their lives.  Instead, they stroll 100 metres from their cars, take one look at the fabulous cliff walking and go wobbly at the knees.  They are so overwhelmed that they have to totter back to a nearby bench and spend the next half hour giving others the benefit of their sage advice. 

I am tempted to riposte “Get an OS map – it’s all on there!”

A few hundred yards further and another couple likewise share with us the benefit of their walking experience. 

“Bit up and down.”  They suggest.

“The controversial floating mussel beds in St Austell Bay.”

“Porthpean Beach – a miracle of deliverance.”

As we make our way along the cliff top I start to understand the concerns of other ‘walkers’.  We climb and descend numerous hills, all of which exceed 100 steps.  As I climb and descend I start to turn philosophical and pose the question:

“Which is the better – being at the top, tired from a sweaty climb and ready to descend, knowing that every step to come will mean one more to climb on the other side, or at the bottom having ‘rested’ for a while, or perhaps somewhere in-between?”

“166 steps to the top of this hill”

It is amazing where the mind goes on these switch-back hills, but one thing is for certain, when it is all over, it will just be a blur – most probably from the sweat running into my eyes!  It appears the Jeremiahs back in Porthpean were right about this stretch of the coastline, but I’m pretty sure they never got this far.

“Betty prepares to descend a similar number of steps on the other side”

“I wonder, is she feeling elation, or dread – anticipating the next climb?”

“Charlestown a mere 2 miles in the distance – steps, steps, steps!”

Eventually we make it to Trenarren where an information board advises us that a memorial stone has been put up here to commemorate the local author Alfred Leslie Rowse.  Rowse was a prolific writer and scholar – although it seems he knew it, with several of his works being autobiographical.  He even wrote a memoir to his cat.  Perhaps I should learn from him and reduce my own word count in future!

“Alfred Leslie Rowse’s memorial stone.”

We are also advised that nearby Hallane Cove has its own natural arch and waterfall.  However, we don’t appear to be able to find a path down, other than through someone’s garden (and quite frankly I’m so knackered I don’t think I would fancy the climb back anyway).  Nonetheless, we do find a pleasant place to sit and eat lunch before a flurry of rain sends us scurrying for waterproofs and the shelter of a rather inadequate wind-grazed sycamore.  It is no more than a shower and we press on – climbing one last hill.  I’m not sure if this is the biggest of the lot, I’m too weary to count the steps, but the climb eventually requires assistance from arms – as I push down on alternate knees using both hands, to ease the demands on straining thighs. Atop the final summit is a broken stile, demanding quite different muscles and balance to safely negotiate it.

From here we look down on a large rock projecting from the choppy seas which swish around its base.  On this rock three cormorants sit in deep contemplation as they look out to sea, perhaps discussing the day’s fishing like three old salts on Mevagissey harbour wall,.  One of them does the classic cormorant thing of hanging out its wings ‘to dry’ – like a black Angel Gabriel in an infant school nativity play.  No one really knows why they do this, but it’s certainly a good ‘look’, so perhaps they are just posing for the cameras.  I am reminded of Noggin the Nog – a cartoon from my childhood in the sixties.  One of the main characters was a cormorant-like bird called Grakulus.  Watch an episode for yourself – I’m sure you’ll love it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaCOEkk0N8o

“Hallane Cove – a natural arch and waterfall await those who can find a way down.”

The walk proceeds along the top of beautiful cliffs overlooking yet more glorious Cornish blue seascapes.  The sun has been giving us a hard time all day and we are both perspiring from it and the constant climbing.  However, a herd of cows in a field are a portent of changes to come.  All are sitting down chewing their cud, awaiting what they must assume will be imminent rainfall.  Hopefully they are just practising, a sort of rain drill if you like.

“When cows lie down in the middle of the day you know they’ve checked their seaweed and fir cones – the omens are not good.”

Before long we are gazing down on a pleasant little cove which has been invaded by a massive holiday park full of white caravans packed together in regimented lines.  Why do they have to be here?  Couldn’t they be hidden away inland a bit instead of blotting this otherwise gorgeous cove?  Is it because the occupants can’t be bothered to drive (or even walk) to the beach?  Our own caravan is tucked away out of view about 5 miles away where no-one can see it.  I wonder what the locals thought about it when the planning application was put in.

“Pentwan Sands Holiday Park – money talks, I rest my case.”

A quick bit of research reveals that it is in fact 75 years old, built well before the hoards of visitors replaced tin mining and fishing as the main money-spinner in the county.  This answers my question since planning laws were quite different in those days.  The family that owned the land probably just built it because no-one else had a say in it.  It seems people return year after year to the holiday park.  One couple have returned every year for the last 37!

The SWCP takes us past a charming terrace of 19^th Century cottages and All Saints Church, Pentewan.  The latter is an imposing stone-built building built in 1821.  This grade II listed building fell into disrepair, but has now been restored for use by the diocese. I can’t resist looking up the cottages on Rightmove, where I discover they too were built 200 years ago for sea captains and mariners.  Each cottage has a number of wooden columns outside, apparently made from the masts of ships (in case you are wondering – you won’t see much change from half-a-million quid for one of these).

“The Terrace, Penewan and All Saints Church (round fronted stone building on the end).”

Looking down to the harbour I realise that sea captains must now be in short supply since it is landlocked.  The harbour was built by Sir Christopher Hawkins between 1818 and 1826 to ship china clay from his mines near St Austell.  Sadly the channel silted-up, possibly aided and abetted by unwanted china clay being dumped in it.  By the 1920 the harbour was un-navigable.

The centre of the village is very attractive, not least because there is an ice cream shop – so of course we indulge for a few minutes.  As we sit cooling our tongues we watch a Chinese/Japanese quartet wandering the village taking each others photographs next to anything that looks the slightest bit interesting.  When they get home they’ll doubtless invite their friends to the most incredibly boring slide show.

“Here we are next to a post box,” 

“How interesting.”

“and here next to a flower bed,”

“Lovely.”

“and here we are next to this charming dog turd which people carefully place on the pavements for us to stand in.”

Silence.

“Betty makes short work of Cornish ice creams.”

Our ice creams spirited-away to the depths of our stomachs, we walk through the village and I pause to check the map.  Usually when I do this some local asks if I am lost.  On this occasion however, I get accosted by a couple of young ladies who make the mistake of thinking I must know where I am.  I confidently point them in the right direction, only to discover 5 minutes later that I sent them on a wild goose chase to the wrong end of the village.  

“Excuse me.” I shout as they quickly disappear from earshot.  So I quickly absent myself, just in case they come looking for me. 

Beyond Pentewan the coast path runs alongside a busy road for half a mile, before thankfully returning us to the cliff tops.  Here we once again find the freshly deceased carcass of yet another gannet.  I check the local paper’s web site where it is reported that they are being found even on the streets of Penzance, the cause being reported as avian flu.

“Another gannet bites the dust. Avian flu”

They report: “Mark Avery, chairman of conservation charity World Land Trust, tweeted: “Dead or dying gannets inland and in the streets and on beaches – this is not normal. The UK has more than half the world population of gannets nesting around our shores. They aren’t supposed to die in Penzance streets.””  Globalisation and a shrinking world bring an increasing number of viruses and other diseases to these shores.

From Penare Point we can look back all the way to Rame Head which juts its distinctive shape out into the English Channel.  It could be a dinosaur taking to the water, its head stretched ahead of it with St Michaels Chapel little more than a small wart on its crown.

We get our first view of Mevagissey,which slowly reveals itself as we approach.  The cliffs here must be over 50 metres high, falling vertically to the secluded cove beneath.  Few people visit this bit of beach despite its proximity to Mevagissey – largely because to get there you have to negotiate over 200 steep steps down a narrow stairway.  Should you have the energy, it must be a beautiful, sheltered place to take a canoe and just explore the adjacent sea and rocks.  Make sure you go to the toilet first though since there is no place to hide!

“Our first view of Mevagissey harbour from Penare Point.”

Soon we are making another one of those glorious descents into a picture postcard Cornish fishing village, with hundreds of small boats held in the warm embrace of the harbour and its projecting harbour walls.  Unlike Polperro Mevagissey has not felt the need to install a gate across the harbour.  I suspect they are busy monitoring how the one at Polperro performs before inevitably following suit. 

The walk down to Mevagissey takes us down the ubiquitous steep, narrow steps past homely fishermen’s cottages, stacked impossibly on the hillside.  These days they are most likely to be occupied by tourists.  I pass a gentleman sitting at a table outside his holiday let, glass of red wine in hand.

“I think I’ll join you.” I laugh.

“Perfect weather for it.” He ripostes, but doesn’t invite me to pull up a chair and join him.

Being a pleasantly mild, late afternoon we decide to spend some time exploring the village, which by now is largely empty of day-visitors.  One of the residents has seen fit to squat on the bonnet of a car, where I suspect it would be loth to move from its warm perch.  Like them or loath them Herring gulls are part and parcel of seaside life.  The air is filled with their calls, with most of this years juveniles at least being old enough to fend for themselves and not indulge in that pitiful whining so evident earlier in the year.

Betty offers to buy me a pint from the pub overlooking the harbour –  the idea being that we can sit on benches by the quay and watch the world go by.  As I wait, I am drawn to the fleeting figure of a tiny knot busily checking for morsels on the quay.  A pied wagtail joins him, whilst a single whining juvenile herring gull limps about.  Is it injured, or has it evolved a clever way to solicit food from soft-hearted humans?

“Mevagissey – yet another unspeakably beautiful Cornish fishing village.”

The knot is joined by a second and then a third, as they scurry across the quay oblivious to me or any of the other humans hereabouts.  Out in the harbour the brightly coloured boats bob up and down on the near flat-calm water, in the early evening light.  The sky may be a cloudy grey, but the light reflected on the water is still beautiful.

I notice that most of the harbour-side shops and houses have slots installed next to doorways, into which boards can be inserted in case of storms and high tides.  The sea is beautiful in Cornwall, but it is potentially a terrible beauty.

Betty returns, but without the promised glass of cider in-hand.  It seems we are not allowed to drink outside and who wants to drink inside on a day like this?  So we decide to return to the caravan, where we can make-up our own drinking by-laws. 

“The glorious Cornish coastline around Pentewan – and a somewhat-less glorious caravan site.”

“Not all the visitors to Mevagissey come for the view.”

“Rising sea levels are a concern at Mevagissey too.”

“Properties can insert flood defences – but they may need higher ones soon!”

“Doggy ice creams sell like hot cakes in Mevagissey.”