We started back at the Nare hotel, kindly taken there by our South African B&B host, Jane. She could not have been more friendly and welcoming and insisted on collecting us at the end of the day as well. We'd also had a really comfortable stay, a good meal in the local pub in Veryan and were well rested to start the day. Try her B&B if you get the chance: Treverbyn House (07826 826959). We felt we were getting into our stride, maybe getting adjusted to this walking lark, even (whisper it quietly) fit. Well, not mentally - I'd forgotten my waterbottle earlier in the trip and today Crispin left his poles in his car back at the B&B, so Jane returned to take him back and by the time he returned and we set off it was 10.15. Late, for us.
Personally, I think the look would improve with suspenders, and not in the US sense. Er, well maybe not.
Anyway, to the walk. High water at Carne beach so we had to take the road behind the hotel instead of the beach route but we were soon on the trail. Opted not to visit the small secluded beaches on the way (Pibyah, Porthcurnick) and were soon in Portscatho.
Still on the Roseland peninsular this is another
working fishing village although the fleet is smaller than in the heyday of the
pilchard fishing. Above the harbour is a memorial to the servicemen who died in
the Burma war and who have no resting place. There are enormous sandy beaches
here at low water but with spring tides and the time of our visit sadly we didn't see them. There is a lovely Georgian terrace here just as we were leaving the village, This one's called Lugger End and is a holiday let
The path from Portscatho to the ferry for St Mawes is rated in the SWCP guide as easy though we'd been warned that it was exceptionally muddy after all the weekend rain. To be fair it was indeed a pleasant path along the coast and of course mud now held no fears. Hah!
Stopping to engage another stranger in conversation we discovered they were looking at the seals basking on the rocky beach below, somewhere near Killigerran Head. They're apparently regular visitors, as are the seals. They're the rock-coloured slug like things on the beach.
By now we had St Anthony Head in sight, the turn point to bring Falmouth harbour into view, and were still wondering whether all these reports of the mud were just out of date or from pole-less wimps. Then we started to see signs warning of it due to "unintentional grazing" - ? Had the cattle got loose; were the cattle "unintentional" and they'd wanted less mud-producing sheep; did the farmer let them graze when he shouldn't have? When you've time on the trail these are the kind of questions that demand answers, and Google isn't available. We'll never know but we did find the mud, loads of it; they weren't lying. I promise I won't keep going on about mud forever. Probably.
So we reached St Anthony Head. This has always been the guardian of the approaches to Falmouth and there is a WW2 gun battery at the top. I'd been here before with Karen but didn't remember until I walked into it again. There's also a lighthouse here to warn of the offshore rocks (The Manacles) and Black Rock, in the middle of the channel. It still sounds its foghorn when required which might be problem if you're staying in the old keepers' cottages.
I had forgotten that the lighthouse was there until we met a breathless man from Trinity House who'd just walked up from it. Shame really, it was the
location for that wonderful programme Fraggle Rock.
A word or two about Falmouth which I think has a lot to offer. Claimed to have once been called Peny-cwm-cuic (head of the
creek) or, Anglicised, Penny-Come-Quick, until the middle of the 16th century
the only building in Falmouth was Arwennack ,
the home of the Killigrew family. However, Henry VIII recognised the value of the
harbour (third deepest natural harbour in
the world) and built Pendennis Castle on the headland. After this, the Killigrews
developed the town. Across the estuary of the River Fal is St Mawes, with
another defensive castle.
From 1688 Falmouth was appointed as the Royal Mail packet
station making Falmouth the information hub of the Empire. Falmouth Packets were specifically
developed for this, being fast lightly armed vessels that also carried bullion, goods and
passengers. In the 1850s they were superseded by steamships that were less
weather dependent. In 1805 news of Britain's victory and Admiral Nelson's
death at Trafalgar was famously landed here from the
schooner Pickle and taken to London by stagecoach. During WWII
Falmouth was the launching point for the commando raid on Saint-Nazaire in 1942
and the US had a large base here.
Falmouth has
a thriving art school and gallery, and is home to the National Maritime Museum.
On Killigrew street are the 111 steps of
Jacob’s Ladder, if anyone has the energy to climb them. It is also the
birthplace of Kenneth Grahame’s Ratty and Mole from Wind in the Willows, first
featuring in letters to his son written in the Greenbank Hotel.
An alternative folk and skiffle band formed here in 2007,
“Zapoppin” noted for their ‘black humour and obtuse lyrical themes’ which
sounds inviting. Amazingly, they can be found on Spotify (other music streaming
services are available). A certain P Martin attended grammar school here before
forging a career as a professional drummer and presenter of ‘Flog It’.
From St Anthony Head it is supposed to be a simple low-level stroll along the edge to Place, where the passenger ferry takes you to St Mawes. It would be, too, if the cattle hadn't 'unintentionally' churned it up and one diversion took us through a passage about the size of the average sheep dip with mud (and, er 'other' stuff) literally 6" deep. Yuk.
Still an enjoyable section though, with the sun now out and Dougal's (Magic Roundabout, anyone?) family there to say hello.
Immensely surprised to come across this huge Victorian manor just at the end of the walk. The estate has been in the Spry family for over 400 years and this manor was renovated in the 1990s.
Two of the Sprys became admirals in the Royal Navy and there is a statue to Sir Richard Spry with a stricken, grieving figure of Britannia. His nephew is similarly mourned but in his case by a young jack tar and a scantily clad maiden.
After a diversion to avoid going over the lawn for Place House (not the most imaginative name) we reached the jetty to find - no water round it, so no ferry. Except that we'd passed the signs to the real jetty and made it with 5 mins to spare.
So after all we did get to St Mawes and won't have to cheat that bit. However, we've no intention of walking around Falmouth town, somehow that just doesn't seem like a coast path (and anyway I've done it before with my mother when she lived near here and also with Karen) so we'll take a pass on that tomorrow. More 'cheating' I suppose but my conscience is clear. Crispin's jesuitical guilt will probably gnaw away at him......
Last leg with Crispin tomorrow as we walk to Helford Passage (so more interest for you du Maurier fans) and then I'm on my own.
Cheers all
Peter
PS I've been whinging about mud a lot, I know so to justify it here's a picture of my boots after I'd got the worst off. I rest my case.
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