#also I’m just assuming anther tour is coming

[personthattoleratesme]

I actually think they should make their next joint tour Dan and Phil vs the world

[eclectictrek]

SWCP 2017 Day 4: Zennor to Cape Cornwall / Land’s End YHA

Levant Mine

Streams, Steam and Speed

Not that my speed was particularly good today (or ever). My title refers to a Turner painting Rain, Steam, and Speed of a steam locomotive hurtling across a bridge – a bridge designed by Brunel whom I mentioned two days ago, for the Great Western Railway but closer to London. I remembered that bridge (and a mention in the guidebook of the painting) from my Thames Path hike some years ago, and it seemed apt for a day dominates by the industrial archeology of the tin mines, a day when I actually saw a working steam engine. Streams rather than rain, though; the day was scattered to partly cloudy, but had lots of stream crossings.

I had an excellent breakfast of smoked haddock and poached egg before leaving the Tinners. Less pleasantly, I had some confusion over the bill, as they had no record of the £20 deposit I had given them my credit card for. I couldn’t on the moment find the email they had sent confirming the deposit, so I paid the full nightly fee. Anyhow, I was away by 10 am, but spent some time at the church (St. Senarra) a short distance away, taking a few pictures of the interior including the Mermaid Pew. I mentioned the story of a Mermaid seducing a Cornishman in yesterday’s hike notes. Michael and Merryn Kent, in Cornwall from the Coast Path, note a couple of other explanations for the mermaid associations here. One is that “one of the mythical sirens of the sea became so entranced by the singing of a local young man, Mathew Trewella, that she went to the Zennor church to hear him.” The other comes from a note displayed in the church itself, that I missed, and references pre-Christian homage to mermaids as symbols of Aphrodite, who as goddess of the sea as well as love, was very important to a coastal people. Then in medieval times, mermaids were adopted in Cornish mystery plays to illustrate the concept of duality, fish/woman, as Jesus was both human and divine.

I’m going to have to write a separate article just on the books I have found and read about the Coast Path. The Kents’ book is particularly noteworthy for the lavish photographic illustrations, and also the natural history – of course it is just the Cornish section.

Eventually I was off, back down the quarter-mile trail to the Path proper at Zennor Head, where I could see the tip of Gurnard Head, named for a fish it supposedly resembles, past the intervening headlands. The day’s hike on the trail proper started out with a valley descent and stream crossing above Pendour (aka Mermaid) Cove. A sizable stream flowed down the valley, which the path crossed by a substantial wooden footbridge, then ascended steps on the far side, steep enough to warrant a rare handrail. Inland was an impressive country home, Carn Cobba, which may be rented for the week for about £2000.

Around the next small but steep headland (Carnelloe, I think, at least it’s Carnelloe Cliff) I had a better view of Gurnard Head. Before I got to that I faced another valley and another footbridge stream crossing before getting there. The trail passed close by the remains of another heavy stone building with an arched door – possibly an engine house. A painter had set up next to the trail shortly past there, capturing the rugged coastline and the beautiful sunny day. A side trail went further out on Gurnard Head, but I passed up the chance to see the Iron Age cliff fort there. Once I crossed that headland, I had a view ahead to the Pendeen Lighthouse, a major landmark for the day.

A few minutes later, I climbed over a stile and had to walk around a couple of ponies among the gorse and the bluebells; I assume these were another attempt to restore the ecological balance of the area. They pretty much ignored me, unlike the herd between Newquay and Perranporth last year, who felt a need to assert their dominance. Looking back at Gurnard Head, the coast was remarkably rugged, with inclusions of lighter granite clear among the darker rock.

Then the trail descended to another stream crossing above Porthmeor Cove. The footbridge here was a single large finger of stone, with a handrail affixed. A half hour later, the trail was passing near to more Industrial Archeology, Engine Houses and smokestacks, and even closer to other remains not so easy to classify. Then the trail led me to the top of a high cliff, Bosigran Cliff, looking straight down into a rugged cove and a small beach. I thought I had been following the trail, but there was no way forward from here. The guidebook had warned about this, and I backtracked a little and found the path down. Below the cliff, more industrial ruins, and anther stone bridge across a stream, with a Basset Hound frolicking in the water. Looking back from a bit further, I could see at least 25 climbers at various heights on that cliff.

More ruins, ranging from partial engine houses to low stone walls, more bluebells, and one more boulder scramble, then I was approaching Portheras Cove and a pretty beach with Pendeen Watch (Lighthouse) ahead. A sharp ravine lay behind Portheras Cove, just before Pendeen, so there was a steep descent and then a wooden footbridge over the stream. I took a video of the stream and the view down to the beach. On the far side, the trail soon joined the road from Pendeen Watch down to the old Lifeboat station at Portheras, and there was a lot more local foot traffic. I noticed a lot of people excited about something in the water, and spotted the seals that they were watching. Then a moment later, a couple that had been watching the seals asked what bird was making a particularly notably cry, several high clear notes followed by a harsh croak. I spotted the bird, and knew the answer! I pulled out my trail guide and showed them the picture of the stone chat; tried to take a picture of the bird, too, but didn’t get the focus right. Then the trail went behind the lighthouse, with a particularly good view of the foghorns. I must have seen foghorns at other lighthouses I’d passed, but hadn’t really noticed them.

A short ways past Pendeen Watch, the densest batch of Industrial Archeology I’d seen spread before me: the Levant and Geevor mines. The Levant Mine operated from 1820 to 1930, and the National Trust has an excellent display including an actual working Beam Engine that was used for hauling skips of ore up the shaft. Another engine house had been for the pumping engine; tunnels had run over a mile out under the ocean floor from here. Miners used to talk about the ominous rumbling of the “Knockers”, vengeful creatures that presaged a cave-in, but sometimes what they heard was boulders rolling on the sea floor above them. Geevor is a more recent mine with 20th century structures, although it is no longer in operation either. It does have a substantial tourist center; Rob and I came back here to buy lunch on our tour day the next week.

I got to the Levant just before 5 pm as it was closing, and bought some bottled water and a snack (once again not having stopped for a proper lunch). The attendant said it wasn’t worth buying a ticket as it was about to close, but I asked if I could stick my head into the engine house and see the steam engine. He agreed, since I had spent money in the shop and it was closing time, and it turned out the last demonstration of the day was still going! So I got to see an actual 19th century Cornish Steam Engine in operation for a moment.

There are many excellent interpretive signs around the grounds, describing the funding and operation of the mines. Nearby were “Calcinator” chambers, where ore with high arsenic content was baked to drive off the arsenic. The fumes were vented down a long stone tunnel and then up a high smokestack. Periodically, the facility would be shut down and the stone roof removed, and workers would scrape away the arsenic – a contaminant of tin ore, but salable in its own right.

After looking over all of this, I stopped beside some of the mining ruins to change my socks. I had the beginnings of one or two blisters, and a bruised toenail that looked bad. (I eventually lost it, and wasn’t sure until August that it would grow back.) My feet had given me great trouble on all of my long hikes, and I had a compound strategy to limit the damage this time: change socks frequently, apply foot powder and skin lubricant (Glide, in stick form like deodorant or lip balm), keep them as dry as possible (not dry at all, yesterday), and pad any hot spots as soon as I noticed them with plasters or padded tape. As I sat there mid-sock-change, another hiker headed in the opposite direction sat down next to me. We compared notes: he had foot problems he was dealing with similarly, and dodgy knees for which he was also wearing reinforced elastic braces. Oh, I hadn’t mentioned that? I’d blame it on age, but the knee and back problems have plagued me for decades. He was familiar with The Man Who Hated Walking, the first book I’d read about the SWCP, but hadn’t read it himself.

Over the last couple of days I had finally remembered the importance of tightening boot laces, from the bottom up. I knew that tight laces were important, but I had forgotten the technique I had learned back in college hiking days: tightening the lowest laces, holding a fingertip on them while pulling the next set tight, and so working all the way to the top. That made a huge difference in how much my feet moved within the boots! I’ll continue doing those other things, but I suspect this was my critical mistake. This is borne out by the fact that although I already had the beginnings of blisters, on a par with previous hikes at this point, they got no worse. I did lose the small toenail; I suspect that it wasn’t just a bruise, but some bleeding under the nail. I kept a pad around it the rest of the hike, which probably made no difference, but that’s a minor problem compared to the blisters that I was developing and draining every day last year.

It’s already been a long day by this point, but I have several miles more to go, to Cape Cornwall and past it to the Land’s End YHA. I didn’t even stop or take pictures at Botallack, one of the most famous mining sites and a short distance past Levant. Cape Cornwall was in view soon, a thin promontory sticking out into the Atlantic, with a rise on the headland capped by yet another smokestack; Industrial Archeology even here. Nothing of the engine house remains, but the smokestack is a nice monument for the site, once thought to be the westernmost point of England. Land’s End actually has that title, a few miles further south, but the difference in western extent is a fraction of a mile. Anyway, Land’s End is a cheesy tourist trap, and Cape Cornwall much more pleasant. The trail cut inland for a stream crossing before the Cape, and I came across a woman walking a friendly black and white dog named Che. I double-checked, yes “C-h-e”, and indeed named after Che Guevara. That deserved a picture. I called Kat from just below the smokestack at the summit of Cape Cornwall, but the wind was horrible. I took a selfie as well, but I was grimacing against the wind so much that I won’t even post that picture. I had thought about calling the Youth Hostel to order supper, but I wouldn’t make it there in time, so I’d just have to see what was available.

Leaving, I noticed a handful of wetsuit-clad youngsters among the rocks in the cove below the cape. This seemed madness; the surf was pounding those rocks in this wind. I passed some locals on the road, and we shared our incredulity at this flagrant attempt at a Darwin Award.

Another diversion inland down the Cot Valley after the Cape, but rather than following the return route back to the coast, I had to go a short distance further inland and uphill to reach the Land’s End Youth Hostel – an odd name, since it’s much closer to Cape Cornwall than Land’s End, but I guess everyone’s heard of Land’s End. I had a little trouble finding the side path, as the various roads and trails in the area offered too many alternatives. Although this was a Youth Hostel, I had a private room, and to my relief the kitchen could heat a pizza for me even though I was too late at 7:30 for the regular meal. The village of St. Just was not far, but who knows what would be open there at this hour…

Nine and a half hours, 14.7 miles (less than 13 official trail miles), around 2800’ ascent: this was indeed a long day, but in retrospect one of the best of the hike. It had everything: dramatic cliffs and scenic beaches, wildflowers and wildlife, pleasant conversation, famous landmarks, and the absolute best of Industrial Archeology. Wheal Coates may be the poster child of Cornish tin mining, with its elegant lines, but this day had it in spades for sheer volume of sites, wonderful interpretive displays, and a working steam engine! And to top it all, the weather was gorgeous, sunny and temperature in the 60s.