Portreath to Hayle, 14 miles, Friday, June 6, 2025
A cab brought us back to the place at which we had climbed into a cab the afternoon before…and up the hill we went, passing through a narrow walkway overgrown with flowering plants.
Portreath Harbor looks rather nice from the clifftops.
It was easy cliffwalking…for a while.
Then we came to Porthcadjack Cove. Ouch.
The cove was gorgeous.
Going up the far side was bad enough. But this is the looking back at the descent. It was one of the very few spots that we’ve walked on the entire path that used switchbacks. The other, if memory serves, was the walk over the Golden Cap on the Jurassic Coast.
We weren’t done yet. After a very short flat stretch, down we went again into Mirrose Well Cove.
For you armchair travelers, I should probably explain the challenge that these coves present. They don’t rise by the thousands of feet as if you’re climbing a mountain; the ascents are rarely more than 500 feet. But the descents beat your body up, especially those with steps, and then you’re immediately rising on the other side. When you encounter two of these in a row, it saps the energy at the start of what will be a very long day in the saddle.
There are compensations, however.
Back on the clifftops, we had bucolic scenes to our left and lovely coast to our right.
You see some strange creatures in Cornwall; perhaps they’re emanations of Cornish spirituality? This one is a cross between a Border Collie and a cow.
The section we were walking (and walking, and walking) is called the North Cliffs.
After about five hours of walking, we approached a huge headland that ran between Navrax Point and Godrevy Point.
From here we were looking down at a cove called Hell’s Mouth.
And, providentially, there is an eponymous cafe here!
We took a load off and refueled. My particular poison was the “Billionaire’s Shortbread” with custard and a chocolate glaze.
As we sat on picnic benches outside, a group of high schoolers crossed the road. They were working towards the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award (DofE), a personal challenge program for young people that helps to develop personal growth through volunteering, physical activity, skills development, and expeditions. These kids were on their expedition.
We had considered cutting off the headland to save a couple of miles (we were at one of those narrow necks with the sea on both sides). But the headland looked so lovely that we marched on.
As we approached Navrax Point, we could look straight down at some seals cavorting on a small, wave-swept beach.
Off of Godrevy Point is the lighthouse that inspired Virginia Woolf to write To the Lighthouse (1927).
Although the novel is set in an adult present on the Isle of Skye, many of its features are a retrospect on happy days with Woolf’s parents and siblings at a rented house in St. Ives…with a view of the Godlevy Lighthouse.
Leaving the lighthouse behind, we walked toward the start of an enormous beach at Gwythian.
As we followed the path above the beach, Gary and David marched past a large sandwich board marked “The Southwest Coast Path had been diverted” with a large arrow pointing left. After an extended debate we concluded that the path had been diverted (although a certain Rory still took some convincing). It turned out that a bridge over a large inlet had been deemed unsafe.
We were soon rising and falling through the sandy dunes–“towans” in Cornish.
I realize that I’ve given the horticulturalists among you short shrift. Here, by way of apology, are some Morning Glories among the dune grasses.
This is the view back to Godlevy Point.
When we had walked about bit more than ten miles, we met a nice young Cornishman walking his dog; he gave us an evaluation of the path ahead. Several of us (it turns out, ironically, that it was the same crew that had split off on the same, penultimate stage last year, namely Cindy, David, Patti, and yours truly) opted to roadwork the last couple of miles into town, while the brave and truehearted marched on through the dunes.
Regardless of the path, we all arrived within five minutes of one another at our hotel in Hayle, the White Heart Hotel. Hayle is a rather unremarkable place, neither dilapidated nor shining.
The same could not be said of our lodging, which tended toward the dilapidated–and the decidedly eccentric. As I’ve mentioned, I based our lodgings on the recommendations our friends Hal and Sandy had received. And, admittedly, their itinerary did contain the following “warning:”
“White Hart Hotel: Large and atmospheric hotel right in the centre of Hayle on the coast path and very close to the restaurants and facilities of the town. Built in 1838 the building has lots of history and its said a resident ghost or two. Bar, restaurant and en-suite rooms with their own works or art and statues (the owner is a collector). This place works well for walkers who are happy with a basic good value overnight stay. However if you are looking for high quality accommodation we advise catching the bus to St. Ives and staying there for the next 2 nights.”
I think Sandy may have received a more emphatic verbal warning from their agent; when we met them in St. Ives, she asked “how was the hotel?” with a devilish grin!
It was actually fine in the end. Very nice pub with some very nice and very talkative regulars. I’ll never forget a little dog doing countless whirligigs when its owner’s father-in-law walked in. And the rooms were eccentric, with the owner’s decidedly eclectic, to say nothing of erotic, taste in art in full view. I would include Sue’s picture of the double nude over our bed, but we’re afraid Trump’s thugs might find them on her phone and send us to prison in El Salvador. We had a restorative glass of wine / beer / cider in the pub when we arrived and then split up for dinner. Pravan had been dying to visit a real “chippy” and Sue and I tagged along to Spenders, for a wonderful plateful of fish and chips.
Somebody likes their fish!
When we returned, we found the pub full to bursting: it was karaoke night! And guess who stole the show?
In case you can’t tell, that’s our Scottish David and Irish Gary singing “Whisky in the Jar.” Every trip has its indelible memories!
And then it was off to bed. And what beds they were! Ours resembled nothing so much as a trampoline while Rory and Pravan’s had such a slump in the middle that they concluded it might have been better to sleep on the floor!
In retrospect, we were all glad we stayed in Hayle…the hotel had its charms, and it made it appreciate our other lodgings all the more!