Category: Cornwall Coast Path 2025

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!

Hayle and St. Ives, 9.4 miles, Saturday, June 8, 2025

Breakfast at the White Hart was fine, especially if you’re a fan of instant coffee!

You can’t see him, but we sat under Henry VIII!

We started out in light rain; the morning varied between light rain, clouds, and occasional heavy rain. And the first stretch wasn’t particularly pleasant as we followed an A-Road out of town. But we soon turned off for a longish walk through the lovely, very rich village of Lelant.

The path, following a village street, described a large arc from left to right. Some of the houses and their gardens were extraordinary.

At the top of the village sits the ancient church of St. Uny.

The church was first recorded in about 1150, but was certainly already old by that point. I popped in, but was afraid the others would miss me and so didn’t take time for photos. Sue later tried to get in, but couldn’t figure out the massive door handle! Here’s an interior cribbed from the web.

From the church the path led down through a links course to a sandy path above the beach at Porth Kidney Sands.

Here we are approaching Carbis Bay, a village that has become a suburb of St. Ives. Like Lelant, it is wealthy, with lots of modern homes overlooking the water.

The path followed the rail line that runs from St. Earth into St. Ives; as we walked through the dense, sub-tropical foliage, the heavens let loose for real this time. But this was coastal weather, and the worst of it was over in minutes. Whatever came, our team was ready for it!

Leaving the rail line, the path descends steeply along the road to the beach at Carbis Bay, then rises steeply past the very swanky Carbis Bay Hotel where, as you can see, the G7 was held in 2021.

The locals tell horrifying tales of the security measures involved in hosting so many suits: surface to air missiles in village squares, trees cut down in private gardens to ensure line of sight for snipers, interrogations of passersby on the street.

Rising past the hotel, we found ourself on a broad asphalt path that leads through a series of estates as it runs out to Porthminster Point. At the end of the path is a Huers Hut. What, you may ask, is a Huers Hut?

A huer’s hut, or platform, is a vantage point on the coast, from which a ‘huer’ could watch the sea to identify the arrival of a migrant fish species, typically pilchards in Cornwall. And what, you may ask, is a pilchard? Why, it’s the Cornish name for a sardine.

Just past the hut we were off the path and descending steeply into St. Ives. Directly below us was Porthminster Beach. This shot shows the beach with the harbor in the background.

We found a cafe at the bottom of the path and had a light lunch. Sue and I shared a delicious Cuban pork sandwich–and I indulged in a half of my favorite Cold River cider.

As it turned out, our hotel, Primrose House, was three minutes up the hill behind the cafe. The hotel parking lot is the scene for our “we made it!” picture.

It had been quite a walk, full of beauty, hilarity, and shared experience. Yes, it had been the least challenging of our segments on the path, and some parts of it were more crowded and “resorty” than we would have liked, but several of the stages were absolutely memorable. And we’ll never forget the fellowship we shared as we walked and dined together.

Back, now, to Primrose House. We entered through the back door and soon found our way to reception. Although our luggage was still en route, we all put our feet up for a good hour before venturing out again. The hotel occupies the right half of this building.

Our room was unusual. Called “The Pod,” it is a freestanding building with two levels. Charming and quirky, it did come to seem a bit confining–and dangerous as we navigated the steep, narrow stairs in the middle of the night.

Rory and Pravan set out first for a circumnavigation of the charming, but crowded town. The rest of us headed to the other end of St. Ives toward the St. Ives museum.

When we got inside we found a collection of nautical stuff: navigational aids, ship models, etc.

The engineer in Gary pushed him–and Cindy–into the museum while the rest of us headed for Tate St. Ives. There are now four national museums of British art: Tate Britain and Tate Modern in London, Tate Liverpool, and Tate St. Ives. The Tate had began curating Barbara Hepworth’s studio and garden in 1980 and decided in 1988 to build a museum which opened in 1993.

The collection is wonderful. Centering on artists who have worked in St. Ives and Cornwall more generally, it supplements these pieces with masterpieces from the world at large. We all had our favorite. Sue loved some of the things in a special exhibition on the American-British artist Lillian Lijn, Patti and David a Chagall, and I focused on a superb Kandinsky. The building itself stands on the site of an old gas plant, and the architects incorporated some elements of the plant in the new museum. It’s a splendid building, blending elements of the modern and the rustic. The highlight, though, is this cutout in the wall that frames a cinematic view of the sea.

On our way home we passed a bookstore selling a childrens’ book called A Dog named Dreckly. Patti bought a copy.

Dreckly is my favorite new word. A woman explained its meaning thus: she was an emmet (the Cornish word for someone who moved here from the north; it literally means “ant”) and found that the boiler in her home was broken. She called the plumber, who told her he would be there directly. Expecting him that day, she waited another two as she grew increasingly frustrated. Calling again, she heard that the plumber had said he would be there “dreckly.” Dreckly means sometime between soon and eventually. Dreckly implies a lack of urgency or a relaxed approach to time.

We had a wonderful final meal in Cornwall at the Porthminster Kitchen above the harbor. Lots of seafood: hake, seafood linguini, monkfish curry.

And we ran into the Princeton / Seattle crew once again. The storm that had soaked us was a thunderstorm in Portreath, and they had skipped the long stage to Hayle, opting instead to walk the magnificent (but challenging) stage from St. Ives to Zennor tomorrow.

And, by the way, the answer to the riddle is “One.”

St. Ives and London, Sunday, June 8, 2025

The little train station in Saint Ives was about a three minute walk from our hotel. Breakfast was a little nervous making because it only started at 8 AM and we need to leave for our train at 20 till nine. Our table, with Rory and Pravan, was served last, but we managed to get at least some of our poached eggs and toast down.

St. Ives is on a small branch line that runs to Saint Erth and we were soon changing platforms for the train to London.

Six of us, minus David and Patti, sat around a couple of tables for a very comfortable ride to London. We course talked about every stage every hotel and every meal.

We parted company at Paddington. Gary and Cindy had an early flight to LAX and were staying at the airport; Rory and Pravan were meeting friends for a trip to Scotland; and David and Patti were staying in Marylebone and meeting us for dinner.

We were greeted at the Londoner with a very nice surprise: an upgrade to a corner suite! We only glanced at it, though, because Andrew D. was waiting for us downstairs.

Sue and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so we had a (superb) wild mushroom risotto and a cheese board along with some Nyetimber sparkling wine.

We hadn’t seen Andrew since October and we had a lot to catch up on! The time flew by, and before we knew it we had talked for three hours!

Islington isn’t far from central London but it takes a while on the tube. The hard part , though, is getting from the Islington and Highgate station to Trullo, another nephew and niece recommendation. The busy intersection was barely navigable but we finally negotiated the 300 feet.

We had a great evening and a good meal with David and Patti and then introduced them to the joys of riding home late at night on the upper deck of a red bus!